Secret Tides

by Gary E. Parker

  Gerald took Trenton by the elbow and steered him up the cobbled walk. “This is a discreet place. For men of means and quality. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  Trenton’s eyes widened as he realized where they’d brought him. He tried to pull away, but Gerald held him tightly.

  “A man of your years needs to visit an establishment like this,” Gerald coaxed. “Prepare you for your marriage to come.”

  Trenton’s face reddened, and he tried once more to escape. “Camellia will … will not like—”

  “Are you going to let a woman keep you from exercising your manly rights?” asked Gerald, leading him up the steps.

  “No, but …”

  “No arguments,” said Gerald. “Every man takes this step, most far younger than you. You’ve labored hard this season; you deserve to relax this way.”

  Trenton’s head spun. He knew he ought to pull away and run, but he couldn’t find the strength to do it. The liquor had made him weak. And, after all, he did need some relaxation from his troubles, so why not go along with Luther and Gerald this one time? They knew about things like this, knew what a man needed and didn’t need. With Gerald on one side and Luther on the other, Trenton entered the house. A black man approached them, took Luther’s hat, and led them into a parlor. Trenton took another drink. He heard somebody laugh in another room. The black man pointed them to a sofa and chairs. Trenton fell into the sofa. The room danced before his eyes. A fire burned in a marble-encased fireplace. The flames blurred. A woman with red hair stood before Trenton, then sat at his side. She smelled like musk.

  Trenton tried to stand, but the red-haired woman giggled and grabbed him by the hand, pulling him back down. He squinted around for Gerald and Luther, but they had disappeared. The woman moved still closer. Trenton tried to move away, but the soft sofa had no more room. So he took another sip of whiskey and told himself he’d leave soon. As the fire danced, the red-haired woman touched his hair. He closed his eyes and blacked out.

  The next thing Trenton knew he woke up shivering in a bed with silk sheets and thick covers. A bright sun washed over his face, and his mouth tasted like sour mash mixed with fireplace ashes. Pulling the bedcovers more closely around him, he rubbed his eyes and peered around. His pants and shirt lay neatly folded on a chair by the bed. He tried to remember what had happened the night before but couldn’t. His head throbbing, he eased to the bedside and reached for his clothes. Suddenly, the room’s door swung open, and a smiling woman rushed through it. Trenton’s mouth fell open as his mother stood over him, her eyes bright with obvious glee.

  Silence reigned in the carriage for the first part of the ride back to his mother’s house. Trenton sat in a corner and pouted while his mother watched him with a pleased set to her lips, a confident glow in her eyes. Trenton tried to ignore her as best he could but found it impossible. Obviously, she’d set up the previous night with Gerald and Luther. A deep rage burned in him. She had no business scheming this way against him.

  About ten minutes from the house, his mother smiled sweetly. Then he knew the time had come for her gambit to play itself out.

  “What a shame if your precious Camellia should find out about this,” she started. “Surely such a thing will upset her Christian sensibilities.”

  Trenton ground his teeth. “You devised all this, didn’t you?”

  His mother sniffed. “Does it matter?”

  “To me it does.”

  Mrs. Tessier stared out as they passed the market section. Scores of people moved here and there in pursuit of their daily activities. “You’ve refused to listen to reason,” she explained. “You gave me no choice but to take another course.”

  “You think I’ll break my betrothal with Camellia to keep you from telling her of my indiscretion?”

  “It is at least a thought, don’t you agree?”

  Trenton put his hands on his knees. “You’re a mean woman.”

  “Not mean,” she argued. “You may not realize it, but I’ve got your best interests at heart—the future of your children, this family. We’ve talked of this before; no use saying it again. I have nothing against Camellia. She is lovely. And from all I’ve seen, she carries herself well. But let me ask you straight out. If I approved of this marriage, would you feel as committed to it? If I loved Camellia, if I embraced her with open arms, would you want her as much as you do? Isn’t it possible that at least part of your attachment to her comes from your desire to show me you’re a man? Your efforts to prove you can stand up to your mother?”

  Trenton stared out the window. Although he hated to admit it, his mother had touched a nerve. “I give you the point,” he confessed. “But that doesn’t change my love for her.”

  Mrs. Tessier chuckled. “If you loved her so much, why did you end up where you did last night?”

  Trenton’s heart fell as guilt touched him. “I took too much drink. Gerald and Luther, they …” His voice trailed off as he recognized he shouldn’t blame them for his mistakes. A man of any character knew he needed to accept responsibility for his actions. And yet, if they hadn’t taken him to that house, he wouldn’t have gone there on his own. They did bear some of the blame—his mother too. His anger returned.

  “I forbid you to tell Camellia of this,” he said firmly.

  “You’re in no position to forbid me to do anything.”

  “So that’s your plan?”

  “I hope you won’t force me to do so.”

  “What if I tell her?”

  “That’s your choice. She is a woman of Christian faith. Perhaps she will practice the grace of forgiveness.”

  Trenton’s stomach rolled. “You’re telling me I have to break the engagement, aren’t you?”

  “I’m asking you to do what’s right for everyone, her included.”

