The Cumberland Plateau

by Mary K. Baxley

  “Why, David?” she teased.

  “Because if you don’t, I’m going to explode, and that’s not how I want to come.”

  “How do you want to come?”

  “Inside of you!”

  David quickly turned around and pushed her against the tiles as he lifted her up, letting her long legs wrap around his waist. David kissed her hard and deep, unleashing his passion until he gave her all that he had. As a wave of pleasure swept over them, they both slid down the wall into a puddle on the shower floor while the water splashed over their bodies.

  Breathlessly, Cecilia gasped, “I thought you weren’t experienced in the shower.”

  “I’m a quick study, and you’re a good teacher.”

  “No,” she chuckled, “you’re the good teacher. This was my first time, too.”

  He laughed. “Well, at least we have our first in something. Let me help you up.”

  Cecilia smiled. …We have our firsts in many things, David Darcy. There’s never been anyone quite like you.

  As they stepped out of the shower, Cecilia grabbed a towel and handed it to him. “Dry me off, and then I’ll dry you.”

  He smiled and took the towel. When finished, they made their way back to the bedroom where she turned down the bed and gently guided him to her under the covers. Thinking they would probably sleep after their intense lovemaking in the shower, she reached to give him a goodnight kiss, but when their lips met, she knew sleep was not on his mind.

  “David, don’t you ever get enough?”

  “No, do you?”

  “No.”

  Gathering her into his arms, they made love over and over again until exhaustion overcame them. While lying there in one another’s arms, Cecilia thought about the article in GQ Magazine.

  When asked about a serious relationship, he had said, “I’m an alpha male with a strong sexual appetite, but should I ever commit, I would be faithful. I don’t believe in infidelity, nor would I accept it in a partner.”

  “So, Mr. Darcy, would you commit?”

  “Should the right one come along, I just might.”

  “What do you look for in a woman, Mr Darcy?”

  “What would I look for in a woman? Hmm…well, she has to be strong, independent, and able to handle herself under pressure, but she must still need a man. She would have to complement me where I am weak and allow me to be strong where I am strong. We would have to complement one another in that respect—like alpha and omega—the beginning and the end. And she would have to understand me well enough to know when to let me have my space and to know when not. And it would be the same for me with her. I’m aggressive in business as well as my personal life. When I see what I want, I pursue it.”

  “What physical attributes do you look for in a woman?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been known to prefer leggy blondes with violet-blue eyes.”

  Cecilia reflected on that last thought. Was he talking about her? She wondered. He knew what a girl wanted and how to deliver it. He was thoughtful, kind, and patient, a gentle and tender lover, and he was confident and strong—even cocky at times. He made her feel good, like a real woman… loved and cherished.

  She snuggled a little closer and kissed his neck. Satiated and content, holding him close, she drifted off to sleep while breathing in his unique male scent—a scent that was soothing and relaxing. One that reminded her of recently baled fresh cut alfalfa hay in the South Carolina summertime at Carlton.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  … flirting with disaster…

  When the alarm sounded at seven a.m., both David and Cecilia wondered how they would make it through the day she had planned for them. Rising out of bed, they showered and dressed. After descending the stairs, she led him to the breakfast room where the kitchen staff had prepared breakfast with toast and dark roast coffee, which both felt they desperately needed.

  Looking over breakfast, David asked, “What is this?”

  “Shrimp and grits. Have you never tried it?” Amused by his look, she laughed.

  “No, I don’t believe I have.”

  “Well then, you must try it.”

  David took a bite and smiled. “Umm…unusual, but not bad.”

  After they finished eating, she explained their plans for the day. “We will start by viewing the park across the street, and then we will take a turn up King Street. There are several shops there I want you to see. After we’ve done that, we will go to Queen Street where we’ll eat lunch. Then we’re going to Meeting, Broad, and Church Streets where I’ll tell you a little more history, and then we’ll tour the old churches and cemeteries. Next, we’ll go to Market Street where the Old Market Place is located. And finally, we’ll visit the Old Customs Building on East Bay. So, as you can see, we have a very busy day.”

