Sweetgrass

by Monroe, Mary Alice

  14

  “South Carolina is rich in history, heritage and natural beauty. For us to continue to enjoy these gifts, we must accept our role as good stewards, and together, we will save the last great places.”

  —Mark L. Robertson, Executive Director,

  The Nature Conservancy of South Carolina

  SUMMER BLOOMED ALONG the coast of Sweetgrass. The grasses flourished between the dunes, grading into maritime shrubs and the brackish salt marsh. A profusion of wildflowers competed for attention along the horizon. Small, perfect yellow primroses ambled beside delicate oxeye daisies, the brilliant pink of swamp roses and the glorious pink, blue and white funnels of morning glories.

  Morgan ran a path through the property. The landscape was familiar, but each day he saw something new. Each day he felt more keenly that his stewardship at this point in time could determine the property’s fate for future generations. As he ran along the composted path, he knew that saving this piece of land went far beyond what was best for his father or his mother or even the Blakely family. These acres of wild open space lay unprotected, helpless against man’s destruction. This land was as endangered as any bison or bald eagle, and as their habitat, even more crucial to save.

  It was this realization that had brought him to his plan. He’d made a few investigative phone calls and thought the idea had promise. He looked at his watch. He had several appointments scheduled for today. He’d have to cut his run short if he wanted to be showered and ready on time.

  Daniel Davis from The Nature Conservancy and Elizabeth Lowndes from the Coastal Conservation League arrived at Sweetgrass promptly at nine o’clock. Mama June welcomed her children’s old friends at the front door with heartfelt hugs. Nona beamed at seeing folks she’d cared for as children all grown up and looking so prosperous. She’d made a fresh pitcher of sweet tea to serve with the cake and berries that she hoped would sweeten their visit.

  Morgan stepped forward to shake the hand of the tall, tanned, broad-shouldered man he’d have recognized anywhere, even with his thinning hair. Dan was older by a good ten years, but he’d been a close pal of Hamlin’s and a constant partner on fishing and hunting expeditions. Morgan often tagged along and had more stories about their antics than a farm dog did fleas. Dan came from an old family that was a strong force for environmental protection in the area. The Davis family had put thousands of their acres in the western section of the state into conservation easements.

  Lizzy was as lithe now as she had been as a teenager, but her waist-long blond hair was now shoulder length and she’d traded in jeans and sandals for a stylish brown suit and heels. Yet her freshly scrubbed face beamed when she stepped closer, wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight, same as always. She had a big heart and a generous spirit. She’d been an on-again off-again girlfriend—someone Mama June had made no secret she’d like as a daughter-in-law—but mostly she was a friend. Lizzy was one of those girls that guys liked to hang out with because she was a good listener, could hold her beer and never said a mean-spirited thing about anybody. She was also a damn good sailor and a world-class fisherman. It didn’t surprise him that she’d ended up with a degree in biology and a mission to protect the environment.

  After tea and a visit with Preston and Mama June in the living room, Preston went to his scheduled physical therapy session while Morgan brought his guests to the privacy of the office to discuss the reason for the meeting.

  “You know what I’d like to do,” he began when they were seated. “I’m having the devil of a time trying to make ends meet. My father’s been struggling to keep this place intact for years. Lord knows he’s pulled about every rabbit out of his hat, but he can’t change what’s happening along the coast. Frankly, we can’t afford to hang on to this place. I’ve been digging through my father’s business papers and scratching my head looking for I don’t know what. Bobby Pearlman suggested I look into a conservation easement, so I called you both for some advice.”

  “Bobby led you straight,” Dan said with a grin. “There’s no doubt that this is a plum property. I’d be lying if I said we weren’t darn pleased when you called. The land along this corridor is disappearing faster than sand through our fingers. Developments are sprawling, and we’re aiming to preserve as much as we can, while we still can.”

  “Especially because this is such an important migratory route,” Lizzy added. “But Morgan—” She paused. “While the easement will protect the land’s ecology and open space, you do realize that it also puts restrictions on the property, not just for you but for future generations?”

  “That’s part of what I need to better understand,” Morgan replied.

  “It’s simple, really,” said Dan. “As a landowner, you’ll agree to sell or donate certain rights to the property, such as the right to develop it or subdivide.” He offered a wry grin. “It would be our job to enforce your promise not to exercise those rights. Or your heirs.”

  “Well, actually, those rights no longer exist,” Lizzy amended.

  “Right,” Dan agreed. “But the land remains in your ownership. Hey, we’ve all been struggling to keep our family property together. My family’s estate was being eaten alive by taxes. We didn’t want to sell it, though we had plenty of offers. We ended up selling some and putting most of it into easements. It’s a compromise we could live with. Shoot, do you know what your land is worth now, with all that water-front?”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Morgan replied.

  “Well, then.” Dan continued rubbing his jaw. “My hat’s off to you for considering an easement. A lot of folks are going for the money.”

  “My father is intent on keeping what’s left of Sweetgrass intact.”

  Dan nodded his understanding. “The first thing to know is that the easement will remove the land’s development potential. That in turn can qualify you for lower tax benefits. When all is said and done, the easement will protect the land for the future while your family can remain living on the land.”

