Swamps and Soirees: A Summerbrook Novel

by Vicki Wilkerson

  An unexpected advantage was that Uncle Marion’s meat market was doing record business. He had to hire Cubi-Jack full time and was even training a new guy, Ned—a smart young man who could actually run the market for Uncle Marion. Ned had been like many of the other youths of Four Hole. He had left the small community to seek what the world had waiting for him, but he had returned with little else than his suitcase. Sometimes what God had waiting for people was what he’d already given them in their own backyards.

  For Hanna, however, there was still the Charleston crowd to conquer, and she had one last call to make before she waited for God to answer with His yes…or His no.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Renewals and Risings

  Hanna nervously dialed the number to Furman’s workshop early that morning. “Would you mind coming to Four Hole after you close for the day?”

  “Of course,” he said rather quickly. “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, no, no, no. Everything’s fine. I just have something I want to show you.” She looked around her new office, proud of what she’d accomplished.

  “I’ll be there. Is seven o’clock a good time?”

  “That’ll be fine.” She had missed the man so much that she wanted to tell him that the time wouldn’t be fine—that she wanted to see him as soon as possible—now, in fact. But she’d just have to wait until seven.

  All day long—between clients—she paced the office and checked her image in the large carved mirror behind her mother’s sideboard. One of Uncle Marion’s customers had seen the other pieces of cypress furniture that were in the reception area and commented that she’d purchased a similar piece at the church yard sale, but it was too large for her dining room and wondered if Hanna would exchange her services for it since it matched her other furniture. To her, God had brought the piece home. The family heirloom anchored the room, and anchored her to Four Hole. She’d used as much of the sinker cypress furniture her father and grandfather had made as she could to fill the office.

  She felt such a sense of confidence in what she was doing. For the first time in her life, there was no second guessing herself—no doubting her abilities.

  Even though she was fairly busy, the hours dragged by. Because she wanted to see Furman. She finally hung the closed sign on the door and returned to her pacing. In an effort to not wear a hole in the new carpet before Furman saw it, she freshened up her make-up and ran a brush through her hair. Even in the humid air of the swamp, her locks behaved—as if they knew something important was about to happen in her life.

  At last, she heard a car pull into the gravel parking lot, and then she heard the small rocks silence beneath the car’s tires. Her insides tensed and ground to a halt just like the gravel.

  Never in her entire life had she done anything so bold as this—to pursue the desires of her heart. All her life she had considered herself timorous—cowardly even. And here she was about to do the most audacious thing she’d ever imagined.

  She watched through the glass as Furman stood out front and looked at the second door and entry sign the construction crew had put in. How could it be that he was even more handsome than she had remembered?

  He opened the one under the sign that read HMR Financial Services and stepped inside—smiling. “What is all this?”

  “My office.” Her heart could have been one of those spotlights at a Hollywood premier that they pointed hopefully toward the heavens. She could feel herself beaming from the inside.

  “Office?”

  “Yep.” She twisted from side to side like a little girl in front of a candy counter. “HMR Financial Services.”

  With his hands placed casually in the pockets of his trousers, he took a few moments to look around the room.

  She watched as his gaze passed the two sets of wing chairs and over the Ducks Unlimited pictures. It finally settled on the rustic sideboard with the financial brochures fanned out on top. “I’m impressed.”

  She knew he would be. Everything inside her wanted to impress him. And why not? “God has really blessed me—far beyond anything I’d ever hoped for myself. This office is proof of that.”

  He nodded in agreement. “I had my hopes fixed upon your career beginning in Summerbrook and it moving eventually to Charleston that I’d never really thought about an office in Four Hole.” He breathed out slowly. “I guess—in reality—I was really focused on myself. I just wanted you near me. I thought…we had been great together.”

  They had been. Even through the storms of the roses, the ball, the parties, and two ambulance runs, they had somehow remained close to one another inside the eye of the hurricane. “Yes, we were great together, weren’t we?”

