The Cumberland Plateau

by Mary K. Baxley

  “What are you doing now?” he asked.

  “It’s a warm day, and I’m going into the creek. Join me.”

  David shook his head with a smile as they both took off their shoes and socks and waded into the stream where she reached down for a handful of water and splashed him before turning to run. Just as she made it to the center of the brook, she slipped on a moss-covered rock, but he was there and caught her before she could fall. They frolicked and played like a couple of children, soaking each other and laughing like two young lovers. He tickled her until she squirmed and wiggled into his arms, and soon they were kissing. She sighed gently. This was more fun than she’d had in years. Breaking the kiss, she ran from the water while he gave close chase.

  “Catch me if you can,” she shouted over her shoulder as she headed out into a field of tall sage grass.

  “Lawton, I’m faster than you.”

  “We’ll see about that. I have the lead.”

  When he caught her, she stumbled and fell, but he broke their fall. Tumbling to the ground, David supported her as she toppled on top of him, rolling and laughing, tumbling until he settled above her.

  He looked deep into her eyes. Gazing back, she wondered. What did she see? Could those eyes be for her? Could he love her…did he love her? She asked herself as he bent low and tenderly kissed her. As he deepened the kiss, their passion grew. They kissed and touched, and soon they had stripped off their clothes and were making love under the midday sky of November.

  Later, satisfied and contented, David rolled over and folded Cecilia into a protective embrace. “I haven’t made love under the open sky since I was fifteen.”

  “Fifteen! You started young, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’d certainly been thinking about it for a lot longer. Thus, when the opportunity presented itself, I took it.”

  “Well, now that you’ve begun, you may as well tell me all about it. Was she your first love?”

  “No. Far from it. She was a girl I met while at Eton. She attended Windsor, a nearby girls’ school. We would sneak out whenever we could and meet up. I would borrow my father’s car.” He grinned and chuckled. “I didn’t have a driving license at that time.

  “We would leave for a secluded area in the country where we’d strip naked and shag in the tall grass just like this.” David plucked a piece of grass and put it between his teeth. “She was as inexperienced as I was, so you could say we taught each other.”

  He laughed. “I remember our first time. We were both so scared that I nearly lost it before I began, but that didn’t last long. Soon we were confident and bold enough to tempt the wind. That’s when I did something very unwise. I parked in a farmer’s field. We must have shagged most of the night, causing me to lose track of my surroundings. I didn’t notice it had begun to rain until it was too late. I don’t have to tell you the rest. You can imagine what happened.”

  “Yep!” She grinned. “You were stuck in the mud in your daddy’s car, borrowed without permission! So what did you do, call your father?”

  “Are you serious? I might have been foolish, but I wasn’t daft. My father would have killed me. No, I called my brother, who, after thrashing me soundly, demanded a full explanation as to what I thought I was doing.”

  “Hmm…how did you feel about that?”

  “I didn’t care. He didn’t either. Not really.” David shrugged. “He got the car out. We cleaned it up and snuck it back home, and then he told me to be sensible and to never do anything so foolish again. The next weekend he gave me a box of condoms and never mentioned it after that.”

  “I assume you were sensible, then?”

  “Of course. I’ve been careful ever since.” He turned and tapped her nose. “Now how about you? Have you ever made love in the outdoors?”

  She tensed. “A few times. It was a long time ago, too.”

  “Cameron?”

  “Yes, Cameron.” She picked a seed head from the tall grass and began to shred it. “It was down by the old grist mill on his family’s plantation. There was a special place there—a smooth rock that overlooked the creek. I can’t especially recall it as a good time.”

  David’s eyes were piercing and full of questions. She sighed with a soft smile. “No, David, I’ve already told you I did not love him.” She shook her head as she shredded the last of the grass stalk. David pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.

  After several minutes of suspended silence, he reached over and brushed her breast with his fingers. “Lawton, I think we should eat. Mrs. Chaplin would be upset if we let her food go to waste, and besides, with all of this exercise, I’m hungry.”

