The Bracelet (11 page)

Celia wrapped both hands around her own cup, her calm exterior concealing unspeakable anguish. Sutton had changed his mind about something important. About her? About their future? She had loved him half her life. How could she bear it if her tender feelings were no longer returned?

Maybe Papa was right and two years in Jamaica had changed Sutton’s heart. It was possible she no longer knew him at all.

Sutton ate a couple of Mrs. Maguire’s cookies, chewing with apparent relish. Celia set down her cup and twisted her fingers into a hard ball. How could he even think of eating at a time like this?

She shifted in her chair, and her napkin slid to the floor. Sutton retrieved it and brushed a curl from her forehead. “You were sleeping so peacefully when I came in, I hated to wake you.”

“I was dreaming. About the first time we met.”

“All Hallows’ Eve?”

“Yes. I suppose it was on my mind since you mentioned it yesterday.” She managed a smile. “It seems so long ago now.”

“I still feel terrible about it.”

“I’ve always thought it was wrong of your father to punish you for trying to protect me from the frightful haint.”

“He punished me for hurting that poor old woman, for taking the boat without permission. For endangering you.” He shrugged. “In some ways I was much more sure of myself at fourteen than I am now.”

Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Her mouth went dry. However dire the news, it was best to get it over with. “Perhaps you should tell me why you’ve come.”

“All right.” He set down his cup and hitched his chair closer to hers until their knees bumped together. “You know that my plan was to spend this year helping Father and then return to expand our operation in Jamaica.”

“Yes. But I thought . . . that is . . . in your letters you implied I might be accompanying you. You said—”

“That was the plan.” He clasped both her hands and held them to his chest. “I love you, Celia. I’ve loved you since that first night at Screven’s Landing. From that night on, I intended we’d marry someday.”

“But?”

“But things at the company are much worse than I thought. And we just got word that
Electra
is lost at sea with all her cargo and—”

“It’s confirmed then. Papa said—”

“You knew?” He blew out a long breath. “I suppose half of Savannah knows by now.”

She reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry. I know how much your father was counting on that shipment to turn things around.”

“It’s a devastating blow. I don’t know how much longer Mackay and Son can survive.”

“The safe fund—”

“It would take much more than that to get the company back on its feet.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Father is cashing in some railway stock and selling our farm in Cassville. He and Mother will be secure for a while. I’m consigning some of our shipments to Wheaton’s company. If we have a good season, we might break even this year.”

“Then it makes sense to return to Jamaica next year as planned and try to recoup your losses.”

“By next summer, we might be close to war.”

“Surely not.” She pressed a hand to her midsection. “I know there’s been some talk, but—”

“It’s more than just idle talk. The Negroes have been openly discussing the Scott decision ever since it came down last year, and the men at the club are debating the merits of seceding from the Union. And it isn’t only here in Georgia. Did you see this morning’s paper? Secession is the number-one topic of debate in South Carolina too. If South Carolina leaves the Union, you can be sure that Georgia will follow.”

“But that’s ridiculous. People don’t solve their differences by running out. Surely there’s room for compromise.”

“I don’t think so, Celia. An entire way of life is at stake, and that way of life depends upon the continuation of slavery.” Sutton leaned back in his chair. “Our country is rapidly dividing into two camps. And eventually both sides will be forced to fight for their principles.”

Her stomach dropped. “You’re telling me you’re prepared to fight?”

“I’m a member of the Chatham Artillery.”

“Of course. But—”

“I don’t expect you to understand the feelings men in uniform have for one another. It’s a kind of brotherhood. I can’t let them down.”

“I see.” Celia blinked back hot tears. “Your loyalties to them are stronger than your feelings for me.”

“That is neither fair nor true. One has nothing to do with the other.”

“But we aren’t going to be married this year, are we, Sutton?”

He got up and paced the room. “I’ve been thinking of going to England.”

“To England?”