  He nodded, looking straight through her. “Through everything.”

  Hanna drew up all the strength that she could. “That kind of leads me to my next question. How would you like to try this whole thing again?” Somehow she had found the words that expressed the most important desire of her heart.

  He put his hands on his hips. A quizzical expression covered his expertly sculpted face. “Well, I don’t exactly know—.” He paused in thought. “Are you talking about the cypress wood for the boats?”

  Was she brave enough to say it? “Well, that…and more. Us. Would you like to give me another chance at being more than a friend?” Yes, she was!

  He turned his head and looked at her sideways. Then a smile overtook his entire face and those little lines formed at the corners of his blue eyes. “Are we talking the whole thing?”

  “I’m talking everything—the swamp, the soirees, downtown Charleston, Summerbrook, life, love…commitment.” All the words felt right.

  He walked up to her and cupped her face in his hands. His eyes were two blue flames, burning with the intensity of a torch. “You already have my heart.”

  “I know, but we need to have more than just a ‘heart connection’. I still have to see that God has sanctioned us…our love.” Somehow, she instinctively knew that his heart had been hers. She was waiting to see that it was also God’s or else their connection would not exactly be complete for her.

  “I’m way ahead of you, little turtle. That happened way back at camp meeting. While you were busy counting numbers.”

  She smiled, reached up and took his hands. “So, then this very well might be a proposal. Of sorts.” She tiptoed and kissed him gently on the right side of his lips.

  “Of sorts?” He removed one of his hands and brushed a few stray strands of hair away from her face. “What happened to my shy little turtle?”

  “It’s summertime, and turtles come out to sun themselves on logs and flowers bloom—even in Four Hole Swamp.” She was a mixed metaphor—coming out of her shell to bloom in the sunshine.

  “So, let me get this straight.” He shifted his weight from side to side. When he stopped, he nodded deliberately several times. “Okay. I know we’re in a financial office, and you use the word proposal all the time, but I want to make sure I understand. We do it a little differently around the peninsula of Charleston. If I ask you to marry me, what would you say?” He raised his eyebrows.

  The word no never even entered her mind. She flung her arms around his neck and said, “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

  Epilogue

  Hanna helped Bessie in the kitchen to prepare a picnic dinner that they were going to take on the splendid wooden yacht Furman had finally finished. They had had fun together, recovering the old cypress logs from Four Hole Swamp, and now they were about to take an evening cruise on the harbor to share his masterpiece with the people they both loved.

  “Do you need me any longer, Bessie?” Hanna asked. She was pleased to have a few days off from her amazing office on the edge of the swamp to help Bessie.

  “Oh, no. I haven’t ever had so much help in this kitchen before. Thanks, Miss Hanna, but you go outside and enjoy your company, and I’ll finish this up,” Bessie said.

  Hanna walked into the butler’s pantry and began to search for the perfe
ct platter. Ah, she found it. She was learning to enjoy her new home, which was taking some getting used to. Yes, Hanna thought, she had the best of both worlds now and was living a life she’d never even imagined for herself. The swamp, however, was still her grounding, and she would never leave it behind, even though she was just beginning to appreciate the antique beauty in Charleston that everyone who visited saw. She no longer felt stalled and mired like she once had. Her world was grander in every way, and she felt…open for new experiences, and anything was possible.

  Hanna placed six glasses of lemonade on the silver heirloom tray and headed for the front porch of the historic Laurens family home she and Furman had been given by his mother while she was incarcerated. When she was released, she—in turn—took Furman’s townhouse on Rainbow Row so that she could still be near them and not have all the upkeep. Moving into the smaller home enabled her to immerse herself completely in the antique shop that she’d once run as a hobby, and she looked happy and fulfilled.

  Spring had come early that year and had compelled the entire family to practically live on the wide front porch—which was actually a side porch because of the way the city of Charleston had been settled. Hanna placed the tray on the wrought iron table at the end of the veranda and sat in the rocker beside her husband.

