“He pushed hard. Stella said lots of the servants are upset with him.”
“Sometimes a man has to push hard,” Josh said. “Lots of people depend on him.”
Camellia drank some coffee while she weighed whether to bring up what she’d had on her mind since the storm. Even though she knew times were tough, none of the men had told her any of the details because it wasn’t proper to talk about such matters in front of a woman. Figuring Josh would tell her more than her pa ever would, she decided to go on and ask what she wanted. “How bad is it?”
Josh finished his biscuit and wiped his mouth. “Fairly bad. We lost a lot of crop. And we have to pay for all the repairs. Don’t know yet what that figure will come to.”
“Pa has seemed real upset lately. Trenton too.”
“They both have a lot at stake here.”
Camellia stood and started to clean off the table. “I know Trenton’s mama is against our nuptials. I don’t bring anything to the family.”
“The woman is mighty selfish,” said Josh, standing to help her with the dishes. “Trenton is much blessed that you would consent to become his bride.”
Camellia laughed as she carried the metal plates to the wash bucket. “You’re a touch loose in the head. Trenton is paying a high price to wed me.”
Josh grabbed a rag and wiped off the table. Camellia eyed him curiously. “Not many men put their hand to cleaning.”
“My Anna died, remember? Stayed in bed a long time before that. I know how to fix and clear off a table.”
“I got a feeling you did it even before she got ill—that you aided her a lot whenever you could.”
Josh shrugged, but she knew it was true. Josh Cain was different from other men, no two ways around it. He brought the towel to her bucket to wet it. She smelled the soap on his face where he’d cleaned up after his day in the fields. When he dipped the rag in the bucket and his hand touched hers, she jumped, as if something had jolted her skin. He apparently felt it too, for he paused and gazed at her as if she were a piece of gold. Her face flushed and she stepped away.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she tried to pretend that nothing had happened. Josh looked down and she eased away, glad he hadn’t said anything. But then he stepped toward her, and her heart raced. She tried to figure what this meant; why she’d responded this way to a man she loved like a brother; why Josh Cain stirred something in her that she’d never experienced, not even with Trenton. She dropped her head in shame at her unfaithfulness to her betrothed. What kind of woman was she?
“I’m … sorry,” Josh said, his face turning red. “I’ve tried to keep my quiet … but I just have to say this.”
Josh took her by the shoulders and held her still. As he opened his mouth to speak, she held her breath, afraid he might say something crazy, like he loved her, that she made his skin tingle and his heart pound … just as he made hers do.
“You should not marry Trenton!” he blurted, his words pouring like rushing water. “I’ve been with him, know him well. He’s got some fine qualities, that’s true. But he’s not right for you; you’re too good for him, too fine. He’s got no Christian heart in him, nothing of the Lord. If you marry him I fear for you, for your future, your—”
“No!” shouted Camellia, pulling away for good this time, her heart both relieved and somehow disappointed at his words. “I won’t hear this, not even from you! I know he’s not perfect—no man is. But he loves me. Otherwise, why would he stand up to his mother like he did? He’s still young; he’ll settle some after we’re married. I’m sure of it! He’ll change. I’m praying he will. I will trust the Lord to change him. He loves me; he’ll do it for me!”
She stopped and stared at Josh, who looked stricken, obviously guilty that he’d upset her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I spoke out of turn. I have no standing in this, no right to speak. You and Master Trenton have to decide this, not me, not his mother, or anyone else. I hope you’ll forgive me my brashness.”
She put a hand on Josh’s forearm. He stared at her, his eyes glazed. “You’ll never know how much I respect you,” she said. “You’re so gentle … kinder than any man I’ve ever met. I know you’re just trying to protect me. But I can’t listen to you on this, no matter that you are my friend, my uncle.”
Josh opened his mouth, and she waited for him to speak. Instead, he simply stepped back. “You should go. It’s late, and you’ve had a long day. I’ll take care of the rest of this.” He waved over the kitchen.
