She checked her phone for an example of proper etiquette for the table and finished setting out the jasmine china and silverware according to the picture. Alone. She finished putting the yellow candles in their holders on the candelabras. Alone. And she swathed the silver pieces in the delicate greenery. Alone.
She stood back and admired her own work. She wished Furman would come by now. He’d have to be impressed with what she had done. The tables were beautiful. And she’d arranged them all.
Callie stuck her head in the door. “Wow. I could put you to work full-time as head event designer if I had enough business.” She surveyed the room again. “The other help is here, and it’s about time we put on our uniforms.”
Uniforms. The part she’d been dreading—losing her identity as an individual and completely becoming someone else’s servant.
As they walked down the hall, Callie glanced at Hanna and then looked away. She did it again and again. Before they entered the kitchen, Hanna asked, “What’s wrong, Callie?”
Callie let out a deep breath. “I feel bad about getting you trapped up in this. I mean, I know Furman and you were talking, and…”
“And what?”
“And I know how much you hate yellow.”
“Yeah, I’ve never touched so many yellow things in all my life. At least I don’t have to wear it in my hair or anything.” She chuckled.
Callie took another long draw of air. “Yes you do. All the uniforms are yellow.”
That couldn’t be. She hadn’t worn yellow since the third grade. Before her mother had left. “There must be some mistake. You mean the whites have yellowed—gotten dingy?”
“No. They are the color of yellow jasmine. Pure yellow jasmine.”
Hanna sank down in a chair that was next to her. Great.
Chapter Eight
Jasmine and Justification
Hanna came out of the servants’ quarters and looked down at all the yellow that covered her body. The uniform reflected an unflattering hue to her skin. Maybe she could feign being ill and run out the front door. She did look jaundiced in all the yellow. But worst of all, the color reminded her of her family’s tainted past—all the things that were dingy, discolored and not discussed.
She walked into the kitchen and saw that everyone was in yellow servants’ attire and that the food was ready.
Callie checked her watch. “It’s six-fifty. Guests will be here in ten minutes. This night will change my life.”
It had already changed Hanna’s. For the worse.
Furman walked through the doors. He stopped and just stared at Hanna. “You look very nice.”
There had to be more to his sentence. But what? In your service outfit? Even though you look like big bird? She knew she looked awful in the color. He had to have noticed. Right?
But before he could say another word, a scream belted through the air. They all dashed out the door toward the noise.
Hanna stopped Aunt Della. “You stay here and stir the sauce on the stove. We’ll handle this.”
Hanna ran to join the others. It was Evelynn Laurens. In the dining room. With one hand on her stomach and one covering her mouth.
“Do you know what this is?” Mrs. Laurens’s voice was strained.
Hanna peered from behind Furman.
Callie asked, “What?”
The elegantly dressed woman pointed to the candelabras. “That.”
“Yellow candles or the silver?” Callie shook her head.
“That’s poison sumac!” said Mrs. Laurens.
Hanna closed her eyes.
“Are you some kind of idiot?” asked Mrs. Laurens.
Hanna opened her eyes. Her fault completely. Though Aunt Della knew a little more about plants than she, Hanna hadn’t taken into account Aunt Della’s processing problems and propensity for malapropisms that she’d developed after she’d been deprived of oxygen for so long after her accident.
With the flourish of her hand, Mrs. Laurens said, “I simply asked for smilax! Instead, I get poison sumac. On my dining room table on the night of my Jasmine Society dinner!” Mrs. Laurens put her hand on her chest. “That couldn’t have been growing in my yard.”
Furman took a step forward. “Remember, Mother, you have cancelled Oday from doing the lawn three out of the last five weeks because you were in the hospital with Father and couldn’t oversee his work. Oday couldn’t possibly keep up with everything that needed to be done.”
Callie grabbed a pencil from her pocket and started detangling the greenery from the silver holders. “We’ll take it all off. When the guests arrive, just usher them into the parlor. Aunt Della, Myra and Jarvis will serve them appetizers and drinks there. We’ll have this cleaned up in a minute.”
“How impossible! And then there won’t be anything on the candelabras.” Evelynn Laurens looked at the ceiling.
Hanna peered from behind Furman. “I’ll climb that magnolia tree and get some leaves.”
“No you won’t,” Furman said. “I’ll go with you. We’ll find something else—together.”
Mrs. Laurens took a step forward. “That won’t be necessary, son. I need you here with me. In case something else happens.”
“Mother, I’m going to escort Hanna and help her. You’ll be fine on your own.”
Hanna trotted to the kitchen, grabbed the gloves and the basket and gave them to Callie.
“It’s okay. I’m not allergic to it, either.” Callie took piece by piece of the green stems from the majestic candelabras and stuffed them into the bag. “I’m fine. You guys cut something else.” The doorbell rang. “Quickly.”
“Come on. I know what,” Furman said as he grabbed Hanna’s hand. He pulled her around the house and onto the street. The entire old tabby wall was covered in beautiful strings of green leaves. “This is English ivy. I don’t know why mother didn’t tell you to get this.” He tugged at a few strands. They weren’t going anywhere without sharp persuasion.
