Fireflies and Lies (A Summerbrook Novel Book 4)
Page 6
Jenna went to the cabinets and took out the saucer that had a yellow ring around the edge and a small, decorative apple in the center. It was Jenna’s favorite of all the mismatched china the old couple had in the cupboard. Her mother had purchased new china for Amberlee for her birthday one year, and it just sat in a corner collecting dust for years. One day, Amberlee asked her mother if she’d mind if she gave it to the church to sell for their bazaar.
“Of course not,” her mother had said. “It’s yours to do as you wish,”
Later, Jenna asked Amberlee if she didn’t like it.
Her response was classic Amberlee. ‘I already had myself the perfectly good china my grandmother done left in this here house. What on God’s Earth I need with more?’
It was a good and useful philosophy—a philosophy her own dear mother and grandmother could never understand. Jenna’s mother assimilated into her own mother when her grandmother passed. Jenna had not quite done that. The looming of the will and the trust prevented Jenna from imagining her life past the part that stated if she failed to satisfy the stipulations, that they’d have to move away from the plantation, leaving all its accoutrements—even the several sets of antique china that could serve all of Summerbrook—behind.
One thing that Jenna wouldn’t leave behind, though, was one of the most treasured gifts she’d ever received—A Lifetime of Quotes, the book Jasper had given her when she was ten. She’d taken it with her when she was shuttled off to France. She read it almost daily for years, and it gave her…guidance about so many things. She and Jasper shared a love for books such as that—quotes and philosophies.
“What are you reading now, Jasper?” she asked.
“Nothing I don’t already know—The Philosophy of Happiness.” I’ll loan it to you when I’m finished if you like.”
“Yes, I’d like to read it.” Jenna actually needed it. She sliced a hefty piece of pie and loaded it onto the plate with the knife and grabbed an old fork from the ceramic jar on the counter on the country sink. The cabin had never been fitted with contemporary cabinets, like Jenna’s mother tried to do. In addition to the only modernization Amberlee allowed, the electric appliances, the kitchen was comprised of an old pie safe, a ham locker, a chopping block from the 1700s, and a huge antique cupboard with pressed glass on the top doors. According to Amberlee, it was better quality than all the new things that could be bought.
As Jenna walked, Jasper said, “You look might pretty tonight, honey.”
She plopped down on the comfy couch with the chenille bedspread thrown over for decoration. “Thanks.” She cut off a bite of the pie with her fork and looked at the pinkish-orange deliciousness between the flaky layers of buttery crust. Her tummy said, “Mmmmm,” and her heart said, “Home.” She closed her eyes, and her mouth said nothing.
“Hmmm. Amberlee knows Miss Jenna Bellingham, and Miss Jenna jus ain’ right tonight. What’s troublin’ you, darlin’?”
Jenna opened her eyes. These two didn’t deserve the way they were about to be treated—kicked out of their own home, according to Dudley’s “plan of action” in his “Letter of Intent” that she’d heard about. If the plantation was turned into a tourist attraction, then this old cabin—that was Jasper’s and Amberlee’s home—would be gutted, the three additional rooms demolished, and it would be retrofitted back to the 1600s—on display for every Yankee who had never seen a slave cabin to simply walk into, unannounced and at their leisure.
“I have a lot on my mind these days. I’m still trying to save this place, but things aren’t looking good.” She glanced around.
“Darlin’, things ain’ over yet. Day’s still time to save Debbie-do.” She straightened the crocheted shawl around her neck. “And iffin it ain’, well, that a be all right, too. The Lawd’s been good to ol’ Amberlee and Jasper. He ain’ gone let us down now.”
No, but Jenna is about to.
Jasper spoke up. “This here plantation been in the DeBordieu family since before any of us even thought about walkin’ the face of this Earth. All three of our families been here as long as it’s been here. Can’t believe it can go by the way now. From the beginnings of all our people being in this country—from France and from Africa, we been on this land.”
“Oh, the stories I been heard told,” Amberlee said. “From my grandmomma, who was told from her grandmomma, who was told from her grandmomma. And it be the same for you, darlin’. I jus cain’t believe it’s all gonna end with us.” She rocked for a while. “All our people’s done been buried in that same ol’ plot, down by that river, yourn by your people, Jasper’s by his, and mine by mine—all worked and lived on this here land. I can’t believe something could happen to a group of people done owned something forever like that be taken away.”
Well, it was. She had put it out of her mind and had filled her life with frivolous things in an effort to not think about the wound her brother’s death had left upon the land—and their lives—for too long. But that wound had eventually reopened and everything had to be dealt with…and now she was running out of time to fulfill the responsibilities her brother had abandoned in his drowning. “I hate even thinking about what’s going to happen to us all.”
“Well, don’t worry your pretty little head there, honey. If it comes to it, we can make a plan. I hear about places.” He paused. “Sure don’t wanna go, but there are places.”
“Mmmm, mmmm. Too bad that paper ain’ never been found,” Amberlee said.