Camellia nodded. “I’ll come by about midday tomorrow. Check on the children.”
To her surprise, Josh shook his head. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that. You have plenty to do without taking care of us anymore. Beth’s getting big enough to handle things around here anyway; probably time she started doing it.”
Camellia’s eyes widened. “I like coming by. It’s not a chore.”
When Josh shook his head again, she realized he really meant what he said, that he wasn’t just being polite. Something had suddenly changed between them—a change she didn’t like but didn’t know how to fix. “But you’re family,” she argued. “I can’t just stop checking on you.”
Josh held up his hand. “I’m more grateful than I can say for all your aid these last months since Anna died. But you’ll marry Trenton in the spring and won’t have time for us anymore. It’s time for us to adjust to that; might as well start now.”
Camellia wanted to argue some more, to tell him she could see he was holding something back, some other reason for banishing her from his house. Yet his tone told her it wouldn’t help, that he wouldn’t tell her what was on his heart. Her spirit cracked as she realized she had to stop coming by every day; that she wouldn’t see Beth, Lucy, and Butler much anymore; that she and Josh wouldn’t talk about books and the Lord as they had.
“I’m … not sure I understand,” she said. “Why can’t I come by anymore?”
He smiled, but his eyes seemed sad. “I expect you don’t. But it’s best this way; I’m sure of it.”
“What about … the children?”
“You’ll still see them. Just not here. Not proper for you to come here, doing our chores for us.”
“They can come to my house. I’ll read to them there,” she offered.
“They’ll like that.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden. “I’ll miss our talks.”
He nodded but didn’t relent. “Go on now.”
She walked slowly toward the door. As she reached it, she heard him move behind her and pivoted back to face him.
He smiled warmly. “If you ever need anything, you come to me. No matter what.”
She smiled back weakly, then left the house. As she headed down the stairs, she took a deep breath. Marrying Trenton carried a mighty high price for her too, she realized sadly. Already she felt lonelier, cut off from people she cared about and who cared about her. Was it worth all this to marry Trenton? But how could it not be? She’d dreamed of this all her life. It had to be the Lord’s will … and if it was, then surely the Lord would make up for any price she had to pay.
With York taking care of the rice sale, Trenton spent his first couple of days in Charleston sleeping late, eating big breakfasts, taking long walks along the sea wall, sitting at ease with a couple of his former school cronies, drinking brandy and smoking cigars. To his relief, his mother stayed away from him most of the time, coming down from her chambers to take her breakfast before he awakened and retiring before he returned for the evening. He met with York at the end of each day and gratefully heard that the sale of their rice had gone somewhat better than expected. With talk of war between the states more and more in the air, prices had risen some in the past year, and although nothing could make up for the 30 percent loss of the crop, they at least had not suffered from low prices with what they’d sold.
By his third day in the city, Trenton felt like he’d rested enough to finally face his mother. He arose earlier that morning and found her
taking breakfast in the sunroom on the east side of the house. Eggs, muffins, grapefruit, coffee, and milk sat before her on the table. Fresh flowers added color. Three servants busied themselves in and out of the room, fetching and carrying this and that. Trenton kissed his mother on the forehead and eased down to a chair. The sun warmed his back.
His mother smiled thinly and applied butter to a muffin. “You sleep well?”
He warily took a cup of coffee, added sugar, and sipped from it. “Quite well.”
He wondered when she would ask about the crop and what they were getting for it.
“I’m glad you’ve taken some rest,” she said. “I know that harvesttime wears a man out. Always did your father.”
“I’m recovered now, I believe.”
“Mr. York is handling the business matters?” she asked.
“Yes. He’s the expert in such things.”
“He’s a valuable man, no doubt about it.”
Trenton took a muffin and bit from it as he studied his mother. Her hair had turned grayer since he last saw her. But her face looked calmer, as if she held a secret that gave her some power she’d always craved. He wondered what she had in mind. Her eyes were clear. Obviously, she hadn’t taken any opiate yet.
