Low Country (43 page)

tanned women in little golf skirts and T-shirts and sun

visors, piloting their private golf carts across the road

from the harborside villas to the golf club. It spurted

into my nose and throat like lava as I threaded my way

around the lushly planted traffic circle that led into the

main street of the tiny village center and saw the green-

uniformed Peacock’s Island ground crew tearing out

great clumps of blooming pansies and setting in their

places flat after flat of rioting impatiens and mature

ferns. Instant tropical paradise; why had I always

thought it beautiful? My hot eyes wanted the tangled,

littered coolness of the dank marshes and the forest;

wanted, instead of this studied, expensive order, wild-

ness and the vast amplitude

388 / Anne Rivers Siddons

of water and sky. By the time I pulled into the parking

lot at the company’s headquarters, I was shimmering

all over with rage.

“Well, goodness, Caro, where you been? We been

lookin’ all over the place for you. Your wandering boy

is back and rarin’ to see you, and here we thought

you’d run off with the hired help or something.…”

Shawna was often familiar with me, when she

thought she could get away with it, but she would not

have dared go so far if she had not had an audience.

It seemed to me that three-fourths of Clay’s female of-

fice staff lingered in the front office where her desk sat,

finding this and that to do while they waited for me

to come. Lottie was wrong, I knew; the office staff

knew about the horses even if Clay did not. They must

have known I would be furious.

“Shawna,” I said, smiling savagely at her, “eat a shit

sandwich.”

I did not hear the gasps and the murmurs begin until

I had reached Clay’s door, opened it, and gone in.

“…completely lost her mind,” I heard Shawna

squawk as I slammed the door shut behind me.

Clay was standing at the window wall that over-

looked the little enclosed courtyard behind his office.

It had been planned to look like an old Charleston

garden, sheltered with tabby and old

Low Country / 389

brick walls and lushly planted with vines and shrubs

and brilliant oleanders and cape jessamine and camel-

lias. The camellias were out now, hanging from the

great bushes like ripe, perfect fruit. The twisted trunk

of the massive live oak that grew in the center of the

garden was brilliant green with resurrection ferns. The

little wrought-iron table against the back wall held the

remains of a coffee and pastry breakfast for three or

four people. I did not wonder who had shared it with

Clay. I did not care. I knew before he turned to face

me that I was going to say something that would

change us both, would divide time. I could scarcely

breathe around the anger.

He swung around. He needed a shave and looked

a little faded, as he always did when he was very tired,

but there was nothing of the past holiday’s joy or the

pain of Puerto Rico on it. Just the habitual remoteness

that the office called out in him, and a cool impatience.

I knew that he hated slammed doors. I could not ima-

gine that anyone had ever slammed this one before.

He wore one of his immaculate gray tropical worsted

suits and a fresh shirt. On the lapel of his coat was a

gold pin shaped like a ten-gallon hat. It said, REMEM-

BER THE ALAMO.

I had never seen even a Rotary button on Clay’s

person before. I stared. For some reason this object

made me want to rip it off his coat, rip the coat off

him, shake him, scream.

390 / Anne Rivers Siddons

He looked down at the button and then back at me

and made a small, fastidious face.

“The South Ward brass came back with us,” he said.

“They’ve gone over to the island with Hayes. I guess

I can take this thing off now. How are you, Caro?”

He did not call me “baby,” as he sometimes did. The

smell of anger must be coming off me like smoke.

“I am not really very good right now, Clay,” I said,

and was appalled to hear that my voice shook so that

I could hardly get my words out. Where was all this

rage coming from? This was Clay.…“While you were

gone somebody poisoned the horses. The ones on the

island. The mare—you know, Nissy, Kylie’s

mare—died. Her colt just barely lived. We don’t know

about the rest of the herd. It was botulism toxin. The

vet is sure of that. Ezra thinks he’s going to be able to

find out who bought the stuff, or stole it. Then we’ll

know who…authorized it. You may know already, of

course.”

He sat down slowly in his chair and put his hands

flat on his desk, and leaned forward, staring at me.

The color went out of his face.

“What are you saying?”

I just looked at him.

“Do you mean to tell me that you think that I…that

I…authorized somebody to kill those horses? Is that

what you think? Have you lost

Low Country / 391

your mind? I would never on this earth…I didn’t

know. God, Caro.
God
…”

He looked sick. It did not dampen the fire of my fury

at all. The horrified face over that awful, silly Alamo

pin made me angrier than I have ever been in my life.

What right had he to mourn that old horse, if indeed

that was what he was feeling, when what he planned

for its island was so much worse than anything I could

even imagine.…

“Don’t be a fool, Clay. Of course I know that you

did not authorize it. I don’t think you had to authorize

it. Do you remember, when we saw
Becket
, in

Charleston? And Henry the Second said, ‘Will no one

rid me of this meddlesome priest?’ and looked around

at all his…his henchmen? He didn’t say, ‘Somebody

go kill Thomas Becket’; he didn’t have to. They all

knew what he meant. And pretty soon a couple of them

got up and kind of slid out of the room and you

knew…Who said it here, Clay? Somebody did.

Somebody poisoned those horses in the name of this

company. If you didn’t know about it, you ought to

be able to figure out who did. I could give you a pretty

good guess right now. He’s back over there right now

with that bunch of snake-oil salesmen you plan to sell

my island to. Okay, I came to tell you what I decided

about that. Listen up. There’s not going to be any sale.