  Lizzy nodded. “It’s the most powerful tool you have at your disposal to keep your land, Morgan. At the same time, you’ll be doing the public a service. Not to mention the environment. If we’re thoughtful about it, we can make a difference. I know that matters to you. And to your daddy.”

  “Adele will be an obstacle.”

  “Of course she will,” Lizzy replied with a smirk. “Your aunt is a voracious developer. She realizes the surging value of your land. Unfortunately, she doesn’t recognize its important ecological value.”

  “Come on, Lizzy, his aunt’s no villain,” said Dan. “It’s happening all over the country. To farms, ranches, timberlands, plantations and some choice hunting grounds, too. You know me, Morgan. That stings where it hurts.”

  “Easements are among the fastest-growing methods of land preservation today,” added Lizzy. “They’ve protected more than two million acres in our country.”

  “The problem is, I still haven’t figured out a way to maintain the land, even if the taxes are lowered,” said Morgan. “We may have to sell in the end, anyway.”

  “If you’re strapped for cash, you could sell the easement rights,” Dan said. “We’d have to look into whether your property qualifies as a high-priority site, but I’d wager it would.”

  “Morgan,” Lizzy said, “please consider this option seriously. The wetlands are being exploited, especially right here in our own backyard. When these swamps disappear, so do our buffers for flooding, for cleansing water of pollutants and for sheltering fowl and fish. We’re seeing thousands of acres being bulldozed and it’s breaking my heart.”

  “Mine, too, Lizzy. I’ll consider all this carefully,” he said, referring to the folders full of information both Dan and Lizzy had brought with them. “I can’t make any promises. Like I said, we still have a lot to figure out, especially with Daddy’s health now. And ultimately, it’s not my decision.” He smiled. “But I like what I hear.”

  When they rose to leave, Dan
and Lizzy said again how great it was to see him, how happy they were he’d come back home and both elicited promises from him to call and come by for dinner and meet their kids. When he closed the door behind them, he clapped his hands together. Next he’d meet with Adele for their lunch appointment. He grinned widely. This just might work.

  His appointment with Adele was at a restaurant along Shem Creek, a quaint section of Mount Pleasant known historically as a docking port for shrimpers. He used to hang out here with his buddies, grabbing a beer and a bucket of shrimp. Now there were several popular fish restaurants and pubs with a water view, a charming inn and a few office buildings built to scale. Tourists crowded the restaurants, and it took longer than he’d thought to find parking.

  He glanced at his watch and hustled up the wood stairs of the restaurant. His aunt was always punctual. He was sweltering even in a cotton polo shirt and sighed with relief at the blast of cold air that welcomed him when he stepped inside the glass doors. The hum of voices and the clang of silverware and glass was a pleasant background as he quickly scanned the darkened room. Vickery’s was a popular restaurant with both locals and tourists alike, but he’d thought it an odd choice for Adele, whom he would have guessed preferred a quieter, more upscale restaurant. Then he remembered that her office was located not far from here, and as usually was the case with his aunt, it made sense.

  He spotted his aunt sitting at a choice table in the far corner of the dining room in front of a large plate-glass window. The view of the creek and marsh was spectacular. A few shrimp boats, encircled by gulls, lined the dock, and pelicans flew across the sky in formation.

  “Aunt Adele, I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, taking a seat. He did not kiss her.

  “I should have warned you about the parking. It gets worse every year. But you’re here now,” she said, turning to signal her waiter.

  She sounded absolutely cheery, and he thought that boded well. He relaxed a little, and when the waiter arrived at the table, he ordered a beer. Adele ordered a Bloody Mary.

  He thought his aunt looked especially well. She had a glowing tan that made her dark eyes shine. Like coffee and cream, he thought. He ran his hand through his hair, grateful that Kristina had offered to trim it for him.

  “How’s your golf game?” he asked her.

  “Oh, that,” she said with a light laugh. “I seem to have hit a plateau. I play more for the exercise these days. But Harry! Now, there’s a boy with something special. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was offered a scholarship for golf. He might even go pro, he’s that good.”

  Her pride rang in her voice, and Morgan wondered at her devotion to her grandnephews. “Really? I had no idea he was that good.”

  “Oh, yes,” she affirmed. “What about you? Do you play?”

  He shook his head. “I never got into the game. Fishing’s more my thing.”

  She nodded politely, but he knew she wasn’t much interested in his sports preferences.

  “How’s your dear father?”

  “He gets better every day,” he replied. It was the pat answer, though he was beginning to feel insincere. It seemed to him that his father, too, had hit a plateau.

  “Are his therapists still coming in to see him?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Like clockwork.”

  “Not for much longer, I should imagine.”

  “He has a while to go yet,” he answered evasively. This would be a major hurdle to cross when the time came, but he didn’t want to get into that with Adele now. He needed her support for his new venture. “You should come by and see him,” he said, veering in another direction. “He’d like that.”

  “I should. I will.” Adele twisted her face. “But to be honest, I find it very hard to see him the way he is now.”

  The waiter arrived to deliver their drinks.