“Your plans for marriage remain the same?” she asked.
He sat straighter as he anticipated her attack. “Yes, and I hope you’ve come to terms with those plans.”
She smiled again. “You’re a grown man. And a most stubborn one. Like your father that way. He hated it when I tried to make him do anything. Sometimes I think he deliberately took the opposite side in anything I suggested, just to show me I couldn’t force my will on him. So I’ll not try to push my desires on you anymore.”
“I’m glad you’ve come to that conclusion,” he said. “You’ll come to love Camellia. I’m certain of it.”
She took a delicate bite of muffin. “I believe that Luther and Gerald have plans for you this evening. They want to take you to dinner, talk over some business prospects.”
Trenton eyed her curiously. “They’ve said nothing to me of this.”
“They didn’t want to bother you while you rested and asked me to invite you when I thought you were ready for it. They said they might have some interesting opportunities for you to explore.”
Trenton lifted an eyebrow. “What kind of opportunities?”
“You men don’t talk such matters before simple women like me. You’ll have to go to dinner with them, see what they have in mind.”
Trenton considered the matter as he ate his grapefruit. His mother’s attitude made him suspicious. What kind of opportunities could Gerald and Luther know about that had escaped his notice? Yet, they were bankers. No harm in keeping up good relations with men who controlled vast sums of money, sums he would no doubt need if he wanted to see The Oak through to its next crop. “Will they come here for me?” he asked.
“Yes, I believe that’s the idea. About eight or so.”
Trenton buttered his muffin. He waited for his mother to ask more about the rice, but soon the breakfast ended and his mother retired to her room to get dressed for a visit she planned to make later that afternoon. Still unsure of his mother’s intentions, Trenton became even more cautious about his meeting with Luther and Gerald. However, since he didn’t have any basis for his distrust, he decided to just relax and go along with things. If they tried anything, he could handle it. Just had to keep his eyes open and his mind steady.
Luther and Gerald came for him in their four-horse carriage at precisely eight o’clock, looking almost like twins in their matching burgundy frock coats, black pants, boots, and white ruffled shirts. The muttonchops on Luther’s jowly face made him appear slightly silly, but Trenton knew Miranda liked them, so he didn’t dare kid him about them. Gerald wore a stovepipe black hat that stretched his height almost to the roof of the carriage as they bounced down the cobblestone streets toward their destination.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Trenton, still suspicious of his brothers-in-law.
“To a quality establishment,” replied Gerald, always the more talkative of the two. “A place for a gentleman to take his ease, share some quiet conversation.”
Trenton glanced through the carriage window and thought of a number of clubs he’d visited in his school days. Places with fine burnished wood, tasteful thick draperies, food cooked from European recipes, wines and ports of classic vintage. The carriage didn’t appear headed for any of them. “Is it a new place?”
“Stay patient,” urged Gerald. “Good things come to him who waits.” He smiled and pulled a cigar from a silver holder and offered it to Trenton. Not wanting to appear rude, Trenton accepted it. Luther produced a whiskey flask, took a sip, and handed it to Trenton.
“I’m not given to much whiskey,” Trenton said, holding the flask without drinking.
“You’re not a schoolboy anymore,” encouraged Gerald. “You’re the master of one of the largest plantations in the South. A man carrying that kind of weight needs to relax from time to time, get his mind off his responsibilities. Your father knew that, knew it better than most.”
Trenton held the flask and tried to decide what to do. Camellia wouldn’t want him to drink, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. Yet what did she know about the heavy matters that plagued a man’s mind, the toil of keeping up such a place as The Oak? He closed his eyes. Weariness settled on him despite the ease of the last couple of days. Loneliness hit him too, a sense that he had nobody but himself to depend upon. He took a long slow breath. Gerald was right; sometimes a man needed to lay down the duties he carried, enjoy a drink or two to ease his nerves. No harm in it, none at all.