  “I don’t see how you could be after all you ate for breakfast.”

  “Ha! That was hours ago. Besides, you’ve worked it out of me…playing, as you call it, so now it’s time to eat,” he said, helping her up as they retrieved their clothing.

  After they ate, they packed everything away and headed back to the house where Cecilia’s caretaker was waiting.

  “Uncle Reuben,” she said as she handed off the picnic things to a servant, “How is Lady Grey? Did the breeding go well?”

  “Yes, she’s bred, and you should have a fine foal come this time next year, but it has cost you a pretty penny.”

  “I don’t care about that. All I want is a foal.”

  “Well, that you’ll have. Solomon wants to keep her for another week just to be sure, so I’ll pick her up next weekend. We can go down together. Now if you two will excuse me, I need to check on the rice fields. I have the men making repairs to the floodgates. We’ll talk later. Nice to see you again, Mr. Darcy,” he said with a smile as he nodded at David.

  “And likewise, sir,” David acknowledged.

  ~*~

  That night after dinner, Cecilia talked late into the evening with Reuben Chaplin, discussing last year’s rice production and her plans for the following spring. David sat and listened with keen interest. Then later, in the confines of their bedroom, he discussed it with Cecilia, offering his advice.

  “Cecilia, from what Mr. Chaplin has said, I think it’s time to take the project forward and reintroduce it as a commercially grown crop. You should also expand and plant all of your available lands. That’s my opinion based on what I’ve heard tonight, but I’ll be able to give you a more informed response once I’ve had a chance to read and digest the progress reports. I also need to read all the documentation on the entire project.”

  “You do that. I’ll be anxious to hear what an outsider has to say about what we are doing.”

  “Give me two months to read everything over, and I’ll have an assessment then.”

  “Thanks, David. That sounds great. Now let’s prepare for bed. We’ve had quite a day.”

  “Indeed we have, and we’re going to have quite a night, too.”

  With a wry smile, she took him by the hand and led him to the shower.

  Chapter Fifty-five

  …Please… please, don’t leave me…

  The next day, shortly after breakfast, David and Cecilia headed back to Charleston. Cecilia stopped by the townhouse to get a few things, and while there, she called Elizabeth to make sure everything was all right. Elizabeth had kept herself busy with walks in the gardens, reading, and sewing. She reassured Cecilia, telling her not to worry. If anything happened, her driver would get her to the hospital. Relieved that Elizabeth was okay, they headed eighty miles south along U.S. Hwy 17 through the heart of the countryside to Beaufort and then they took U.S. 21 to St. Helena Island.

  Pulling into the drive of Lawton Hall Road, Cecilia gestured. “This is Lawton Hall—once a thriving cotton plantation. Let’s take our things inside, and then I’ll take you on a tour of the plantation and tell you all about the research project.”

  Walking up the path to the house, they were greeted by the caretaker. “Good morning, Ms. Lawton. I trust you had a pleasant drive down from Carlton.”

  Cecilia smiled. “Y
es, we did. How have you been, Uncle Willis? It’s been a while.”

  “Oh, I’m doin’ as fine as hair on a frog’s back. Here, let me have Stuart get these things for you,” the old man said as he took the suitcases and handed them to a younger man standing nearby.

  “Thanks, Willis. Now if you will allow me, I’d like to introduce you to a friend I’ve brought along. Willis, this is David Darcy from England, and David, this is Willis Chaplin, my caretaker who oversees the cotton growth and development project. He’s Reuben’s brother.”

  David stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Chaplin.”

  Shaking the offered hand, Willis replied, “The pleasure is all mine. I’m always honored to meet any of Ms. Lawton’s friends and associates.” He nodded towards the boy holding the luggage. “And this is my grandson, Stuart.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” David said as the young man nodded.

