Southern Legacy: Completed Version

by Jerri Hines

  The community had pulled together for the cause. The weeks went swiftly by, filled with not only the demands of the plantation but also helping with the war effort. The demands on the Confederate commissary grew.

  Josephine’s days passed pleasantly enough. She was surrounded by family and loved ones. Each shared a common purpose—caring for one another. Percival and Fannie were cared for so well by everyone on the plantation. The babies’ laughter and glee shielded the house from any gloom that could have so easily overwhelmed the inhabitants.

  Neighbors called, giving the semblance of days gone by. It wasn’t. Despite the boisterous call for secession and the brave cry to lay down one’s life for the Confederacy, the reality of the cost had begun to filter back into the community.

  Up the river a piece in Summerville, Jenna had gone to the wedding of one of her friends, Kelly Eastley in Charleston, back in April. Her new husband, Thomas Kent, left for the war a few days after the marriage.

  Last month, word came that Thomas had been killed in action. Less than a week later, Kelly gave birth to a stillborn and developed a fever. She died two days later. The whole family gone…as though they had never been.

  Magnolia Bluff’s rooms were filled. Besides Mother Montgomery, Jenna, and Anna in the house, Andrew had now moved into Grandfather Montgomery’s old room. An influx of visitors came and went. Charlotte had come for Grandfather’s funeral, but had left shortly after. She had found comfort with Cousin Sarah.

  To Jo’s delight, Grace Ann had come for an extended visit. Though, Jo confessed to herself she gawked at her cousin’s trunks, wondering whether she was visiting or moving in. Grace Ann had come to care for her surrogate son. When Grace Ann had offered her support during her pregnancy, Jo had thought it was empty words.

  Grace Ann had a superficial quality about most everything except herself…except for little Percival. She had become quite attached to the little fellow, almost obsessively so. At least for the time being, Mr. Whitney had retired back to Whitney Hall. He seemed to understand Grace Ann’s need to be close to Jo and the young one. For that, Jo was grateful.

  “Miss Jo.”

  Jo looked up to see Rosa in the doorway. For an hour, Grace Ann and she had been watching Percival and Fannie playing. They seemed to love each other. Percival had passed his first birthday three weeks ago. He had walked early, even before Fannie. The two together waddled beside each other…so precious. “Yes, Rosa, am I needed?”

  “It’s Miss Anna,” Rosa said with effort. “She ain’t got out of bed this morning. Says she’s cold, but she’s hot on her head. Miss Anna done got a fever.”

  “Where is her mother?”

  “Her done gone out with Miss Jenna to visit Mrs. Randolph. She told me to check in on Miss Anna later in the morning ’cause her begged off on going calling with ’em.”

  “I’ll watch the little ones,” Grace Ann offered. “Go see about Anna.”

  Jo followed Rosa up the stairs, disavowing the fear that seized her upon the mention of a fever…until she entered the room. She move quickly to Anna’s bedside, but she needed not to feel her head.

  Perspiration poured off her reddened face; the poor dear shivered uncontrollably. Jo leaned down and felt Anna’s forehead with the back of her hand. Anna was burning up. When she pushed back Anna’s sweaty hair, Jo caught sight of a rash that covered her neck, much like a sunburn.

  “Oh, honey,” Jo whispered, hoping she hadn’t betrayed her concern.

  Anna grasped Jo’s hand. “Oh, Jo, I feel so bad.”

  “I know, I know,” Jo repeated and looked over at Rosa. “Send for Dr. Andrew. He’s inspecting the fields with the new overseer and then send for her mother.”

  Weariness sank deep into her bones while nerves gripped her soul. Jo paced outside of Anna’s door. Andrew had been inside with his sister for only a few minutes before he exited.

  An ominous feeling swept through Jo the moment she saw the look on Andrew’s face. Scared, Jo retreated a step. She had told herself that Anna was more susceptible to fevers. She had always recovered, but any fever sent trepidations throughout a household…with reason. In the low country, the mortality rate for fevers was high.

  Andrew frowned and lowered his gaze. He said simply, “It’s scarlet fever.”

