Secrets in the Lowcountry--The River

by Janet Cooper

The driver held the door open. Her father stepped out and offered his hand to Aunt Bertha. With difficulty, the older woman exited the limo. As Taylor climbed out, she heard the bells pealing. The sound continued until she’d joined her father and aunt then suddenly, they stopped. Silence replaced the calling of the faithful to service. Taking a few steps, she glanced at the church’s strong white shape and received strength from what it stood for. Her father and aunt joined her. She copied Bertha by placing her hand around her dad’s arm, glad for the comfort of this wonderful man.

  He snatched a look at each of his companions, as if waiting for a sign. Her aunt bobbed her head in response as did Taylor. She tightened her hold on him. He nodded his head. The three of them walked along the brick pavers towards the large, stucco church, built more than two hundred-fifty years before. St. Alban’s had been her family’s church for several generations. The graves, on either side of the walkway, contained the remains of friends of her ancestors. Her family’s vault lay across the street in the annex cemetery. Later in the week, her mother’s ashes would be placed there during a private ceremony.

  The door stood open and the music from the Brody pipe organ rang out. The two storied nave, with balconies on either side, held the family and friends of the Harris’s. Before them the long aisle stretched. A small urn stood on a mahogany table in front of the altar rail. An equally small, single bouquet of yellow roses also lay on the table and partially blocked the view of the ash filled urn. Her mother had loved camellias, but they didn’t bloom in June. In lieu of other flowers, Martin had requested people donate to their favorite charity. On the right side the collage she and Mary had finished stood on an easel. Their priest and friend, Mike Campbell, stood directly behind the urn. His face smiled encouragement. He stepped from behind the table to stand at the entrance to the first pew on the right.

  Taylor focused her eyes on Father Mike afraid if she glanced at the crowd in the church, her thin veil of calm would desert her. After what seemed hours, they traversed the endless path and arrived at their pew. Father Mike gave each a hug of support. Aunt Bertha moved into the pew and knelt. Taylor’s façade almost broke down, as she, followed by her father, slid into their seats. She had known Father Mike her entire adult life. He’d often come to Harmony, sometimes to fish, sometimes for a meal. Now, he’d help them through this service.

  Still the tears formed in her eyes and threatened to cascade down her cheeks. She had to prevent this. She must stay strong for herself and for her father. As they started to move in, Taylor saw Miss Mary standing directly behind their row. She smiled at each of them in turn. Next to her were Jeff and his dad. Seeing them lifted some of Taylor’s distress.

  Taylor focused her attention on the pulpit that stood four feet above her eyes, she knelt down and prayed. She believed her father prayed. All she could do was ask God to give her strength to endure the service and the remainder of the day. She remembered nothing of the service, not intentionally, but because her mind refused to concentrate. She sat, stood, and knelt, from habit, not from studied thought. She repeated the answers, again without thinking. On her left, she heard her father’s responses in a much weaker voice than normal. Finally it ended. Taylor was grateful for the short, Episcopal service.

  Martin turned in his seat. “Would you like to ride with us, Mary?”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ll need my car to return to Beaufort.” She patted his shoulder.

  To Taylor, her dad appeared disappointed by this news. No surprise, she thought, her dad had depended on Miss Mary for years.

  As she rose to leave, the urn caught Taylor’s attention. Who would take it? Then she remembered Ginny and Al White’s funeral people would keep the jar until the internment on Friday. Everyone stayed in their pews, as she, her father and her aunt once more traveled down the red carpet leading to the exit. The faces blurred. She blinked her eyes then realized the reason. The tears, she’d pushed back all morning, threatened to cascade down her cheeks. Afraid that once they started she’d lose all control, she swallowed hard and forced them back.

  Normally, Father Mike, Aunt Bertha, her father, and she would form the receiving line outside the church. They would thank everyone for coming and invite the mourners to Harmony, the family plantation, for lunch. Instead, her father had arranged for the priest to extend the invitation during the service. She wasn’t sure her legs would support her if she’d had to stand in a line. Nor did she believe she could hold herself together and talk to their friends who had come to show their support for her family.

