Carolina Gold (35 page)
I am well and planning to return to Pelican Cottage as soon as travel can be arranged, for I must return as soon as possible to Fairhaven. I will write again to let you know when to expect me. Oh, Augusta, I believe that Papa may have left something important in the house, something critical to the future of Fairhaven. I must know at once whether my fondest hopes for my plantation may yet be realized. I will explain when I see you. In the meantime, kiss the girls for me and for their father. Pray that this scourge is over soon and that his own return home will be swift and safe.
Your Charlotte
Y
ou’re certain you have everything?” Nicholas smiled down at Charlotte and placed a hand in the small of her back to guide her along the crowded platform. The train, belching cinders and smoke, waited on the siding. Passengers and draymen came and went from the station house, dodging Creole boys selling cigars, newspapers, and candies.
“I think so. I couldn’t sleep last night. I had plenty of time to pack.”
In the days since their kiss in the garden, they had seen little of each other. Nicholas’s work at the infirmary and meetings with the doctor who had arrived to replace him had kept him too busy for socializing. But he had insisted on escorting her to the station.
He bought two bonbons from a skinny boy in bright yellow pants and handed her one. “You won’t forget to give the girls their presents?”
The doll and the music box he had bought for them in Milneburg were safely tucked away in the bottom of her travel
satchel, along with her little boat. “I won’t forget. And in any case, I’m sure they’ve received your letter by now. They’ll remind me.”
He took a bite of candy. “I hope it won’t be much longer before I can see them.”
“When will you be home?” She nibbled on the sweet and tucked the rest away for later. This morning Mr. Dubois had sent up a breakfast of eggs, sausages, biscuits, and coffee along with a box lunch for the train. As eager as she was to return home, she would miss the dapper hotelier’s excellent meals.
“A month or so, I think. Sister Luke told me yesterday that Sister Beatrice is recovering and plans to return to the infirmary. As soon as my replacement settles in, I’ll be on my way.” He popped the rest of the bonbon into his mouth and took out his handkerchief to wipe a bit of sugar off his fingers. “I just wish I could go with you right now. There’s so much I need to do at home.”
The joy she’d felt at spending these few moments with him dissipated, replaced by a familiar mix of disappointment and worry. Yet beneath it all a faint, rekindled flame of hope burned. Was it possible that Fairhaven might yet be saved?
She watched the sunlight playing on his face. She should resent him for the threat he posed to her future. But as she waited with the others preparing to board the train, she couldn’t deny the undercurrent of attraction running between them, made stronger by everything they had shared, everything they had endured.
The train whistle shrieked. Passengers surged toward the cars carrying their satchels, whiny children, hatboxes, and birdcages.
“Good-bye, Charlotte. Safe journeys.” Nicholas looked into her eyes and squeezed her hands.
“Good-bye.” She boarded the train and chose a seat by the window.
Nicholas stood on the platform, a piercing sweetness in his
haggard face. He lifted one hand in a little salute as the train rumbled to life and slid out of the station.
“Your husband, dear?” The woman seated opposite her straightened her straw hat and, with a rustling of skirts, settled in for the long journey.
“My . . . oh. No. My employer.” But not for much longer. Somehow she must find a way to provide for herself when even the small salaries Nicholas and Mr. Peabody paid her were withdrawn.
“Humph.” A gleam lit the woman’s pale eyes. “Maybe for now, but I saw the way he looked at you. He let you go, but he didn’t want to.” She opened a box and took out an apple. “Want one?”
“No thank you.” Charlotte took a book from her satchel and made a show of finding her place. The novel was not all that compelling, but she wasn’t in the mood to discuss Nicholas Betancourt—or the myriad emotions warring inside her.
The woman ate her apple and lapsed into sleep, her head falling to one side as the train rounded a sharp bend.