He lifted the flask to his lips, and the liquid warmed him as it slid down his throat. He handed it back toward Luther, but his brother-in-law waved him off and produced a second one. “That one’s for you,” said Luther, winking.
Trenton hesitated again, but not as long this time. What Camellia didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, she had no right to put shackles on his actions. For that matter, what right did any woman have to tell a man what to do? Even more, he and Camellia weren’t even married yet. He smiled and took another sip.
The carriage turned left, passed under a streetlamp, and then headed west, out of the main part of the city. Gerald and Luther grinned at each other, Gerald’s face pink even in the dim light.
“I hear the storm caused some significant damage to many of the plantations,” said Gerald. “Rice crop in many places came in a lot scarcer than usual.”
“Thankfully the price stayed up,” added Luther. “Less rice to sell, a higher price to pay.”
The mention of the storm made Trenton even more anxious. He felt like somebody had tied a leather band around his head and stretched it. Nobody but he and Hampton York knew the full depth of The Oak’s losses from the storm. He took another drink to soften the tension.
“Hope it didn’t hit you too hard,” said Gerald, eying Trenton.
“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” Trenton said, deciding to play it close to the vest. “Lost some crop, though not as much as many.”
Gerald nodded wisely. “Lots of men coming to the bank for loans. Figuring on a healthy crop next year to pay them back. Think you’ll need anything of that nature?”
Trenton squirmed, took another drink, and hoped they’d reach their destination soon. He didn’t like men like Gerald and Luther knowing too much about his business. “It’s too early to tell.”
Gerald glanced at Luther. His long chin, pointy in the passing shadows cast by the streetlamps, resembled a knife blade jabbed toward his chest.
“Mother says you have some business opportunities you think might interest me,” Trenton said. “You talking shipping, property, what?”
Gerald cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should wait until we reach our club before we discuss those.”
Trenton drank again from his flask. Gerald and Luther fell quiet. T
he carriage clicked along. The street turned from cobblestone to finely packed gravel. Trenton studied the houses as they passed. Although they weren’t in the best section of Charleston anymore, they were still going by quality places: homes of old families with old money, money not tied up in land and field hands, money the house owners could get to if they wanted, cash they could use to pay off their debts and buy what they desired for their families. Well, Trenton had no cash money to speak of, almost none at all. Everything he owned came in the form of chattel or land and buildings. If he didn’t come up with some cash to pay on his debts, he might need to sell some things, and if he did, then men like Gerald and Luther would swoop in on his property like snakes on mice and swallow it up at a bargain price.
Trenton wondered if that was the opportunity Gerald and Luther wanted to offer him: the chance to hand over some land or a few Negroes at a cheap price in exchange for dollars to keep The Oak running. He jutted his jaw. He wouldn’t do that. No, he wouldn’t. He hadn’t taken over The Oak just to start selling it off. Such an act would destroy every ounce of pride he had left. No, he wouldn’t let his father down that way, wouldn’t give up what his father had labored so hard to build.
He drank again from his flask and felt the whiskey beginning to take effect. His eyes swam slightly, and his shoulders relaxed. He eased down in his seat and closed his eyes. The street moved along, the carriage turned here and there. Trenton’s face warmed as the minutes clicked along; he felt slightly lightheaded. He took swallow after swallow of liquor, telling himself again and again that he needed this night, deserved it. Finally, the carriage slowed, made a right turn, then another left, and pulled to a stop.
“We’re here!” exclaimed Luther, jumping eagerly to the street. “A most commodious place, I think you’ll quickly agree.”
Trenton, his legs unsteady on the gravel street, joined Luther and Gerald. He shook his head to clear it. A solid brick house, behind an iron gate at least seven feet high, stood before him. Four white columns ran along the front porch, and ivy climbed the bottom of the columns. The shades to the house windows were pulled. Huge oaks with moss hanging almost to the ground grew around the sides of the place. Somebody laughed from inside.
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