Jenna took another bite of her peach pie. “What paper?” she asked with a mouth full of pie. Her grandmother would kill her for talking with her pie hole full. But her grandmother was peacefully tucked away in the plantation’s graveyard, safely away from the horrid knowledge about what might happen to the property.
“Well, my Granpappy Moses was your Granpappy Henri’s…well, age, at the time. Anyway, he told his grandson, who told his granchuren, and one of them granchuren was my granmomma, an she told me. After the Resolution War happened and this country got our freedom from England, well, they all swelled up with pride so—your Granpappy Henri especially. It done moved him so, that he set about to give that same freedom to all that worked on this here plantation. An my Granpappy Moses tole his grandson that he rode with your Granpappy Henri all the way into Charl’ston for the signing of the papers. When he got back, he give all them papers—‘cept for the one about this here land—to all who worked it.”
Jenna set her pie on the old coffee table and tried not to leave her mouth open. “You mean he made out a new will after the war?”
“Your great ol’ Granpappy Henri was a good man at heart. He liked to control things all right.” She nodded and said, “Uh huh. But when it came down to it, he was a good man. Most of the people who was here, stayed, save a few who had a big ol’ head about making it on their own.” She giggled. “Even some of them came back. Eventually.”
“I’d heard the story of him relinquishing his rights after the Revolutionary War, but I’d never heard any kind of story about a new will.”
“Said he’d made so much money during the Resolution, buying and selling them guns from France, his homeland, and all them boats he had to ship ‘em back and forth, he didn’t need to protect this land like he did in the first papers. Said there was enough gold that it a made the king jealous.” She cackled as she laughed at her own words.
Jasper chimed in. “Yep. If we ever find all that gold, we’ll be richer than the King of France.”
Jenna chuckled. Imagine that. Richer than the King of France. “There had been enough money. For years. But not anymore. Her Grandfather Henri had the foresight to understand that, and that was why he set up the will as he did.”
Amberlee nodded, “Das rat.”
“Property has its duties as well as its rights,” Jenna said.
“Thomas Drummond, right?” Jasper said. He’d given her the book of quotes because he’d loved his own copy so much. Told her it was almost as good as reading the Bible one day.
Amberlee would kill him if she heard him say such a thing.
“Right. The plantation needs an infusion, or a resuscitation—another life, and I was supposed to be the one to do it. And, oh, I’ve prayed about it, prayed for God to show me what to do.” She shook her head. “He never did.”
Amberlee rocked. “I know you has been lookin’.”
“I have. You know I’d do anything to save this place, but I don’t know what that would be.” She inhaled the weight of the world. “When I was a child, I thought that Anson would take all this over. When I was a young woman, I thought I’d marry a Prince Charming to do it. And then when neither happened, I looked for other ways to save it—boarding horses and making trails on the property, opening up tracts for hunters and leasing them to hunt clubs, even mushroom farming—but everything I researched would not make a profit large enough to sustain this place or pay the taxes on it. I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, honey, it’ll come to you if the Lord means it to happen,” Jasper said.
It was looking more and more that the Lord didn’t think Jenna worthy to take the helm of DeBordieu Plantation.
And it wasn’t until recently that she’d really faced up to that fact. It wasn’t until now—looking at these two old people, and also seeing what it was doing to her mother—that she’d been devastated by that fact.
She picked up her pie and finished it, all the while thinking about what Jasper and Amberlee had said. She nodded and shook her head as needed when she needed to answer a question, but her mind was deep in thought. About their story. About her life. About her night.
After kissing her friends goodbye, she grabbed her shoes and purse and headed out the door. At the bottom of the steps, she paused and turned to look at the warm light that spilled onto the ground, and it reminded her of their love that had spilled over her for her entire life. With her head hung, she treaded toward the carriage house.
She opened the unlocked door to her home and stepped inside. She instantaneously went to the laptop on the desk and looked for viable farms and plantations. Everything she viewed was low-key, hobby farms—nothing large and practical that could work for DeBordieu. How many more days did she even have here? The thought was almost suffocating, and she could feel the stress rising in her. She tried to control her breathing, but the tension still grew. She needed something to drink.
She grabbed a cold water from the refrigerator and replaced it with a tepid one from her pantry. “Un, deux, trois, quatre,” Jenna repeated four times as she counted the bottles of Diet Coke, orange juice, water and green tea she had lined up on the top shelf. There always needed to be four of each when she was especially stressed out. And tonight, she was especially stressed out. Control. At least she could control the number of the bottles in her fridge—that and little else lately.
Jenna took a few sips then slipped off her fancy little cocktail dress and slipped on her pajama pants and tank. After putting her dress away, she transferred the contents of her clutch to her everyday bag, until one thing was left inside. Hogan’s card. She removed it from its designated slot, examined it, and finally placed it on the refrigerator with a magnet. She didn’t know why. She had absolutely no intention of calling him. But she couldn’t bring herself to toss it into the trash.