After days of travel, the train from Atlanta finally arrived in Charleston. Charlotte waited wearily for her bags, then took a room at the Mills House to await the next departure of the
Resolute
for Georgetown. She paced her room and picked at her food, eager to get home and test her revelation. But as long as she was forced to wait here, it wouldn’t hurt to speak to her lawyer once more. Perhaps Mr. Crowley had uncovered something during her absence—something more substantial than a vague intimation based on a deathbed utterance.
But the lawyer seemed irritated by her sudden appearance. He muttered and grumbled and lectured her all over again regarding the folly of her undertaking at Fairhaven. He allowed that perhaps Providence had intervened to save her from a fate even worse than losing her home. He reminded her that Pelican Cottage still was
hers. It had a roof and a door to keep out the rain, which was more than could be said for some folks these days.
“I have done all I can do, child. Now go away and leave me alone.” He consulted his watch and snapped it shut, putting an end to the conversation.
Now she was on the last leg of her long journey. The ferry from Georgetown approached the southern tip of Pawley’s Island and jolted slightly as it nudged the short pier.
As Charlotte disembarked, the Reverend Mr. Peabody’s horse and rig clattered down the sandy strip of road and rolled to a stop in front of her. Charlotte grinned. Augusta and the girls had come for her.
“Ma’m’selle, you’re home.” Anne-Louise tumbled from the rig and leapt into Charlotte’s arms. “I thought you were never coming back. And you found our papa.”
Behind her sister, Marie-Claire smiled shyly and waved. Charlotte set Anne-Louise on her feet and held out her arms to the older girl, an unexpected rush of love coursing through her. How she would miss them when Nicholas returned and sent them away to a real school.
Augusta climbed out of the borrowed rig and embraced Charlotte. “What a time you’ve had, my girl. I’m so glad Mr. Betancourt is well. And sorry as I can be about Miss Clifton.”
“As am I.” Charlotte looked out to sea. Despite her concerns, the waves rolling and shimmering in the early August heat worked their magic, infusing her with a sense of gratitude and peace. Mr. Crowley was right. Regardless of what happened to the plantation, Pelican Cottage and this magnificent beach would always be hers. And it would have to be enough.
“Papa’s letter said he was sending us a present,” Anne-Louise said. “Did you bring it?”
“I did. Right here in my bag.” Charlotte opened her travel satchel
and took out the doll and the music box. Marie-Claire opened the little lacquered box and listened to the tinkling notes, a pensive expression in her eyes. Anne-Louise squealed and clasped the doll to her chest. “She’s beautiful, Ma’m’selle. What’s her name?”
“I suppose that’s for you to decide.”
“I’m going to name her Gabrielle after
Maman
.”
“I think that’s a fine idea.”
The ferryman plopped Charlotte’s baggage at her feet. “Will that be all, miss?”
“Yes, thank you.” Charlotte handed him a coin.
Augusta rubbed her hands together. “It’ll be a tight fit, but I reckon we can figure out how to get all your paraphernalia into the rig.”
A few minutes later, with Charlotte’s belongings packed tightly about their feet and Anne-Louise perched on Charlotte’s lap, they set off for home, the horse trotting confidently along the shady road.
“I’m glad you got my letter in time to meet me,” Charlotte said. “I could hardly walk home with all this baggage.”
Augusta grinned. “Mr. Peabody was more than happy to lend me his horse and buggy. He thinks very highly of you.”
“I was sorry to stop the Demeres’ lessons so abruptly, but I had to know whether Mr. Betancourt was all right.”
“Papa’s letter said for us not worry because he can’t get the fever,” Marie-Claire said. “He already got it when he was my age.”
“That’s right.” Charlotte glanced at the girl and smiled. “But I didn’t know that before I went to look for him.” She patted Marie-Claire’s hand. “Now tell me. What have you learned while I was gone? Did you finish reading your books?”
“Yes, Ma’m’selle.”
“And, Anne-Louise, did you practice your handwriting the way I showed you?”
“Sort of.”