  “Do you know what you want to eat?” she asked him. “The oyster salad is very good. And the seared tuna is excellent.”

  “I’ll have the tuna,” he told the waiter. Adele ordered the salad.

  “So, tell me,” she said with all that out of the way. She folded her hands on the table. “What brings us together today? I’m assuming you got through all of your father’s papers and have reached a decision?”

  “Yes, actually I have.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She leaned forward, all ears.

  He knew what she was hoping to hear, but he persevered. “I’ve come up with a plan that I think just might give us a chance to hold on to Sweetgrass. I’ve already talked to representatives of The Nature Conservancy and The Coastal Conservation League and they’ve backed me up. I’d like to explore putting Sweetgrass under a conservation easement.”

  Adele’s face went very still. “A conservation easement?”

  “Yes,” he said, troubled by her shocked expression. “In a nutshell, an easement will allow us to preserve the land and get tax benefits to help us keep it.”

  “I know what a conservation easement is!” Adele snapped. “What stuns me is that you’re pursuing one. What do you hope to gain?”

  His goodwill drained from his smile. “I don’t hope to gain anything,” he said stiffly. “What I hope to do is save Sweetgrass from being sold.”

  She blinked, as though trying to believe what she’d heard. “If that doesn’t take the cake,” she said, leaning back in her chair. She had a hard smile on her face that was anything but cheery. “Here I thought you’d invited me to lunch so that you could tell me you’d finished going through all your father’s papers and had discovered that the well had run dry and it was time to sell. I came in good cheer prepared to tell you all about the offer I’ve fielded from a very prominent investment firm. They’re prepared to make a very handsome offer for Sweetgrass. Very profitable. You would all stand to make quite a bit of money.”

  Now it was Morgan’s turn to be stunned. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You have no idea,” she said icily.

  They were interrupted by the waiter delivering their food. They both remained silent as the plates were set on the table, their water glasses refreshed and a basket of rolls placed in the center of the table.

  “I’d hoped you’d be pleased with the idea,” Morgan told her, picking up his fork and stabbing at his tuna. “We could use your support now.”

  “No, Morgan,” she replied, not moving toward her food. “You will not get my support on this. Nor on any plan to delay what ultimately must be done.”

  “I won’t sell Sweetgrass,” he ground out, setting his fork down.

  “You won’t have a choice,” she countered. “You don’t know all the facts, Morgan.”

  “What facts?” he asked, instantly alert.

  “There’s the matter of the loan.”

  He bridled. “What loan? There’s no record of any loan. I’ve been through all the bank statements.”

  “This wasn’t done through a bank. It was a private loan. From me.”

  “From you? For how much?”

  “Five hundred thousand dollars.”

  His eyes bulged. “Five hundred thousand? When did this happen?”

  “In 1989, after Hurricane Hugo. The farm was devastated, remember?” When he nodded, she continued. “Then you remember that your father lost his barns, most of his livestock and equipment, the crops… He was ruined. He couldn’t rebuild. He would have lost the place then.”

  Morgan rubbed his brow, recalling those hard times. “The whole area was hit bad, but I remember he said we were lucky. The house remained standing. And the avenue of oaks. He took it as a sign.”

  “Yes,” she replied softly with a sad smile. “I remember him saying that. I couldn’t agree with him, though. My house on Sullivan’s Island was swept away, along with everything in it. I didn’t feel like counting my blessings.” She paused and looked off. “But it was Preston’s style to do just that.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “But we digress,” she said, focusing on the current situation. “H
e was in dire straits, so he came to me for help.”

  “And you lent him money.”

  “Under the most favorable of terms. He’s my brother. I wanted to help him, but I couldn’t afford to gift him the money. I dropped the annual rate to a lower rate. It was the best I could do and better than he could get anywhere else. He recognized that he might not get on his feet, and if such was the case, we set up a bailout, so if we had to sell, we’d split the profits at a sixty-forty split.” She took a sip of her drink to give Morgan a chance to digest all that she’d just told him.

  “Why did you wait to tell me?” he asked.

  “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I gave you every chance to come to the decision to sell, which I still maintain is the only sensible thing to do. You must sell, Morgan.”

  “My father—your brother—loves that place. It means more to him than a home. It’s his life’s work. And you want to take it from him?”

  “I understand he loves the property,” she replied patiently. “I also understand that you love the property. But someone in this family has to be practical. Mama June needs to eat. Your father’s nurse needs to be paid. And if the taxes aren’t settled, the whole lot will be taken from him, anyway. Morgan, stop spinning your wheels. You really don’t have a choice in this.”

  “Aunt Adele, just give us a little more time. I’ll find a way to repay the money. I swear.”

  “I’ve waited fifteen years already, for my brother’s sake. With Preston out of the picture—no offense, dear—I’m no longer confident I’ll see the return of my sizable investment.” She picked up her fork and began jabbing at her salad. “No. My mind is made up. I’m not waiting any longer. I have a buyer and the land will be sold.”

  Morgan stood up abruptly and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He took out several bills and laid them on the table. “This isn’t over, Adele. No matter what you might think. I’ll find a way to pay back that loan.”