  Turning back to Cecilia, Mr. Chaplin added, “Tully was elated to hear you were comin’. She’s been waitin’ all morning, frettin’ with the house and dinner preparations, so you best go in and see her before she wears a hole in the floor pacing back and forth,” he said with a laugh. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to check on the south field. If you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Willis. We’re going to have some lunch, and then we’ll tour the fields. I’ll see you later.”

  When they entered the house, a plump black woman approached. “Oh lordy be! Miss Cecilia. Come here, child, and let Aunt Tully have a look at you.”

  “Aunt Tully, how are you doing?” Cecilia asked as the two women embraced.

  “Oh, I’ve seen better days. This old rheumatism has me down every now and again, and I’ve got grunts and groans, but today I’m fine, especially with you here.” The old woman turned, eyeing David with a gentle smile. “And who do you have here, sneaking up on this old woman?”

  Cecilia laughed. “He’s a friend and business associate. Let me introduce you,” she said with a smile. “Aunt Tully, this is my good friend, David Darcy from Derbyshire, England, and David, this is my dear friend, Tulia Chaplin, but we call her Aunt Tully.”

  David stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Chaplin.”

  As the lady took David’s hand, she said, “And likewise, Mr. Darcy. It’s always a joy to meet Miss Cecilia’s friends—and any friend of Miss Cecilia’s is a friend of old Aunt Tully’s. You make yourself right at home, and be sure to call me Aunt Tully. You hear, now?”

  David stood by in quiet amusement at the reaction of the old woman to his and Cecilia’s presence. He did not miss the sly looks she gave, nor did he fail to comprehend their meaning. He only smiled.

  Turning back to Cecilia, Aunt Tully continued. “I’ll get y’all somethin’ to eat, and your room is all fixed up. I even put some fresh gardenias in your grandmother’s milk-glass vase for you. ”

  Casting a glance at the young man standing there with the luggage, the old woman reprimanded, “Stuart, what you doin’ standin’ there like some moon-eyed calf, lettin’ the moss grow on your back? Get Miss Cecilia’s things on up them stairs right this minute. Do you hear your grandmamma? Now shoo.”

  “Yes ma’am,” the boy said as he turned and quickly headed in the direction of the staircase.

  As the boy disappeared, Tully returned to her company. “I’ll have sandwiches and some fresh-made lemonade for you lickity split. Now, I best get on about my business. Dinner don’t get cooked on its own these days.” The old woman gave David an approving smile before she turned and left through a wide entryway, disappearing into the next room.

  After putting away their things and having a light lunch, Cecilia escorted David to the cotton fields, explaining the history behind the cotton project as they walked.

  “Traditionally, Sea Island Cotton was used to make the fine laces for the aristocracy of Europe. In the Old South, all Sea Island Cotton went to England to be processed in the mills there.”

  Approaching the first field, David asked, “What makes it so costly and so much in demand?”

  “Well, for one thing, true Sea Island Cotton can only be grown here on these Sea Islands, and today not very many of them are farmlands as they once were, but that’s not the only thing. What makes it sought-after is the feel and texture of the cotton. It’s extra-long staple cotton, finer than the best Pima and Egyptian cottons, giving the cloth a smooth, tight weave akin to the sensation of fine silk. It has an unusually high yield, which I’ve managed to increase over the last five years based on my father’s research.” Stooping to pick up some of the sandy soil, she continued while sifting it through her fingers. “These seeds taken anywhere else will not produce the same quality. It’s the soil and growing conditions here on these islands that make Sea Island Cotton the most sought-after cotton in the world.”

  Reaching over to snap off one of the few bolls left behind by the pickers, David rolled it between his fingertips, admiring its texture. “What is the history behind this cotton, and why do you have to bring it back? What happened to it?”

  “I don’t think anybody knows the exact origins, but it is reputed to have come from the Bahamas in 1786, where it was then developed by crossbreeding. The first successful crop was grown on Hilton Head Island by William Elliot in 1790, but the best crops were grown on these Sea Islands you see around you, especially St. Helena.

