Celia Garth: A Novel

by Gwen Bristow

  Whoever they were, they had terrified the Negroes. A woman screamed, an instant later there was another scream, and a man’s voice cried out, “Oh Lord have mercy on us!” Celia broke into a run.

  She ran as fast as she could, panting, more than once nearly stumbling over clumps of grass. She felt her armpits suddenly wet. In front of her she was holding up her skirt so as not to trip on it; she saw drops of sweat on the backs of her hands. Oh, what a long way it was—the boathouse had never before seemed so far from the big house, and the shrubbery was so thick! If only she could see what was going on. She heard more noise, shouts of men and cries of women and rushing footsteps and a general confused commotion, and then at last she came out of the woods.

  She saw the beautiful dwelling-house of Sea Garden. She saw the oaks around it, and the flowerbeds, and among the flowerbeds she saw men in red coats.

  There were thirty or forty men in red coats, or maybe more—in her shock Celia was no good at counting. She saw the Negroes huddled in groups, around the house, on the front steps, on the piazza. As she went toward the front of the house she saw a British officer standing on the top step, facing the main door. In his hand he held a large official document with a red seal.

  Before the front door, Herbert and Vivian stood facing the officer on the step. On the piazza, between the door and the steps, stood Roy Garth. At his side was Sophie, and with them a colored nurse holding the baby. Near by stood a group of about twenty Negro men and women, evidently servants they had brought with them.

  Roy was very grand in a black cloak with three overlapping shoulder-capes and a gold buckle at the neck. Sophie had on a rose-colored cape of thin wool, thrown back to show a printed silk dress. The British officer wore tall headgear, looming a foot and a half above his wig; his red coat was held by white shoulder-belts crossing in front, and his red coat-tails hung behind him to his knees. His breeches were white doeskin, his boots black and gleaming. He had opened the document with the red seal, and now he was reading aloud.

  “Know all men by these presents: In the name of George the Third, by the grace of God king …”

  Celia crept nearer. She tried to walk softly on the grass. The other soldiers were quiet, standing at attention, and the Negroes were now too awed to speak. The reading went on.

  “… John Cruden, Commissioner of Sequestrated Estates for his majesty’s province of South Carolina …”

  Celia’s heart sounded like thunder in her ears. She felt as if she were making an agonized effort to wake up from a nightmare, wake up and find that this did not mean what she knew it did mean.

  “… In consequence of the powers in me vested, by the right honorable Earl Cornwallis …”

  From somewhere above her Celia heard the squawk of a jaybird. The officer went on reading. In her agitation Celia missed some of the words. It did not matter, for many of them were long legal words that she would not have recognized anyway. But she heard enough.

  She heard “… confiscated … the owners having given aid and comfort to traitors during the late insurrection … confiscated and sold … therefore the estate known as Sea Garden is hereby declared the property of his majesty’s loyal subject … [Celia tried to pray, but the words would not come] … Sea Garden is hereby declared the property of his majesty’s loyal subject, Roy Garth.”

  When Celia looked back, it seemed to her that she had considered every possible disaster but this. She had tried to steel herself to face any blow that might come. But she had not thought of the chance that Roy might take Sea Garden.

  And yet it seemed to her now that this had been in front of her all the time.

  Roy’s plantation was small, run down, in debt. From the day he married into a rich Tory family he had done his best to take advantage of his status as a friend of the king. Since the British marched in, Roy had been always ready to give aid, to act as guide or courier. He had been constantly on the move. Now she knew why. He had wanted to look the country over and choose his own prize.

  She remembered his visit to Sea Garden last summer. How solicitous he had been about taking Sophie for a walk, so he could see more of the property. At that time the confiscation order had not been publicly issued, but men of the inner circles no doubt knew it was going to be. She thought of his return a few months later, the time he had so graciously bought Eugene Lacy’s promissory note—to see the place again, to compare it with others, to be sure he was getting the best. Roy was no foreigner. He would know, as well as Vivian had known, how to read the signs of trees and wild growth telling which was the richest soil.

