Southern Legacy: Completed Version

by Jerri Hines

  Staring down at the fresh, wet dirt, she thought of what Papa told her.

  "Death transcends all barriers and shows no mercy. The rich, the poor, young, old, free or slave. It is a fate that none of us will escape."

  Papa's presence gave her strength. He held to his belief in God and life after death. He clung to the promise of seeing his beloved Lucinda after this life was done. She wished she held his faith.

  St. Philips Church had been crowded for the funeral. Such sadness. An assembly of slaves sung mournful hymns. Their strangely soothing melodies filtered in through the open doors.

  Condolences did little to comfort Randolph Wragg, Clarissa’s father. Distraught, Jo worried that he would succumb to his grief. He looked lost and ever so alone. Slumping over, he lost his composure more than once. Wade sat next to his father-in-law in shock. He showed little emotion as if unbelieving the sight before him.

  "Andrew said you were still here."

  Jo looked up. Wade. His cravat was loosened; his shirt untucked. He held his hat in his hand, twisting the rim one way than another. When his eyes met hers, she could have wept.

  "I haven't had the opportunity to thank you for being with her at the end," he said in a solemn voice. "Doctor Jameson said there was nothing that could have been done. It was good that you called for him when you did because now we can live with that knowledge."

  "It happened to my mother."

  He nodded. Pressing his lips together, he drew in a deep breath. "She…Clarissa…didn't want me there. Doctor Jameson said the night before for her to stay in bed. It would pass…."

  His emotions swelled and he quieted. Jo wanted nothing more than draw him into her arms and comfort him, but it would never do. Clarissa's death had not changed their relationship.

  Her marriage to Andrew had been postponed but only for a short period. Andrew would return to Philadelphia within the week. He was set to study surgery with one of his former professors, Dr. Nathaniel Halcoyne.

  Papa had no objections. Andrew had arranged to return at Christmas. The marriage would commence at that time. Jo discovered through the tragedy their relationship had evolved, but there was still no love.

  Jo realized that it would never be a passionate affair of the heart. But a friendship had been forged. Andrew offered her a shoulder to cry upon, comforted her, and for the first time, they had talked.

  "You will make a wonderful doctor's wife, Josephine. Compassionate and caring. I foresee us working well together."

  He made no profession of love. She had not expected any. She hoped only to create a home where she could raise a family safe and loved. She wanted children, lots of children.

  Moreover, Andrew took it upon himself to see to Gillie's welfare, overseeing her journey North to Heyward. It pained Jo not to go with Gillie and see her married, but it was for the best. Jo could not leave her father nor could she bear to see Cullen. The hurt of losing him had not eased with time.

  Jo’s gaze lowered to the fresh grave. She wished there was some way to relieve Wade of his grief, but only time would ease his sorrow. She sighed.

  "It was not your fault, Wade."

  He shook his head. "It was. It was my fault, Jo. Clarissa never wanted…you wouldn't understand. She should never have been…"

  "Don't do this to yourself. It will do no good. She loved you greatly."

  He collapsed down on his knees, "I cared…I did not want this…"

  "She knew, Wade. Take comfort that you made her happy."

  Jo glanced over to the other side of Clarissa's grave at a tombstone. Percival William Montgomery. At least, Clarissa would not be alone.

  She leaned down and placed her flowers on the raised plot of dirt. The bouquet of gardenias paled in comparison to the massive amount of flowers covering the grave.

  "Gardenias," Wade said, reaching over and smelled the blooms. "She was very much like a gardenia, beautiful and delicate." He looked up at Jo. "You, though, are more of a magnolia."

  He gave a small smile with a faraway look in his eyes. "Mother could never grow gardenias in our garden. No matter what she did the magnolias always shadowed the gardenias."

  Jo said nothing more. She left Wade with his grief.

  Chapter Two

  Walnut Street Theatre at Ninth and Walnut Street in Philadelphia hosted a grand production of Othello. An impressive performance by a young actor, Edwin Booth, held most of the audience’s attention. Cullen Smythe wasn’t among those mesmerized. No, his thoughts were miles away in Charleston.

