Windswept (16 page)

If he only knew how pointless his questions were. She had heard the commotion all right, and she had stolen peeks at the activity on the harbor across Duval Street. And though she had a strong motive for remaining aloof from the business at Proctor’s Warehouse and Salvage, and its enigmatic owner, she was having a difficult time ignoring it all.

Just that morning she had told herself that she would not succumb to the auction frenzy which had taken over the island. She certainly didn’t need to embroil herself in the goings-on of a man who treated her with a cocky disdain that often bordered on outright rudeness.

But auction fever was all around her. Even her mother and Fanny had been up with the sun and talking of nothing but the impending sale. By six thirty Sidonia had several outfits spread upon her bed, and she was in a quandary as to which one to choose. “You must help me decide, Eleanor,” she’d moaned. “Everyone will be there this morning, Mrs. Whiting, Mrs. MacDougal, Mrs. Warden…I do so want to fit in.”

Nora had given the ensembles a cursory glance and had picked a pale green linen skirt and vest. “You can’t go wrong with that one, Mama. It’s perfect.”

Naturally it was the advice her mother needed to choose the royal blue silk. Anyway, it left Nora free to think about her lesson plans for that morning. She’d escaped her mother’s bedroom with a sigh of relief.

So here she was in the blessed sanctuary that was her classroom, and still she was besieged by auction mania. She answered her most enterprising and intelligent student with impatience. “Yes, Felix, of course I am aware of what is going on outside, but I believe it is more important to stay focused on what is going on in this room. Now please give me another example of the “h” sound.”

“I have one. A perfect example.”

All heads turned toward the entrance Mr. McTaggart had just stepped through. It was the first time the milliner had entered their domain, and it was certainly the first time Nora had ever seen a grin alter the normally staid expression on his face.

“Excuse me?” she said.

“H. I have an “h” word. Hat! And I hope to sell many of them this morning.” He crossed to the window and stuck his head out. “What a glorious sun we have this morning. It’s positively flooding the harbor with head-pounding heat and eye-squinting glare. Headwear is an absolute necessity.”

He rubbed his hands together as if stacks of gold coins had just passed through them. “I love auction days, Miss Seabrook, especially sunny ones when our visitors arrive hatless.” His countenance brightened with a germinating scheme. “In fact, I have a wonderful idea for the children who will be volunteering this morning. I have dozens of moderately priced straw bonnets, and perhaps, for a small monetary reward, the youngsters could pass among the crowd offering them for sale.”

The children who just moments before had been disinterested and sluggish did everything but stand on their heads to get the milliner’s attention.

“Me, me…choose me!”

“I’ll do it. I’ll sell hats!”

Mr. McTaggart clapped with glee. “Perfect. You all can!”

Nora could no longer pretend she was immune to the enthusiasm infecting her students. “I give up,” she said, laughing. “It’s eight-thirty. I suppose it would be all right if we stopped early today.”

Felix Obalu beamed. Suggesting he could earn a few pennies by selling hats was like setting a bowl of honey in front of a hungry bear. “Good for you, Miss Nora,” he said. “You’re all right with me.”

She smiled at him. “I’m so happy to hear that, Felix. It has been my goal all along to win your approval.”

With a charming display of white teeth in a cocoa brown face, Felix bounded up from his seat and followed Mr. McTaggart from the classroom. In the blink of an eye, the other students had followed. Nora collected their supplies and stored them on one of the shelves donated by Jacob Proctor. Then she went to the window and gave in to the temptation to see for herself what all the excitement was about.

It was a glorious sight and, in fact, reminded Nora of the previous summer just after her twenty-first birthday. Her mother and father had allowed her to accompany them to a garden party at the governor’s mansion in honor of Mr. Jefferson Davis. That afternoon the guest list had been representative of the finest families in Virginia.

The “guest list” at Jacob’s auction this morning was every bit as impressive, though slightly more varied. The locals, many of whom Nora recognized, ambled about the harbor in their best finery, which had probably been purchased at a precious auction. In Key West, being witnessed by one’s neighbors was as important as witnessing the activities.

