“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Aunt Della is a hoot.”
“That’s the problem, Callie. I don’t want people laughing at her.” Hanna let out her frustration in a breath. “She’s fine out here around the Summerbrook area, but those people won’t find her endearing, like we do. They’ll make fun of her behind her back.”
“Look, Hanna, I’m in a real pickle with employees. Even with Aunt Della, I’ll be short-handed.”
Hanna leaned her head back. There was nothing she could do. “What time then?”
“We need to be there at four to start decorating,” Callie said. “And I’ve already picked up the service uniforms Mrs. Laurens requested we wear tonight. She paid for them. Just put your hair up in a bun or something and you can change in the Laurens’s service quarters.
It was all settled. Hanna was going to serve at the Laurens mansion tonight. In a uniform. With Aunt Della. Oh, boy.
Hanna needed to get some fresh air. She meandered down the dirt path to her favorite spot at the creek, leaving all her fishing tackle behind.
She sat on her favorite stump and drew her knees to her chest. The clouds were like dirty pillows hanging in the skies. Cool drifts of air floated across the still water and she shivered. Something unpleasant was going to happen. She could feel it.
How was she going to face Furman in a service uniform after last night? What would she say? Would you like a bacon-wrapped oyster? Or perhaps a coconut square? Or another kiss?
He was now going to see her and her family for what they really were—plain country folk.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
As the skies darkened even more, the surrounding woods darkened, as well. Across the murky water, a blue egret stood on one leg in front of a cypress tree. The shadows caused the bird to disappear into the Spanish moss and gray bark. She wished she could disappear like that at times—like tonight.
She didn’t like the swamp nearly as much as she did when the sun managed to break through the covering of the branches. Four Hole Swamp had a gloomy history, too. Men who had fought for the country’s independence had died here. That knowledge gave her the creeps and intensified her sense of foreboding. The past was always lurking around every stump and tree in the Lowcountry, coloring the present and the future.
Realizing that no answers were going to be gleaned from the dark waters today, she checked her watch again and realized it was time to face the inevitable. Reluctantly, she headed back to get a shower. Callie needed help to prep for tonight.
She picked up Aunt Della at ten-thirty and drove to Callie’s. The women worked on the food for the party all day. When they were finished, the three loaded up the service van and headed to the Laurens house. Two other servers would meet them there at four.
At the house, Bessie showed them the kitchen, the butler’s pantry and the staff quarters out back. They had everything they needed. Thank goodness Furman wasn’t here to see her work like one of his servants.
They set up for the hors d’oeuvres in the parlor and covered the small tables scattered throughout the downstairs rooms in Mrs. Laurens’s pale yellow linen tablecloths—which would have been beautiful if they had been dyed another color. The women took the prepared food from the coolers and Callie started working her magic in the kitchen with Aunt Della.
So far so good. There was no sign of Evelynn Laurens. Or Furman. But as soon as the thought escaped, Hanna saw the front door open. And there they were.
“Hanna, what are you doing here?” Furman asked in astonishment.
Mrs. Laurens had a smirk spread across her face.
He looked at his mother, as well.
Hanna turned her gaze and stared at the painting of their house that hung over the buffet in the hall and then back. She didn’t want to implicate his mother. “Callie didn’t leave me much of a choice.”
“I bet Callie didn’t.” He looked down and shook his head at the floor. “Mother, may I have a word with you?”
Mrs. Laurens looked at the gilded clock on the large table in the hall. “Furman, you had better make it short. Just one minute. And then I have to give the servants directions. This is their first job here as you well know.”
⸙
Furman led Evelynn into the parlor. Sometimes it was hard to see his mother’s good side. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She straightened some of the cups around the punchbowl. “I’m rearranging this crystal.”
“Mother, don’t be evasive. You know I didn’t want Hanna here as a servant. Not since she got her new job. I’m quite sure you insisted or threatened or something.”