  The carriage turned left and passed by the Battery. Trenton wiped his eyes, “I don’t know. I’m tired and confused.”

  “You don’t have to decide today; give yourself some time. You have other matters to occupy your thoughts for a while anyway. We both know the sale of the crop won’t keep The Oak running this year.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve talked to Mr. York. He’s informed me what the crop brought. It’s not enough.”

  Trenton squeezed his temples, not sure whether to believe her. Yet what difference did it make? Everyone knew he’d not made a full crop. “I figured on taking some loans,” he offered. “Next year’s crop will surely come in heavy, make up for what the storm destroyed.”

  “Any idea how much you’ll need to borrow?”

  “I planned on asking Gerald and Luther to do some estimates.”

  “Their bank will not loan you any more money if you insist on this ill-conceived marriage.”

  He glared at his mother. “You know that for certain?”

  “I’ve arranged it as certain.”

  “You’re a vicious woman.”

  “I’m a practical one. A right marriage will take care of everything. You’ll see.”

  His head pounding, Trenton stared at the floor and tried to figure a way out of the trap his mother had set, but no escape appeared. “I cannot make that choice right now. I need some time.”

  Mrs. Tessier leaned over and patted him on the hands. “It’s hard being a man,” she said, smirking. “All the responsibility you carry.”

  Trenton wanted to grab her by the throat and choke the smirk off her face but knew he couldn’t. Then he wanted to hang his head and cry at the injustice of it all. But he couldn’t do that either. Tessier men didn’t show weakness, especially when they knew how weak they truly were.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A few days after telling Camellia she shouldn’t come by his place anymore, Josh left his children under Stella’s care and headed out on horseback. Although relieved that he was finally going to investigate the identity of the man from Mossy Bank, he also feared the trouble this would cause with York. Even if Josh never learned anything, Yor
k would take this as an act of betrayal. But what else could he do? The events at Mossy Bank haunted him, and he still worried that maybe the Lord had punished him for his silence about it.

  Riding easy through the November morning, Josh tried to steady his heart as his horse clomped over the miles. A warm sun beat down on his back. He studied the blue sky, soaking in the color, wondering what it would look like on a piece of paper or canvas. He wondered if he could capture the pure blue of the morning, the soft touch of the puffy clouds that drifted by?

  Anna’s face rose up in his mind. She loved days like this; loved to go to the beach and ease her toes into the water as the waves foamed. She loved the sky and sea joining up at the tip of the horizon, the way the sun splashed color all over the place at sunup and sundown. She loved it when he tried to paint those images; when he put brush and paint to paper. Josh’s eyes teared up. He hadn’t drawn since Anna’s death. How could he? Without her, he didn’t see that much beauty anymore.

  He forded a creek and headed a little more south. He and Anna had lived a good life together. She had birthed his babies, sat by him on Sundays at the beach as he read from the Bible and the children played in the water. What would he do without her? How could he go on living?

  Then Camellia came to his thoughts. Like Anna, Camellia was a kind and gentle woman, but she was also stronger, at least of body. Nobody labored any harder than Camellia, not even a darky.

  Josh considered Camellia’s upcoming marriage and wondered how she’d fit into Trenton’s world. A woman of her purity would struggle with it, he figured—the use of so much liquor, the women’s gossip, the way so many of the men kept mistresses on the side. How could Camellia endure such things? He feared that Trenton wouldn’t stay true to her; that he’d follow his father’s poor example and take up with any number of women. Such actions would crush Camellia’s heart!

  Knowing he couldn’t do a thing to aid her, Josh kicked his horse a touch and galloped on toward Beaufort. He entered the city late in the day, tired but anxious to talk to the sheriff. Although not nearly as large a town as Charleston, Beaufort held a charm all its own. Countless fine houses shaded by oaks and palms bordered the streets. Four good churches—Baptist, Methodist, Episcopal, and Catholic—gave people places to worship each Sunday. A library with over three thousand volumes housed great books. The Beaufort College provided education for the richest of the area’s young men.

  Josh eyed the hamlet with a mix of pride and shame as he headed to the sheriff’s office on Bay Street. If you had a lot of money, Beaufort provided a fine place for a person to live. If not, well, Beaufort didn’t look quite so inviting.

  He turned a corner and headed down Bay Street, passing a bank, a large general store, the post office, and a score of other businesses and establishments. People headed this way and that. With the crops all in, lots of folks were in town, freed from their duties at their plantations and farms.

  At the sheriff’s office—a square wood building not far from the bank—Josh climbed off, tied up his horse, and went inside. He found the sheriff at a desk, his jail empty, his door and window open to catch the ocean breeze. The sheriff stood as Josh tromped in.

  “Good to see you, Walt,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  “Been a while. Since Master Tessier’s death, I think.”

  “Yes, I believe that’s so. You have a minute?”

  Walt pointed him to a seat, and Josh inspected him as he sat down. Walt wore a brown shirt with a badge on it, gray pants, scuffed but clean boots, and a pistol in a holster on his hip. His black hair fell into his face, and his mustache curled all the way down to his chin.

  “How’s things on The Oak?” Walt asked.

  “Busy. Hard work, you know. Good prices for the crop this year, but the storm hit us pretty hard. Cost us some crop.”