  “Well then, let’s get to it.” He smiled.

  “All right,” she replied as she reached over and took his hand, leading him through the house and out the door.

  Entering the park, Cecilia began narrating as they walked along. “This park was known as White Point Gardens, established in 1837, and it still goes by that name, but it became Battery Ramsey when the War of Northern Aggression began. This was one of the strategic points from where the first shots were fired. It’s better known now as simply Battery Park, or as we say in Charleston: The Battery.”

  Lacing her fingers with his, she began again. “On December 20, 1860, the South Carolina General Assembly voted to secede from the Union. They asserted that one of the causes for this action was the election to the presidency of a man ‘whose opinions and purposes were hostile to slavery,’ but there were other numerous causes as well, such as the unfair tariffs levied against the South—South Carolina in specific,” she said. “It was obvious that the government was sucking the wealth out of the South, using it for projects in the North, and it seemed that the South was powerless to do anything about it due to the more populous northern states having control of the House of Representatives. I’ll tell you more when we come to the places where it all happened, but for now, we’ll stick to what happened here at White Point Gardens.”

  She stopped to pick up some litter and drop it in the trashcan as they walked by. “It would be less than a month after the secession before the first shot would be fired. South Carolina had been stationing battery posts all along the coastline and on a few strategic Sea Islands for months. Then, on January 9, 1861, cadets from the Citadel fired on the Union ship Star of the West as it tried to enter Charleston Harbor.”

  Pointing to a small mass in the distance, she said, “That island on the horizon became the flash point on April 12, 1861, when shore batteries under the command of CSA Brigadier General Pierre G. T. Beauregard opened fire on the Union-held Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor.

  “Negotiations with Major Robert Anderson, the garrison commander, had begun on April 9, 1861 and lasted until the 12th. General Beauregard had demanded the surrender of the Union garrison at Fort Sumter. Major Anderson refused. So, at 4:30 in the morning, with a single mortar round fired from Fort Johnson, the American Civil War was underway. The beginning of a long-dreaded and equally anticipated war exploded over Fort Sumter with a forty-three guns and mortar bombardment launched from Fort Moultrie, Fort Johnson, the Floating Battery of Charleston Harbor, and Cummings Point. According to the diary of a famous Charlestonian woman, Mary Chesnut, the shelling from the shore batteries ringing the harbor awakened Charleston’s residents, and they rushed out into the predawn darkness, watching with shouts of jubilee, having a grand time as the shells arced over the water and burst inside Fort Sumter, lighting up the darkened sky.”

  David looked out into the harbor at the small island dotting the horizon. “It must have been something to see.”

  Cecilia softly spoke. “I’ve been told it was much like a celebration of fireworks. My ancestral grandmother, Cecilia Sebina Lawton, watched it from the third story piazza of our townhouse. That event was the official marking of the
beginning of the bloodiest war this nation had ever fought up until WW II. Brother fought against brother and father against son.” Cecilia shook her head and wiped a tear away.

  Strolling along to where the big cannons sat, she paused for a moment, placing her hand on one of them. “Officers and cadets from the Citadel were assigned to various Confederate batteries during the assault on Fort Sumter. My grandfather four generations back, Cecilia’s husband, Wallace Lawton, was a Citadel cadet at the time and had been stationed with the shore batteries here in White Point Gardens. He wrote in his journal that after a thirty-four-hour bombardment, Major Robert Anderson finally surrendered the fort on the morning of April 14, 1861. All of Charleston came out in the streets, dancing and celebrating, not realizing they were celebrating their own demise.”

  As David glanced at Cecilia, he couldn’t help but think how this was very real to her, as if she’d been the one on the veranda witnessing the event rather than the one retelling an historical account.