“When we go to war, the first thing the North will do is blockade our ports. Everything from Virginia to Florida will be bottled
up, and our cotton, rice, and lumber will rot on the wharves. What is worse, we won’t be able to import even the barest of necessities—food, medicine, clothing, ammunition. The Northerners won’t have to beat us on the battlefield. They can simply starve us out.”

Sutton leaned over to pick up the pen and ink that lay atop her writing box. Returning to his chair, he sketched on the back of his calling card. “I’m thinking of going to Liverpool, to the shipbuilders there. If they can build a boat that sits low enough in the water, it might be able to slip past a blockade. Get some of our shipments in and out.”

“But wouldn’t that be terribly dangerous?”

“No more dangerous than manning an artillery rifle. And in the long run, it might be more useful to Savannah.” He tapped his drawing. “We can burn anthracite coal, so there won’t be any smoke to give us away.”

“It seems you’ve thought of everything.”

“Not by myself. One of my classmates from Harvard wrote to me last week, proposing the same idea. Wilkerson has contacts in Nassau that might take our cotton shipments and provide us with medicines and munitions for the return. Of course, we’ll need financial backing to get the ship built, but I hear the British are eager to invest in American shipping.”

“I see.”

“Do you, darling? I hope so. Of course I’m thinking of your welfare, but I’m thinking of our city, too, and of the entire South. I’m not certain secession is the wisest course either, but whatever comes, I must do all I can to help.” He tipped her face up to his. “It’s my duty as a soldier and a Southerner. Please tell me you understand.”

She sighed. At least his feelings for her hadn’t waned. But what good did it do to love one another if they were destined always to be apart? Wasn’t being together the entire point of loving someone? Being together and building a home and a family?

“I do understand.” She chose her words carefully. “But I wish you weren’t the one to be—”

“Oh, I won’t be the only one. Wilkerson says several other men in Virginia and South Carolina are interested in building runners too. But I’m the one with the connections to the shipyard in Liverpool and to the bankers.”

She fought her rising tears. “When will you leave?”

“Not until the new year. Father needs my help in settling his affairs, and of course I’ll need to gather enough investors to convince the shipyard to go ahead and build.”

She rose, willing herself to be calm. “At least we’ll have Christmas together.”

“Yes, and many more Christmases, my love, once the coming unpleasantness is behind us.” His arms went around her, and she leaned into his strong, warm embrace. Sutton’s bravery and concern for others were among the many reasons she loved him. He was one of the most unselfish people she knew. And everything he said made sense—but how could she bear to give him up again so soon? She drew back to look up at him. “Why do you have to be so virtuous?”

“Pardon me?”

“You came back here to face all these problems when you could have stayed in Jamaica playing poker and drinking rum.”

He arched a brow. “You’ve met my cousin Hugh?”

Despite her sadness, she laughed. “And now you’re off to England.”

He smiled into her eyes. “Let’s not talk any more about it right now. Tell me, how are the plans for my party progressing?”

“I’ve sent out the invitations and ordered the things Mrs. Maguire will need for the centerpieces. And you know I plan to wear Mama’s gold dress.”

“I can’t wait to see you coming down the stairs in it.”

The mantel clock chimed the hour.

“Will you stay for dinner?” Celia asked. “Mrs. Maguire baked soda bread this morning.”

“I’d love to, but I’m meeting Mr. Stiles at the club. He’s promised to fill me in on last year’s Commercial Congress. And then I must meet with Father’s clerk to go over the shipping manifests for the lost cargo.”

“Oh.”

“How about Saturday? If you’re free, we’ll tack up Zeus and Poseidon and give them a good workout.”

She had planned to call at Mrs. Lawton’s to see the new baby, but a morning with Sutton was a luxury too rare to pass up. “I’d like that.”

Celia moved to the window to draw the blinds and gave an involuntary gasp. Ivy stood in the shady park across the street, her golden hair glittering like a new coin, chatting with Leo Channing.

Sutton frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“My cousin is talking to that shameless newspaper writer.”

Sutton joined her at the window. “He’s shameless all right. That piece he wrote is full of nothing but fabrication and innuendo.”

