The Bracelet (14 page)

C
ELIA DREW HER SHAWL ABOUT HER SHOULDERS AND LOOKED
out the window as the carriage rolled along the street clogged with people, carriages, and buggies. The weather had turned chilly, but the sky was a brilliant blue and a fresh breeze blew in off the river. A perfect October afternoon in Savannah. If people chose not to come to her engagement reception at Mrs. Mackay’s this afternoon, their absence certainly would not be in consequence of the weather.

“Why the frown?” Ivy shifted on the leather seat and smoothed the folds of her dress.

“I’m worried that nobody will come today and Mrs. Mackay will be terribly embarrassed. I don’t want her hurt on our account.”

Ivy leaned over to pat Celia’s hand. “Don’t worry. Uncle David might be one of the richest men in Savannah, but there’s no family more important than the Mackays. People wouldn’t dare ignore her invitation for fear of being banished from her guest list forever.” She paused, her head tilted. “Something else is bothering you.”

Celia hadn’t told anyone about the anonymous message she’d discovered the night of the masquerade ball, and the secret had finally become too heavy a burden. She opened her bag and withdrew the folded paper. “I found this in the foyer the night of the ball.”

Ivy unfolded the paper and read aloud. “Foul deeds will rise, though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes.” She looked up, her face suddenly pale. “What does it mean? Who would send us such a thing?”

Celia shook her head. The words seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t readily remember where she’d heard them. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t understand. What did Uncle David say about this?” Ivy handed the paper back to Celia, who put it away.

“I haven’t told him. He’s been preoccupied with politics and the Mackays’ lost ship. He doesn’t seem quite himself these days. He skipped his usual lunch at the club last week. I’m worried about him.”

“Is he ill?”

“He hasn’t had much of an appetite lately. Nor his usual energy, either.”

Ivy sighed. “Maybe Mr. Channing left the note. I wish now I hadn’t talked to him. But at least he hasn’t published any more stories in the paper. I think he’s grown tired of the chase.”

“I hope so.” Celia toyed with the clasp on her reticule. Leo Channing’s stories had stirred up an unsettling mix of unsavory secrets that left her with a nagging fear of impending disaster.

“Promise me you will tell Uncle David about that note,” Ivy said as their carriage drew up outside the Mackays’ mansion on Lafayette Square. “Surely there must be something else he can do.”

“I doubt it. He has already spoken to Mr. Thompson, and I don’t think the editor is trying very hard to protect us from Mr. Channing.” Celia opened her gold compact and dabbed rice powder onto her nose. “I don’t want to worry Papa needlessly.”

“Well, don’t think about it just now.” Ivy patted Celia’s gloved hand. “Today is a day for celebration.”

Joseph opened the carriage door and handed them out. Celia smoothed the ruffles on her dark-blue dress. Ivy was right. She ought
not give another thought to Leo Channing. She should think only of her future with Sutton. But even as they mounted the marble steps and pressed the bell, she couldn’t stop thinking about the rumors Alicia Thayer had shared the night of the ball. Had Uncle Magnus left town because he knew more than he admitted? Had there been something between him and the laundress? Was that the reason Aunt Eugenia had left the plantation on St. Simons and shown up at the Brownings’ house in the middle of the night all those years ago?

Mrs. Mackay’s housekeeper, Mrs. Johns, opened the door, a smile brightening her round, careworn face. “Miss Celia. Mrs. Mackay told me the wonderful news, and I couldn’t be one bit happier if you were my own daughter.”

At the housekeeper’s warm welcome, Celia felt her anxieties melting away. “Thank you, Mrs. Johns.”

The housekeeper stepped back to let them enter. “Good afternoon, Miss Lorens.”

“Mrs. Johns.” Ivy’s tone was brisk as she handed the housekeeper her wrap.

“Mrs. Mackay is waiting for you in the parlor,” Mrs. Johns said. “The guests will be arriving in a few minutes.”

As Mrs. Johns motioned them into the Mackays’ parlor, Celia let out a contented sigh. All her life, just being inside Sutton’s house had made her happy. It wasn’t the expansive, flower-filled foyer, the well-proportioned rooms with their tall ceilings and ornate furnishings, or the thick carpets that muffled her steps as she crossed the room. It was the sense of peace. The Mackays’ house seemed always to be relaxed and filled with love. Not that she felt unloved at home on Madison Square. Far from it. But her mother’s death had left an empty space, an aching loneliness that never completely disappeared.

