Celia Garth: A Novel (47 page)

She had not planned to say that. Swept along by his torrent of talk, she had not been thinking of an answer. The words simply came out of her throat.

Luke stared at her. For once in his life he was speechless. Still to her own amazement, Celia heard herself speaking. It was as if a pixy in her mind, hidden under her confusion of the past weeks, had been doing all the thinking that needed to be done. And now the pixy spoke, clear and sharp, without any doubt.

“I’m going to marry you. As soon as you can find a minister you can trust, not a British chaplain who might think it was his duty to turn you in. I don’t know any of the things I ought to know about you, what you did before the war or what you expect to do afterwards—I don’t know, and it’s strange but I don’t care.”

Luke stood where he was, listening. Celia went on.

“This is no way to start a marriage. I’ll be at Sea Garden and you’ll be in the swamps and we’ll only see each other once in a while. I don’t care about that either.”

She heard Luke laugh softly. She did not pause. The words poured out.

“I know this is crazy and foolish of me but I’ve never done anything crazy and foolish in my life and now I’m going to start. Because I know now, this is the way I’m made. I want things to happen to me—I don’t want every day to be like the day before! And that’s what I’ll have with you. You’re headstrong and reckless, you’ll worry me and exasperate me and drive me wild—but that’s what I want! Luke, I’m in love with you!”

She stopped, trembling with excitement at what she had just found out about herself. Luke strode across the room and with one big sweep he gathered her into his arms. She had been kissed by Jimmy, many times. But like everything else about Luke, this was different.

T
HIS TIME, IT WAS
all different. Everything went well.

Celia left Charleston in February. The weather was bright and crisp, and in the courtyards the pear trees were blooming, like piles of white cloud against the clear blue sky.

Godfrey arranged for her to travel with a family named Pritchard, friends of the king who were going up to their indigo plantation on the Santee. Godfrey had known the Pritchards for years, and his ships had often carried Mr. Pritchard’s indigo. But though they were friends, Godfrey did not care to strain Mr. Pritchard’s loyalty to the king by telling them that Luke, a scout for the Swamp Fox, could be expected at Sea Garden in a few days. Instead, he said that when Celia had worked at Sea Garden before, his mother had found her both useful and congenial, and now wanted her there again.

The Pritchards were glad to take Celia along, as Godfrey had known they would be. They could not reach their country place in one day. They would have to stop somewhere for the night, and now they could stop at Sea Garden, a pleasant break in their journey.

Even Celia’s qualm of conscience about giving up her part in the war, was there no longer. The war was going well. In the upper country, at Cowpens, Tarleton had taken the worst beating of his career.

Tarleton was no coward. He fought like a madman and had one horse shot under him. But his men were scattered, and Tarleton himself had to gallop for his life. Godfrey told Celia about the victory. He also told her Congress had finally sent a first-class commander to coordinate the troops in the south. This was General Nathanael Greene, the man Washington had wanted to send last year when Congress had overruled him and sent Gates.

As Mr. Pritchard’s schooner moved away from the wharf in the early morning light, Celia heard the bells of St. Michael’s. She smiled. The steeple was black, but the bells were as lovely as ever. It was as though they were saying, “We wish you happiness.” She saved that up in her mind to tell Luke.

As the schooner sailed up the coast Celia sat in her deck-chair, dreamily happy. The Pritchards, in spite of being Tories, were nice people. Their two older children, boys about ten and twelve, were playing jackstones. The two little girls were listening while their mother read to them from a storybook. One little girl was wrapped in a blue cloak, the hood of which had fallen back. Her hair was blowing in the wind like soft golden-brown silk. Looking at her, Celia thought, I’m going to have a little girl like that. Even prettier than that. Little girls look like their fathers. My little girl will have those gorgeous blue eyes of Luke’s, and his thick ripply light hair, and his aliveness. What a beauty!

Once Celia had not liked babies, but now she wanted a family. She had made up her mind that she was never going to be alone again.

Godfrey had told her that on his way back to the camp of Marion, Luke would stop at Sea Garden and tell Vivian and Herbert their plans. So when Mr. Pritchard’s crewmen rang the landing-bell, Herbert rode to the wharf to welcome them. While they exchanged greetings Celia stood aside like a nice working-girl who knew her place.