  Darkness fell over the plantation. By the morning, more had developed a fever: two of the house girls who helped in the nursery and tiny, fragile Fannie. Relentless in his care for his loved ones, Andrew demanded his orders be kept in place to contain the fever. Andrew immediately quarantined the house.

  The upstairs reeked of sickroom odors and medicine salts. Jo wanted nothing more than to throw back the curtains and open the windows, but Andrew warned it would be harmful to Anna and Fannie.

  The whole of the house had been placed on alert. Jenna stepped in and performed the duties that Jo and her mother would have usually looked after. Grace Ann placed herself in charge of Percival and refused to come out of her room with the little one, not while the fever raged through the house. Mother Montgomery’s attention centered on her daughter while Jo cared for little Fannie.

  Two days after Anna took to bed, her fever broke, but the news was overshadowed with the failing health of small Fannie. The tiny one refused to eat and her cries had become faint whimpering.

  Andrew’s efforts contained the fever from spreading. Anna and the two house girls would survive, but for his own daughter he could do nothing more. In the wee hours of the morning, Josephine rocked the ill child.

  Fannie’s head burned with the fever. The only comfort the little one found came with constant rocking. Jo prayed. She prayed with the comprehension it was the only hope they had.

  The sick baby girl’s life was in God’s hands now. Josephine sang to her: soft and rhythmical, soothing the small one. Then, the babe became strangely still and quiet.

  Jo’s voice faded off as she looked down. Tears streamed down her eyes as she realized the baby was no longer breathing. She must have cried out, for Andrew came running, but there was nothing more to be done.

  The rains came. Torrential rains poured the day little Fannie was placed in the ground…so small…innocent. At the gravesite, the family stood as sorrow stricken figures against the gray sky. Aloof, Andrew stood by himself, unable to be comforted. The gloom couldn’t be lifted, not even letters from Wade telling of the exploits during the victory at Bull Run in October.

  Overcome with grief, the house fell silent with only weeping and wailing to be heard. How thankful Jo was her own child had been spared, yet her heart ached as if Fannie had been her own. For the last few months, she had been. The thought she would never see her smiling face again tore against Jo’s heart.

  Sleep evaded Jo. The memory of little Fannie haunted her. She eased out of bed. There would be no sleep. Throwing a wrapper about her gown, she went out into the hall to the nursery. Percival wasn’t there.

  Her heart stopped for a moment. Hastily, she made her way down to Grace Ann’s room and opened the door. She breathed again as she saw Percival snuggle close to his aunt. He looked so peaceful. For the first time in days, a smile crossed her face.

  While her time had been consumed by the sickness that gripped the plantation, Grace Ann had looked after her son with all the ferocity of a mother bear protecting her cub. She had a way with Percival and had not let him around the sickness…giving Jo one less worry. Strange how everything had changed since their youth.

  Growing up, more than not Grace Ann had treated her like a poor relation. Their relationship had changed…so much had changed. The breach between Jo and Harry Lee had extended to Grace Ann. Though Grace Ann saw her mother often enough, the relationship with her father was strained.

  Papa had once told Jo, “Friends come and go, but family…for better or worse, they are always with you.”

  It was what Grace Ann and Jo had discovered, making their bond closer in these times of strife. Without a sound, Jo withdrew. She had no desire to disturb eithe
r of them. She made her way back out into the dark hall and was halfway back to her room when she spotted Rosa at her door. “Rosa?”

  “Miss Jo,” her maid said in a low voice, easing back into the hall. “It’s Dr. Andrew. Him in the study and…Amos thought he might need ya.”

  Jo readily followed Rosa down the staircase and into the foyer. A light burned beneath the door of the study. Jo paused before she turned the handle. “I will see to Dr. Andrew. Perhaps make a small tray of leftovers from dinner. I don’t believe many of us ate.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She waited until Rosa disappeared around the corner before she opened the door. Andrew sat behind the desk, silhouetted against the dim candlelight with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass in the other. He was drunk.

