Catherine's Cross (6 page)

“Our great-grandfather learn to read and write when he a little boy even though it be illegal at de time. He have a young master who teach him book learning—I hear dey use de Good Book. My ancestor name Joseph Andrews, and he keep a record of what happen in Beaufort during dat war.”

“Do you know what she was interested in?”

“She say she seen a portrait of a young girl in de Gibbes Museum in Charleston with a gold cross round her neck—Miss Iris Elliott.”

Remembering her dreams, Jenks blurted out, “A gold cross?”

“Yes, um, she say she hear dat a ship laden with gold and silver sank somewhere near St. Helena Sound during de Civil War. She say dat cross was rumored to be on board de ship when it go down.”

“How did she know this?”

“Miss Jenkins, she only say dat she hear about it from other divers.”

Meta paused for a moment and picked up a hand fan that had white roses printed on it and began to fan herself. “You know dere were stories dat a lot of de wealth of dis area was carried off to de north while de Yankees was here. My gran'ma tell us tales 'fore bed 'bout de fine possessions dat disappear from de homes around here durin' dat time.”

“Did Gigi say she had found the ship?”

“Oh no, Miss, she ask to read my ancestor's journals, and when she finish, she tank us and give us a gift of flowers. We never see her again, but we hear 'bout her death in a diving accident.”

“Do you think I can see your great-grandfather's journals?”

“Yes, Miss, but please come back tomorrow around two. I have an appointment in a few minutes, and we have to get de books out of a trunk in de sewing room.”

“Thank you, Miss Meta . . . Miss Ida. Please call me Jenks if you'd like.”

“Jenkins is a pretty name.” Meta paused. “Please try to remember—most of de records dat were kept during dat time was by federal authorities, northern newsmen, and a few white missionaries. Dere may be tings dat de Federals didn't want recorded.”

“What kind of things?”

“Dat was a time of war and some of de worst tings 'bout men come out.”

Ida Mae was sitting quietly on the settee, and she said to Jenks as she left the room, “I's sorry 'bout my mistake. I's glad you alive and well . . . you as pretty as your sister was.”

“Thank you, Miss Ida.”

“We see you tomorrow at two,” Meta said as she followed Jenks and held the screen door open for her.

As she walked to her car, Jenks thought of the sisters' unique dialect: Their t's were replaced by d's, and there were other distinctive pronunciations. She concluded that they must be descendants of the Gullah people and their language differences went deep into their ancestral roots. Their brogue was sweet and lovely to listen to. What were Meta's words? “‘We hear she accidentally drown in de river,'” Jenks said softly under her breath. “Was it really an accident?”

On her way back to Port Royal, Jenks stopped at the Publix Food Market on Lady Island. She was out of almost everything, and she parked her car under live oak trees that shaded the lot.

Inside the store, she loaded her buggy with a gallon of milk, fresh vegetables—most of the produce selections originating from local farms.

An older gentleman with silvery white hair yielded his buggy to her as they came close together at the tomato stand. He looked at her, and with a wry smile he said, “There are women who try to be sexy and others who are born that way.”

She was flustered by his comment.

“You are the latter version,” he grinned.

“Thank you,” she quickly replied.

As he turned the corner of the aisle, he observed, “You are even lovelier when you blush.”

Old wolves lurking in the grocery store
, Jenks thought.

When she arrived back at Port Royal, she went to the door off the back porch, unlocked it, and then returned to her Jeep to unload the groceries. As she bent into the car, she felt a strange sensation run down her spine, something like a cold chill, but not exactly. Lifting one of the bags, she turned and almost ran into a man who was standing less than two feet from her. He was attractive and appeared to be in his late forties, with salt-and-pepper gray hair; his skin handsomely tanned.

She nearly dropped the bag to the ground but grabbed the bottom, securing the groceries against her chest. Before she could say anything, the man held out his hands and said, “Miss Jenkins, could I please help you with your groceries?” His voice was somewhat garbled, and he smiled at her with a broad grin. “I'm Caleb Grayson. I used to help Miss Gigi with heavy lifting.”

Jenks had never heard Gigi mention this man before and felt discomfort under his gaze. “Thank you for your offer to help, Caleb. I apologize, but my sister never mentioned you to me.”

“That's okay. She was my friend. I miss her, and I'm sorry about what happened to her.”

He extended his arms to take the grocery bag and Jenks released the sack into his arms. “Where would you like me to put this?”

“Why don't you put the groceries on the back porch?”

His speech was difficult to understand, but he smiled at her and started toward the screened porch. Jenks noticed he was wearing khaki shorts and that his calves were well-muscled. He walked with a limp, and he made his way slowly to the rear of the house.

She chose not to enter the home, but instead waited outside while he returned twice more to her Jeep for the groceries. When he finished his task, he smiled broadly.

“Thank you, Caleb,” Jenks said as she reached into her purse for a few single dollar bills.

When he saw what she was doing, he raised his hands up and said, “No, ma'am, I can't take your money. It was my pleasure to help you.” As he started to walk away, he turned back and said, “I'm glad to have you for my neighbor.”

Jenks watched him leave; he had difficulty walking and his left foot dragged to some degree. She concluded that Caleb suffered from both a physical and mental handicap, but his kind heart was evident to her.

Seth knocked on Jenks's door at exactly a quarter of six.

“How was your day?”