As she sat down, she reached out to grab her favorite book of quotes. When she turned once again to the section on land and property—the category of sayings she’d been…obsessed with lately—someone knocked on her door. At this late hour, it could only be her mother because they were behind the locked gates of the plantation. And her father generally respected the hour…and her space. Anyway, he’d be passed out in bed at this hour. There was no way Jasper would ever knock this late, and it had been far too long since Amberlee ambled the old plantation like she did when she was younger and healthier. So it was just the five of them behind the gates.
She put the book back down and opened the door and started speaking even before she saw who it was. “Hello, Momma.” The two hugged.
“I heard about your evening, sweetie, and I thought you might want to talk,” the elegant lady stated, still dressed for her and her father’s cocktail hour. Who still dressed for dinner and cocktails these days? Her precious mother who couldn’t bring herself to let go of the way things used to be.
“Thanks, Momma.” Jenna knew her mother would hear all about everything that went on at the Oaks Country Club and that she’d be concerned about her.
“Anything you’d like to tell me?” Her mother picked up Jenna’s purse and wrapped the strap around the bag.
“No, Momma. I’d rather forget about tonight, if that would be possible.” She huffed and plopped herself onto her sofa.
Her mother walked into the tiny kitchen across from her. “Jenna, I’m sorry, honey, that so much is on your plate. Your father and I probably made a lot of mistakes, shielding you from things.” She opened Jenna’s refrigerator and shook her head. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?”
She watched as her mother assessed the temperature of her…anxiety by the orderliness of her refrigerator. She knew because she did that herself, too. Her mother was her first teacher about all things O.C.D. And they had both inherited it from their many times great Grandfather Henri from long, long ago...and a whole line of obsessive DeBordieu ancestors. Jenna was well versed in generational sins from her book.
“It was a disaster, Momma. April nearly fainted.”
“Oh, sweetie. You must have been beside yourself. I know how much you love her.”
She nodded. “I couldn’t do anything for her.”
Her mother walked back into the living room and sat down beside her on the couch. “Mr. Smithers told me about everything.” She looked into her lap. “And he wasn’t impressed with your company for the evening.”
“I’m sure.” Jenna said. “I’m sure everything I do—in his eyes—reflects upon how…incompetent I am to stand at the helm of the DeBordieu Plantation.”
After a few moments to gather her thoughts, her mother reached out and grabbed Jenna’s hand. “I know your brother’s death devastated you. I understand, sweetie. You don’t need to explain anything. I would do anything to help you. That’s why your father and I wanted you to see Dr. Hacker every month.” She patted her hand. “But we’re all going to be okay.” She closed her eyes. “Our time here is about to run out, and—I suppose—we should all accept that fact and make our plans to leave this beautiful place.” She looked about the room.
Yes, their time on DeBordieu Plantation was nearly over. She’d thought that through the years, she’d buried most of the old sorrow of her big brother’s death, but the ticking clock echoed loudly in her heart, and the reverberations had unearthed all the old grief…and guilt.
Time had long ago run out for Anson, who’d protected her from the harshness of the world around them. He was the one who was supposed to inherit the plantation, run all its operations and take care of things the way they had always been. But after an evening swim on the point in the Ashley River, where the waters take a hasty turn, everything had changed. Her big brother had dived in and never came up. As she just sat there, obliviously being a child, picking at the grass. Or at least she had been oblivious—until she’d become distracted by the fireflies that she chased around the swift, dark water’s edge for far too long—until she’d finally realized that Anson was nowhere to be seen.
They’d found his body miles downstream. But no one told her right away. They’d told her things like, “We’ve got him;” and “We’re sorting it all out now;” and “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Everything was not okay.
They’d lied to her.
He’d been the most beautiful Lowcountry boy who had ever grown up on pluff mud, palmettos and a soft Carolina moon. And she still missed him with every breath and with her very soul. If only she hadn’t become distracted by the luminescing twinkles, she could have run for help much earlier. He might have been saved.
And now she hated fireflies. And liars.
“Momma, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t figure out how to turn a profit on this place. I’ve researched everything. I’d never stoop to Dudley’s low and turn this place into a tourist destination.”
Her mother closed her eyes and opened them. “Look at the mess I’ve left in your lap. I tried, too, and failed. I didn’t want anything that would rape the land. The things that could be profitable would have taken too much money up front to start. And the capital would have needed to have been approved by the board, which would have been unlikely.”
Jenna realized her mother had been in the same predicament. Unfortunately, her failure and lifestyle depleted the trust even more, and she finished sucking up important capital that could have helped Jenna. “And if I were to save it by infusing outside money, it wouldn’t do me any good to marry just any old money Southern boy. Heck. This place would eat up a fortune if a sustainable plan wasn’t attached to it.” She nodded. “I’d have to find someone who’d know what to do with this place. Or someone who had enough money it didn’t even matter.” None of that was about to happen.
“Jenna, I don’t want you to feel that pressure. If you do ever get married, it has to be…right—for you.” She fidgeted with Jenna’s hair. “But I worry about you, sweetie. You’re not going to find anyone by working in that dress shop, tutoring sick children, or—according to Charlton Smithers—hanging out with your…friends from tonight. He told me everything.”