  She stared out across the narrow side yard with its impeccably manicured gardens of azaleas, roses, dogwoods, magnolias and yellow jasmine. The mix of fragrances wafted lightly over the rails on the porch and through her soul. Funny thing was that the beautiful yellow flowers in the gardens had subdued her distaste for the color she once thought of with negative connotations.

  The bright sunshine cast a brilliant, misty light over everything. She couldn’t fully see the little group of family that was sitting on the bottom step, but she could hear Evelynn’s, Uncle Marion’s and Aunt Della’s voices. And Hanna could see a yellow tennis ball that one of them kept throwing across the spring green lawn and a new little puppy running to retrieve it again and again. But the thing that stood out the most was the laughter and giggles.

  Furman waved his hand in front of her face. “Earth to Hanna.”

  Snapping out of her hazy, golden reverie, she turned and smiled at him.

  “What are you thinking about so intently, little turtle?” he asked, rubbing his fingers over the back of her hand.

  “Miracles.”

  “Miracles? What kind of miracles?” He walked across the porch and took two glasses of lemonade from the tray, handed one to Hanna and sat back down.

  “The ones sitting on the bottom step.” She really didn’t know what to make of the whole situation. Mrs. Laurens embracing her and her aunt and uncle—and the little mixed breed dog that Chanel had birthed from Sinker’s line.

  Mrs. Laurens had asked Furman’s assistant, Butch, from the workshop, to board Chanel while she was serving her sentence. He frequently brought the high-strung-dog to the shop. The two were quite a pair—like beauty and the beast. In Butch’s presence, the dog grew calm and no longer bit everyone with whom she came in contact, and she had grown quite close to Butch…and to Sinker…when Uncle Marion brought him to visit. So, to preserve the perfect union, Mrs. Laurens took Chanel’s mixed pup for company instead of wrenching Chanel from the man she obviously loved.

  Furman touched Hanna’s hand. “You’re right. Those are some pretty big miracles down there. Especially that little one.”

  Hanna gave Furman a mischievous grin. “You mean Coco?” Coco was the name Mrs. Laurens had given Chanel’s puppy. It seemed like she just couldn’t get away from designer names—even though there were no designer papers on the friendly, pint-sized dog.

  Furman returned the grin. “You know who I mean—Francis Marion Laurens.” About that time, his mother walked up the steps with a small child in her arms. Their child. God had taken that infinitesimal chance of Furman’s being able to father a child, and He mixed it with their enormous love for one another, and baby Francis was born.

  Hanna grinned and blew the little girl a kiss. “Hi, baby Francis.” She thought it was fortunate that Southerners recycled old family names without much thought to gender.

  The toddler’s sun-kissed arms were wrapped tightly around Evelynn Laurens’s neck, and the child’s golden-yellow curls cascaded in soft haphazard ringlets all over her head. She moved her little hand from side to side in a wave.

  “My angel is thirsty. Too much giggling at Coco, I suppose,” Evelynn said smiling and jostling the little girl.

  “Mother, pour some lemonade into her sippy cup,” Furman said. He whispered in Hanna’s direction and pointed to his mother and his child. “You’re right. That is a miracle.”

  Hanna believed in miracles. Doctors had been known to be wrong, and she had prayed that they were wrong about the counts and numbers needed from Furman in order for her to become pregnant. Numbers were her business, after all. And more than that, she couldn’t even add up the times God had worked miracles with numbers—like the twelve loaves and fishes he multiplied to feed a hungry crowd.

  Though He didn’t have to, He had mercifully answered her prayers. All it had taken was…faith.

  As Evelynn was balancing Francis on her left hip, she poured the lemonade and then turned to Hanna. “Thanks for being such a good mother to my grandchild. I couldn’t have asked for more.”