When they reached the house Vivian and several maids were waiting on the steps. Vivian welcomed the Pritchards, admired their children, and said to Celia, “I’ve missed you!—Mr. Pritchard, how kind of you to bring my favorite dressmaker.” She asked one of the maids to show Miss Garth to her room.

Celia expected to be led upstairs, to the bedroom she had occupied before. But instead she found herself at the first floor back, in a dark little room that she had never seen until now. The maid left her, saying she would bring some hot water. Celia looked around.

Her room was very dim. In the outside wall were two windows, but they were set so high that she would have to stand on a chair to see outdoors. They gave the place the look of a storeroom, but she thought it could not have been meant for one because it had a fireplace. There was a neat stack of wood by the hearth.

Celia wondered if she had been put into this unwelcoming little place because Vivian did not approve of her marriage to Luke. Vivian liked her, but Luke was his mother’s darling and maybe she would have begrudged him to any woman on earth. Celia had not considered this until now, and the thought sent shivers over her. Before she could calm them she heard a knock on the door, and Vivian herself came in, carrying a candle.

“The girls are busy with supper,” she said briskly, “so I brought you a light.” She set down the candle, closed the door, and took Celia into her arms. “My dear,” she whispered, “I’m so glad!” With a sound of surprise she added, “Celia, you’re not crying!”

Her head against Vivian’s shoulder, Celia nodded.

“Well, stop it,” said Vivian. “You’ve got nothing to cry about.”

Celia lifted her head. “You’re really glad, Vivian?”

“Certainly,” said Vivian. “Luke is twenty-eight years old—time he was getting married. I like you and I’m glad he’s chosen you.” Her hands on Celia’s shoulders, Vivian looked at her straight. “Celia, I’m not
that
kind of mother-in-law. I mean it.”

She laughed, and Celia laughed too, through her tears. Vivian gave her a kiss, and went out.

The dusk was gathering. Celia climbed on a chair and drew the curtains over the windows. The maid brought the hot water, and she dressed for supper.

When she had knotted her kerchief on her bosom she stepped back from the dressing-table. The candle threw long shadows over the walls. As she saw the pattern of the shadows, Celia gave a start.

On three sides, the walls of this room were made of plain boards. But on the fourth side, the side where the fireplace was, the wall was paneled, and the paneling was exactly like that in the ballroom.

In the fuzzy gray of twilight she had not noticed it. But the candlelight outlined the structure: the wide panels, every alternate one standing out above its neighbors.

Now she understood. This little room was to be her bridal chamber, because this room also had a way to the secret passage.

When the Pritchards had left, Vivian sent a message to the Reverend Mr. Warren of the church of St. James Santee. They had no means of knowing when Luke could get here again, so she asked Mr. Warren to come to Sea Garden and wait for him.

A likable man in later middle age, Mr. Warren was a longtime friend of the Lacys. They had often attended services at his church, now locked and empty by British order because Mr. Warren had a son in the rebel army and had refused to pray for the king’s victory. But he was an ordained clergyman, and they could not take away his right to conduct marriages and baptisms and funerals.

The morning after Mr. Warren arrived, Vivian came to Celia’s room and explained about the passage. Curled up on the bed, the pillows piled behind her shoulders, Vivian asked, “Did you ever hear of the Yemassee massacre?”

Celia, sitting on a hassock by the fireplace, bit her lip. The Yemassee massacre had been an Indian uprising, long before she was born, and she knew very little about it. She said hesitantly, “I’ve heard of it, yes.”

“Sixty-six years ago,” said Vivian. “I was a tiny child, not quite two—” She laughed a little as she added, “Now you know exactly how old I am.” But as she continued, again she became deadly serious.

“The Indians had their tomahawks and scalping-knives, and also they had guns provided by the Spaniards in Florida, who didn’t like having a British colony so close. We never did feel safe until Florida became a British colony too. But that was years later.”