  His coat was flung over one of the high back chairs; his cravat lay on the floor. He wore his unbuttoned shirt outside of his breeches. Rather purple in the face, his bloodshot and glassy eyes met hers. He raised up his glass toward her and drank it down.

  “I came to see if you have need of anything. I have sent for—”

  “I have all I need right here,” he interrupted her. He poured the last of the whiskey into his glass and then flung the empty bottle against the wall. “The way I have it figured, another bottle and the world outside these doors will disappear. Now if you will excuse me, Jo, that world includes you. I want to be alone.”

  Bending down, she picked up the bottle. “I will call for Amos. You need to go to bed and sleep this off.”

  “Oh, Josephine, I’m way beyond sleeping off my troubles.” He drank down his glass once more. Squinting, he glanced toward the decanter on the table across the room. He stood, but stumbled and caught hold of the desk.

  Jo rushed to his side and helped him to the settee. “I’m sorry for your loss, Andrew. Truly, I am…I wish there was something I could do to ease your pain.”

  “So you have no answers? The most gracious Josephine can’t fix this…no, not this.” He looked at her with a strange expression and then held out his empty glass in a mock toast. “This is to you, Jo. For reminding me what a failure I am. To you, Josephine, in your benevolence.”

  “That is quite unnecessary,” Jo said stiffly. “I’ll get Amos. You aren’t yourself at the moment.”

  “Myself! No, for once I’m quite myself, Jo. Do you want to know what I feel? Do you really care? Or do you feel vindicated for my behavior toward you!”

  In his current state, she doubted he was conscious of his words. “Don’t be ridiculous, Andrew. You are family. I would never wish this on anyone. If it eases your mind, know I hold nothing more against you.”

  “You should,” he said. “I have treated you abominably…all because of the love of a woman.”

  To her surprise, tears flowed unheeded down his cheeks. He wiped them back with his sleeve. She stared into the face of a grieving man expunging his demons.

  “Kathleen…Oh, good Lord! Forgive me…I loved her…sacrificed my good name for the woman…and she threw it back in my face. Do you know what it’s like to love someone so desperately and have them laugh in your face…telling you how pathetic you are…”

  “Give it time. You will get over her.”

  “Time? Time won’t heal the damage Kathleen has done.” He hiccupped and then laughed mockingly. “Do you know the last words she had for me? She told me that Fannie wasn’t mine. Oh, I suspected…but then she had the audacity to make sure I knew my suspicions were true. Taking pleasure in playing me for a fool…that sweet, innocent babe wasn’t mine.”

  Slowly, he stood and stumbled over to the decanter. She made no attempt to stop him. He poured himself another drink and glared at her over the glass. “God forgive me! I couldn’t even look at Fannie…I couldn’t look at the child who was supposed to be mine. The spiteful woman took from me what should have been my joy…she made me despise that angelic face to the point I couldn’t even bear to look at her…Lord Almighty…I hate her. Tell me, what kind of person have I turned into?”

  Befuddled how to respond, she fell silent momentarily. Finally, she said, “I believe you’ve had enough.” She crossed the floor and took the glass out of his hand. He jerked it back; the contents sloshed over both of them.

  “Have I offended you?” he asked curtly. “Of course, I have. Poor Jo, caught in her own quandary. Whatever will you do when Percival grows up looking as his father? He already favors him.”

  “You’re drunk,” she said coldly.

  “Not as drunk as I am going to be,” he said unapologetically. He poured another glass and downed it. Slamming the glass down on the table, he looked back at Jo. “Did you think I didn’t know that Percival is Cullen’s?”

  The statement was so unexpected. Startled, her jaw dropped. Bristling with indignation, she cried, “How dare you? Percival is Wade’s.”

  “Without doubt,” Andrew agreed in his stupor. “Wade has taken considerable pains to ensure there is no question of that fact. He is…is the happy, doting father and husband to pacify you.”

  “Be silent!” she cried, bewildered and deeply disturbed. “Do not say such horrible things!”

  “No…no, you need to hear this.” He stumbled over to her and caught her arm. “Don’t you want to hear how I envy my brother? He has the woman he loves. No matter the cost to you…to him…to Cullen. He manipulated everything to his advantage… He has become Grandfather…dictating to us how to live our lives…only he didn’t anticipate Cullen’s desire for you.”