  When he first returned to Philadelphia he had buried himself in his new position at Smythe and Company as one of the directors of acquisitions. It was a position that suited him.

  The family business had become one of the largest investors into the Philadelphia Railway Line and wanted to expand further. It was one these challenging projects along the railway that he was put in charge of; he had to learn quickly how to secure financing for this venture.

  Only recently had he begun to socialize. Tonight, he sat in the box stage with his former Navy Academy classmate, Gavin Mitchell, and his wife, Diana. To their side, was along Hugh McFadden, Diana’s brother. Also in the Navy, Hugh had served with Cullen aboard the Cayne.

  From the corner of his eye, Cullen observed his escort for the evening. He had to admit when he was introduced to Ophelia Harding he found her devilishly good looking. She had dark brown hair and vivid blue eyes. Tonight, she wore an expensive green bell-sleeved gown. Lovely. Except every time he looked at her, it was another he saw.

  Josephine. He remembered her in a deep green gown which fitted closely over her breasts… Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Damn Andrew for appearing less than a week ago. Now he lived in a special hell knowing Josephine was left in Charleston with a grieving Wade. Why it bothered him so he could not put into words.

  Had he not accepted that she was to marry Andrew? She chose to be the dutiful daughter; he chose to let her go. He left her knowing she would never be his. Never.

  He had come back determined to forget everything about her. Wipe her from his memory. But there were some memories that never faded.

  At least, Philadelphia did not remind him of her until tonight. Damn Andrew.

  Philadelphia was a far cry from the coastal city of Charleston. Philadelphia boomed with industry and commerce located along the Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers. Clusters of mills and factories lined the streets of the city dominated by heavy industry. Shipbuilding. Textiles. Locomotives.

  The one common factor between his northern and southern home was the political unrest concerning the South’s peculiar institution of slavery. Cullen found public opinion here in Philadelphia increasingly hostile toward the practice.

  “I’m glad you are home, son,” Jonathan Smythe told Cullen on his final return. “I fear the tension is going to escalate. Selfishness and lust for political power on both sides will not allow for another outcome except a violent reaction.”

  “Stubbornness to a fault,” Cullen acknowledged with reluctance. “There are no wise and prudent minds calming the flames, only the foolish and irresponsible fanning them.”

  Philadelphia was a political hotbed itself. There was a growing population of enthusiastic and determined abolitionists, which was met with opposition. Abolitionists had long been looked down upon by the other groups within the city: the Irish, the Germans, and the elite.

  The free Negroes added to the labor market which competed directly with the Irish and Germans. There was little sympathy for the free blacks. The Fugitive Slave Act had given leverage to those who gave aid to abolitionists efforts to free the slaves.

  Law enforcement officers were encouraged to arrest not only a runaway slave, but anyone who helped in the attempt. Odd that the feeling of animosity toward the south grew, but it did not ease the vindictiveness toward the runaways and their supporters.

  Tonight, though, the unrest was the furthest thing from his mind. He stared across the stage to another box stage.
His cousin, Dr. Andrew Montgomery, sat in the box with his mentor, Dr. Nathaniel Halcoyne and his daughter, Kathleen Halcoyne.

  Kathleen Halcoyne would never have been called a beauty. Her light brown hair had been arranged with a fashionable flare. It did little to soften her features. Her chin was too pointy; cheek bones too wide, but she had other attributes that men admired. Well-endowed, her elegant gown with a low bodice accented her best quality.

  Cullen watched with dismay as Kathleen leaned over and whispered to Andrew. Her hand touched his and …Good Lord…caressed it! His cousin responded with a laugh and the two exchanged lingering looks.

  The nerve of the woman! Even from this distance, he recognized the two shared an intimacy well beyond acquaintances, well beyond proprieties when one was attached to another.

  Anger surged through Cullen. He had been rendered powerless by the events beyond his control. He had sacrificed what he wanted the most in the world for the betterment of the family, not to have Josephine hurt in this manner.