“Busy . . . I'll tell you about it when we get home. I mean, to the Walker's house.”

He smiled and helped her into the car, closing the door for her. On the drive to the Walker's house, they crossed an expansive bridge across the Broad River and continued in the direction of Hilton Head.

Jenks broke the silence in the car. “While I was unloading groceries this afternoon, a neighbor stopped and helped me.”

“Oh, who was that?”

“His name was Caleb Grayson.”

“Yes, I know who you're talking about. I know he worked a number of odd jobs for shopkeepers in Port Royal until the poor economy forced many of them to close their doors.” A frown crossed his brow. “All I know is that many years ago he was in an accident, and he didn't fully recover from his injuries.”

“What kind of accident?”

“An automobile wreck. I'm afraid he suffered a severe brain injury. His family is well to do, and his parents live at The Point.”

“The Point?”

“Yes, it's an area in downtown Beaufort with a number of antebellum homes.”

Their conversation was interrupted as Seth pointed out a severely deteriorated waterfront building off the highway. “There used to be a business here called the Lemon Island Marina, but it closed down some time ago. I heard that a group of investors wanted to reopen the marina and operate a restaurant as well, but their financing fell through.”

When they reached the waterfront structure, Jenks noticed that the building was missing windows and in need of a new roof. Only the dock appeared to be in decent condition. After they passed by, Seth made a turn down a sandy road and followed it past several mailboxes. He turned onto a driveway that led to a magnificent two-story home on the waterway.

“This property belongs to Jacob Spenser. A couple of years ago, he was robbed by three young men who made off with a number of his prized possessions, including a collection of antique firearms and his mother's jewelry. Detective Campbell and I apprehended the young men and retrieved his belongings before they could sell them. Ever since then, he has told me to use his property to access the river any time I want. This is where I meet Mose Lafitte, a local fisherman. I buy fresh fish from him, and this is a convenient meeting place since it's near his home. He calls me when he has fish to sell.”

Seth stopped the car near the dock. Tied off to the floater was a worn-out fishing boat with nets and crab baskets resting on the deck. An elderly black man rose from a bench seat at the helm and said, “Lawd, Mister Seth—how are you dis day?”

“Mose, I'm fine. I'd like to introduce Miss Jenks Ellington to you.”

He removed a sweat-stained fishing hat from his head and bowed to her. “Miss, I's proud to meet you.” He stopped speaking for a moment and then continued. “I's very sorry about your sister. I read about it in de newspaper, and Mister Seth say he been trying to help you out some.”

“Thank you.”

Mose enunciated his words in the same unique manner as Ida Mae and Meta. He put his hat back on top of his head and smiled at Seth, revealing four yellow, decaying teeth in the front of his mouth. He picked up a sizeable fish and said, “How do you like dis redfish? I caught it about an hour ago, and it's been on ice ever since.”

“As long as it's within the legal limit, it's fine with me,” Seth replied.

Mose smiled broadly and responded, “Now, Mister Seth, you knows I ain't gonna sell no illegal-size fish to no policeman.”

Seth laughed and said, “I know Mose, I'm just teasing you.”

Mose put the fish in a large plastic bag and sealed it before handing it to Seth.

“How much for your fish?”

“Four dollars—you knows I always gives you a break.”

“Thank you, Mose.”

“I be back out here tomorrow. I call you if I have a
legal
catch.” He grinned when he emphasized the word
legal
.

He handed a business card to Jenks and said, “Miss Ellington, you call me if you like to buy fish.” He winked at Seth and Jenks and started the motor of his fishing boat. Jenks and Seth watched as he backed into the waterway and headed toward the Lemon Island Marina.

Seth looked down into Jenks's eyes and said, “Mose is a descendant of Gullah people who inhabited the Sea Islands for hundreds of years. He's fished these waters his entire life.”

“Yes, I've listened to other people speak in a similar fashion.” At this point, she did not mention her visit to Ida Mae and Meta.

They drove back to the highway toward Hilton Head, and Seth made a turn onto a small rural road that was lined with live oak trees. The window was down on Jenks's side, and she felt the air become cooler under the trees. After several minutes on the sandy lane, they came to a tabby walled chapel. A cross graced the peak of the metal roof, and the grounds were neatly manicured. A sign near the lane read Rabbit Hash Hunt Club.

Jenks read the name out loud and asked, “How did this chapel get to be named Rabbit Hash Hunt Club, and why isn't it utilized as a house of the Lord?”

Seth glanced at her for only a moment and then returned his eyes to the road. “Jenks, most of the people who worshiped at this chapel passed away, and their offspring either moved away for jobs or chose to worship elsewhere. The chapel ceased to operate and a group of hunters purchased the land and turned the sanctuary into a hunt club. They've taken good care of the building, and they're good folks. I joined the club a couple of years ago, and I hunt ducks, dove, quail, and deer on the land. Twenty-three hundred acres and the chapel were purchased at the same time.”

“How did it get the name Rabbit Hash?”

“During the Depression, the church put on suppers for people who were in poverty, and a number of local farmers and hunters trapped or shot rabbits to donate for stews—hence, rabbit hash. The chapel was formerly known as French Chapel after Alexander French, who owned the plantation where the sanctuary was situated. The church was at one point a chapel of ease for the planters in the area. After the French family died out, the chapel operated until the 1960s, when it was sold to the hunt club.”