  Taylor stared at the archway that separated the church yard from the building, beyond stood the limousine waiting. Almost there. Before she could accomplish her goal, a short, garrulously dressed woman around forty or so stepped in front of them. Recognizing her immediately, Taylor groaned inwardly, Why now?

  “Dr. Harris. I’m Ella Mae Lee. Your wife destroyed my daughter. You and your daughter will pay for her accident!”

  Her strident voice surely carried to the entire congregation plus anyone walking within a five block area.

  Martin, Aunt Bertha and Taylor could either stop or run the woman down. Taylor considered the latter. Instead she and her family hesitated then remained motionless. Neither her dad nor her aunt spoke. Taylor fought to find words, but before she could utter a sound, Jeff took hold of the woman’s arm. “Get in the car. I’ll handle Ms. Lee.”

  Without looking back, the Harris’s hustled toward the long, black sedan, even Aunt Bertha hurried. The driver, obviously observing the entire scene, had the car open. Her family entered in a rush and found a seat quickly. The chauffeur immediately closed the door, hastened to the driver’s side, and was off before anyone had fastened a seat belt.

  “So that’s Ella Mae Lee,” said Martin, in a flat voice. He glanced over his right shoulder.

  With a humph, Aunt Bertha said, “She’s a very angry woman. Imagine, interrupting a funeral and trapping us on the walkway. Lord a’mighty. Thank goodness for Jeff.”

  Taylor glimpsed back, but by now the brick wall that circled the church hid the unpleasant sight probably taking place. “Dad, I spoke to her. Jeff spoke to her. We informed her that we or our representative would call her tomorrow, after the funeral.”

  He nodded. “Mary talked to her, too. I’ll call the Mueller’s law firm and have someone contact her.”

  “Dad, I did this.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll check with the girl’s orthopedist about her condition. Perhaps, he’ll tell me something. I should have done this before …”

  “Don’t berate yourself. Jeff, Mary and I have all spoken to her. We told her after Mom’s funeral we would talk to her. I’m sure the Mueller’s have communicated with her. She’s just a pushy, angry woman.”

  “She has a reason to be,” her father said, solemnly.

  Taylor considered countering her dad’s comment, but recognized the truth of his words. For the rest of the trip, neither spoke. However, they did squeeze hands occasionally, giving each other strength.

  Fixing her eyes on the world going by, she tried to focus on the passing view, but nothing registered. She wondered how long she had to stay at the house and talk to those who would come back to give their sympathy? How many people did she have to greet and thank? How many smiles did she have to plaster on her face?

  What had happened to Rod? Why hadn’t they found him? She grabbed a tissue from her small, black leather clutch and dabbed at her eyes. In her entire life, she’d never cried so much. Perhaps, if you start crying, you can’t turn off the flow and stop. What a hell of an idea. Her tears annoyed her for they solved nothing. Taking a deep breath, she resolved to toughen her mind and her heart against the coming onslaught. Her intention, she hoped, would work.

  As the driver opened her door, she stared at her beautiful home. She loved the white-washed brick of the two-storied building. Her great-grandfather had torn down the frame house and created a ‘Southern Mansion’ for his bride from up north. They never fil
led the six-bedrooms, but the two children they had enjoyed the house, as had succeeding generations.

  Sharon Smith opened the screen door. Her catering service would provide the food, just as they had for the wedding that never took place. Taylor fought back the memory.

  “Thanks for coming at such short notice,” Martin said to Sharon.

  “After all you’ve done for me over the years, helping me start my business, using my team whenever you had a party, this is just a small way of saying thanks.”

  Martin flushed with embarrassment. “The church was full. We expect most will come to the house.”

  “How’s everything going?” Taylor asked.

  “I’ve set up a table with food and a help yourself bar in the library for you, Dr. Harris, and Taylor and any special friends. You can escape there, if you want,” the brown-haired, pleasant woman, of indeterminate age, replied. “The dining room, the living room, and the study have tables set up for food. The Florida room and the front patio, each have bars and bartenders. There are enough provisions for a regiment or for all Beaufort. Is there anything else you need?” Her face softened and she patted Taylor’s hand.