Cornelia Mackay stood, both arms outstretched, a gentle smile on her face. “Ivy. Welcome, my dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mackay.”

“And darling Celia. My daughter-to-be.”

Celia kissed the older woman’s cheek. “Thank you for planning this tea. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

“So have I. We haven’t had as much time to visit lately as I would like.” Cornelia motioned them to the settee facing the fireplace. “Of course, it won’t be as elaborate as your masquerade ball. Everyone is still talking about that centerpiece. How did you ever think of it?”

“A classmate of mine told me her Aunt Ella in Augusta made something similar for a party back in the forties. I thought it might be nice to try something different. But all the credit for the actual execution belongs to Mrs. Maguire and Mrs. Hemphill.”

“Well, it certainly was clever. Don’t you think so, Ivy?”

Ivy fussed with her gloves. “Yes, very clever.”

The bell rang, signaling the guests’ arrival. Within half an hour, the Mackays’ parlor brimmed with Savannah’s elite, eager for a glimpse of Celia’s ring and for the details of the proposal. A small fire warmed their faces as Mrs. Johns moved among the guests with trays of sandwiches, small iced cakes, and glasses of cider.

Mrs. Lawton praised a story she was reading in a magazine and reported on the health of her baby son. “Alexander thinks the baby is smiling at him already.” Her blue eyes shone with merriment. “Of course any mother knows better, but why spoil my husband’s happiness?”

Mrs. Stiles had something weightier on her mind. “My cousin Martha says the abolitionists are still on St. Simons, inciting the Negroes to revolt, and are no longer making any pretense of their purpose.”

“Well, I can’t imagine any of our servants rising up against us,” Mrs. Dickson said. “My husband is just back from Wayland Hall, and he says everything is business as usual.”

“Of course. They wouldn’t dare give him any hint that they are thinking of rebelling.” Mrs. Stiles dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “William says secession is certain should Mr. Lincoln be elected. And then we shall all be called upon to support it.”

“But secession is so impractical,” Nellie Gordon said from her chair near the fire. “Would I need a pass of some kind to visit my family in Chicago? Would we be permitted to travel to Saratoga or Ohio or New England for the summers, or would the Northerners force us to remain here and face the possibility of death by yellow fever?”

“But if we don’t support it, everything we have achieved, everything we hope for our children’s futures will be lost.” Mrs. Lawton’s cup rattled in its saucer. “Personally I wish every last slave in Georgia had gone back to Liberia two years ago when they had the chance.”

“But, Sarah,” Mrs. Dickson said. “How would my plantation operate without them?”

“Perhaps you could hire them,” Mrs. Stiles said. “Sooner or later they all will be free, and that will be the only course of action available to us.”

“Sutton says the system of hiring free blacks works in Jamaica,” Ivy said. “Growing bananas and coffee is not the same as cultivating rice or cotton, but still—”

“You’re quite right, Ivy,” Mrs. Mackay said. “But this is not the time to worry about such things. We’re here to celebrate with my future daughter, and I for one am ready to discuss less serious subjects.”

Celia nibbled on a cucumber sandwich, relieved that politics had been set aside. Even better, her failed masquerade ball and Mr. Channing’s stories seemed forgotten. If any of the ladies felt uncomfortable in her presence, they hid it well. Perhaps Ivy was right and none of them dared offending their hostess.

Near the end of the afternoon, an old woman appeared in the doorway. Celia’s heart leapt at the sight of Sutton’s grandmother. Caroline Manigault was nearly eighty, but her dark eyes were still bright with curiosity, her white hair still thick and glossy and gathered in a low bun at the nape of her neck. Today she wore a russet silk dress with a white lace collar and a rope of pearls that hung nearly to her waist. Leaning on her ebony cane, she made her way across the room. Celia moved closer to Ivy to make room for her on the settee.

“Mrs. Manigault.” Celia kissed the woman’s withered cheek. “I have no words to express how pleased I am to have your ring. It’s generous of you, and I promise to take care of it.”

“Let me see how it looks on your finger, child.”

Celia held out her left hand, and Mrs. Manigault nodded. “Looks better on you than it did on me. My fingers are too stubby for such a big ring, though I won’t deny it brought me much pleasure through the years.” She patted Celia’s hand. “But it’s time to pass it on now. I’d like to think that when you are my age, you’ll hand it down to your eldest grandson as well.”