She moved a pillow, and went on grimly. “The massacre was well planned. Bands of savages moved through the country, burning and butchering as they came. We lived on Goose Creek, at the plantation where my brother Dan lives now. I was a small child, as I told you, and Dan wasn’t even born yet, when the Indians started toward the Goose Creek plantations.

“My father didn’t try to save his possessions. There was no time. He threw a few bundles of food and clothes into a wagon and we started toward Charleston. The road was full of people, women carrying children and men carrying guns, or sometimes a child on one arm and a gun on the other. We got to Charleston—not everybody did—and Dan was born there while my father was off fighting the Yemassees.

“There was terrible fighting that summer. The Indians were finally put down, and since then they’ve never been a danger to the coast country. But nobody knew this was going to happen. For months, we all lived in terror.”

Vivian shuddered as she paused.

Celia shuddered too, but she spoke incredulously. “Vivian, you don’t
remember
all this!”

“Celia, I don’t know,” Vivian returned. “It was all over before I was three years old, so it doesn’t seem possible that I could remember anything much. And yet, it seems to me that I do. I think small children absorb the atmosphere around them even when they don’t actually remember the events. And for months, I lived with fear. I breathed it in.”

Celia nodded, and Vivian went on,

“So now you want to know what this has to do with Sea Garden.

“There were a thousand stories of horrible things that happened during the massacre. I heard how the Indians chased helpless people from room to room of their homes, and finally cornered them and cut them to pieces. When I was a little girl I used to think, some day I would build a house of my own and I would build it with a secret way to safety.”

She laughed and added, “I didn’t know that scores of people, maybe hundreds, were thinking the same thing. A lot of the country homes built after the massacre had secret exits. Last summer when Luke was helping General Marion hide from the redcoats, he was surprised to find how many there were.” Vivian raised herself from the pillows and put her feet on the floor. “Now come with me and I’ll show you.”

Celia had the same creepy feeling that she had had the evening Darren took her to the mysterious room to meet Luke. But Vivian was quite matter-of-fact.

“Lock the door,” she said, and laughed again as she added, “The ballroom doors have been kept locked ever since the night you went in there and saw Luke with General Marion.” She had brought with her two pairs of old gloves, and she gave one pair to Celia. “You’ll need these to protect your hands on the guide-rails. Now watch.”

She showed Celia how to move a brick at the left side of the fireplace. The brick was high up, so it could be moved whether a fire was burning or not. Behind the brick the wall was recessed and lined with metal. Set into the metal were two levers. You moved the left lever to open the passage, the right one to close it; and Vivian said there were two others inside the passage so the panel could be moved from within as well as without.

“You must keep the screws well oiled,” said Vivian. “I’ll show you how to do that. Now come along.”

She turned the lever. To the left of the fireplace, one of the panels slid across the panel next to it. They stepped through the opening, and Vivian waited to let Celia look around.

They stood on a landing about eight feet wide. In front of them were five or six brick steps going down. Celia went down the steps and paused again.

The floor and walls were brick. The ceiling—which had slanted downward above the steps—was made with heavy beams. The wall on her left was solid, but at intervals along the right wall she saw gratings where light came through. These were over her head, but Vivian told her how the light got in. The house stood on a raised brick basement, and the passage here ran alongside the basement. It had the same thick brick walls, and openings guarded by iron gratings like the others that let light and air into the ordinary storerooms under the house.

Celia and Vivian went on until they came to more steps leading down. Ahead of them they saw only blackness. Vivian said this part of the passage went underground. “There’s a wooden railing along each side,” said Vivian. “Keep your hand on it.”

Celia obeyed. After a few steps she could not see anything. The air was dank and horrid. Out of the darkness she heard Vivian’s voice at her side.

“We try to get air in here. In windy weather we open both ends of the passage to make the wind blow through. It helps some, but not much.”

To Celia, their journey seemed to go on and on. She heard their footsteps on the brick floor, and the rustle of their clothes. The little sounds seemed enormous in the dark. She heard Vivian’s voice, low and serene as always, telling her to hold up her skirt and walk carefully, for time and damp had made the floor uneven. Celia gathered her skirt with one hand, keeping the other hand tight on the rail.