There were at least a hundred people Nora did not recognize. Not surprising since ships had been bringing potential bidders from all parts of the Eastern and Gulf coasts for several days. Men in broadcloth suits and silk top hats strolled arm in arm with ladies in satin and brocade. Merchants and more serious-minded procurers had given up their jackets and vests on this warm day and pored through bins and barrels with their shirt sleeves rolled up past their elbows.

Everyone who converged in the courtyard of Proctor’s Warehouse and Salvage had one thing in common. They were all there to see what treasures had been pulled from the sea over the last few months and what they would have to pay to own them. And at the end of the auction, Jacob Proctor was entitled to keep twenty cents of every dollar collected…what might amount to a very handsome sum.

Nora glanced at the clock on her classroom wall. 8:40. She just had time to investigate a few of the barrels herself before the auction started, and she had finally admitted to herself that was exactly what she wanted to do. Grabbing her paper and pencil, certain that what was about to occur on this mile-wide island was manna for a writer’s journal, she left the milliner’s shop.

“Eleanor, Eleanor! Come over here!”

Nora had just begun rummaging through the contents of a barrel of porcelain when she heard her mother’s voice. Though she was much more interested in the Spode china cups and saucers nestled within dusty straw, she could hardly pretend to ignore such a strident call.

She looked to her left where a large Banyan tree provided shade at the edge of the courtyard and saw her mother sitting on a wicker lawn chair with Mrs. Whiting and Mrs. Warden. Wicker being light and easy to carry, the women had obviously decided they could manage the chairs, a small table and an entire Japanese tea service.

Nora walked over, greeted her mother and the ladies and refused a cup of tea.

“Oh, dear, Eleanor,” Sidonia said. “How shortsighted of me not to bring you something to sit on.” She craned her neck to search the shaded area as carefully as she could without standing up and tsked her disappointment. Apparently she’d hoped a chair would suddenly appear out of nowhere and was distressed when it didn’t.

“Don’t bother yourself, Mama,” Nora said. “I’m much too excited to sit anyway. I really just want to see the rest of the items up for sale.”

“Good heavens, Eleanor, you’re just like Fanny, always traipsing off somewhere. Flitting about from barrel to bin like a bee in a rose garden.”

At the mention of Fanny’s name, Nora saw an opportunity for escape. “Maybe I should go find her, Mama…just to see if she’s all right.”

“All right? Why wouldn’t she be, for heaven’s sake? She’s Fanny.” Sidonia patted the trunk of the tree. “Here, Eleanor, at least come out of the sun. It was dreadful enough to see such pink in your cheeks when you came home yesterday, and you’ll only make it worse if you stay out in the heat.”

Reluctantly Nora obeyed, though her eyes wandered to take in all the varied and interesting merchandise displayed in and around the warehouse. But was it just the merchandise she was looking for? If so, then why did her gaze wander from the groups of people milling around and finally through the windows and doors to the darker, more private areas of the warehouse? She had a burning desire to know…where was the man responsible for this carnival atmosphere?

“Eleanor, stop fidgeting,” her mother warned. “You’ve kicked my chair twice.”

“Sorry, Mama. I just think I should try to find Fanny. She hasn’t come back in all this time.”

“Well, go, then, you silly girl! But stay away from that horrible Captain Proctor.”

Nora’s heart leapt at the mention of Jacob’s name, and she grabbed her mother’s shoulder. “Captain Proctor? Do you see him, Mama?”

Sidonia jumped, both at the fierceness of her daughter’s grip and the tone of her voice. “Well, of course I see him, Eleanor. Why do you think I’m warning you? He’s over by the docks speaking with none other than Dillard Hyde and my own wayward cousin. Oh, my, if Thurston could see that…”

Nora had already left the circle of women but she called back over her shoulder, “Thank you, Mama. I’ll just have a look at the items for bid.”