  So now he had it. He had obtained the confiscation order after the battle of Guilford Court House. This was the battle they had been expecting in North Carolina, and the redcoats were happy to tell them all about it. The Americans under General Greene had met the British under Cornwallis and Tarleton, and they said the Americans had taken a walloping defeat.

  When news of the great British victory reached Charleston, they said cannon roared and church bells rang, and everybody put lights in the windows as a sign of rejoicing. John Cruden, Commissioner of Sequestrated Estates, celebrated by giving a grand ball in the residence he had confiscated for himself. He further celebrated by issuing more orders confiscating estates, so Tories who deserved the best could buy them for tiny prices. One of these orders conveyed Sea Garden to Roy.

  After attending Cruden’s ball, Roy and Sophie made ready to go to Sea Garden. A detachment of British troops had been ordered to go up the coast by ship, under command of the officer, Major Edmore, to whom Roy had made himself useful on several occasions. It was not difficult for Roy to get permission for Major Edmore to escort him to his new estate.

  Major Edmore was a kindly soul who tried to do right. While he knew traitors must be punished, he felt sorry for these misguided folk who had to lose their homes. Herbert would have to leave the horses in his pasture and the schooner in his boat-house, but Major Edmore said he would take Mr. and Mrs. Lacy on his ship to wherever they expected to live now. And Roy, not to be outdone in kindness to his fallen enemies, said they might each choose one personal servant to take with them.

  As the man bringing Eugene’s letter had arrived that same morning, Herbert counted himself fortunate to know that Eugene still had a home—or at least had had one two days ago when the man started. He thanked Major Edmore, and said they would go to the plantation of his son. The Negro man would be sent ahead to tell Eugene to expect them. Major Edmore said they would leave tomorrow.

  Through all this talk and movement, Celia had kept silent. At the beginning, both Roy and Sophie had greeted her with perfunctory smiles, but after that, with so much else to be noticed, they seemed to have forgotten her. The sun grew hot on the outside, so they all moved into the parlor, where Major Edmore said he would give further orders. Celia followed, but she stayed out of the way, moving aside when anyone came near her, keeping as inconspicuous as she could.

  Here in the parlor she and Luke had been married. It was a beautiful room, its long windows giving a fine view of the oaks. Herbert and Vivian stood listening to the instructions of Major Edmore. Roy and Sophie were walking about, looking over their new possessions. Celia stood by the wall, trying to be as quiet as a leaf that lay on the floor, fallen from a vase of flowers.

  She had heard everything they said, and her thoughts supplied what they did not say. General Greene, Washington’s own choice as commander, had been defeated. No doubt Cornwallis and Tarleton were triumphantly marching north right now, at last on their way to join Clinton for the final push that would win the war. And Marion’s men? Maybe they too had met defeat. But even if they had not, what use now to attack the supply roads and ferries? They could delay Cornwallis no longer. He was marching north. And Luke?

  From outside, she could hear the Negroes wailing. They had been told they would have to stay and work for the new owners. Nearly all these Negroes had been born at Sea Garden, and had never worked for anybody but Vivian and her famil
y. The house-folk, as well informed about the war as the white people, were appalled. Through one of the windows Celia could see two women, sobbing. She was glad Marietta was in town.

  She looked at Herbert and Vivian, standing side by side before Major Edmore. What dignity they had. Expecting nothing unusual to happen today, they were both plainly dressed. Herbert wore a suit of unbleached homespun; Vivian a white muslin house-dress and cap, her only ornament the silver filigree pin that held the cap to her beautiful blue-white hair. But they looked regal. Celia had never admired them as much as she did today. And she was glad, oh she was glad she belonged to them, could go where they went. The preacher spoke a few words, he wrote your name in a parish register, and what a difference it made!

  Herbert was saying that with Major Edmore’s permission he would have the servants bring the trunks, so he and Mrs. Lacy could set about packing their clothes. Herbert spoke with icy calmness. There was a white line about his lips.