  Looking out over the harbor, David shook his head. With the live oaks hanging heavy with Spanish moss and the gentle breezes blowing in off the ocean, the tranquility here belied the park’s history. He took Cecilia’s hand in his and gently pressed it as they walked.

  “I thought the military institutions closed during the war. Is that not true?”

  “Some think they closed down, but no, that’s not true. The Citadel and the Arsenal Academy in Columbia, South Carolina continued to operate as academies, but the cadets were made a part of the South Carolina Military Department, forming the Battalion of State Cadets. They aided the Confederate Army by training recruits, manufacturing ammunition, protecting arms depots, and guarding Union prisoners.

  “They carried on in that capacity until December of 1864. That was when the State Cadets joined Confederate forces at Tullifinny Creek in an attempt to stop the Union troops advancing on Charleston from General William Tecumseh Sherman’s army, but on February 17, 1865, Charleston fell and the Mayor of Charleston surrendered control of the city to General Alexander Schimmelfennig on the 18th, while Sherman went on to take Columbia. It happened at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning. It was heartbreaking, and Charlestonians were in shock as Union troops moved into the city and took control.”

  Cecilia shook her head. “Sherman’s March from Atlanta to Savannah, and finally to South Carolina—bloody and sickening.” She repressed a sob. “The bloom of the South was picked. A whole generation of our men was decimated, lying dead in battlefields across the South and at Gettysburg. It would not be until the 20th century that we would recover. The war and events that followed were spoken of for years as ‘the recent unpleasantness’ by the genteel ladies of Charleston. They could not bear to speak the words ‘Civil War’.”

  “Unpleasantness indeed!” David breathed out. “It sounds a lot like the movie we watched last night.”

  “Yes, but the book details so much more. It’s a very comprehensive history of a bygone era. Margaret Mitchell captured it well. She thoroughly researched both Charleston and Savannah, Georgia when she wrote her book. The shantytown scene is an actual historical event that happened north of Charleston, just as Mitchell outlined it in her book. Read it some time. Much of it is based on the actual history of Charleston and Savannah.”

  “I will.” He squeezed her hand as they walked.

  Reaching the edge of the park, she turned to him. “This is all I have to show you here. I’ll tell you more when we reach some of the other sites. Now, let’s head to King Street.”

  Leaving the park, they strolled across Battery and up King Street where she showed him the various shops, many of which had been established before the Civil War and still sold some of the same type of goods as they had back then.

  “Over there,” she pointed to the King Street Tailor Shop, “is where historical period fashions are recreated for the various reenactment functions during the season, which will officially begin on December 12th. They measure you and sew authentic clothing for the costume balls held during that time. You can also get a bespoke suit made there. It’s the only kind my father ever wore.”

  “How many functions do you have that would warrant period style clothing?”

  “We have two that I attend, sometimes as hostess. One is the Antebellum Christmas Ball and the other is the Camellia Ball. However, next year the Magnolia Ball will also be a reenactment, celebrated on the 20th of April in commemoration of the firing on Fort Sumter. It’s going to be a grand event. The Charleston Historical Society is sponsoring it.”

  “You know, I rather enjoyed myself last April, and I normally don’t at those types of functions. In fact, I almost didn’t come, but I’m glad I did.”

  “I’m glad you did, too. It was one of the best times I’ve had in a long time,” she said in a near whisper.

  David circled his arm around her waist and gently hugged her.

  Strolling up the street, Cecilia showed him the bookstores and the historical artifacts and antique shops, explaining their significance. “These shops sell histories, journals, and antiques from the Civil War period, but occasionally there will be something from further back. There are all kinds of interesting things in there. If you remember from attending the historical society meeting with me, you know we comb the South looking for old journals from the 1600s through the 1900s to publish and sell in these shops. This helps to preserve the truth of what actually happened during that period in our history,” she said. “One thing I learned from my father is that the truth is not always found in a history book. If you want to know what really happened, look at period writings and journals instead of relying on someone else’s slant.”