Celia’s heart brimmed with love for this sweet and generous woman. “Of course I will. And I’ll be sure to tell him the story of how his Grandpa Sutton was dressed like a pirate the night he proposed.”

Mrs. Manigault laughed. “Sutton came to my room to say good night before he left for your party, and I must say that for a moment he gave me quite a turn.”

“He has been fascinated with pirates and the sea since he was a boy,” Mrs. Mackay said. “He’s always been happiest on the water.”

“Tell us, Celia, will you marry in the spring?” Mrs. Gordon set down her cup. “I’ve always thought May is the loveliest time for a wedding in Savannah.”

“We . . . aren’t certain yet. But we will fix the date very soon, I hope.”

“Good,” Mrs. Manigault said. “Because I need something to think about besides the unpleasantness the abolitionists are stirring up. I don’t like the atmosphere it’s creating here in Savannah. It makes everybody feel uncertain. People are afraid to plan anything for fear of what might happen next month. Or next year.”

“Speaking of plans,” Mrs. Lawton said to Mrs. Stiles, “Have you heard from that daughter of yours? I wonder whether she and Andrew intend to return home in time for the holidays.”

“I had a letter from England last week,” Mrs. Stiles said. “Mary writes that Andrew is eager to return to his business interests here, but they haven’t any firm plans yet.” She sighed. “I do miss them terribly.”

After another round of cider and sandwiches, the ladies gathered their things and said their good-byes. Ivy stepped outside to wait for Joseph to bring the carriage around. Celia joined Mrs. Mackay and Mrs. Manigault at the door and thanked each of the ladies for coming.

When the door closed behind the last guest, Mrs. Mackay nodded with satisfaction. “There. All that ridiculousness from your ball is dead and buried.”

Celia chewed her bottom lip. “I hope you’re right. But . . . Mrs. Mackay? Did Mr. Mackay attend a meeting with the mayor at the gentlemen’s club last week?”

“I think he mentioned it in passing, but I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention. It seems our menfolk are always running from one critical event to the next these days. Why do you ask?”

“Papa wasn’t invited. He only heard about it later, from Mr. Lawton. I can’t help but think he was excluded on purpose because of the gossip that newspaperman is stirring up.”

“I’m sure it was just an oversight. I’ll ask my husband about it. He will see that it doesn’t happen again.”

“I’m grateful.” Celia let out a long sigh. “I’m glad everyone came to tea today, and not only for my sake. I have the girls at the asylum and their various needs to consider. I must have a good turnout for my reception if we’re to raise the necessary funds.”

“Don’t you fret about that, my dear,” Sutton’s grandmother said. “I’m not above twisting a few arms if I have to. But you’ll see. This unpleasantness will be old news soon enough.”

“I hope so.”

“Now,” Mrs. Mackay continued, “I thought we might go shopping next week to choose a few things for your house.”

“I’d love that, but we have no idea whether we’ll be living here or . . . elsewhere.”

Mrs. Mackay waved one hand. “Oh, that Liverpool business. Sutton will get it sorted out quickly. He won’t stay away too long.”

“Quite right, Cornelia.” Mrs. Manigault leaned in toward Celia. “And I think it wise to choose your things now, my dear, in case the situation worsens sooner than we think. With everything so topsy-turvy these days, who knows how much longer we’ll be able to buy good china and linens? Make hay while the sun shines, my girl. That’s my advice.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Would next Wednesday be agreeable, Mrs. Mackay?”

“Perfect.” Mrs. Mackay walked out onto the porch with Celia. “We’ll start early and have lunch at the Pulaski Hotel. Their onion soup is heavenly. Ah, here’s your carriage.”

With a final wave, Celia descended the front steps and joined her cousin in the carriage.

“Well,” Ivy said as Joseph flicked the reins and turned for home, “that went very well.”

“Yes. Thanks to Mrs. Mackay, I feel much better. I’m lucky to be marrying into such a wonderful family.” Celia straightened her hat and settled into the seat. “Mrs. Mackay and I are going shopping next Wednesday. She and Grandmother Manigault think I ought to start collecting things for my home. She’s taking me to lunch at the Pulaski.”

“Nothing but the best for our golden girl.”

“Why don’t you come with us? It’ll be fun. We can visit that new millinery shop that just opened. I overheard Mrs. Stiles telling Mrs. Lawton that the prices are very reasonable. And you and I both need new hats for winter.”