Plantation (64 page)

April 1863

Little Olivia and I spent the morning in prayer for our valiant
troops and then I kept her by my side as I gathered eggs for
our lunch. She likes them cooked hard and then the yolks
chopped with a little butter, salt, bread crumbs and parsley.

Sometimes I add a little cream to the yolk mixture and then
P l a n t a t i o n

5 1 9

refry them for a moment to heat them. Food is scarce and
other things scarcer still.The storehouse still holds sweet
potatoes, some barrels of flour and corn but they cannot last
forever. It is by God’s grace and the intelligence of the servants
that we painted the warnings of smallpox all around the
property, fending off the troops which would surely arrive after
the fall of Columbia.We fear that this wretched cause is far
from over. Many of our servants have gone off with General
Beauregard’s army to build barricades on James Island.There
is talk of an armada of Union ships, gathering at Port Royal.

If that horrible Sherman marches to the seas of Charleston,
Charleston will never surrender! Never!

Her words were powerful and I admired her bravery. It must have been horrific to be surrounded by the Union troops, having heard all the stories of rape and plunder from the fall of Vicks-burg! So many Charlestonians had sent their silver and valuables to Columbia for safekeeping in the vaults of banks Sherman looted and then burned, losing everything of real and sentimental value.

By 1865, there were accounts in her journals of Union soldiers bursting into her home, stealing everything they had, frightening them until they wept. All the time she held a pistol, hidden under her skirt on a belt, and a bag of bullets, vowing to herself to use it if they laid a hand on her little Olivia. I had no doubt that she would have done it too.

I would see my family through as well. Well rid of Richard and, God forgive me, of Frances Mae, my brother and I could rebuild our lives as a family. I had been given the opportunity to stabilize our future and I would do it.

The hour drew to a close. I knew that soon Trip and Eric would appear. I brought out three glasses, an ice bucket, sliced lemon, and the pitcher of tea. I put cheddar cheese and crackers on a plate with sliced apple and Goldfish crackers in a little glass bowl and waited for them to arrive.

5 2 0

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k The French doors opened and here they came, Trip and Eric, all showered and dressed in fresh shirts and khakis for dinner.

“How do I smell?” Eric said and leaned into me.

“Good enough to smooch!” I gave him a kiss on the cheek and turned to Trip. “Putting aftershave on my son?”

“Drives the women wild,” Trip said.

“Great,” I said, “just what I wanted to hear.”

We chatted about every pleasant thing I could think of to chat about in our new alcohol-free cocktail hour.

“Just because I’m not drinking doesn’t mean you can’t have a cocktail, Caroline.”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . it’s not import—”

“Bourbon and branch?” Trip asked.

“Maybe a small one,” I said, somewhat relieved that his resolve to stay sober wouldn’t impinge on my right to a little indulgence.

He returned in moments, handing me a tumbler filled with crushed ice, bourbon, and a splash of water. Oh! It was so delicious!

I decided right then and there to make my announcement.

“Here! Got you something today,” I said, and handed him the envelope. “Hope you like it!”

“Yeah, it’s very cool,” Eric said. He now said
cool
almost every other word. To tell you the truth, I was delighted to hear him use the slang of his peers. Sounding like a little professor wouldn’t help him make friends with the boys in school.

“What? What’s this?” Trip said.

His mouth was filled with a cracker piled high with cheese. He opened the envelope slowly and read the deed.

“I think Mother would approve, don’t you?”

“Caroline! Great God! Thank you so much!” He got up, yanked me to my feet, and swung me around.
Smack! Smack! Smack!

He planted three gloppy wet kisses on my face—one on each cheek and one in the middle of my forehead. Eric laughed and laughed.

“Quit it! I’m gonna throw up! Put me down, you big jerk!”

P l a n t a t i o n

5 2 1

When he finally stopped, the world was going around and around.

I had deeded Trip one hundred acres with plenty of waterfront for a dock. He was thrilled.