  “I’ve told you of the destruction brought on by the Union Army, well, chalk it up to them. When they came through the Sea Islands, it was their aim to extract the highest cost possible from the planters of South Carolina because they were the ones who had spearheaded the secession movement. The Yankees not only burned our homes, killed our livestock, and destroyed our food, but they stole our cotton, sending it north. When they ginned it, fools that they were, they threw away the seeds.”

  Walking along the outer field, she continued. “A few seeds, however, did survive, and we did plant again, but Mother Nature raged against us. A severe boll weevil infestation attacked the cotton, and by 1920, it was no longer profitable to grow. Planters attempted to revive the production in the 1930s, but by then the country was in the throes of the Great Depression. It was just too much, so they gave up until my father took the project on in the 1990s in conjunction with the University of South Carolina at Beaufort. We’ve been working on it ever since, and this year’s crop is one of the best yet. The SI-4, SI-5, and SI-6 produced record yields and the spinning quality was superb, but SI-7 has the highest yield on record, and this year’s crop promises to be even better. I haven’t gotten the report back on SI-7’s spinning quality, but I expect it to surpass the previous years.”

  “Very good. I’m glad to hear your hard work is paying off. By the way, this cotton feels exquisite, just as you say—like silk.”

  She chuckled. “Yes, it does. It has a lustrous shine when woven into cloth. I hope to introduce it back into the economy of South Carolina soon, but for now, I sell my cotton raw to one of the few mills in the U.S. that’s still in operation. They, in turn, process it into cloth and sell it abroad to be used by designers for some of the most chic fashions available.”

  “I bet.” He laughed. “How many acres did you say you plant?”

  “Currently it’s about seven hundred, but I intend to increase that next year to include the small islands off the shore of St. Helena. That should increase it to around a fifteen hundred. And I’m always looking to buy additional farmland when it becomes available.”

  “Very impressive.” David nodded.

  Strolling along, she explained how they prepared the fields for spring planting, elaborating on the differences between modern farming and the way it was done in antebellum times. By the time they began their trek back to the house, it was late afternoon.

  “David, let’s eat. Then we can retire to the front porch swing where we can sip iced tea and talk.”

  “That sounds good to me,” he said, lacin
g his fingers in hers as they walked towards the house.

  Walking through the front door, she said, “I’ll show you the house later on, but there’s not much to it. It’s not much more than a large farmhouse with six bedrooms upstairs and two down. It has no formal rooms and is considered small for a plantation home, very much like Tara.” She sighed. “Had they survived, it would have gone to one of Wallace’s brothers, as would have the James Island Plantation, but they didn’t, so it’s all been passed down to me.”

  “It’s still a nice home, even if it is small, and yes,” he said looking around, “It does remind me of Tara.” He circled his arm around her, hugging her as they moved towards the dining room and the aroma of a country dinner waiting for them on the table.

  ~*~

  Each night after lovemaking and before sleep, Cecilia probed David for information concerning Fitzwilliam. And each time, David relaxed and told her a little more.

  “David, what is your brother like? Is he like you?” she asked.

  “No,” David chuckled, “we’re nothing alike. My brother has a very serious nature. He’s quiet and reserved. Besides Elizabeth, I only remember him having one serious relationship, and that ended badly.”

  “Who was she and what happened?”

  “Her name was Stella Fitzgerald. She was beautiful with long auburn hair and vivid green eyes.” He softly laughed. “My brother has an affinity for long hair and green eyes. It must be the medieval history lover in him, or his fascination for Tolkien’s works. His wife, Elizabeth, had incredibly long hair and beautiful green eyes, too. Fitzwilliam often said she was his vision of Lúthien from The Silmarillion. It’s fitting, too, since Lúthien means enchantress. But that aside, I could never forget Stella for all the uproar she caused between my brother and our father. In fact, I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget Stella or Elizabeth for the havoc they’ve heaped on my brother.” David smirked, “He’s a romantic—not necessarily a good thing.”