The Cumberland Plateau

by Mary K. Baxley

  As they walked from Broad Street to Church, she continued. “The seeds of the Civil War were planted by John C. Calhoun, who is considered our most famous town father. During the first half of the 19th century, he was a leading southern politician and political philosopher from South Carolina.”

  “I’ve read about him. He had a varying career, I do believe.”

  “Yes, he did. He served as vice president under Presidents John Quincy Adams and Andrew Jackson, although he resigned the vice presidency two years into the Jackson term.” She leaned into David as they walked. “He was disappointed with Jackson on the issue of slavery and states’ rights, so he decided he could be of more use to South Carolina in the U.S. Senate.”

  Turning onto Church Street, they walked on to the historical churches and cemeteries. Pointing to St. Phillips Churchyard, Cecilia commented, “That is Calhoun’s tomb over there. It’s the largest monument. You can’t miss it. The leading fathers of South Carolina are also buried in that cemetery. And over there,” she pointed to the opposite side of the street, “is the Lawton family church. My grandmother, four generations back, is buried there along with her husband, Wallace, and their six children. You saw her portrait in the library. I’m named after her. Let’s walk over.” Stepping out onto the street, they walked over to an old parish cemetery covered in leaves.

  “You look just like her, you know. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, but looked rather young in that painting.”

  “She was young—barely seventeen when she married Wallace. They were married two days before the firing on Fort Sumter, and yes, I know cadets were not allowed to marry. But he was one month away from graduation, and they wanted to marry before he went to war, therefore it was done in secret. Things were changing rapidly, and there was no assurance of tomorrow. She had to grow up hard and fast like I’ve had to. I’m well named, as we are quite alike.”

  “I’m sure you are. She sounds like a lovely lady who could take control, much like someone else I know,” he said. “Continue on. I want to hear the rest of it.”

  Cecilia went on to tell how Wallace had taken his young wife to her family’s plantation in the countryside of Savannah for safekeeping while he went to war and how he later had to come and rescue her from Sherman’s advancing army. All of her family had been killed or died while the plantation home was burned to the ground as it fell in Sherman’s path. Cecilia and her young daughter were the only ones of the family to survive, and that had only been because of faithful slaves who had hidden them in the swamps.

  “The Union Army burned everything. They took our food, leaving us to starve, burning what they could not eat. They killed all of the livestock, horses, and mules, leaving them to rot where they dropped. There was massive starvation and malnutrition. No one was spared in Sherman’s wake, from the planter to the cracker, the poorest of them all. They were all affected and burned out. The intent was to teach the South, particularly South Carolina, a lesson. Cecilia recorded in her journal how they walked for mile after mile with their nostrils filled with the stench of the dead and dying, animals and people alike. It was a horrible time, and it only got worse after the war.

  “People with money were in short supply, and jobs were scarce. Some planters, particularly the rice planters, did pay their ex-slaves a regular wage for their labor and kept them on. We were eventually able to return to Carlton and hired many of our former slaves, too. Samuel had foreseen the collapse of our economy and had our gold safely stored away in a bank in England under the care of some of our English relatives.”

  Brushing her fingertips over her ancestor’s gravestone, she sighed. “Samuel died in 1861, consequently he did not see the destruction, but Cecilia and Wallace did. They witnessed a way of life that had existed for nearly two centuries in South Carolina destroyed—swept away, seemingly overnight. Hence Margaret Mitchell’s title, ‘Gone with the Wind.’ It’s called the death of the Old South. Some say it was a good thing. I don’t know. I’m not defending the Old South. I’m only telling you what happened.

  “However, one thing was for certain. Coping with the new social and economic order was not easy for anyone, black or white, and South Carolina’s response to the results of the war did not please Washington, so we soon found ourselves in the throes of Reconstruction.”

  The entire time he listened, David couldn’t help but admire the Lawton family. They were survivors just like the Darcys. Her story was not unlike some recorded in his own family journals—tales of how his family had survived through the Middle Ages, into the Renaissance, and to the present day. He couldn’t resist giving Cecilia a gentle hug.

  Standing under the tall oaks, she pointed to five small graves. “Cecilia’s five young children died during Reconstruction due to disease and poor nutrition. They were all less than ten years old. Most were less than five. Only one son survived, and through him, one son up to my father, who tragically lost his only son. The Lawtons have never been able to have more than one son since the war, and in my case, child, to survive to adulthood.” She paused for a moment and picked up a leaf, shredding it to bits.

  “Wallace Lawton became a broken man, as he could not accept the death of the Old South. His father, mother, and all of his brothers died during the war, leaving his family, my line, to be the last of the Lawtons.” She repressed a sob.

  “It was Cecilia who pulled her family through. Her husband surrendered to drunkenness and gambling, neglecting his family, but when he died, she controlled everything through her son. No small endeavor, I might add, since society and the laws of that time were against women. It was a man’s world, but we owe our very survival to her, and now it’s down to me. Now I am the last of the Lawtons, and since I’m not a son, there will be no more after me.”

  David hugged her and released a sigh. “Someday you’ll marry and have several sons.”

