The Bracelet (7 page)

“Learning is never wasted.” Celia glanced around the room. With whitewashed plaster walls, dusty windows, and plain furniture, it lacked a feminine touch, but it was clean and safe. The girl’s embroidery hoop lay on the narrow bed. The half finished piece was exquisite, featuring birds and butterflies and entwined flowers, each tiny jewel-colored stitch neat and perfectly matched to the others. “Someone spent a lot of time teaching you to do such beautiful needlework.”

Silence.

Celia tried a different tack. “I imagine Captain Stevens was quite surprised to find you aboard his boat.”

The girl chewed off a ragged fingernail and spat it onto the braided cotton rug covering the pine floor. “Said I could get him in a peck of trouble. But I’m not a slave.” Louisa’s expression was one of steely determination. “I can go wherever I please. I told the captain I was born in freedom, but it didn’t matter. He was real mad.”

“Because you might have made trouble for him. But he was still concerned enough to bring you to Mrs. Clayton. He could have turned you over to the authorities. There are penalties for stowing away.”

Downstairs, the front door opened. Through the window Celia saw Miss Ransom and her charges spilling onto the narrow lawn bordering the street.

Following Celia’s gaze, the girl unfolded her long legs, her movements fluid as smoke, and got to her feet. “Looks like reading time is over.”

The girl’s lack of cooperation rankled. Most of the young women at the asylum were grateful for the chance to better their lives, but Louisa seemed not to care at all.

Celia took a couple of books from her satchel and handed them to Louisa. “Perhaps you’d enjoy reading
Jane Eyre
on your own. Or
Vanity Fair
. The author, Mr. Thackeray, visited Savannah a few years ago. He stayed at the home of a friend of ours. Mr. Low. I was so excited to meet him that when we finally were face-to-face I could barely speak a word.”

The girl set the books aside and glanced at Celia’s satchel. “What else you got in there?”

“Let’s see. How about
Indiana
, by George Sand. It’s a love story that takes place partly in a castle and partly in Paris. But it was written almost thirty years ago. Perhaps you’ve already read it.”

Louisa shrugged.

“I brought a few magazines too.” Celia offered the girl the latest issues of
Peterson’s Magazine
and the
Home Journal
. Louisa
flipped through the
Peterson’s
, not bothering to read anything, but pausing here and there to study illustrations of lavish ball gowns and plumed hats.

Perhaps fashion was a way into this girl’s guarded heart. “I must go, but I’ll leave these with you. When I come again we can discuss the ones you’ve read, and I can help you with any words you don’t know. Would that be all right?”

“Suit yourself.”

“Good. In the meantime, perhaps you shouldn’t mention to Mrs. Clayton that we didn’t read today. She seems very determined that you should catch up to everyone else, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Of course not. I only meant—”

“I have to go. Mrs. Clayton gets her drawers in a knot if we’re late to chores.”

Celia stifled a laugh. “I’ll walk down with you.”

4

P
APA SET DOWN HIS GLASS AND SMILED AT HIS DINNER GUEST
across the dining-room table. “We’re delighted you could finally join us, my boy. I’m afraid Celia has not quite forgiven me for interrupting your walk in the park last week.”

Celia took a sip of water from her cut-glass tumbler. “I forgive you, Papa. It wouldn’t be fair not to, considering everything you’ve done to help with the masquerade party for Sutton next month.”

“I’m honored that you’ve all gone to such lengths to welcome me home.” Sutton ate another bite of roast beef. “There’s nothing more welcoming than a dinner under your roof, Mr. Browning. But I will admit a costume ball is more excitement than I’ve had these past years.”

Ivy caught Sutton’s eye. “Have you chosen your costume yet? Or will it be a surprise?”

“To be honest, I haven’t had much time to think about it.” Sutton’s expression clouded. “Father has not seemed quite himself of late, and then there was that worrisome business about the
Wanderer.”

“Has there been any more news?” Celia asked.

“Nothing,” Papa said. “I ran into Captain Stevens a couple
of days ago. He’s just back from a trip to St. Simons and hasn’t seen anything of the
Wanderer.
We are in for some difficult days if Charlie Lamar does return with human cargo.”

Celia buttered a slice of bread. “I suppose you saw Mr. Thompson’s piece in the paper yesterday. He’s all for importing more slaves, and yet he seems to think the poor whites here in town might decide they have more in common with the blacks, economically speaking, and side with them against the slaveholders. Thus we must guard against an excess of democracy, or so he says. It’s quite contradictory. I didn’t know there was such a thing as too much democracy.”

“Blacks and whites can work together,” Sutton said. “In Jamaica it’s the only way to get things done. Of course, slavery has been outlawed down there for twenty years.” He set down his fork. “I don’t like the idea of bringing in more slaves. Lamar is putting all of the Lowcountry at risk.”

Papa nodded. “Mr. Sneed said as much in his piece in the
Republican
. I can see his point. If Georgia experiences another flood of Negro labor, the poor white men will have no chance to adequately support themselves, and the divide between rich and poor will only grow wider. That won’t be good for Savannah or for the rest of Georgia.” He sighed. “The whole situation is worrisome.”

“Worrying about it won’t change anything, Uncle David,” Ivy said.

“You’re right about that. No sense in borrowing trouble.”

Sutton smiled and changed the subject. “So what about you, Ivy? Have you chosen your costume for my party yet? It’s only two weeks away.”

“I’m not sure I will attend.” Ivy pushed her plate away.

“Oh, but you must,” Sutton said. “I’ll be terribly disappointed if you don’t.”

Ivy brightened. “You will?”

