Our First Christmas (20 page)

The path leading up to the Burgwin-Wright House was lined with flickering candles. A trolley hummed at the curb waiting to take patrons between it and the Bellamy Mansion. A group of Christmas carolers sang quietly from the side gardens. Wreaths adorned the banisters and hung on the iron gates. Inside, the tour guides would be dressed in colonial dresses and suits. Refreshments would sit upon the tables. Wreaths and greenery would abound on most surfaces and in the nine fireplaces. An enormous Moravian star hung from the front porch. There were even five animals from a petting zoo, all dressed in festive halters. A llama, a donkey, goats, and a cow. Apparently, Rudolph never came this far South. “If there had been an alligator, I would have been golden,” Sawyer whispered in her ear. “Do you think Adel will accept a llama instead?”

“She'd be crazy not to,” Dani said.

Ruth Hathaway was dressed in a red velvet colonial gown. Dani thought she looked like a slim Mrs. Claus. She began her tour on the front porch by telling the small group that the Burgwin-Wright House, built in the year 1770, was one of the finest examples of Georgian architecture in all the state, and that John Burgwin meant it as a gift for his wife.

“Makes my Christmas present kind of suck,” Sawyer whispered in Dani's ear. She burst out laughing. Nate, who was standing with his arms crossed, glared at them. Beside him, Anya was too busy glaring at Ruth to notice. Danielle had meant to arrive early to try and straighten a few things out, but had totally lost track of time.
Time flies when you're falling in love.

Enough. She had to stop smiling. This was about patching up Nate and Anya. Then they could go home. Danielle didn't even care about the Christmas gala or the wedding anymore. She just wanted to make things right with Nate and Anya and then start her life with Sawyer.

“This grand townhome is the epicenter of the events surrounding the end of the Revolutionary War. It predates the Declaration of Independence, and within these walls the battle between domination by the British imperialists and our struggle for independence was waged.” Ruth Hathaway's eyes took on a passionate glow. “During the Revolution this home served as a command post and prison for the occupying British Army. Inside you will notice the heart of pine floors. Look for the nicks and cuts in the wood. Those were made by axes. Savage blows by British butchers!” The crowd murmured and twittered. Dani had a feeling Ruth was straying from the normal Christmas tales she was supposed to be telling.

“Where was John Burgwin from?” Anya called out.

Ruth looked startled by the question. “I believe he was Welsh,” she said.

“Oh no. I believe he was English,” Anya said.

“Perhaps,” Ruth said. “Anyway—”

“It's so nice that my people could give you such a wonderful gift,” Anya said. Danielle tried to catch Anya's eye, but she was purposefully not looking at anyone other than Ruth.

“That's not quite accurate, my dear,” Ruth said. “John Burgwin married a
Southern
woman, by the name of Margaret Haynes. It was her
Southern
father, Roger, who owned this land. John Burgwin only acquired it through marriage.”

“But if his bigoted brother would have had his way, there never would have been a marriage, and thus, never this exquisite home.” Anya smiled at everyone in the group except Danielle and Nate.

“His brother?” Ruth was finding it hard to disguise her annoyance.

“Yes. His older brother, James. He inherited the family estate. Do you know what he had the nerve to tell John?”

“I have the feeling you're going to tell us,” Ruth said.

“He said, ‘If you ever marry an American, neither yourself nor your family will ever inherit a single shilling from me.' ” Anya put on a theatrical voice and practically shouted it. “Can you imagine such hatred?”

“From the English?” Ruth said. “Why, I believe I can.” Dani's head snapped from Ruth to Anya. It was impossible to look away.

“From anyone,” Anya said through gritted teeth. “Although one might understand it back then. But surely not today.”

Don't call me Shirley,
Dani imagined Ruth saying.

“John went on to become an American citizen,” Ruth said. She did not acknowledge Anya's last declaration but did she begin to speed up, as if trying to rush through before Anya could interrupt again. “He made North Carolina his home. He is buried in North Carolina. Unlike some people who seem as if they can't wait to get back to their fancy, imperialist lives!”