“Here.” Hanna reached into her pocket and grabbed her pocketknife.
“You carry a knife?” he asked, looking at the red sheath.
“Let me.” She took it back and pulled out the blade and slashed at the ivy. “Comes in handy in the swamp…and in the shop.”
Furman gathered up the vines as she hurriedly threw them on the walk. “You’re pretty good at using that thing.”
“I’m a butcher. Remember?”
“You’re a lot of things.” He smiled at her.
She saw another couple walk through the Laurens’s gate. She turned and leaned against the wall, hoping not to stand out like a yellow thumb.
“This is enough, I’m sure,” Furman said as he picked up the last of the sprigs on the walk. When he lifted his head, he pointed. “There they are again.”
Hanna looked around for more people but didn’t see any. “Where?”
“There. Walter Cronkite, Harry Reasoner and Dan Rather,” he said excitedly.
Hanna was confused. She didn’t see the three most famous newscasters ever. And why would they come to a Jasmine Society gathering? “Where?”
“There. By the dogwood tree. The squirrels. They’re the only things in Charleston that are wild and playful,” he said.
In Four Hole they’d be dinner…and by some people’s accounts…delicious. But she didn’t have time for debating the merits of woodland creatures in the city right now. She had to avert a potential disaster.
They dashed through the open wrought iron gates and up the back steps. He dumped the ivy in another basket at the door and they bolted through the rear entrance.
In the dining room, he pulled the pocket doors closed. He stood very close to her—almost too close for comfort. His spicy cologne wafted over her. The scent was masculine and expensive. His hands touched hers as they worked the ivy between the silver candleholders.
It was just as she had imagined it would be. The closeness. The intimacy. “Thanks.”
He smiled. Even his smile was sophisticated.
>
They worked quickly. When they were entwining the last one, he took both her hands in his. “You don’t have to do this, you know. Five people for this event is still overkill.” He paused, looking into her eyes. “You could change and we could go out and grab something to eat.”
Oh, so tempting. But she had promised Callie. And she had Aunt Della to look after. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
An even better idea was to lock the doors and keep her fingers entwined with his throughout the night. Away from everyone. But she couldn’t. She had to be a servant at his mother’s dinner party. In yellow.
She left him at the table, went into the kitchen and grabbed a silver platter of shrimp rolls from Callie. When she returned, he was in the same spot. She stood at the pocket doors for a second. He went to her and opened the entrance. It was show time.
She immediately saw what Furman was talking about. Even with Callie and Myra in the kitchen, four people were way too many servers in the parlor. She tried to minimize her presence by hanging around the walls of the room.
Not Aunt Della though. She was having the time of her life with her tray of bacon-wrapped scallops. She stood in the middle of a group of ladies. She and the ladies all laughed like they’d just heard the funniest joke. Hanna hoped the joke wasn’t her Aunt Della.
Hanna moved stealthily until she could hear the group clearly. As she moved she saw Evelynn Laurens nodding her head mindlessly at two women while keeping an eagle eye on Aunt Della.
“Then Carmen on Young and the Rentless went into a epidemic seizure and shook herself like a milkshake at Tastee Freeze.” All the ladies laughed.
A tall, thin woman with short dark hair asked, “Did she have to go to the hospital?”
“No, ma’am. She just got herself up and finished making a manatee for her husband.”
“A manatee?” a short blond woman asked.
“Yeah, you know. One of those fancy little drinks with olives them alcoholics drink when they come home from work.”
The group erupted with so much laughter that everyone in the room looked their way. And then Mrs. Laurens started toward them.
“Della, I’m sure some of the rest of our guests would like something off your tray.”
“Yes, ma’am. These ladies just had a few questions about Carmen.”
Yes, Evelynn. Della’s been feeding and entertaining us.” An elegant lady in a dusty rose-colored suit put her hand on Aunt Della.
“I’m sure,” Mrs. Laurens said. Disapproval dripped in her words.
“Excuse me,” Aunt Della said as she made her way to the next group.
Hanna lowered her tray for a lady walking by her.
Aunt Della hit the next group with her loud voice. “Any of you would like a bacon-wrapped saddle up?”
Scallop, Aunt Della, scallop. Dear Lord, please don’t let Aunt Della embarrass herself.
They all looked at her tray. A pretty younger woman took one of the scallops. “Mmmm. This is the best saddle up I’ve ever had.”
Most of the others reached out for one. Compliments came in droves and Aunt Della soaked them in like she was solely responsible for each bite.
One of the ladies dropped her napkin. Aunt Della bent over to get it. Hanna saw the whole thing in slow motion. Aunt Della’s ample rear end was heading for the vase of antique crystal roses that were on the table behind her.
“Aunt Della!” Hanna called out. But the words were drowned out with the shrill tinkling and the crashing of the hand-blown flowers.
Mrs. Laurens shrieked some sound Hanna had never heard before.
Hanna put down her tray on a nearby table and ran to her aunt’s rescue. But Mrs. Laurens was already there.
“You stupid, coarse woman!” The room was absolutely silent. “These have been in my family for years!”