“Oh, and Eleanor, do watch for our dear Mr. Hadley. The last I saw him, he was going to that…that little
teaching dalliance
of yours. I wouldn’t want you to miss him.”

Mama, I don’t think it’s possible for me to ever
miss
Theo Hadley
! Knowing her mother was watching, Nora headed straight for a display of cooking oils and spices. It was conveniently located in the middle of the courtyard with a clear view to the docks. Whatever Fanny was saying made both men laugh. Oh, dear, what
was
Fanny saying?

Suddenly Nora’s view of the docks was obliterated by a rush of humanity closing in around her. People who had occupied the entire area of the courtyard and the interior of the warehouse came together en mass and focused their attention on the front of the building where Willy Turpin was checking the stability of an enormous wooden hogshead cask upended on the ground.

A woman beside Nora hushed her children and admonished them to behave. Two men in front of her in working men’s clothes smoked cigars and spoke rapidly in Spanish. A middle-aged man in elegant attire was jostled into Nora from behind and begged her pardon in a Southern accent unlike any she’d ever heard before. It was a mixture of Fanny’s educated French and the deepest, most honey-toned Dixie. New Orleans, she supposed. He tipped his top hat in apology. This auction had certainly drawn from all elements of society.

A loud groan from the hogshead drew her attention to the front once more. It had come from a heavyset man in a wide planter’s hat and bright red vest who had climbed onto the barrel with the assistance of three other men. He held a polished gavel in one hand and a sheaf of papers nailed to a board in the other. When he raised the gavel in the air, a hush settled over the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began in a high pitched voice that carried to the farthest corners of the crowd. “On this twenty-second day of February, the year of our Lord, Nineteen hundred and fifty eight, let the auction of salvaged goods belonging to Jacob Proctor begin.”

A roar rose in the crowd reminiscent of Independence Day celebrations in Richmond. A tingle of excitement raced down Nora’s spine. If there was such a thing as auction fever, she was catching it.

She released her anticipation in a burst of laughter when she spied Felix Obalu weaving among the throng holding his precious straw bonnets above his head. “A dollar a bonnet,” he called out until he was told to keep quiet by a stern looking lady who wiggled her fan at him. Felix might have paid her some mind if he hadn’t seen a silver coin glinting in the air several feet away. The lady’s fan was no competition, and he scampered away, hats waving.

“Now folks,” the man said from the barrel, “we’ll have this auction under way in one minute, but first there are certain rules and regulations you must understand if you expect to ever attend one of these affairs again.” He stopped and a Spanish interpreter repeated what he’d said.

“These items will be sold in bulk lots or individually. We’ll tell you how before we call for the first bid, so listen up. Ignorance of the proceedings is no excuse for mistakes. And if a mistake is made it’ll be yours, because I don’t make any.”

Nervous laughter buzzed in the air. The interpreter struggled to keep up with the fast-talking auctioneer.

Everything is sold ‘As is, where is,” which means no guarantee of any kind is either implied or expressed. If it looks like a gewgaw and it turns out to be a gimcrack, well, you still bought it.” The auctioneer leveled a no nonsense glare that encompassed everyone within hearing. “Basically, ladies and gentlemen, if you’re the high bidder, you pay for it, and then you take it away. I don’t much care if you like it or not. This time tomorrow we expect all this merchandise to be gone.”

He pounded hard on the board holding his papers. “Any questions? Good. You all got your bidding paddles? Let this auction begin.”

Looking down at Willy Turpin, he said, “My good man, would you show the first item up for bid.”

Willy raised a saddle in the air.

“A fine English saddle, my friends. Hand tooled leather from Harcourt and Stone, London Saddlery. Who’ll give me a five dollar bid?”

The auction was underway.

Before an hour had passed, Nora had seen bidders walk away with wine from Spain, mahogany from Brazil, silk and woven material from China and India, porcelain from France, silver and brass from Morocco, spices from Caribbean islands, as well as dozens of bales of Mississippi cotton and bundles of Virginia tobacco.