“I can’t believe it!” he said. He was completely overwhelmed.

“It’s true, Uncle Trip! I can help you design a house or a fishing cottage or whatever you want! I’ve got software for it!”

“Don’t expect much for Christmas,” I said, deadpan.

“Amazing,” Trip said. “Why did you do this?”

“So that we could all live happily ever after, Trip. And, because I love you. I really do.”

“And here I thought you loved Jack,” Trip said.

“We’ll see about old Dr. Jack as time goes on, and yes, I love the good doctor to pieces. It just occurred to me that if I felt like
I
owned the Edisto,
you
must feel the same way. You need your own place. We can build a little road, and pave it with oyster shells. I’ve already marked off the land. Want to go and see? One hitch. You can’t sell it.”

“Hell, who cares?” Trip said, still stunned and very excited.

“Come on!”

“Want me to turn off the oven?” Eric said.

“Yes, thanks sweetheart,” I said.

Eric ran in and back out while Trip paced, shaking his head in wonder. I took another sip of my drink and stood up next to my brother, looking into his eyes, feeling more like Mother than I ever had.

“Don’t pace so, Trip. It rankles the nerves.”

“I just can’t imagine what came over you to do this.”

“Dear brother,” I said, “what’s the point of being the Queen of Tall Pines if the subjects of my realm aren’t happy? Besides, I promised Mother on her deathbed that I’d keep tabs on you.”

“Get in the truck, Your Majesty, and let’s go see the future.”

“If I’m to be Queen of Tall Pines, then you must be King of the Edisto!”

5 2 2

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k

“You’re insane,” he said.

“What does that make me?” Eric said.

“It makes you one lucky kid,” I said.

All the way across the land we bounced and smiled. We passed Millie’s, Mr Jenkins’s, the barns, the family chapel and graveyard, the old smokehouse and the fields. When we came to the woods, my gift began to be marked off with orange plastic ties on branches, and we walked. In the thicket, we saw deer, who looked at us with astonishment that we were coming through the trees like invaders.

Eric’s uncle would live two minutes away. He was thrilled.

Soon the trees gave way to a clearing and another bluff over the water. By leaning right, you could see our dock where Trip’s boat was tied up.

“This is beautiful, Caroline. Tell me why—seriously, tell me why.”

“Because we’re Wimbleys, Trip, and our hearts don’t beat right unless the Edisto is pumping in our veins.”

“I wish Mother had lived to see this day,” he said.

“Don’t you doubt for a minute that she doesn’t know
exactly
what’s going on,” I said.

We stood at the edge of the bluff, the three of us. It was getting late, starting to get dark. We watched the red sun sink in the purple bands at the bottom of the evening sky. We turned to go home for dinner together, knowing should the rest of the world forsake us, this unconventional tiny family would remain true to each other, to Tall Pines, and forever to the Edisto River.

Author’s Note

The inspiration for this story came from visits to two plantations, one of them owned by longtime friends—Florence and Lucius Fishburne (Flo and Boots). On a visit home, at one of so many social gatherings, Boots took me by the shoulders, looked me square in the eyes, and told me I was a
bush baby
. I suspected the term had pejorative origins, but flowing from Boots, it sounded like a welcome home. It was. He proceeded to share with me his marvelous collection of out-of-print books and indeed, his own writings and remembrances of Lowcountry life. To see this magical and surreal place through his eyes was an unforgettable experience, and one that shaped much of this book.

The second plantation where I was so congenially welcomed was Ravenwood, owned by dear friends of my family—Frank and Nina Burke. Their enthusiasm for this story was a hailstorm of stories, tours, explanations, late nights on my sister’s porch—the air filled with sweet olive, jasmine, and words. Frank went to great 5 2 4

A u t h o r ’ s N o t e

lengths to help me understand all the hows, whys, and details of sporting clays. Nina opened her doors and graciously explained the buildings of her antebellum plantation, the materials used, and showed me how they had adapted it to modern life. They also had much to do with the origins of this book.