  “We got a lot of rain—wind too—but not too much damage.”

  “You got lucky.”

  “Reckon so.”

  “Things here in town going well?”

  “All right, except for all the secession talk. This place is a hotbed for all that; lot of fire-eaters here, ready to go to war right now.”

  “You think South Carolina will really secede?”

  “The Yankees keep pushing us on the slavery, I don’t see how we can keep from it.”

  Josh sighed. “War hurts everybody. Hard things come from war.”

  Walt licked his mustache, and Josh shifted in his seat. “Look,” Josh began, “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “What kind of questions?” Walt leaned back.

  Although he’d planned this out in his head over and over, Josh still didn’t know exactly what to say now that the time had come to speak. He didn’t want to say too much, at least not yet. No reason to set Walt to sniffing around if there wasn’t a good reason.

  “Close to a year ago,” Josh finally said, “I was headed from Charleston to The Oak. I met a man about halfway between the two, at a crossing near Mossy Bank Creek.”

  “I know the place.”

  “Yes. Well, the man I met had a bullet in his back.”

  Walt raised an eyebrow.

  Josh continued. “He wore real fine clothes and appeared to be about fifty years old or so. Mostly bald, but with a sandy-colored beard. I checked him but found no papers, no way to identify him.”

  “He still alive when you found him?”

  “Yes, for a couple of minutes.”

  “A horse around? Any wagon or buggy?”

  “None I saw.”

  “Curious.”

  Josh nodded. “He mentioned a name before he died. Ruth.”

  “Ruth?”

  “Yes. I figured maybe it was his wife. No way to tell for sure.”

  “That’s all he said?”

  “He died real fast. No time for anything else.”

  A bee buzzed into the room. Josh watched the sheriff’s face carefully, but it gave nothing away.

  “You’re looking for this Ruth, I reckon.”

  “Yes. Thought I’d check if you knew one in Beaufort.”

  Walt licked his mustache again. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? A shot man is a matter for the law.”

  Josh lifted his hat, stared into it. “I should have. But it happened the same week as Tessier’s death. You had all that on your mind. I figured I’d see you soon after that. But I didn’t. My wife took sick. Maybe you heard; she passed on.”

  “I hadn’t heard. But you have my sympathies.”

  “Much obliged. Anyway, by the time all that had happened, months had already passed. With one thing and another, time just got away.”

  Walt shrugged as if it didn’t really matter. “You might try Charleston. Sounds like you found this man as much in their part of the world as mine.”

  “I’ll do that next. Just thought I’d start as close to home as I could. No way to tell if the man was headed north or south, coming this way, that way, or the other way. This Ruth might live just about anywhere.”

  Walt leaned back. “I don’t know a Ruth right offhand. And I know just about everybody in town.”

  “I’m sure you do. That’s why I stopped here first.” Josh fingered his hat. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  “You bury the man?”

  “Yes. Said a few words over him.”

  Walt nodded and Josh stood to leave. “Let me know what you find,” said Walt. “A shot man gets a lawman’s blood pumping, you know. A good mystery makes for an interesting day. Don’t get much of that around here.”

  “You’ll let me know if you come across somebody named Ruth?”

  “Sure will.”

  Josh turned to go.

  “One more thing,” said Walt.

  Josh stopped.

  “I don’t know that this connects,” said Walt. “But a man rode through here back in February. Looking for a man he described a lot like Mr. York. He didn’t know his name though, just his description.”

  �
��He say what he wanted with this man?” When Walt narrowed his eyes, Josh got the distinct impression the sheriff was enjoying the moment.

  “He said he and the man had exchanged some remarks.”

  Josh laughed lightly, hoping it threw Walt off a little. “He wouldn’t be the first man to exchange remarks with York, if it was him.”

  “He said he took a shot at the man.”

  “Pretty honest of him to confess that.”

  “He said the man he was looking for had taken something that belonged to him.”

  “That’s a serious charge.”

  “He said it happened in November, last year. I figured that at about the same time Tessier died. Seems like I remember noticing a cut on Mr. York’s arm when I visited The Oak for Mr. Tessier’s funeral; the time I talked to the darky and Miss Camellia. You think any of this goes together?”

  “Sounds like a mystery to me.”

  Walt studied him with a straight stare, and Josh kept his eyes steady too. Any false move here, and Walt might end up stirring up far more than Josh wanted stirred. “This man say anything about a shot man or a woman named Ruth?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Perhaps it’s not connected, then.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I’m sure York would gladly talk with you about it if you want. Should I say something to him?”

  Walt lifted his eyebrows. “No, suppose not. The man didn’t ask me to do that, and I don’t know for sure it was Mr. York.”

  “You give him York’s name?”

  “No, but if he asked around town much, he’d surely get it.”

  Josh nodded. “Thanks for your time,” he said, putting on his hat.

  “Always glad to assist,” Walt answered. “Any way I can.”

  Josh took a couple of steps, then turned back to Walt. “The man give his name?”

  “Yes, now that you mention it. Tarleton, he said. Ike Tarleton.”

  Josh shook his head. “Never heard of him.”