1744
My brother George paced in front of the open campaign desk in the study of our Wappoo home. If I squinted just right, he was like an apparition of Father. The same height and build. The same thick, lustrous hair. But his youthful skin shattered the illusion each time he turned to me.
“A tenant has been found to take over here at Wappoo,” George said to me. “So we shall have no more time to dilly dally in packing up the house. We should aim to book passage by May at the very latest.”
I nodded absently, agreeing with his assessment. May would be a temperate time to travel. Warm breezes and, of course, well before the threat of Atlantic hurricanes. I sat on the wing chair in Papa’s study where Quash had often sat to read. George strode to sit behind the desk I’d occupied for the last five years.
How had I found myself back on this side of the desk staring at a man who looked like my father, listening to him decide the terms of our future? My future?
I would be leaving my beloved South Carolina. Oh, how it had worked its way into my heart. And I would be leaving dear friends. I counted Quash and Togo among them, though I’d say no such thing aloud. And Charles Pinckney. I would miss him most of all.
In January, as we had arrived in Charles Town to meet George, we’d received news of Mrs. Pinckney’s death. Though we’d known it was imminent, it was no less of a shock. And seeing Mr. Pinckney’s haunted face as we laid his wife to rest pierced my heart with even more grief.
My brother asked questions about our accounts and which ones needed to be settled before leaving, begrudgingly impressed we were not actually in too much debt. I listened and answered, even though I was thinking of how I’d sat with Mrs. Pinckney long after she’d had me read my letters aloud; long after her husband’s breathing had resumed and evened out and he was no longer eavesdropping.
The sky beyond the window of our study was pewter gray and ominously still, an early spring storm was on the way. I thought of the land that was no longer Lucas land, our dwindled fortunes, our plans to return to Antigua as if our stay here in South Carolina had never happened. As if the time had never passed. As if I had never existed upon this land nor attempted accomplishing the impossible. As if I had never succeeded.
How long would we have before we’d be booking passage? I wondered if the indigo plants had dropped enough of the seed we hadn’t collected, and if the fields would be prolific again this year, or if they’d freeze where they stood.
With a thick swallow I acknowledged it would no longer be my concern. There was a new owner of the land, and a new occupant for the Wappoo home had been named and would take residence as soon as we left.
A small boat heading along Wappoo Creek approached our landing and stopped. I watched Lil’ Gulla race down to greet it, then return at a run. Behind him, walking slowly toward the house, a black mourning band tied around his upper arm, was Charles Pinckney. I acknowledged how my heart raced with joy at the sight of him, and I allowed myself the small indulgence.
He was handsome still, despite his stark features that had been honed by his helpless battle against his wife’s illness and death. His shoulders were broad, and he walked with strength of purpose.
“But I have nothing to offer,” I’d said to Mrs. Pinckney.
“You are everything he needs,” she’d replied.
My brother was in midsentence.
I stood.
“Eliza?” George asked.
“We have a visitor,” I said. “Do excuse me.”
I hurried from the room, out the front door, and down the porch steps.
Charles Pinckney halted when he saw me. His eyes matched the winter gray of the water behind him. But while the water looked cold, his eyes were warm. Even in their sadness.
“You did not ride Chickasaw this time?” I asked by way of greeting. My nerves were suddenly jangling in my chest, making it difficult to remember how to converse in a normal manner. I longed to hold him to me and ease his pain.
His mouth quirked. “It is wonderful to see you, Eliza. I despaired of you ever coming to town, so I thought I should pay you and your family a visit.”
I was shamed by his light comment. Though he meant no seriousness, it was true. I’d witnessed him bury his beloved wife, my dear friend, and then I’d hurried back to my solitude. Poor Mr. Pinckney. How alone he must feel. “We have been busy making arrangements to leave for Antigua.” I winced as I spoke, then forced a smile. “There always seems to be more to do. Come up to the house, I’ll ring for tea. Please tell me, how have you been?”
“Actually …” He looked around him. “I was wondering if we might take a short walk? I have news to impart.”
I glanced toward the house as if asking permission. But truly, whose permission was I asking? My mother and I barely spoke to one another anymore. I’d sooner ask Essie. Technically, George was the one to ask permission from even though he was more than three years my junior. It was laughable. “Of course.”
I stepped forward, and Mr. Pinckney surprised me by holding out his arm. I hesitated a moment before laying my hand in the crook of his elbow. It seemed small on his coat sleeve. He also looked down to where I held him. Did he too marvel at how tiny my hand seemed?
“My little visionary,” he murmured.
“Excuse me?” I was unsure if I’d heard him correctly.
He shook his head, a small smile about his lips. “Let’s walk,” he said. “Show me your indigo. It is still your indigo, is it not? Not the land beneath it but the plants? Their seeds?”