Anya gasped and pointed at Ruth. “She admitted it, Nate.”

Nate looked flustered, and then began to clap. “Bravo, bravo,” he said. “I love the reenactment. With a modern-day twist!” Soon the small crowd joined in with an appreciative applause. Ruth gave a forced smile, and Anya frowned. Nate took his grandmother by the arm and together they stepped into the elaborate foyer. The small group followed, everyone but Anya looking at each other. Anya was too busy shooting daggers into the back of Nate's head. This was not good. Danielle knew she should do something but she had no idea what to say.

Ruth, still speaking quickly, explained that all the furnishings, although not the original pieces for this house, were true to the time period. And in the spirit of Georgian architecture, every feature in the house had a twin—if there was a window in the front, there was a matching window in the back. Each room had an equal size room above it, and if there was a sconce on the left, there was a sconce on the right, and so on. She paused to allow everyone to appreciate the symmetry. Then they started in the room to the left, which used to be a sitting room designed for a suitor and the girl he was courting to sit and get acquainted. A curved mirror near the ceiling assured that there could be eyes on them at a moment's notice. Here Ruth was forced to talk about various British officers, and how Lord Cornwallis occupied the Burgwin-Wright House in 1781, commandeering it as his headquarters. “Shortly before the British army was defeated for good,” Ruth added quietly. Danielle prayed Anya wouldn't say anything else. Especially since this was usually the time when Ruth would tell stories of how horrifically Cornwallis behaved while in the house, including supposedly once exclaiming, “Death and destruction to all the Americans!”

Maybe Dani would cheer Anya up later by informing her that Ruth had left this bit out. They headed upstairs to a dining room, and a front parlor room that consisted of formal seating, and a piano. Usually unattended, for this occasion a pianist sat at the piano playing Christmas tunes. Most of the furniture of that time was made so that it could easily be rolled out of the way if guests wished to dance. Many famous and prominent politicians and families had been entertained in this very room. From here windows on three sides offered a remarkable view down Market Street. Danielle had taken the tour many times and could always imagine what it would have been like in the past. At the time this was built, it was the only house in town, for literally at the end of the long, dirt street was the town market. Ruth often pointed out that it would have been fairly noisy up on the second floor, not to mention the smells of a city from that time period. Sometimes Danielle felt as if she could actually hear the
clop
of horses, and smell the scent of tar, and manure. Not very glamorous, but it still seemed romantic to her. She glanced at Sawyer, to find that he was looking at her. She felt flushed with joy, and then guilt. Nate and Anya still looked miserable.

“Isn't this your favorite room, Danielle?” Ruth said.

“Yes, it is,” Danielle said. She couldn't believe Ruth remembered that. She never thought Ruth had heard anything she had ever said.

“Danielle and Nate were childhood sweethearts,” Ruth announced to the group. There was a murmur of “Awwww.”

“I'm gobsmacked,” Anya said.

“But now Nate is engaged to this lovely lady,” Danielle said, stepping over and linking arms with Anya.

“Was engaged,” Anya said.

“Is engaged,” Nate said. He stepped forward, extracted Dani's arm from Anya, and put his arm around her waist. To Dani's relief, Anya didn't resist. Danielle wandered away from the group as Ruth explained how the Wrights came to own the house, and then William McRary and his wife, Martha, and finally, in 1930, it was purchased by the National Society of Colonial Dames of America in North Carolina.

The tour ended in the basement. Everyone got a chance to look down into the cellar that used to be a holding cell for prisoners who had been condemned to death. Dani could only imagine how they felt.

Anya stepped forward, then grabbed Ruth in a hug. “You were wonderful. I'm so proud to be your future granddaughter-in-law.”

Dani gasped. She had never seen anyone hug Ruth in public, not even Nate. The most affection she'd ever seen Ruth give anyone voluntarily was a simple pat on the hand. Nate must have been just as horrified, for he stepped in to pry them apart.