  “You are making no sense. I’m going to get Amos.”

  “Ah, running away from the truth,” Andrew taunted. “I told you Wade would stop at nothing to have you or Magnolia Bluff. He did the only thing he could by sending that telegram to have you come home.”

  A deadly hush descended upon the room. His voice had held a remnant of his imbedded hurt, but resonated a desire for another to share in his pain by attempting to inflict hurt upon her. She would have none of it.

  “You lie! Do not insult Wade with such an accusation. It was Grandfather Montgomery.”

  He laughed. “Is that what you believe?”

  She got no other answer. He released her arm. Behind them, the door opened. Rosa stood in the doorway and stepped back to allow Amos entrance.

  “I’ll take ’im, Miss Jo.”

  Jo nodded and watched the big black man wrap his arm around Andrew, whose head slumped awkwardly down. Amos led Andrew out the door.

  She stood and stared at the empty space for a time. Her mind reeled. Jo doubted Andrew would remember the night’s events. She would not forget.

  * * * *

  Josephine walked through the next day in a blur. She felt angry, outrageously so. The night had scarred a memory on her soul—Andrew’s drunken remarks. It tortured her heart.

  I told you Wade would stop at nothing to have you or Magnolia Bluff. He did the only thing he could by sending that telegram to have you come home.

  She had tried to reason with herself. Not only had Andrew confessed that Wade had expressed his doubts that Percival was his son, Andrew’s words had been filled with innuendoes that Wade had inflicted the cruelest of tricks upon Cullen and herself. The question became—was it true?

  Andrew had been extremely inebriated, but he had seemed so certain. Had Wade deceived her…and Cullen? Wade…?

  An anger so deep embedded in her heart, so much so it hurt. She had believed Wade and herself to be kindred spirits, drawn together by forces beyond their control. Adding to her growing bitterness, she had allowed her heart to soften toward the man who readily accepted her son as his, knowing he could well be another’s.

  She had convinced herself that Wade wanted what she had—a stable, loving family. She believed he forgave her of an unforgivable sin…because he loved her, giving them a chance for happiness in circumstances beyond their control.

  Oh, she had been a fool. She had allowed herself to have fallen under his charms. Had her heart swelled for a liar and a che
at? Was Magnolia Bluff all he cared for?

  If Wade had tricked her so deviously, he had been masterful. If not for that telegram, she would be married to Cullen, with his child. Gillie…Gillie would be alive. Dear, sweet Gillie. Oh, dear God, what am I to do?

  Poor little Percival was so confused. His mother was upset; his constant companion was gone. He kept looking around as if missing something, a pitiful, heartbreaking sight.

  Miss Hazel sensed Jo’s distress…not for the right reason, mind you…but it was there. It made it worse when she held her young son. Percival wailed and cried unmercifully, unable to be comforted by his mother.

  “Now, Miss Jo, ya done gone and had a bad day. Why doncha get along and take a nap. Ya haven’t slept for near two days now.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Then go for a walk. Miss Grace Ann and I will care for Percival. We will. Why, Miss Grace Ann treats him like he’s her own. He ain’t gonna lack for attention.”

  Jo made no more of an argument. She wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and headed out the backdoor. The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky; it would be dark soon enough.

  The leaves on the trees laid scattered along her path. Only the green pines colored the woods, taking the path down by the Ashley, the same path she had taken when Percival was born. There would be no surprise visit today from Cullen. No, he was too busy fighting a war against her and what once had been his home.

  As she neared the river’s edge, a white egret flew overhead. She watched until it landed in the tall grass across the water. A freshet breeze stirred, giving the view a semblance of peaceful calm. She thought miserably it was only a façade…there was no peace to be found.

  The crackling of the dried leaves and twigs told of another’s walk. Glancing behind her, she sighed heavily. Andrew. She had no desire for another conversation. Her overwrought nerves could take no more. “Go away,” she said before he had the chance to utter a word. “I have nothing to say to you.”