Celia Garth: A Novel (28 page)

Later that day Burton and Elise and their sons reached Sea Garden on their way home. After dinner they all gathered in the big front parlor and talked. Burton had a good deal to say.

He was sorry the rebellion had failed. But he agreed with Lewis that Clinton’s terms were fair—peace and protection for everyone who would stay at home and mind his own business. However, Burton said he was concerned about Luke. Clinton had announced in plain words that every man still bearing arms against the king was now regarded not as a soldier, but a traitor. He turned to Vivian.

“Mother, if you would use your influence with Luke—”

Vivian shrugged. “Nobody has any influence with Luke.”

“You’ll be seeing him sooner or later,” Burton urged. “Tell him Tarleton has set out with a good-sized force, to hunt up any armed rebels still in South Carolina. If Luke should be captured—”

“Burton dear,” said Vivian, “if you can make Luke do anything he doesn’t want to do, you’re smarter than I am.” She turned her head toward the window, as if glad to get off the subject. “Now what’s that?”

They heard the sound of horses’ hoofs in the driveway. Celia, who sat nearest the window, sprang up, and with a joyful cry she scrambled over the sill to the porch.

The late sun was sending golden spears through the oak trees. Through the shafts of light Miles and Amos were riding toward the house.

Celia ran across the lawn. Catching sight of her, Miles leaped from his horse and ran to meet her.

“Jimmy’s all right!” he shouted as he ran. As they met he caught her to him in a big joyful hug, and Celia sobbed with relief on his shoulder. “He’s still lame,” said Miles, “but he’s getting well. Everybody at Bellwood is well. I’ve come to take you home.”

“To take you home.” Oh, what beautiful words. Mrs. James de Courcey Rand, one of the Rands of Bellwood.

For Miles told her he wanted her to think of herself this way. “You’ll live in Charleston because of Jimmy’s law practice,” he said, “but Jimmy’s old room will be kept ready, and you’ll both be welcome at Bellwood any time. It’s the
family
place, remember.”

Already, though he was not thirty years old, Miles was thinking of himself as a patriarch. Celia hoped he would have a lot of children and grandchildren, he would enjoy them so. And while she had never been interested in babies, she thought now that it would be nice to have some, all part of this big warm household.

Miles brought her a letter from Jimmy, glowing in every line with love and impatience for her. Jimmy said he was hobbling on a cane, but his leg was getting stronger every day and he felt fine.

Miles told them the supply boat had reached Bellwood safely, and when they heard of the loss of Moncks Corner the crew had scattered, leaving the boat behind them. Tarleton’s raiders had gone down the other bank of the river and had not come near; however, some days later, Bellwood had been visited by a British foraging party led by Cornwallis himself. They had come to the big house and stated that they wanted food.

Of course the colored folks had been scared stiff, and after the tales they had heard the white folks were pretty scared too. But Cornwallis and his men had done everything in good order. They had taken a great deal of meat and corn, and some tons of feed for their horses, but there had been no insults to the women, no rough behavior of any sort. And they had left plenty of food—rice and grits, poultry and meat animals, besides the garden greens. The people at Bellwood had not suffered. Certainly, Miles said laughing, not nearly as much as he and Celia had suffered worrying about them.

Herbert urged him to stay for a visit, but Miles said he had promised Jimmy to delay at Sea Garden no more than three or four days. Celia was glad of this. Much as she liked the Lacys, she was tired of being a guest. She wanted to go home.

So now it was a fragrant June morning and they were ready to leave right after breakfast. Everything was arranged. Madge and Lewis were to go along as chaperons. They would take Marietta and Madge’s maid, and a colored boy named Elby to help Amos take care of the horses. From Sea Garden to Bellwood was a ride of nearly thirty miles, too far for horses cumbered by saddlebags to go in one day. They planned to rest overnight at a hunting lodge that belonged to Herbert, and ride on to Bellwood tomorrow.

Celia gave a little skip as she went into the dining room for breakfast. Vivian never came to breakfast, but everybody else was there. The maids brought in hominy grits and butter and fresh broiled flounder. Everybody was in high spirits—or nearly everybody. Celia had finished her fish when it occurred to her that Herbert had said almost nothing, and his usually genial face looked grave. She wondered if he thought something might happen to them on the way to Bellwood. She did not know why he should worry, for while Clinton had taken their army weapons the men were all well armed from Herbert’s own gun-room.