She fluffed the gold damask pillow on the sofa. “I merely protected my reputation as a hostess. She was involved from the start. What one starts, one should finish.”
He paced in front of the huge windows a couple of times. “Well, I can promise you one thing. If you start something with Hanna tonight, I’ll be the one to finish it. I think of Hanna as a friend.”
His mother abruptly turned. “A friend? You know her as well as the checkout clerk at the Harris Teeter.” She walked to him and put her hand on his cheek. “Son, I’m sure Hanna and I are on the same side tonight. We both want this event to go well so the girls will ask for Callie’s number for their parties.” His mother picked at his shirt like there was lint or something on his shoulder.
He firmly removed her hand. He disliked when his mother tried to correct or improve him—especially when there was nothing wrong.
“Now, if that is all, I’ll see to my dinner party.” She brushed her hands together.
He knew his mother. She was about to see to her own agenda—in the name of family preservation. That could be an honorable goal, but his mother had been influenced far too long by the ladies of the Jasmine Society. He hadn’t really planned to stay because he wanted to finally get back to work on his own boat tonight, since he has had so many distractions lately, but maybe he should stick around to make sure she didn’t pull anything bizarre with Hanna.
He stood in the doorway of the parlor and looked across the wide hall and into the dining room. Hanna stood under the huge crystal chandelier. Her long dark curls had been tightly rolled into a smooth twist at the back of her head. He had never noticed her beautifully slender, elegant neck before. In other clothes, she would be a perfect subject for the cover of Charleston Magazine. She was still perfect in his book.
The muscles flexed in her toned arms as she moved the chairs around the tables. He had the urge to help her, but he knew that would only incite his mother, and the beautiful woman didn’t really need his help. He just wanted to be near her.
Ever since he had met her he wanted to be near her. And ever since his mother had seen the lovely young woman, she wanted to push them apart.
⸙
Hanna placed the last chair under the table.
“There you are.” It was Mrs. Laurens. There was going to be no avoiding her tonight. Tonight Hanna belonged to Mrs. Laurens.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“These tables are too bare. With Tillman in the hospital, I forgot to order the centerpieces, and I thought these silver candlesticks would work.” She picked up one and examined it closely. “Bessie has left spots of tarnish remover all over this.” She raised her head and shook it. “Anyway, I’m going to need some sort of greenery from the yard to add some color. I usually use jasmine, but it’s past its prime and withered now. Anyway, magnolia leaves, ivy, boxwood—something green. Oh, wait, we have smilax vines growing out back. Get those. You can handle that for me, can’t you?”
Tell her no. Hanna didn’t know anything about decorating with leaves and vines and such. In Four Hole the outdoors stayed outdoors and the indoors stayed indoors. Except for an occasional flower. Tell her no. She paused. “I’ll do my best.” Yep. Hanna was a yellow-bellied, sap-sucking, lily-livered…chicken.
“Good. When you’ve finished, I’ll show you the place settings for the tables.” Mrs. Laurens smoothed a
wrinkle that didn’t exist from one of the tablecloths.
That shouldn’t be too difficult. Putting out plates and forks was something she’d done since she was seven.
“Exactly where can I get the smilax?”
“The vines are growing on the back fence and in one of the trees in the rear of the house. Left side. If the smilax don’t look good, choose something else. It doesn’t matter. Anything decorative. There’s greenery all over the yard.”
Hanna nodded.
“Come with me to the kitchen and I’ll give you my pruning shears.” Mrs. Laurens led the way.
Please let Aunt Della be at the van or in another room or something. Hanna wasn’t ashamed of her aunt, but Evelynn Laurens would surely tear her apart if she heard her speak. She wanted to spare her aunt the potential humiliation.
In the kitchen, Callie and Aunt Della were busy placing the crab canapés on sterling platters that had fancy L’s engraved in the centers. Aunt Della had crab stuffing all over her hands.