Anya cried out as Nate ripped her away. “I'm trying!” she said. “Why can't you see that I'm trying!” With that, she turned and fled out the back door.

 

The back door emptied onto a porch and beyond it, a brick courtyard enclosed by ballast-stone walls. The stones had been shipped in from the West Indies, and even the ferns covering them were thought to be from seeds on the same journey. A small stone hut against the back was the original kitchen where the slaves prepared the meals, and above it, up a set of stairs, were the original slave quarters.

Danielle, Sawyer, Nate, and Anya stood in the back, near one of the two outdoor jail cells, while the rest of the participants had a look at the dungeon where horse thieves and murderers used to be kept until sentencing. Why they even bothered with the ritual, Dani didn't know, for any person who had been tossed into the dungeon was always condemned to die. Horse thieves were considered more heinous than the murderers. Visitors weren't actually allowed to go into the dungeon, rather they had to look down into it through a glass panel cut into the wood floor. Dani often wondered why Burgwin decided to use the old jail as the foundation for his home. Most likely it was too costly to dig up, but there was something terribly eerie about living among the remnants of the past. And when she looked out to the manicured lawn, she could easily see the gallows, and tried not to imagine men hanging. Anya, on the other hand, seemed almost giddy to be inside an old, outdoor jail cell. The jails and the dungeon dated back to 1740.

“Is this where you and Dani used to make out?” Anya said.

“It was hardly making out,” Nate said.

“You told her?” Dani said.

“Ruth told me,” Anya said. “I'm surprised she didn't announce it to the entire group.”

“What do you say, Sawyer?” Anya said. “Should we make out?”

“What?” Dani said.

“Enough, Anya,” Nate said.

Anya grabbed Sawyer, who was already grinning, and planted a kiss on him. Sawyer wasn't the instigator, but from what Dani could tell, he wasn't exactly pushing her off. Anya finally came up for air.

“How does that feel, Nate?”

“It feels as if my fiancée is so childish, so jealous of something I did when I was a teenaged boy, that I'm starting to wonder if I haven't made a grievous error in judgment.”

“And how do you think I feel when your grandmother spews her hatred and you do nothing but stand there and take it?”

“She's been giving this exact tour for the past twenty years. It's history, Anya. What do you want me to do—rewrite history?”

“She hates us!”

“She hates the North, too, if it's any consolation. My grandmother would erect a impenetrable shield just around Wilmington and the beaches if she could, stick a flag in it, and never let another soul in.”

“She was out of line today and you just stood there! How could I marry a man like that?”

“I'm moving to London for you. If that doesn't prove how much I love you, then nothing ever will.”

“You're moving to London for me? For me?”

“Of course. Who else? If I had wanted to move out of Wilmington, I would have gone to New York with Dani.”

Danielle tried to sink further into the jail cell but she hit the wall. Sawyer joined her. “If you've got a bobby pin,” he whispered. “I might be able to dig us a way out.” Dani slapped her hand over her mouth; it really wasn't a good time to laugh.

“I thought we were moving to London for your art career. I thought you were excited about moving to London.”

“I was excited about being with you. I didn't care where we were. I like to make things. With shells, and driftwood, and stones. Where am I going to find those things in some crowded city?”

“I told you—you can make street art. People in the city toss out the strangest things. Broken glass, and shoelaces, and what have you.”

“Garbage? You're comparing garbage to seashells?”

“We can fly to a beach anytime we want!”

“Would this wedding still be on if I told you I wanted to stay here in Wilmington?”

“Is that what you're saying, or are we being hypothetical?”

“Just answer me.”

“I will not. I will not answer you unless you are truly saying you wish to stay here, and you are asking me a serious question.”

“I'm sick of living in fear that yet another woman is going to get cold feet and find some way to sabotage our marriage.”

“And I'm sick of hearing what brutes the British are. Blah, bloody, blah! I'm starting to think I don't want to be chained to a Yank for the rest of my bloody life, either!”