Miles remarked that they had better get going as soon as they could. Herbert pushed back his chair and stood up. Before they left, he said, he would like to speak to them in the library.

Puzzled and a little apprehensive, they followed him. Though she rarely left her room so early, Vivian was in the library, her coffee tray beside her.

Closing the door, Herbert spoke to them without preliminary.

“I’m sure you have all guessed,” he said in a low, quiet voice, “that Luke has kept in touch with his mother. Last night he sent a piece of news that I think I should tell you.” Herbert paused a moment. Vivian sipped her coffee. “Among the men Luke has met in the swamps,” said Herbert, “there’s talk that Clinton has revoked the paroles.”

There was a buzz of amazement. Celia said nothing because she did not know what Herbert was talking about. She was annoyed at this delay; she wanted to start for Bellwood and Jimmy and her wedding, she wanted to forget about the war.

But the men in the group had understood. Lewis was saying, “I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t either,” said Miles. “If you believe all the talk you hear these days you’ll get wheels in your head.”

“It would be utterly dishonorable,” said Burton.

Vivian set down her cup. “Dishonorable,” she said dryly. “But not impossible.”

There was another outburst of talk. They insisted it could not be true. Everybody knew how excitable Luke was.

Celia remembered her betrothal ball, and how Luke had exploded into the ballroom. She thought crossly that it seemed to be Luke’s mission in life to wreck her big moments.

But if she couldn’t stop their gabble she might as well understand it. Herbert had sat down in a chair near hers. She plucked at his sleeve.

“Please sir,” she said as he turned, “what does it mean?—‘revoke the paroles’?”

Herbert answered bluntly. “It means,” he said, “that Sir Henry Clinton is a liar.”

Celia was astonished. Herbert did not often speak like this.

He went on. “You’ll remember, when Clinton offered terms of surrender he guaranteed that if the militiamen would give up their arms, they and all the citizens of Charleston would be regarded as prisoners of war on parole. As long as they did not fight the king, they could go home and live in peace.”

Of course she remembered. She had heard it often enough. Celia nodded.

“Well, now that he has taken their guns,” said Herbert, “Luke hears that Clinton has posted notices in Charleston saying he didn’t really mean that. Clinton says now that they must all take an oath as subjects of the king. This would mean that they could be called up for regiments to fight on the king’s side.”

Celia sat up straight. “You mean—he says that Miles and Godfrey—and Jimmy—must turn Tory and shoot the Americans like Luke who haven’t surrendered?”

“That’s right.”

“But they won’t!”

Herbert smiled. “No, they won’t.”

“What will he do to them?”

“I don’t know.”

“But he promised—Miles told me—”

Herbert nodded.

“That’s not honest!”

“Of course it’s not,” said Herbert, “and I hope it’s not true.” He smiled again at her shocked face. “Actually, my dear, I don’t think it can be true. But I did think Miles and Lewis should hear it, because both of them—and Jimmy—are militiamen on parole.”

The voices of the other men were rough with disbelief. Celia bit her lip thoughtfully. There
was
that childish business of Clinton’s enrolling boys and Tories and old men as his prisoners of war. That wasn’t honest either. She remembered what Godfrey had said about Clinton’s wanting to be an earl. Burton was exclaiming that no British officer would stoop to such a trick. Hadn’t Miles been telling them about the courteous behavior of Cornwallis when he came to Bellwood? Yes, of course, Celia reflected. But then Cornwallis was already an earl.

Anyway, she wished they would quit talking about it and get started toward her wedding. Watching Burton, excited and red-faced, she hoped that now he would get himself some new clothes. He was fairly oozing out of the clothes he had.

In his reasonable way, Miles was saying that since they could not verify the rumor no matter how long they sat here talking, wouldn’t they be wise to follow their plan to start for Bellwood early so they could rest in the heat of the day? Madge, who had kept quiet until now, said yes, she thought so too. Celia stood up gratefully.

So they said good-by, and started.

They followed a track through the woods around Sea Garden, came out into open country, went into more woods. Now sometimes the road widened as it passed a trapper’s cabin, sometimes dwindled till it disappeared among the trees. But Miles and Amos led the way without hesitation. They had played here as children, had hunted and fished and boated here as grown men, and they knew every wood-sign, every sound and scent, almost every tree.