  “Perhaps.” She shrugged. “That’s what’s expected of me. People say it’s my duty and obligation.”

  As Cecilia talked, David walked over to a small bleached-out headstone and read the caption as he ran his fingers over it in reverence. “Cecilia, who’s buried here? It’s different from the rest.”

  Cecilia joined him, placing her hand on the white stone as she read out loud. “Chloe and Peter Chaplin…much beloved and much missed,” she whispered. “This is the resting place of two former slaves that were more like family than anything else. They were dear friends. Without them, we would not have survived. Chloe was Cecilia’s handmaid and close confidant, and Peter was Wallace’s overseer and close friend. Peter stayed by us and convinced many of the other slaves to remain as well. Together they worked Carlton Plantation, planting and harvesting the rice. It was because of Peter that we were finally able to get back on our feet. One of his great-great grandsons is my overseer for the Carolina Gold Research Institute and Development Foundation and sits on the board of directors. He also manages all my affairs concerning the plantation. You’ll meet him and his wife, Ruby, my housekeeper, when we go to Carlton Plantation tomorrow. Another one of Peter’s great-great grandsons works for me at Lawton Hall. He lives there with his wife and grandson and oversees the Sea Island Cotton Foundation and sits on that board of directors. You’ll meet him, too, when we go to Lawton Hall. They are known to me as Uncle Willis and Aunt Tully of Lawton Hall, and Uncle Reuben and Aunt Ruby of Carlton Plantation.”

  Cecilia hesitated, and then looked up. “David, in spite of what you’ve been told of our history, not everyone was cruel. I’d like to think that we were not. Even before they were freed, we treated our slaves well and even paid them. It was a small amount, paid at the end of the harvest. We also gave them a few pigs and a plot of land, and they were given time to work the land and raise their own food. They sold what they wanted to and were allowed to keep the money. Like I said, after the war, we kept as many on as we could, provided they wanted to stay, that is, and paid them a regular wage as best as we could.”

  David stepped back. “I’m
glad to hear it, because my family abhorred slavery, and I have to agree with them. I had one ancestral uncle who was involved in some way with having slavery abolished in the British Virgin Isles, but I don’t remember the details. However, I plan on finding out when I return home for Christmas.”

  He halted briefly. “I have another question. I thought it was illegal to bury a person of African descent in a white cemetery.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “With enough money, you can do anything you want to.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  When they left the churchyard cemetery, she took him to The Old Market Place.

  “Over there,” she pointed, “is the fish market I was telling you about. An experienced shopper can pick the best crabs. They must be she-crabs, as the males have a strong taste, which I find unpleasant. You did enjoy the She-Crab Chowder, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, very much.” He chuckled as she gave him a hug.

  As she talked, David watched her and marveled as he realized he was seeing her and the people of Charleston in a different light. He smiled as she tugged at his hand, leading him across the street.

  “Now, let’s enter the market. I want you to find something for your sister.”

  As they entered, David perused all the things the various vendors had to sell. There were handmade quilts, tatted lace, crocheted doilies, linens, and woodcarvings, as well as fruits and vegetables. He found an assortment of beautiful hair ornaments crafted from abalone shell and selected a few hair clips from among them, along with a pair of hand- carved bone hair sticks that he thought Georgiana would like.

  Leaving the old marketplace, they walked on, finally coming to the Old Custom and Exchange House on East Bay Street. The Exchange House was the center of commerce in its day, serving as both a jail and a business terminal. As they walked up the steps, she explained how business was conducted in the 19th century.

  “Cotton and rice factors were an essential part of an agrarian society in antebellum times. They bought, sold, and stored cotton, rice, and other goods for planters, as well as performing many different services, including placing the planter’s children in boarding schools and advising their clients concerning market conditions and the wisdom of selling or withholding their crops given the current market stability, and they would also issue a line of credit against the planter’s crops.”

  “How did it work?”

  “Well, in the case of cotton, the factor would come to the field warehouse and assess the cotton for quality. Then he would find a buyer for the best price and have the cotton moved to his warehouses in Charleston where the export fees would be assessed. After they were paid, it would be shipped to a merchant in the North who would then ship it overseas. This was a very risky business because unless a planter was diversified, he could lose his entire annual income if the shipment were to be lost at sea. You see, he wasn’t paid in full until the cotton was delivered. The same process held true for the rice planter.”

  “That’s very similar to the Old Commodities Exchange in London during the same time period.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” She laughed. “Our social structure was modeled after the English. I mean, we were English, after all.”

  David smiled, putting his arm around her. “I’ll have to look it up, but I think we had a mercantile in Liverpool for both cotton and rice, and perhaps sugar.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt that either. Your family is probably older than mine. I can only trace mine to Devonshire in the 1650s to the third Earl of Devon. One of his descendants was a member of the Lords Proprietor in 1670. We were among those that settled Charles Towne.”

  “Interesting, ours goes back to 1066 and there are numerous lords and marquises within the family lineage with several settling in the British Virgin Isles and Barbados.”