  Walking across the street, they entered Ben Silver’s. “David, you’re going to like this store. Ben Silver’s the embodiment of elegant haberdashery. At one time, stores like this were on every town square in America, but now I’m told they can only be found on London’s Savile Row. This is a step back in time.”

  Looking around, David could see she was exactly right. Perusing through the selections, he found many things that could be found in the finest shops in London. There were fine shirtings, blazers, and suits, and on the hand-carved shelves, authentic English-made shoes were displayed. Smoking jackets, dressing gowns and eveningwear of every style conceivable hung discreetly near the storefront window. He walked towards the back and found elegant socks, fine cufflinks, and leather braces lining the shelves. Anything he could want was here. He smiled. “Should I ever have a need for something whilst in Charleston, I now at least know where to come.”

  “Yes, this was one of the few places my father would shop—that and the tailor shop I told you about. Daddy liked fine accessories, and that’s what he wore. My favorite shop for lady’s things is Bits of Lace, but I won’t bore you with that. Let’s get something to eat before we continue. Come on.” She grabbed his hand. “We’re going to the café on Queen Street.”

  Once they reached the café, they sat under the pergola eating their sandwiches and sipping tea—his hot, hers cold. After lunch, they walked up Meeting Street to a bank building where she explained the beginnings of the Confederacy.

  “On this very site where the bank now stands was the location of the South Carolina Institute Hall where it all began with the election of Abraham Lincoln. South Carolina had warned that if the Republicans won, South Carolina would use its Constitutional right and withdraw from the Union. Therefore, on November 10, 1860, following the election, the General Assembly called for a Convention of the People of South Carolina to draft a secession ordinance.

  “They met first on the 17th of December, 1860, in the First Baptist Church of Colombia, but there was an epidemic of smallpox in the capital at that time, so the convention was adjourned to Charleston where they met here at Institute Hall on the 19th.”

  David ran his fingers over the brass marker on the bank’s brick wall as she talked.

  “The movement to secede from the Union was driven by the Lowcou
ntry Planters—primarily those from Beaufort and Georgetown, as they controlled the South Carolina General Assembly. They drew up the Ordinance of Session, and the planters, aided by the fiery rhetoric of Robert Barnwell Rhett and the Charleston Mercury, persuaded the Charleston merchant class to vote for secession. So, the next day, on December 20th, 1860, they met in St. Andrew’s Hall on Broad Street to adopt the resolution on a roll call ballot. The vote was 169 to 0. Before it was all said and done, eleven Southern States would eventually withdraw from the Union and come together to form the Confederate States of America.” She once more took David’s hand and said, “Let’s walk on.”

  They went down Meeting Street to Broad and stood in front of a large parking lot. “This is the location of St. Andrew’s Hall where the infamous vote was cast. The original building was destroyed almost a year later, as was the South Carolina Institute Hall, along with five hundred beautiful homes, churches, and public buildings. They were all destroyed on the 12th of December by one of the worst fires in our history. The horrible event was known as the fire of 1861. It was a pity, too, because St. Andrew’s Hall was also home to the St. Cecilia Society and the heart of the social life for upper-class Charlestonians in its day.” She sighed and looked at David. “St. Cecilia was a members-only club and hosted the most exclusive and elegant balls of the season. Even today, its historical records remain sealed to non-members.”

  “Was your family a member?”

  “What do you think?”

  He smiled. “Of course they were, and that’s interesting, but don’t you think it rather strange that the city burned, these locations in particular, nearly a year later?”

  “Yes, I do—almost like an omen and a warning of things to come. That, coupled with the almost daily cannon bombardment from the Union forces, nearly destroyed our city.” She shook her head as she reached for his hand. “Come on. We’re going to Church Street next. Our most famous cemetery is located there, along with the churchyard cemetery of my family.”