They reached Herbert’s hunting-lodge well before dark, and set out early the next morning. “How soon can we get to Bellwood?” Celia asked Miles as they rode.

He grinned at her. “Before noon.”

He began to describe the place for her. A big white house with broad piazzas. A lot of outbuildings, and quarters for the servants and fieldhands. He said the main buildings were near the river, in a grove of oaks left from the original forest. Around the grove were the fields. However—Miles smiled an apology—she must not expect much of the fields this year. When he should have been directing the spring planting he had been in Charleston, so nothing much had been put in but the necessary food crops. He had plenty of work ahead of him, getting the place in order.

After a while she dropped back. She was so happy, riding through the woodland and knowing that every step of her horse was bringing her nearer to Jimmy. Now in June the woods were glorious, the tall long-needled pines and the oaks hung with moss, the great banks of yellow jessamine making the air sweet, and such a profusion of birds and butterflies—Celia drew a long breath of the fragrant air and sighed with pleasure. Though the sun was bright, here under the great trees she was not uncomfortably warm. A wild grapevine had been clinging to a tree at the side of the trail, but it was broken, and its branches lay on the ground. She heard Miles call Amos.

“Look at this,” Miles said as Amos rode up. He was indicating a bush of Jessamine ahead. It too had been broken and trampled on. Miles asked, “What do you think, Amos?”

Amos answered without hesitation. “Somebody’s been along here, Mr. Miles.”

Lewis and Madge had been riding behind Celia. Now, noticing that something was amiss, Lewis hastened his horse and drew nearer to Miles. “What’s wrong?” he called.

Miles showed him the broken bushes, which now could be seen on both sides of the road.

“Not fresh-broken,” Lewis said after a moment’s examination. “Couldn’t you and Amos have done it when you rode to Sea Garden last week?”

“Not so much. This was a good-sized party.”

Celia stopped her horse and looked around her. The ground, thickly covered with leaves and pine-needles, showed no tracks, but she saw horse-droppings two or three days old. Miles and Amos were examining the bushes with the expert eyes of men who had learned woodlore from boyhood. Miles said,

“These fellows were not headed Sea Garden way. They were riding toward Bellwood. I don’t like this, Lewis.”

Behind her, Celia heard Madge telling the colored girls not to be alarmed. Celia made herself glance around with an encouraging smile, but she too felt uneasy. The bushes, pressing on the road, were damaged as far ahead as she could see. Ahead of her she heard Lewis say,

“I wouldn’t be too concerned, Miles. We’re facing toward Charleston, and a lot of people are riding to Charleston these days.”

“This isn’t the main road to Charleston,” Miles returned shortly.

“Couldn’t a party go to Charleston this way?”

“Could. Kind of roundabout, though.”

“A good many people who left town are on their way home now,” Lewis suggested. “This might be the easiest way for some of them.”

“Yes,” said Miles, “and foraging parties are still out getting supplies for the British garrison—” He shrugged, shook his head, and tried to laugh. “Oh, it’s a public road, anybody could have used it. I guess I’m still on edge. Takes time to get over what we went through during the siege.”

Lewis agreed heartily that it certainly did.

They rode on. Amos stayed by Miles, while Lewis dropped back again to talk to Madge. Celia was thinking. It was easy for Lewis to be cheerful. Lewis’ wife was here with him, his children were at Sea Garden. But all the people Miles loved best were at Bellwood.

After a while Miles called her to catch up with him, and told her they had almost reached Bellwood. A few more miles of woods, then they would come into the clear, and could see ahead of them the Bellwood fields and the grove that shaded the buildings. He said nothing more about the signs of other horsemen on the road. As in Charleston he was trying to keep her cheerful, pretending to be sure everything was all right. But Celia was still worried. Again she fell back. Marietta asked if she felt all right. Celia said, “Oh yes, fine,” and told Marietta to go ahead and ride with Amos.

Behind her, she heard Madge exclaim how beautiful the wild flowers were this year. Madge was so happy to have Lewis and Bobby safe from the Charleston siege that she was living in a rainbow world. Celia reflected that probably it was foolish of herself to be worried. As Miles had said, this was a public road; anybody could have used it. The woods softly enclosed her again. It was like an enchantment—the chirps and rustling leaves, the swaying gray streamers of moss, the sweetness of jessamine. Celia loved flower scents and the fresh clean smells of outdoors.