  His family here in Philadelphia had been informed of Clarissa’s death by telegram. Cullen felt Wade’s pain. To begin a new life and have it cut short so quickly! Cullen had sent correspondence to Wade with a heartfelt invitation to visit.

  He had not heard back when Andrew appeared at Rosemount, who relayed the sorrowful details. Cullen had not been surprised to discover Josephine’s compassion or the fact the wedding had been postponed. It had stunned him, though, that Andrew had returned back to Philadelphia so quickly.

  Cullen’s gaze fixed firm on Andrew. His futile fury contained but raged inside of him. Something was amiss.

  “Cullen, my boy. You coming?”

  Cullen slowly turned his gaze. His friends had risen from their chairs. The play was over. He glanced over at Andrew once more. Kathleen had entwined her arm with his.

  He had no choice but to leave with his friends. He had no time to question Andrew about his friend. Not tonight…damn.

  * * * *

  Flanagan’s Olde Ale House was not busy at two o’clock. Cullen received his drink quickly and drank down his first sip before he made his way to a booth. Mitchell had sent word to meet. At last, he hoped he would have answers.

  The last couple of weeks, his suspicions toward Andrew had only grown. Why only the night before Andrew had been over for dinner in the company of Miss Kathleen Halcoyne. Granted his sister Elizabeth said that she had invited her friend, and Andrew had only escorted her. It did little to alleviate his questions.

  He took another sip of his drink thinking of his sister. Elizabeth was odd. He couldn’t think of another way to describe her. Ever since he had met her, she had been the quiet sort. He had been thirteen when his father brought him to Philadelphia.

  To be honest, he had not looked forward to having a sister. Moreover, he hadn’t wanted to leave Magnolia Bluff and his cousins, the only family he had ever known. His father was almost a complete stranger, his grandmother overwhelming. It wasn’t until he met his new step-mother that he began to feel at home.

  A warm and lovely woman, the former Monica Ross Marlowe seemed to know his apprehension. His step-mother welcomed him and gave him space needed for him to accept this different life. Gradually, he began to feel part of his father’s home.

  His step-sister, though, kept to herself. Perhaps it was the six years difference in their ages with Elizabeth being the senior. Elizabeth Marlowe was a contrast to her mother. Whereas Monica was confident and sophisticated, Elizabeth was exceedingly timid and shy.

  The poor thing was not attractive, nor did she make any effort to improve her looks. Her dull brown hair pulled back giving her face a strained look without her hair to soften her eyes, which were quite small. Rarely did she smile, but when she did her eyes were lost in her face. Moreover, she was painfully thin to the point Cullen worried a strong wind could do her harm her.

  At times, Cullen felt pity for Elizabeth, but any compassion, he showed, was met with open hostility. He learned to keep his distance. That was until his father wrote him of her predicament. It was not a new story, but one of old. A lonely woman desperate to feel love was taken advantage by a despicable man.

  Elizabeth had been badly used by a man that Kathleen Halcoyne introduced her to—Jeremiah Lowney.

  “Sorry, I’m late. I had one more thing to attend to, but it is all set now.”

  Cullen watched Mitchell eased into the seat across from him and gestured to the man behind the bar for a mug. Cullen added another to the order.

  Not much was said while they waited for their drinks. Cullen assumed Mitchell hid his disapproval of Cullen’s strategy. Mitchell had said as much on their last meeting when Cullen revealed his plan.

  “You are still insistent on processing?” Mitchell finally asked. “You want to go down this road.”

  “I thought I had made myself quite clear. You have made known your reservations. I know you can’t understand my position, but it is essential to me that I know Andrew’s actions. It is not that I don’t trust my cousin as much as I distrust that woman.”

  “My concern lays with you, my friend. I know you still hold feelings for his fiancée,” Mitchell said bluntly.

  Mitchell had always been forthright and frank. It was the reason Cullen had always relied on his friend’s opinion, but at the moment, though, his manner irritated Cullen to no end.

  Cullen ignored his friend’s insinuation. It would do no good to deny what he felt. Mitchell could never understand the sacrifice he had made; Josephine had made. He would be damned if he allowed it to be for naught.