  Taylor wished she could say, yes, I want to lock the door and prevent anyone from coming and if they do come I hope they leave my house quickly and let my dad and I grieve alone. Instead, she said, “Thank you, no. I’m sure you and your staff have taken care of everything.”

  “You’ve done a wonderful job. Thanks, again.” Martin took her hands and pressed them with his, before he turned away toward the library. “Taylor, I need a strong drink.”

  “I’ll get it.” Sharon headed toward the outside bar, calling over her shoulder, “Maker’s Mark on the rocks, coming up.” Then stopped and looked back, “Taylor, honey, how about you?”

  “Nothing thanks. I’m not sure my stomach can handle anything.”

  Sharon acknowledged the comment and continued.

  “Okay, what room do you want?” Martin asked.

  “What do you mean? Can’t we stick together?” Taylor asked dumbfounded.

  “Maybe in the beginning, but later we must mingle.”

  Again, she wished she could say you mingle. I’m hiding. “Okay. Let’s go outside to the bar. That’s where all our friends will start.”

  He laughed. “And end.”

  Chapter Eight

  A few hours later, Taylor managed to escape to the pool area. At the house, the liquor still flowed, desserts replaced sandwiches, and people started to drift away. Her father watched her leave and nodded his understanding. Now, she sat on a lounge chair and contemplated her life. She and Rod had decided to make their home with her father until the completion of Rod’s new development. His family, the Pinckneys, had moved to Beaufort about the time Julia Ann left Harmony Plantation to ‘discover herself’. Taylor refused to dwell on her mother right now, instead she returned to Rod. Something had happened between Rod and his family. He never told her and he wouldn’t talk about them or the situation. His mother and father had sold their fruit and vegetable stands and moved. They’d had a small home in town which they’d left to Rod. She’d often wondered why they’d leave him the house since the family didn’t get along. For the foreseeable future, he’d told her, his parents intended to make their new motor home their new house. When they tried of traveling they’d settle down in the place they’d inherited in Louisiana. He added they didn’t need the money from their cottage.

  “Taylor,” Jeff called, interrupting her. “Your dad said I’d probably find you here.” He slid a lounge chair closer and sat down. “Want anything?”

  “No. But I want to thank you for pulling Ella Mae Lee off Dad and me.” She focused on him for a minute then she looked away.

  “Glad to help. Want me to leave?”

  “No.”

  “Want me to keep quiet?”

  She glanced at him, again. “No. Having someone sit with me and not commiserate is perfect. I saw your dad earlier.”

  “Yes. I took him home. He tires easily. He had a great talk with your dad yesterday. Your dad thanked him today for coming yesterday. They go back a long way.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “Remember the tree house Dad built for me?”

  “On my property?” she teased.

  “No, on our property. As a little kid, you thought all the land around here belonged to you.”

  “Well, didn’t it?” she smiled.

  “You’re just as stubborn as ever,” he continued in a light tone.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you!”

  They joked back and forth for a while. Finally, Taylor said, “You’re a good guy, Jeff.”

  “Good? I’m the best. You just never noticed,” he said in an undertone.

  Before she could question him, she heard her father. “Taylor, could you come to the library? You, too, Jeff.” Her dad stood at the side door facing the pool and gestured for them to come inside.

  With heavy legs, she dragged herself off the lounge then glanced at her watch. “Five. I’d hoped everyone would be gone by now.”

  “Most of them had left by the time I came out to find you.” Jeff rose easily and offered Taylor his hand.

  She stood next to him, squeezed his hand, and took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s find out what Dad wants.”

  *~*

  When they walked into the library, Jeff saw Larry Murphy from DNR and Sheriff Leroy Trotz. Why was he here? “Larry, Sheriff Trotz.”

  The two men nodded their greeting.

  Larry approached Taylor and took her hands. “As I’ve said before to you and your dad, I’m really sorry about Julia Ann’s death. She and I go way-back, but then all our group from high school does.”