  Major Edmore cleared his throat. He was doing his duty, but plainly he wished somebody else had to do it. He said Mr. Lacy need not call the servants to bring the trunks, the servants were—ah—upset. This could be done by some of the private soldiers. He would send for them at once.

  But though Major Edmore was uncomfortable, Roy and Sophie were quite at ease. Roy was walking from window to window, surveying his new kingdom. Now he paused by the marble mantelpiece, running his hand over it as if calculating what it must have cost; now he lingered by a window to take a look at the oaks—Celia guessed, sick with anger, that he was counting what they would bring when cut for timber.

  Sophie was fluttering about, noting the furniture, the rugs, the crystal vase that held the flowers. Clearly, both she and Roy considered that they were as much entitled to Sea Garden as if they had bought it in a broker’s office. They had no concern about the former owners.

  Herbert said he would show the soldiers where the trunks were kept. Vivian went to lay out her clothes for packing. Celia went out after her, to do the same. As she left the parlor she heard Herbert asking if he would be allowed to take any of his books.

  She went to her room. Opening her wardrobe, she began to lay her dresses across the bed.

  She moved slowly. Her arms and legs felt heavy. She thought how Vivian had built Sea Garden with her dreams and her love. Every brick and board and pane of glass, every tuft of flowers, every wind from the sea, brought her dear associations. And now—why didn’t they cut off her right arm instead? It would hurt her less than this.

  Celia thought of herself. In taking Sea Garden they had taken her own future. This was where she and Luke would have lived, where their children would have been born. She wondered what she was going to do now.

  She heard a knock. Stiffening herself to meet the men with her trunk, she opened the door. But her caller was Vivian.

  Vivian’s face looked like something cut out of a rock. Without speaking, she closed the door and turned the key. Taking Celia’s hand she drew her away from the door.

  “Celia,” she said in a low voice, “you’ve got to stay here.”

  Celia gave a start of horrified protest. Vivian went on.

  “Luke doesn’t know Sea Garden has been taken! What if he came through the passage and met Roy instead of you?”

  Celia gasped. Of course she had to stay. Luke would be taken prisoner, maybe shot as he tried to escape.

  “I guess I was too shocked to think,” she said. “But—what will I do? I’m married to Luke. Won’t they expect me to go with you?”

  But Vivian had thought quickly, and as usual her thoughts were practical. “They don’t know you’re married. Take that ring off until after we’re gone. When they saw you this morning they took it for granted that you were here as before, a dressmaker. Our servants will say something about your being married, but they’re so confused that they won’t say anything for a while. It won’t make much difference. Roy and Sophie think your husband is a fool clinging to a hopeless cause. When this is over he’ll have to dig ditches for a living, so you’re just a poor relation to be ordered about.”

  Celia wet her lips. “Is it a hopeless cause, Vivian?”

  “You know as much about it as I do,” Vivian returned crisply. “Now listen. Write a warning and put it in the letter box. If a scout comes by maybe he can get it to Luke.”

  “I’ll do that,” Celia promised.

  Vivian managed a little smile. “Thank God you have a steady head, Celia.”

  Celia’s head did not feel steady. It felt dizzy. She swallowed hard, and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Sea Garden!” Vivian said softly, and covered her eyes with her hand.

  Celia’s throat had closed up. She could not speak, but she put her arms around Vivian and held her.

  Vivian shook her head. “Don’t give me any sympathy, Celia. I can’t bear it right now.” But she stood there, her head on Celia’s shoulder, fighting for self-command.

  Celia thought, Vivian is losing Sea Garden; she doesn’t know how Burton is faring in St. Augustine; she doesn’t know what’s happening to Luke. How much do people have to put up with in this world?

  Vivian raised her head. “I’m all right now.” She straightened her shoulders and looked around. After a moment she kissed Celia quickly, as if a long embrace was more than she could bear. “Good-by, dear girl.”

  Celia said, “Good-by.” She could say no more.

  Vivian went to the door and unlocked it, and went through without looking back. Celia heard her footsteps dwindling off, down the hall.