  Hanna’s heart and face smiled at her mother-in-law. “Thanks, Mom.” Hanna never thought she’d hear herself call anyone Mom again for the rest of her life. But here was this regal woman, teaching her everything she knew about life and caring for her like she was her own. Furman had said they owed her transformation to the Charleston County Women’s Correctional Facility Bible study group that his mother attended while she was locked up. The Lord had a funny way of turning water into wine, poison into medicine and prison into church.

  Evelynn walked to the edge of the porch. “Della, you and Marion come on up here for some of Bessie’s lemonade—before we head out to Furman’s boat.”

  Aunt Della and Uncle Marion made their way up the steps and across the porch to Evelynn.

  While Evelynn fumbled with the cup, she asked, “Della, when are you going to make me another pot of that delicious okra soup you made for me on my first day home?”

  “I better make it for you next week, ‘cause I don’t usually make it past Mayoral Day. It gets too hot for okra soup after then.”

  Nodding her head, Evelynn said, “Well, I’ll look forward to it next week.”

  Another miracle. Evelynn didn’t even try to correct Hanna’s aunt for turning Memorial Day into a political holiday.

  Evelynn held out the small child to Uncle Marion. “Here. Hold your namesake for a minute while I put the cap back on her cup.”

  In addition to all her other changes, Evelynn had even changed her mind about the Rudder family and Four Hole—in part because of her transformation, and probably in part because of Furman’s research.

  Her Uncle Marion, Uncle Francis Marion Rudder, had been named after his relative, the famous Swamp Fox, Francis Marion, one of the revolutionaries who helped found and build this nation. If fact, the Rudder family was not only related to the Swamp Fox, they continued to live in one of the very swamps along the Southern Historic Corridor in which the general fought. Talk about history. But Uncle Marion still didn’t care. That was one of the reasons Hanna never got any information about her family’s ancestry.

  During her pregnancy, Furman had handed Hanna an entire notebook on her family’s ancestry. His family’s heritage had been documented for years, and he said he wanted that continued for his child.

  His research had also revealed that the Rudder name had once been Rutledge, one of the most prestigious family names in Charleston. He told her that everyone who studies genealogy knows that the spelling of one’s current family name may bear no resemblance to how one’s ancestors spelled it. Her branch of the family that lived in the swamp simply shortened it to distinguish themselves from the Cha
rleston Rutledges because they didn’t care about historic surnames or pretenses.

  It seemed funny to Hanna that she had been so filled with concern about family history and heritage, and now that she’d found out about how historic hers was, it didn’t matter any longer.

  Instead, her heart was filled with the scent of sweet yellow jasmine, blown there by the light winds that carried the yellow pollen from the black cypress swamps surrounding her people’s homestead. Her heart burst with the yellow sunshine surrounding her family on the front porch and the baby softness of her little yellow-haired daughter.

  Hanna could finally see her worth through God’s eyes alone. It was simple, and Cubi-Jack had it right all along. She was God’s deliberate creation. He had blessed her life with brilliance and brightness, and her soul radiated with bright yellow, resplendent rays of golden sunshine.

  Acknowledgements

  I have many people to whom I owe my gratitude while writing this novel. First of all, my critique partners (and extraordinary writers) USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Cooke and Regency Romance Author Gail Ranstrom, with whom I exchanged chapters every week. They were encouraging and instructive all along the way. Of course, as always, my Lowcountry writer friends, Nina Bruhns (New York Times and USA Today bestselling author), Dorothy McFalls (prolific author of cozy mysteries, historic romance, and several Amazon best-selling series), and Judy Watts (author of The Charleston Chase Series and the Watts Line books) are the most supportive, encouraging girlfriends ever!

  I am still amazed with my friend Linda Crawford, who is the most extraordinary beta reader in the entire state (and maybe world). She gave me valuable insight and feedback on this story within 24 hours of me emailing her the manuscript. I am forever in your debt, dear, sweet lady!