Hanna and Aunt Della knelt. Three flowers were shattered. The tubular stems remained intact while the pedals lay in crystal shards all over the oriental carpet. Hanna picked up the unbroken roses and began to place them back into the vase.
Aunt Della gathered the broken slivers and placed them in her apron. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t aim to…”
Mrs. Laurens stood. “No, but your overly large rear end—”
“Mother!” Furman called from across the room.
Callie was right behind him and appeared to assess the damage. “Dinner is served. If you’ll all come this way.”
The women exited the parlor, whispering to one another. One kept looking back, shaking her head with a disapproving look on her face.
Hanna wanted to die. In a yellow servant’s uniform.
⸙
How dare she! Furman knew he shouldn’t have left Hanna and her aunt in Evelynn’s clutches.
Hanna looked up at his mother with remorse covering her face. “Mrs. Laurens, I’ll pay for the damages.”
His mother held one of her roses in her hands. “Your entire salary for a year couldn’t touch their cost. These are family heirlooms and are irreplaceable.”
“Mother, that is enough. It was an accident. No one intended to break anything.” He could see that he wasn’t getting through. He never had. Things and appearances had always been too important to his mother. That had always been the reason that he had never been terribly close to her—or his father—or anyone for that matter. He lived in a crystal world. Cold and easily shattered.
Aunt Della took her tray off the coffee table. “I’m gonna get these saddle ups back to the kitchen and see if I can help Callie.”
“Scallops. Bacon-wrapped scallops.” Evelynn rolled her eyes.
Della nodded and backed out of the room as Hanna continued to pick up the glass pieces. She looked small and frail as she crouched over the broken glass. But he knew that to be false. Through her shyness, he saw her amazing strength and courage. Emotional and physical.
“This is a fiasco. I should have never…” Mrs. Laurens’s disgust was so great that she couldn’t even finish her sentence.
“That’s right, Mother. You could have used Popeye’s to cater this little dinner party. You could have served tater tots for hors d’oeuvres and dirty rice and fried chicken for the main course.”
“Son, with your father in the hospital and these people ruining my reputation, I was hoping for a little support and sympathy from you.” She postured with her hands upon her hips.
“Mother, I’d be happy to provide both if you would only behave like a person instead of an iron cannon. You act like you’re at war with those women.”
“I’m sorry, son. It’s just that I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”
If that were the only explanation, he’d understand. He’d need another for the reason she behaved in a similar manner when her life was perfect. She’d been hard through much of his childhood, his teenage years and now into adulthood. But there really was another side to his mother. “Mother, please go and attend to your guests and your meeting. I’ll finish up here with Hanna.”
She looked down at the beautiful dark-haired woman. He knew what she was thinking again. She’d set up this whole thing to show the disparity between his and Hanna’s worlds, but instead, she’d caused the two of them to find themselves together cutting ivy from the tabby wall, arranging the strands around the candelabras together, and now picking up the pieces of crystal from the family’s past.
“I told you that there were too many servers for the room. If you had let Hanna and her aunt leave…”
He knelt down beside Hanna as his mother slowly walked out the room with one eye on the two of them.
He bent his head as low as he could. “You okay?”
“Yes, and I’m so sorry. I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t want to come.”
“I know. I didn’t want you to either. It was all Mother’s idea. She knows that I have serious feelings for you.”
Hanna stopped, sat back on her heels and gazed at him. “You have serious feelings for me?”
<
br /> He saw the slightest of smiles slip across her lips. He reached out and touched her hand. “I think you’re beautiful and smart and strong and different from anyone I know.” He looked deep into her dark eyes.
“I don’t want to be different.” Her eyes searched his face.
“You should. It’s what makes you special.”
“All my life I’ve tried to fit in and remain invisible. But I don’t fit in, and everywhere I go outside of Four Hole I realize how out of place I am.” She lowered her head.
“That goes for all of us. Since my father’s been ill, I’ve had to make business trips for my family’s real estate holdings up north. The Yankees think my accent lowers my intelligence by fifty percent. But that just empowers me. I let them think that. They lower their guard, and I slip by them with my brilliant plans and manners.” He chuckled. “Works every time. I’m beginning to get a bit of a reputation, though.”
“That’s not the same thing. You have the bloodline and heritage to—”
“It’s all relative. Some Southern city folk think they have an advantage over Southern country folk. The New England elite think they have advantages over Southern aristocracy. All the Europeans think Americans are backwoods mongrels. And I shudder to think what the bluebloods in Windsor Castle think of the entire world. They excommunicate family members and force future kings to abdicate if they marry outside an esteemed family name in Burke’s Peerage.”
She took in a deep breath and locked her eyes with his. “My family lineage has holes and dark places in it. We haven’t talked about it much at all.”
“And I don’t care if your past is made of Swiss cheese. You’d still be beautiful and intelligent.” He leaned in to kiss her.
“Furman!” His mother was at the door.
He placed a hand on her wrist and whispered, “Put the pieces in the butler’s pantry. I may be able to get it repaired.”
Hanna gathered the rest of the broken glass and scampered away.
It was going to be a showdown. “Okay, mother. I’ve had it.”
Swamps and Soirees: A Summerbrook Novel Page 14