Augusta laughed. “When she wasn’t busy helping me make tea cakes, or fishing in the creek, or a thousand other more interesting things.”
“I can’t thank you enough for looking after them.”
“It was no trouble. I had a lovely time. My old house will seem awfully empty tonight.”
They reached the end of the road. The girls piled out and raced ahead and were soon lost in the dunes, leaving Charlotte and Augusta to follow with her bags, travel satchel, parasol, and reticule.
They piled everything in the cottage foyer. Charlotte removed her traveling hat and her cotton gloves, soiled from days of train travel.
“When I got the letter saying you were on the way home, I bought a few things at the store. Mary Banks brought by some tomatoes and corn. And I baked a cake. I figured you’d be too tired to fool with making a meal tonight.”
“Thank you. I am exhausted.” Charlotte plopped onto the settee. “You thought of everything.”
“You’re welcome. Now, tell me what’s troubling you.”
Charlotte released a gusty sigh. “Am I really so transparent?”
“I’ve known you all your life. I can tell when something’s not right.” Augusta’s faded eyes bore into hers. “Out with it.”
“Mr. Betancourt found the deed to his property. Apparently it also includes Fairhaven.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yes, but then I remembered something Papa told me right before he died. It may mean everything. Or nothing. But I won’t know until I can get to Fairhaven.” She brushed away her tears. “Oh, Augusta, I’m hopeful and scared to hope, all at the same time. If I’m right, I still may have a chance. If I’m wrong, I’ll lose every acre of my land.”
The older woman let out a low whistle. “That is indeed a kettle of fish. But as long as you have this place, you have a home.”
“I suppose.”
Augusta patted her hand. “Something tells me that Fairhaven is not your only concern.”
Charlotte hesitated. “It’s . . . Mr. Betancourt himself. Dr. Betancourt. I think most highly of him.”
“You’re in love with him, you mean.”
“No, I—”
“Best call it what it is, girl. I can see how you feel about him just by the way you say his name.” Augusta raised a brow. “Does he return your affections?”
“I think so. But—”
“Then everything will work out, somehow. Where love is concerned, it’s important to have a little faith.” Augusta rose. “Here come the girls. I’ll see you later. I must return Mr. Peabody’s rig.”
“Please thank him for me, and tell him I’ll be ready for the children on Monday.”
Augusta snapped her fingers. “In all the excitement I forgot to tell you. The schoolmaster returned to Litchfield last week, much earlier than expected. The reverend said to tell you the Demere children will attend the plantation school beginning next week.”
“I see. I suppose he’ll expect the return of his globe and books and the other things he lent us.”
“I reckon so. But the summer is winding down. The Betancourt girls will be off to school in Charleston once their father gets home. Why not let them enjoy a few weeks free of lessons before then?”
Anne-Louise pounded along the piazza and burst through the door, her new doll tucked under her arm. “I heard that, Miss Augusta, and I think it’s a stupendous idea.”
Charlotte laughed. “I might grant you your freedom if you promise at least to practice your penmanship.”
Anne-Louise wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t sound much like freedom to me.” She made a place for her doll on the embroidered settee. “Is there anything to eat? Gabrielle and I are excruciatingly hungry.”
Charlotte laughed. “Find your sister and we’ll make supper.”
At the door, Augusta turned. “I left some mail on the table from my last trip to town.”
“Thank you.”
The older woman pointed a gnarled finger at Charlotte. “Don’t forget what I said about Mr. Betancourt.”
Anne-Louise followed Augusta onto the piazza. Charlotte went to the kitchen and set about preparing a meal. The girls came back inside, and she sent them to wash up. Marie-Claire returned first and plopped down on the bottom stair, the very picture of dejection.
“What’s the matter?” Charlotte carried a tray to the dining room and opened the windows wider to draw in the cooling breeze.
Marie-Claire shrugged.
“Don’t you like the present your father sent?”
“I like it. It’s pretty.”
“I thought so too. And very grown-up.”