Callie stopped and wiped her hand on the kitchen towel beside her. “Mrs. Laurens, the rest of my help will be here at four. Is everything to your satisfaction so far?”
“I believe it is,” she said in a disinterested tone as she rifled through a drawer at the end of the long counter. “Here. There’s a basket by the back door. And by the way, I’d like you all to use the back door for the rest of the evening. I’d also like you to get that van unloaded in the next thirty minutes and move it past the next corner to provide room for our guests to park.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Callie went back to her silver tray.
Then it happened. Aunt Della saw the need to be social. “Mrs. L’orange, it is so nice to meet you.” Aunt Della reached out her hand like a baseball player at the end of a game.
Mrs. Laurens looked around and finally reached for the old woman’s hand. “The name is Laurens.” She pulled her hand back quickly, held it out and went to the sink for some paper towels. She turned. “And you are who?”
“I’m these two girls’ aunt. Della Rudder. Been hearing a lot about the L’orange family lately.”
“Laurens.”
Aunt Della nodded her head.
“Well, thank you for helping with my dinner party.”
“No problem. My stories aren’t on Saturdays, of course. And Marion’s got Cubi-Jack Banks with him today. Showing him how to cut and wrap fat back at the shop, so I was free to help my girls with this here Has Been dinner party.”
“Jasmine. Jasmine dinner party.” Evelynn looked at Hanna.
“Jasmine?” Aunt Della nodded her head in agreement that the two were on the same page.
This was going to be an impossible night.
Evelynn Laurens walked out the room.
Good. Maybe she could keep Aunt Della out of the way of Mrs. Laurens.
“Aunt Della, I need your help outside,” she said.
“Is that okay, Callie?” Aunt Della asked.
Callie shot Hanna a knowing look and said, “Sure.”
As quickly as she could, Hanna found the basket and headed out the door with Aunt Della and the sheers to look for greenery. She stopped for a moment and put on the cloth gloves that were in the bottom. “Okay, Mrs. Laurens wants some smilax to decorate the tables with, and I have no idea what they are.
“I do. It’s them vines over there.” Aunt Della touched her arm. “You sure she wanted smilax?”
“Yes. Why?”
Aunt Della had a worried look on her face. “They can make some people itch.”
“Well, I don’t think people are going to be touching them. Anyway, that was what she wanted.”
“Okay. I pull these old things away from the old barn out back all the time. You need me to help?”
“No. I know Callie needs your help. I can handle this.”
Aunt Della left her to the task.
Hanna looked toward the skies where lovely old oaks drew dark lines against the blue with their branches. If she stared at them long enough, she might convince herself that she was back at the edge of the creek in the midst of Four Hole Swamp. But a car rumbled by and told her otherwise. And she really didn’t have the time for daydreaming—even if she did seek some kind of momentary peace in this mess.
Mrs. Laurens wanted smilax. She was going to get smilax. The last thing Hanna claimed to have was a green thumb. She’d never bothered to learn from her aunt and uncle who loved to plant a spring garden. They weren’t much into ornamental horticulture anyway—other than the few hydrangeas her aunt had planted before Hanna was even born. Mostly they planted butter beans, snap peas and yellow squash—the food Hanna hated most.
She needed enough to entwine around the candlesticks. Mrs. Laurens was right. There was plenty of greenery out here that would work, but she wanted smilax. She was going to get smilax—even though they weren’t as full as some of the other stuff she saw. She went directly to the plant Aunt Della had pointed out, cut a number of sections, and took them into the house.
“There you are.” Mrs. Laurens caught her at the door. “Put down your basket and come with me.”
In the butler’s pantry, she opened the cupboard. “These are the pieces I want you to use.” She took one of the plates from the cabinet and gently ran her finger around the edge of the rim. Dainty yellow flowers dotted the border, and a silver line fenced them all in so that they wouldn’t spill off the plate. “Yellow jasmine.”