“Exactly. But his articles still worry me, not to mention his ridiculous plan to write a book about us. You know how people here detest any hint of scandal. Papa already has enough on his mind without worrying about how Mr. Channing’s writings will be received. I cannot imagine why Ivy is standing there with him in broad daylight.”

She yanked on the tasseled cord to draw the blinds. “Mr. Thompson promised Papa that Leo Channing would stay away from us. It looks as if he forgot to tell Mr. Channing.”

“Say the word, and I’ll go out there and give the fool a good drubbing.”

“Thank you. But he isn’t worth it.”

Arm in arm they quit the library and walked out to the entry hall, where Sutton retrieved his hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “And in the meantime, try not to worry about Channing—or my trip to England, for that matter. Who knows? By the new year circumstances might well have changed and a trip won’t be necessary.”

“Sutton Mackay, you know perfectly well you will go. You’re only trying to make me feel better.”

Sutton planted a kiss on her cheek. “Good-bye, darling. Don’t be too hard on Ivy. I’m sure she must have a reason for her behavior.”

He opened the door just as Ivy came through the wrought-iron gate, swinging her book satchel like a schoolgirl. “Good morning, Sutton.”

He tipped his hat. “Miss Lorens. You seem particularly happy today.”

He waved and let himself out through the gate.

“Yes, Cousin.” Celia folded her arms and glared at Ivy as they walked inside. “Tell me, what has put you in such an agreeable mood? Was it the drive from the asylum in this brisk weather? Your reading lesson with Louisa? Or your cozy talk with the heinous Mr. Channing? How you can even speak to him after that piece in the paper this morning is surely beyond my ken.”

Ivy swept into the library, set her satchel onto a chair, and unpinned her hat. “I saw him in the park when Joseph drove me back from the asylum. I thought if I talked to him he might temper his future writings. I don’t care, of course, but it’s important to you.” She turned to face Celia, her eyes bright. “I did it for you.”

“Oh, Ivy. I didn’t mean . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“You could start with thank you.” Ivy leaned in to study her own reflection in the gilt mirror near the door.

“I’m sorry I spoke so harshly. It’s just that Papa has so much on
his mind these days, he doesn’t need the distraction. And I do want Sutton’s party to be perfect. Now more than ever.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Ivy patted a blond ringlet into place.

“He’s leaving again. After Christmas.”

Ivy spun away from the mirror, her pink dress swirling. “Leaving? Oh, dear. I know how you had counted on marrying him, but perhaps it simply isn’t meant to be.”

Celia was too tired to explain. And perhaps it was best to guard Sutton’s plans, at least for now.

The doorbell rang and Celia went to answer it. Leo Channing stood there in his rumpled, disreputable suit, hat in hand. “Miss Browning. I’ve just spoken with your cousin, and I was wondering whether you’d care to comment on—”

“I would not. And what is more, I intend to report you to the police. Your employer has instructed you to stay away from this house, yet here you are again.”

“True enough. But since Miss Lorens has been so accommodating, I thought perhaps you, too, might have had a change of heart.”

Celia made to close the door, but he wedged one booted foot into the opening. “Did you see this morning’s piece?”

“Half-truths and sensationalism. Exactly what I expected from someone of your caliber.”

Channing narrowed his eyes. “No need to get nasty. You might do well to remember that two can play that game. And I have a public forum for my comments.”

“Please remove your foot from my door.”

“Did you ever meet her—the laundress who met her sad demise here?”

Celia drew herself up and met his gaze. “The mills of God grind slowly, Mr. Channing. But they grind exceedingly small.”

The reporter stepped back. “Don’t threaten me. Get in my way, and you will regret it.”

He turned and hurried through the gate and onto the street. Celia slammed the door with such force that Mrs. Maguire came running from the kitchen, her hands covered in flour, apron strings flying out behind her. “By all the saints, Celia Browning. What the
divil
is going on?”

Beyond the river, a storm was brewing.