  CHAPTER 31

  CELIA HAD HEARD THAT the real trials of life are not the great tragedies. Not these, but the small vexations that come back over and over till you think that one more day like this will turn you into a screaming maniac.

  She had heard it. After a month with Roy and Sophie at Sea Garden she knew what it meant. Ever since Aunt Louisa had told her she had no dowry, Celia had trembled at the thought of living on Roy’s charity. Now the fate she dreaded had caught up with her.

  Here at Sea Garden she was the poor relation, allowed to stay here because of course, as Sophie explained to her friends, Roy wouldn’t be unkind to his own kinfolks. Naturally, since they were giving her a home, they expected her to show some gratitude. In fact, they thought she should be glad to help around the house a little.

  “Celia, you won’t mind darning the stockings. You haven’t anything to do.”

  “Celia dear, you’ll take care of the baby today, won’t you? I want the nurse to help with the ironing.”

  “Celia, Sophie has some gauze that she bought in Charleston for caps and kerchiefs. I’m sure you’ll make them for her.”

  Day after day, Celia did as she was told. She did it grimly, and usually in silence except to say, “Yes, Sophie.” “Yes, Roy.” “Certainly, I’m glad to help.” “No, I don’t mind at all.”

  Day after day, she reminded herself that this was how she guarded her husband’s life. She had tried to warn Luke about keeping away from Sea Garden. But he had not received her warning—the letter she had written was still in the secret letter box. Whether or not Vivian had managed to reach him she could not tell. All she knew was that she had to stay here, to meet him if he came in, and tell him what had happened. The only way she could be sure of staying was to make herself the meekest and most useful servant on the place.

  Vivian had been right—Roy and Sophie had forgotten about her and had been surprised to find her here. Celia said she had thought they meant for her to stay. She had no claim on Eugene Lacy, and she was Roy’s cousin.

  Roy, in the midst of his new wealth, was in a genial mood. Yes, yes, he said, glad to have her. But when Sophie told him her maid had heard from one of Vivian’s maids that Celia was married to Luke and Luke was with Marion, Roy became stern. He ordered Celia not to embarrass him by speaking of this. He was expecting some friends, officers who had been ordered from Georgetown to Charleston and were going to stop here on t
heir way. He would introduce Celia as Mrs. Ansell, but if anyone asked where her husband was, he would say Mr. Ansell was with the Tory troops. She was to do the same. Was that clear?

  Celia doubled her fists and hid them in the folds of her skirt. She replied, “Yes. Quite clear.”

  She foresaw that she was not going to have much chance to say anything, one way or the other. A poor cousin like herself was kept in the background. Celia got used to hearing Sophie say, “I do think you’ll be more comfortable if you don’t come to table this evening, Celia. The ladies will be elegantly dressed, and I know you haven’t anything—I mean—”

  Celia said, “I understand. I won’t come to table. No, I don’t mind at all.”

  She preferred staying away from the dinner-parties. It made her sick to watch Sophie preside over Vivian’s silver while Roy poured Herbert’s wine.

  The guests came and went: Aunt Louisa, Roy’s silly sister Harriet and her rich husband who looked like a fish; Sophie’s rich family, other rich Tories, and of course, redcoats. Celia stayed in her bedroom—luckily this room was so small and dark they were glad to have her keep it. Or she sat in one of the back rooms with a book, or with the sewing they were always giving her to do; or she took long walks, taking care to go by the boat-house where the letter box was.

  But the box still held her own letter, placed there for any scout who might come by. She had written: “Give this message to Captain Luke Ansell,” and followed with a statement of what had happened at Sea Garden. Then she added, “This letter written by Mrs. Ansell. Whoever takes this, please leave a line telling me how Captain Ansell is but do not leave any more messages after that. Not safe.”

  She quaked lest Roy find the letter box. He had ridden over the place and looked into every building, including all the boat-houses, but he had not opened the tool compartments. Some day he would examine the property more carefully, but right now he was busy being a host.