I let out a breath. “Yes. I hope the seed drops before we leave.” A wave of melancholy circled my throat, and I swallowed to move it away. “I should like to give some to you. Along with instructions. And perhaps you could see your way to acquiring some of my Negroes?”
Charles stopped.
“Mr. Pinckney. I, I apologize. That was forward. You have your own people. It’s just that if you wanted to produce the dye, we have learned. They have learned. They would be invaluable. And Quash is so very talented. A carpenter even. He could be a builder—”
“Hush,” Charles said, his voice soft. He laid his other ungloved hand on my own, and I started at the feel of his hot skin upon mine.
The breath left my lungs.
“I have news,” he said.
“Oh.” My cheeks burned in mortification. “Oh yes.” How desperate must I sound? I couldn’t beg him to buy our slaves. He was so very dear to me, sometimes I forgot myself.
“I received news from London today. They have tested your indigo dye.”
The world around me seemed to narrow down to the man in front of me. To his words. I spun to fully face him, snatching my hand from his arm. My fingertips pressed to my mouth.
“What—” I struggled to make sounds to form words. “What did they find?”
Charles took my hands from my mouth, clasping them in his own. “They found it to be equal, or superior, to French indigo.”
“They …” A wave of emotion flew from the depths of my chest and I half gasped, half sobbed. “Oh. Oh my.” I swallowed, and tears sprung to my eyes.
Charles, now blurred in my sight, smiled and nodded.
“Oh thank the sweet Lord. It worked. It worked! Oh my word. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. Well done. You have so much to be proud of.”
With the piercing joy came a sweet and bitter agony. It hadn’t been soon enough to save the Lucas family. But at least I could help Charles. “And Mr. Deveaux,” I said. “I must give seeds to Deveaux also. He was so very encouraging at the start. In fact, I wouldn’t have known to score or soak the seeds if it wasn’t for him.”
Charles nodded.
“But not to Laurens. He’s on his own. Don’t let him have any.”
“You can do as you wish.”
I smiled through my tears, then chuckled. “We did it,” I managed, then joy burst forth in a full laugh. I wanted to dance around in circles.
“You are smiling and crying at the same moment,” Charles said, and then he pulled me close.
I fell into his warm embrace, my cheek against the rough texture of his coat. The smell of pipe tobacco, sandalwood, and salt breeze invaded my senses. I would miss this man most of all.
A warmth started deep in my belly and burned through me to the tips of my fingers and toes. You are everything he needs. Mrs. Pinckney’s soft voice rode on the breeze off the water.
I pulled away, my hands swiping at the remaining tears that were not soaked into his jacket. “Oh, forgive me.”
“Hush, Eliza.”
“Mr. Pinckney, I—”
“Please. Call me Charles. Call me Charles at least once before you go.” His gray-blue eyes burned into me with a sudden intensity.
I swallowed, gathering my strength. “Charles,” I said softly. I took his hands again and looked up into his face. “I know I am young. And I have nothing to offer you except some seeds. But I do not want to leave this place. And when I think of leaving, the one thing I think about most, with the most crushing sadness, is leaving you.” I took a breath. “I—”
“Eliza.” My name broke on his lips, his face tortured. Full of something I could not read.
I’d shocked him. Horrified him, perhaps. “I know it’s too soon,” I rushed on. “I loved your wife, dearly. I, I …” My voice failed me under the weight of the emotions struggling to climb from my heart. “It’s too soon, I know. Time is not on our side.”
“My age,” whispered Charles. “Time is not on my side, you mean.”
He clutched my hands harder. His jaw was tight and his eyes vivid. The breeze blew a lock of his hair free. “I never thought … I never dreamed you might feel … I have loved two women so very deeply for so very long. I thought I was about to lose another.”
The breath left my chest at his admission, leaving my heart gasping. I reached up and brushed the stray lock of his hair behind his ear.
“Could you love me, Eliza, my little visionary?”
My throat ached. “I do, Charles. I do love you.” My heart flew up and out of me as I spoke the words. “Will you marry me?” I asked him. “Will you marry me and keep me here?”
He smiled, and the world seemed to brighten all around us. “I will. And we will parcel out your seeds among our friends. We will grow your indigo and whatever else you’d like to try. And we’ll build a legacy together.”
“As long as Quash helps us.” I smiled back at Charles.
He shook his head. “You imp.” His eyes danced with merriment. “Fine. I will include Quash, and anyone else you wish, in those plans.”
“Everyone. Even Essie must stay with me.”
“Anyone you wish.” His voice was serious and tender. This man knew me better than perhaps my own family. He had seen my weaknesses, my mistakes, my ambitions, and my shortcomings. Yet, he loved me.
“And Quash …” I took a deep breath. “One day I’d like him to be free.”
Mr. Pinckney’s expression never wavered in his regard. “Anything you wish.”
“I think we’ll do great things together, Mr. Pinckney,” I whispered, overcome.
“Charles,” he corrected.
“Charles,” I said.
THE END