  Everyone shook their heads in agreement.

  “Before I begin you all should sit down.” He and the sheriff pulled out the upholstered, high-backed chair that normally flanked the wall but didn’t sit. Instead, each stood behind one.

  The tone of the DNR representative plus the sober expression on his face, as well as that of Sheriff Trotz’s, caused Jeff concern. He watched as Taylor joined her father and observed them as they found a seat on the small couch.

  He sensed her discomfort and could see the anxiety plainly etched on her face. She edged closer to her father on the brown, leather love-seat and took his hand in both of hers. Neither sat back, choosing to perch on the edge of the seat.

  Jeff felt the loneliness as soon as she’d slid away from him. Although he accepted the fact she needed to be near her father that didn’t stop the gnawing inside him. He knew the reason. Yet, his desire to comfort her raged within. Remember, you’re only a friend. Outside he’d been the one to help her forget, if only for a few minutes. Now, someone with a strong connection took his spot. Wanting to be near, just in case, he took the wing-chair nearest Taylor and suspended himself on the edge.

  Once everyone found a spot, Larry stated, “We found Rod’s boat overturned.

  Taylor gasped. Both Jeff and Doc concentrated totally on her.

  “No one was with the boat,” Larry added quickly.

  Jeff heard and saw her take a deep breath. Once he assured himself she was okay, he centered his attention on the DNR spokesman. Doc mimicked his reactions.

  “Marsh grasses trapped the skiff in a small tributary, not far from Brays Creek.”

  Taylor pulled her top hand away and grabbed the armrest as she concentrated on Larry. Jeff covered her hand with his, squeezed, and sent her an encouraging smile. For an instant, she peeked at him. Tears filled her eyes; she bit her bottom lip with front teeth. If only he could transfer her pain to himself. He hated being unable to do more than hold her hand. His attention shifted to Larry and brought him back.

  “The DNR and the Water and Rescue department won’t stop looking for him when we’re out on patrol. We’ve asked the commercial crabbers, shrimpers, and fishing guides to keep their eyes peeled for gear or anything else.” He faltered.

  Jeff ti
ghtened his hold on her hand while his mind sought a way to ease her distress. He’d noted Larry had not said body or portions of a body; scrutinizing Taylor, he recognized she’d heard the unspoken words for the color had drained from her. She had lived by the water all her life. No one who had seen a fish head after being chewed by crabs could fail to visualize what they and other sea life will do to a person. The eyes always go first, his brain continued. Larry began talking, thankfully halting Jeff’s morbid thoughts.

  “I’m about to say something that everyone in this room understands.” He hesitated again. “Although Rod’s only been missing a short time, in this area, three days might as well be three months.” He wavered, giving Taylor all his attention. “Taylor, I don’t hold much hope of finding Rod alive.” Regret showed in his tone.

  “He can’t be dead!” she screamed. Doc patted her on her back and whispered her name softly.

  “I’m sorry, Taylor. Really sorry.” Obviously Larry saw her blanched face and had expected the outburst. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, honey, but a fact is a fact.”

  If only I could hold her and let her absorb my strength, Jeff thought. He clenched his teeth to prevent himself from saying anything that might be embarrassing to Taylor.

  Her hand turned so that her palm touched Jeff’s and he tightened his grip. He could see from the whiteness of her knuckles that she’d tightened her hold on her father, too. “Where do we go from here?” she asked, in a quiet, squeaky voice.

  Jeff had always admired her strength, but today she’d shown him her resolve to face a horrible situation and survive.

  Larry circled the chair, moved in front of her and knelt down. “As I said, we’ll keep looking, but the odds are definitely against us.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “The high tides we’re having now plus the faster currents make finding him alive very slight.” He tightened his grip as if waiting to determine if she could handle what he would say next. “As for the autopsies of the ‘gators, we’ll have that information tomorrow.”

  Shrugging away from him, she collapsed against her dad and sobbed. Silence filled the room except for the soft, choked sounds emanating from Taylor.