  After viewing the Exchange, they made their way back to the townhouse. Strolling along Charleston Harbor’s sea wall, David could not remember when he’d had a more pleasant or relaxing time. Cecilia had an air about her that spoke of class and sophistication, and it was easy for him to infer that her roots were every bit as noble as his. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he knew as much about his own family as she did hers, for he, unlike his brother, had never taken the trouble to read the many journals ensconced in the family library.

  Descending the steps of the barrier wall and crossing East Battery Street to the townhouse, Cecilia asked, “David, is there anything special you would like to do tonight?”

  “Let’s watch the sequel to Gone with the Wind. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen it.”

  “All right, but I have to warn you. It’s not as good as Gone with the Wind. You can tell Margaret Mitchell did not write the book, but it does finish the story,” she said. “Though, David, I highly recommend that you obtain the books and read them for yourself because so much was left out, especially from Gone with the Wind.”

  “I’ll do that. I never thought I would enjoy a chick flick, but this is a fascinating story. I want to go back to some of those little shops and buy some books. I don’t often read for pleasure, but Fitzwilliam reads all the time, and so did Elizabeth. He’s been out of sorts lately, so I think I’ll buy him a book, too.”

  She looked at him curiously. “Elizabeth? I’ve never heard you speak of her.”

  “She was Fitzwilliam’s wife.”

  “Was?”

  “Yes,” he sighed, “she left him, and I’ve been very worried about him. He’s not been the same since they separated. She left him without cause or reason. He was devastated. I have hired investigators to find her, but so far they’ve been unsuccessful in locating her.”

  “Are you sure she didn’t have a reason? I mean, it’s highly unusual for a woman to just up and leave, don’t you think?”

  “No, I know she had no reason. I don’t know the particulars, but I do know they fought bitterly whilst they were separated during our struggle. It seemed that she wanted him to spend more time talking to her on the phone than he had to spend. She couldn’t understand the pressure he was under.” David shrugged. “He was doing the best he could, both by her and his responsibilities to our family. Apparently she wasn’t concerned about what he was going through or his feelings. Her only concern was for herself.”

  “Well, David, sometimes things are not as they seem. I’m sure she must have loved him.”

  “If she loved him, then why did she leave? No, had she loved him, she would’ve understood and waited for him, but instead she ran at the first sign of trouble.” Turning to Cecilia, he asked, “What was he supposed to do? Abandon everything for her?!”

  “No, David, but a man is supposed to see to it that his wife is secure in their marriage. He should have made every effort to see that she was assured of her importance to him—that she mattered first in his life. It sounds to me like he took her for granted.”

  David bristled. “You don’t even know Elizabeth. How could you say such a thing? I don’t know what more Fitzwilliam could have done!”

  “I don’t know Fitzwilliam, either,” Cecilia responded defensively, “but I do know there are two sides to every story. I’m just telling you how I see it from a woman’s perspective.”

  “Well, I’m telling you my brother is an honorable man. In fact, he is the best of men, and whilst he might be the forgiving type, I certainly am not. If she were my wife, I don’t think I could ever forgive her for her lack of faith and trust, nor would I have her back. My temper is resentful at best. When my opinion is formed, it’s rarely changed, and Elizabeth Darcy has lost my good opinion forever.”

  Shocked, Cecilia reeled from his vehemence. As they silently walked across the courtyard and into the house, she shuddered. …I’m flirting with disaster. I have got to be careful!

  Chapter Fifty-three

  …They were simply a man and a woman falling in love…

  As they entered the house, the scent of something delicious greeted them. “What’s for dinner? It smells scrumptious,” David said a
s he gently tapped Cecilia’s bum and then rubbed it.

  “That’s just like a man. Are you ruled by your belly?”

  “Not quite,” he said as they walked towards the stairs.

  “Well, we’re having beef a la mode, Hoppin John with Carolina rice, spinach and mushroom casserole, homemade bread, and blackberry cobbler. You’ll like it.” She reached up and tapped his lips as they climbed the stairs arm in arm.

  “I’m sure I will. You have excellent cooks.”

  When they reached the landing, she turned and said, “I’m going to change and freshen up. Meet me in my room in twenty minutes, and we’ll go downstairs together.”

  ~*~

  With dinner finished, they once again went to the entertainment room to watch the second film. Curled up together on the chaise lounge, he held her as he had the night before while they watched Scarlett. Snuggled close, David couldn’t help but think how right it felt to be here with her, and for once, there was no place he’d rather be. When the movie ended, David contemplated how much Cecilia resembled the heroine and how his own personality mirrored that of Rhett Butler’s.

  “What a difficult time they had! Do you suppose it’s always like that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. When two headstrong people come together, there’s usually trouble if there is not a deep commitment and devotion to one another, but what would I know about it? My parents were like Scarlett and Rhett, but unfortunately, their marriage didn’t end as happily as it does in the movies. I suppose it never does. Now let’s get ready for bed. Tomorrow will be another busy day. We’re going to my home, Carlton Plantation.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing your childhood home. Maybe someday I can show you my home, Pemberley, in Derbyshire. It’s in the North of England.”

  “I’d love that,” she said as they took the stairs to her room.