Hanna could see that they were yellow. Ugly, tainted yellow. But Evelynn Laurens found them beautiful.
“No one else in the Jasmine Society has a set. They’re ancient. And everyone in the society is envious.” She held the plate up to the light. “Set these out and use the silverware in the drawers on the left. Bessie put a good shine on them last week.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Now Hanna even sounded like a servant.
“Oh. One more thing. In the buffet in the dining room, there are new candles for the entire house. Put them in all the holders.”
She nodded. Good thing they’d arrived so early. So much needed to be done.
She grabbed four plates so as not to overload herself. The last thing she wanted to do was to break one of Evelynn’s ancient jasmine plates about which everyone was so envious.
As she was setting the plates down, someone touched her arm. She jumped, nearly tossing the china.
It was Furman. “I’m so sorry.
So now he felt sorry for her. “It’s not your fault. No need to apologize.”
“How’s it going so far?”
“Fine. We’re getting things done.”
“Hanna, if you really want to leave, I can have someone from another house down the street come over here in a few minutes. I know you didn’t plan this. Not after you got your job.”
“No. I don’t think getting someone else would work in this case.”
“If it’s Mother you’re worried about, I can handle her.” He grabbed her hand and held it.
She pulled it away, turned and continued to arrange the plates. “Well, I’m here now. And Aunt Della is also, so I suppose I should stay. Just in case.”
He sat in one of the chairs at the end of the long center table. “You mind if I watch?”
She stopped. “Why would you even want to?” This was embarrassing enough for her.
“To spend time with a friend.”
But that was just it. They weren’t friends anymore. Something more had happened and that made this whole arrangement extremely awkward. But after tonight, he may never want to even see her again. At this point, though, she just had to make it through the night—especially so that she could protect Aunt Della.
“I see Mother has you handling her precious jasmine china. Has she told you about how ancient they are and how everybody is envious over them?” He used air quotes for the words ancient and envious.
She smiled and headed to the carved buffet for the candles.
“When do you start moving into your new office?” His eyes followed
her as she moved.
“Monday morning.” She opened the drawer and saw what had to have been seventy or more candles. And every one was yellow.
She stood still for a moment. All the planning that went into a party like this had to be overwhelming.
“What’s wrong?” He pushed himself up from his seat.
“Nothing. It’s just that your mother has thought of everything.” She gathered up the boxes of yellow candles and headed to the large table.
He sat back down. “Except flowers. She usually has some arrangements done in yellow for the dinner party, but that little detail escaped her designs this year. I say little, but I mean big. I’ve really been worried about her lately. She’s just not herself. The weight of Father’s illness and all her family and social responsibilities, I guess.”
“She asked me to find some greenery for the candlesticks.” She placed the boxes on the table.
“I’ll help you.” He stood.
“I’ve already got it.” She glanced at the basket she had set down by the rear wall.
“Would you like some help setting the tables?”
“I’ve got that, too.” She took out a handful of the candles, stripped them of their cellophane and placed them in their holders.”
“May I help you arrange the greenery, then?”
She stopped and turned. “Look. I don’t think your mother would appreciate her son assisting the help. I can do this. You can go do whatever you usually do on a Saturday night.”
She had just said no to Furman in no uncertain terms. Even though it was by using terms other than no, he had to know exactly what she had meant. She felt strong for having stood her ground.
“I understand. I’ll check back with you later.” He turned and slowly walked out of the room.
It was for the best, but in reality, Hanna did want him to help her. It would have been like they were playing house together. How would it feel to have him hand her the plates and look into her eyes? Would she feel his warmth if they stood side by side, sliding candles into place? Would his hands feel strong if he helped her braid the pieces of greenery through the silver bends on the candelabras?
In reality, though, she would never preside over such a grand home, and had never even wanted to or entertained the thought—until tonight—because of Furman. A hollow feeling gnawed at her stomach.
Swamps and Soirees: A Summerbrook Novel Page 13