“Yes, indeed. The whole evening will be much more enjoyable if you’re there. Won’t it, Celia?”

“Of course.” Celia sent her cousin an encouraging smile. “Besides, Ivy has been so much help with the planning, it would be a shame for her not to see how everything turns out.”

Brows raised, Papa helped himself to another glass of Madeira. “Dare I ask how many guests we are expecting?”

“Fewer than a hundred,” Celia said. “Only our closest friends—and Sutton’s, of course. We’ve arranged for the flowers and the musicians, and several of Mrs. Maguire’s friends are helping with the food. It will be simple fare that can be served on the terrace. That way we can keep the ballroom clear for the dancing and the promenade. And—”

Celia stopped, suddenly aware of Sutton’s intense gaze. “What’s the matter? Have I forgotten something? Do I have gravy on my nose?”

“Not a thing, I was just marveling at what an accomplished hostess you’ve become.”

“Losing my mother so soon, I’ve had lots of practice.” Celia looked up at the life-size portrait of her mother hanging above the fireplace. With her dark hair and violet eyes and her stylish entertainments, Francesca Butler Browning had been widely admired as the most beautiful woman and the most accomplished hostess in the Georgia Lowcountry. Celia had inherited her mother’s sense of style and her unusual coloring. As she grew into womanhood, people had often remarked upon the close resemblance.

Mrs. Maguire came in with the coffee service and a coconut cake. “I’ve brought your afters.”

The four waited while the housekeeper cleared the dishes and served the dessert. At last she draped a linen towel over the tray of dishes and lifted it.

“This looks wonderful, Mrs. Maguire.” Papa picked up his silver dessert fork. “Thank you. Dinner was delicious.”

“Indeed,” Sutton said. “I enjoyed every bite, Mrs. Maguire.”

“’Twas my pleasure, I’m sure.”

When she had gone, Sutton sipped his coffee and regarded Celia over the top of his cup. “What about you, our esteemed hostess? What kind of costume do you have in mind for the masquerade?”

Celia hesitated. She had meant to broach the subject with Papa in private, but perhaps this was as good a time as any. She turned to him now. “Do you remember the gold silk costume Mama wore to the Christmas ball the year you and she went as Antony and Cleopatra?”

“I do indeed. Your mother looked every inch the queen. I wish now I’d had her portrait painted in that gown. It was quite remarkable.” He smiled. “Though I also recall her complaining about the weight of it.”

“I was thinking I might wear it.” Celia watched Papa’s face. He was unlikely to deny her wishes, but she would attend the party in rags before hurting him. “But I won’t if it would make you sad.”

“On the contrary.” Papa set down his fork. “I would enjoy the sight of a beautiful girl in a beautiful gown. Remind me, and I’ll fetch your mother’s diamond necklace from the bank vault.”

Celia pushed back her chair and rounded the massive table to embrace her father. Sutton rose with her.

“Thank you, Papa. I’ll be careful with it. I know how much it means to you.”

“The necklace was my gift to my wife upon our engagement,” Papa told Sutton. “One day it will be Celia’s, of course.”

“And Celia will look like a queen as well,” Sutton said, his eyes warm with affection.

“So long as she doesn’t confuse the role with reality.” Ivy
spoke lightly, but Celia detected a veiled barb in her cousin’s voice. “Anyway, I’m sure the two of you will make a splendid pair.”

“I’ll have a hard time coming up with a costume worthy of her,” Sutton said.

“I don’t care if you come dressed as a rag picker.” Celia looped an arm through his. “I’m simply glad to have you home.”

Papa rose. “Would you care for a cheroot and a brandy in the library, Sutton?”

“Thank you, but I promised Mother I’d be home early. She’s worried about Father.”

“He did seem a bit under the weather when I saw him at the club yesterday. Perhaps he needs a few days away from Commerce Row to rest.”

“Mother and I have both suggested as much, but he won’t hear of it. After so many business failures last year, he’s afraid to take his eyes off our interests for even a day.”

Celia felt a stab of sympathy for Mr. Mackay. Last year’s financial crisis had dried up many sources of credit for the cotton trade, forcing nearly a hundred Savannah businesses—including factors’ houses, insurance companies, even the main branch of the Bank of Georgia—to fail. Papa had been terribly worried about Browning Shipping Company too. She didn’t blame Mr. Mackay for his diligence. But she worried about him for Sutton’s sake.

The four of them moved from the dining room to the entry hall, where Sutton retrieved his hat and thanked them again for dinner.

“Sutton, can you wait a moment?” Ivy asked. “I have a present for you.”

He laughed. “I always have time for a present, but what’s the occasion?”

“Just a little something to welcome you home. I won’t take a moment.” Ivy hurried up the stairs and soon returned with the red
woolen scarf she’d spent the last weeks knitting. “Sorry I didn’t have time to wrap it up. I finished it only this afternoon.”

Sutton’s brow furrowed as he ran his fingers over the wool. “Well, it’s wonderful, and I sincerely appreciate it. But I . . .”

Her face fell. “You don’t like it. I can tell.”

“I do like it, and it was very kind of you to go to so much trouble.” He lifted Ivy’s hand and kissed it. “I’ve always thought of you as the sister I never had. Sweet and generous. And now, every time I wear this scarf, I’ll think of you.”

He turned to Celia. “Will I see you tomorrow at church?”

“Of course.”

“Celia wants to ride her horse tomorrow,” Papa said. “Perhaps you’d like to join us at the track after church?”

“I’d love to. Poseidon and I need to get to know each other again after all this time. And I’ve been looking forward to meeting your Zeus.”