I am profoundly grateful to both families for their generous support.

To fully comprehend the importance of the ACE Basin takes time. It’s not a theme park but rather thousands of acres of wetlands where a true public private partnership exists to preserve and maintain the habitats of thousands of wildlife species and the overall purity of the waters, marshes, and surrounding land. This goal is accomplished through education, public and private funding, and good old-fashioned heartfelt love of an astoundingly beautiful place.

It’s where anyone can go if they question the existence of a higher power and come away in awe, humbled and forever enriched.

I hope I told this story well enough to satisfy my southern mentors and if I didn’t, this
bush baby
will try harder next time.

If you’d like to know more about the ACE Basin, or to take a vacation there or to make a contribution to their many projects in conservation, preservation, and education, contact these good folks and get a little bit of the Lowcountry to reward your soul.

To learn more about the ACE Basin visit www.walter boro.org/ace-basin/ or write to ACE Basin National Wildlife Refuge, P.O. Box 848, Hollywood, SC 29449. If you would like to make a contribution toward preserving the ACE Basin, send donations to the ACE Basin Fund, Bank of South Carolina, P.O. Box 538, Charleston, SC

29402.

• Cover Page
  
• Praise
  
• Title Page
  
• Copyright Page
  
• Dedication Page
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• Contents
  
  • Prologue: Don�t Leave Me Now!
    
  • Chapter One: Richard
    
  • Chapter Two: Miss Lavinia Would Like to Have a Word with You
    
  • Chapter Three: Make No Misteak!
    
  • Chapter Four: Going to the Chapel
    
  • Chapter Five: Skirmish in Paradise
    
  • Chapter Six: Taking the Good with the Bad
    
  • Chapter Seven: Eric
    
  • Chapter Eight: Becoming Mom
    
  • Chapter Nine: �Ain�t No Way, Babe...�
    
  • Chapter Ten: Wake Up and Smell the Opium
    
  • Chapter Eleven: Miss Lavinia Says Her Piece
    
  • Chapter Twelve: �Planet Lavinia�Retrograde�
    
  • Chapter Thirteen: �Hush Up and Deal!�
    
  • Chapter Fourteen: Cocktail Time
    
  • Chapter Fifteen: Dinner is Served
    
  • Chapter Sixteen: Millie�s Magic
    
  • Chapter Seventeen: Gone Fishing
    
  • Chapter Eighteen: On Dry Land
    
  • Chapter Nineteen: Have a Nice Trip
    
  • Chapter Twenty: Should be Getting Better, but it Keeps Getting Worse
    
  • Chapter Twenty-One: Dr. Blues
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Two: Family Laundry
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Three: I Knew it Would Come to This
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Four: Ace in the Hole
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Five: On My Shield
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Six: Daddy
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Merry Widow Speaks
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Eight: Daddy�s Gone
    
  • Chapter Twenty-Nine: Rescue Me
    
  • Chapter Thirty: Back to School
    
  • Chapter Thirty-One: Voodoo 101
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Two: Square One
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Three: Breathe
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Four: Tripped Up
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Five: Family Jewels
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Six: Holy Moly
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Seven: True Colors
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Eight: Family Stew
    
  • Chapter Thirty-Nine: Mr. M.D.
    
  • Chapter Forty: Stardust
    
  • Chapter Forty-One: Through Thick and Through Thin
    
  • Chapter Forty-Two: Skin Deep
    
  • Chapter Forty-Three: A Doctor in the House
    
  • Chapter Forty-Four: Lavinia Says, Y�all Deal with it
    
  • Chapter Forty-Five: This is for Real
    
  • Chapter Forty-Six: Rolling! Rolling! Rolling Down the River!
    
  • Chapter Forty-Seven: The Second Time Around
    
  • Chapter Forty-Eight: Free at Last
    
  • Chapter Forty-Nine: Details
    
  • Chapter Fifty: Day Clear
    
  • Epilogue