There’s not going to be any golf course, or marina, or

shop

392 / Anne Rivers Siddons

ping center, or Gullah World over there. I’m not giving

it to you. And—”

He got to his feet and came around the desk.

“Caro, let’s go home. We can talk about this at

home. You’re upset about the horses; God, I don’t

blame you. We’ll straighten it out, I promise. I could

use some rest, too. We’ll have lunch out on the patio

and then we’ll—”

I took a deep breath. I don’t want to say this, I

thought, but I did say it. I only knew as I did that I

meant it. At least for now, I meant every word of it. It

almost broke my heart.

“I’m staying over at the island, Clay,” I said. “I can’t

go…home…now. I don’t know when I can again. It

just feels all of a sudden like I don’t belong here and

never did. But the island…at least that’s mine. My

place. Maybe in a little while I’ll feel differently, but

right now…”

“No,” he said.

I stopped and looked at him. There was something

strange and terrible in his voice. He had turned to the

window again. I could see that his neck and shoulders

were held as rigidly as a statue’s.

“No,” he said again. “It’s not your place. It never

was, Caro. It’s still in my name. Technically, I can do

whatever I want with it.”

I could not understand what he was saying.

“But I…I signed that thing,” I said. “You know, the

transfer of title. Remember, you

Low Country / 393

brought it home and I signed it, and you said that all

that was left was for you to file it at the county court-

house.…”

My voice trailed off. He did not turn.

“You didn’t file it, did you?” I said.

“I thought I did. Or at least I thought it had been

filed,” he said. “I gave it to Hayes to do; he’s the com-

pany lawyer, after all. He said he’d take care of it.

But…he didn’t. I didn’t know that, Caro. All those

years I thought it was yours, too. He only told me

when the business about Calista came up and it looked

like we were going under. He said…he said that

something just told him not to file that thing, to hang

on to that land for me. He said he knew he should

have told me, but he didn’t think it would ever come

up, and that no harm would be done by you thinking

it was yours. And it wouldn’t have…if things had been

different in Puerto Rico…”

My head swam as badly as I remembered it doing

when I was first pregnant with Carter and could hardly

take an unassisted step for three months. I sat down

abruptly in Clay’s visitor’s chair. He still did not turn

from the window.

“You should have told me,” I said.

“Yes. I should have. But by the time I knew, it looked

as if we really might be able to come up with some-

thing you…could live with…and I could tell you then.

I still thought so until this trip. Even with South Ward

in the saddle, I

394 / Anne Rivers Siddons

thought my…vision for it could prevail. You always

liked my vision for the Lowcountry land, Caro. Your

grandfather understood it, and liked it.…”

“My grandfather would die of shame if he knew

about any of this,” I said. “He would die. And your

children. How do you think Kylie would feel about

this? My God, I’m almost glad…”

I did not finish, but I saw the words hit home. He

flinched slightly, but said nothing. Finally I got up and

walked back to the door. I hoped dully that he would

not turn around. I did not think I could bear to see the

Alamo pin again. I did not think I could bear to see

his face.

“Will you give it to me now?” I said, stopping at the

door. I was amazed to hear that my voice was merely

conversational.

“I…no. Caro, I can’t. Don’t you see? This will save

us. This will save everything we’ve ever worked for,

save everything I’ve ever built here, everything I’ve

ever wanted for this land.…Don’t you see that? Don’t

you see that it’s for your future, too? Can’t you see

that most of it won’t even touch you over at your pre-

cious house?”

“I’ll ask you again. Will you deed it back to me?”

“I can’t do that,” he said. It was a whisper, a terrible

sound. “I can’t just…not have anything.

Low Country / 395

Not after having it all. Not after all this time. Not after

what I’ve made here…”

“It was never yours,” I said. “You were a guest here

from the first time you set foot on this island. I asked

you here. I let you come. My grandfather let you come

because of me. It’s a fine thing you’re doing to repay

us, Clay.”

I went back out through the reception area. Neither

Shawna nor any of the other women were there. The

phones were ringing shrilly. I left them shrieking their

frustration and went out into the sun. After the cool

dimness of the office, it was blinding. Behind me, very

faintly, I heard him calling me: “Caro! Caro!”

I don’t remember thinking much at all while I drove

back to the island except, I don’t know how to be

anything but Clay Venable’s wife and Carter and

Kylie’s mother. That leaves one out of three. I wonder

if it’s enough.

Enough for what, I could not have said.

I drove over to Dayclear and asked Janie to find Ezra

Upchurch for me. She looked into my face and said

nothing, just went out back and rang the big indigo

bell. I sat out front and waited for him, and she did

not join me. It was high noon; no one was about. I

supposed that most of the people of Dayclear were

having their lunches and perhaps their naps. A few, I

knew, would be looking at the beginning soaps. Their

stories, as they called them. For a moment I ached with

the

396 / Anne Rivers Siddons

simple, one-celled wish to be one of them.

Ezra came from behind the settlement, grease on his

hands and shirt. He still carried a wrench. I knew that

something mechanical in Dayclear had to be fixed

every day. I wondered what the settlement would do

when Ezra concluded his business here and went back

to Washington, or wherever his next crusade took him.

I found that I could not imagine this stark, sunny little

street without him.

He dropped down into the chair next to me.

“He told you about the deed,” he said. It was not a

question.

I did not ask him how he knew. He told me, though.

“A deed’s a matter of public record,” he said. “I went

and looked it up at the courthouse when I first knew

what was going on over here. You always check your