  “It has to do with my family. Kathleen Halcoyne is a woman bent on mischief. How else do you explain her introducing Elizabeth to a married man? Why Mother allows Elizabeth to hold the friendship still is beyond me.”

  “Perhaps it is because Elizabeth is a grown woman.”

  “In age,” Cullen argued. “But she has a vulnerability. She was ruined by Lowney. If I ever lay eyes on him again, I will forget the agreement that was made.”

  Anger oozed from Cullen’s tone. It was not clear how exactly the whole of the episode developed. What Cullen had inferred quickly was that the man had made Elizabeth’s life a living hell. First, Lowney convinced her to elope with him, and then afterward confessed he was already married. Then it, the blackmail, began. It had destroyed Elizabeth’s delicate soul.

  On his return, he had helped his father hunt Lowney down. A one-time payment ensued with the promise if he ever returned or made contact with Elizabeth again, he would be arrested and held accountable for his crimes. It had been the only way to avoid a scandal for Elizabeth.

  Cullen’s instincts told him there was more to the story than what Elizabeth acknowledged. He sensed that Kathleen had more to do with the affair than was recognized. Now the devil woman had set her eyes upon Andrew.

  “You believe it stems from your rejection of her.”

  Mitchell leveled his gaze upon Cullen. Cullen looked straight back. He realized that Mitchell believed it to be absurd that Kathleen Halcoyne would be that vindictive, but Cullen suspected that Kathleen had not taken well to his rebuff, no matter that it had been years ago before he had entered the Navy Academy.

  To this day, he remembered well the shock of discovering his sister’s friend naked in his bed. He had said nothing, but left the room with only the demand she remove herself. He said nothing to his father or step-mother.

  Looking back, he regretted keeping silent. He had been young and inexperienced, but he knew instinctively he wanted nothing to do with the woman. Yet, he did not inform his father. He felt he could not.

  Elizabeth seemed so excited with her new friend, her only friend that Cullen had been aware she had. Moreover, Kathleen had been engaged since that time. Unfortunately, her fiancée had passed away shortly before her marriage.

  “I do not believe she is vengeful toward me,” Cullen said. “I simply do not trust her motives.”

  Mitchell shifted his position. A pursing s
mile tightened his face. “I did as you requested and had your cousin followed.”

  “And?”

  “You were right that Andrew has kept a secret from you,” Mitchell offered. “Finish your drink. Hugh is waiting for us.”

  * * * *

  Overhead a flock of migrating geese gabbled in the brilliance of the serene sky. The blushing leaves of vivid red and gold told of another change of season. The horse trotted onward, rustling through dried fallen foliage.

  Rounding the bend of Park Road, Cullen inhaled the smell of the ripe earth. Before him, he caught a glimpse of his grand country estate, Rosemount. His great-grandfather built his home in the midst of a hundred and fifty acres of farm land. Situated atop of the high cliffs overlooking the Schuylkill River, the impressive house was flanked by a pair of matching outbuildings.

  There was nothing nostalgic in the scene to Cullen.

  The bold mansion was two and a half stories of stucco masonry with a horizontal belt of red brick runs, the elaborate summer residence of the Smythes. In a way, the Georgian architectural reminded Cullen of his Southern heritage, but no magnolias bloomed on these grounds.

  Mitchell and McFadden rode beside him, but no man spoke along their journey after Cullen was informed the answers he sought lay within the walls of Rosemount.

  Along the miles traveled toward his destination, Cullen restless thoughts overwhelmed him. An odd sudden remembrance surged forth of a conversation he held with his step-mother here at Rosemount shortly after he arrived back from Charleston without Josephine.

  “I see the hurt within you, Cullen,” she said in a sympathetic tone. “I wish I could take the hurt away, but it is a part of life. The truth is, she will never leave you and will always be a part of you, the part that brings warmth.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t see it that way, Mother.”

  “No, I don’t suspect you do at the moment, but in time, it will come. Love never leaves you. It may fade like an ember, but to be love is precious. It holds meaning whether you recognize it or not.”