Portia hurried off with a chuckle, the ice chips tinkling in the lemonade pitcher.
It was already half past four and the sun was burning down on the backyard. Glad for a bit of air, Rose hurried inside and up into the attic. She opened the one tiny window that let in a slight breeze from the tall willow tree outside.
She stepped over several boxes, lifted the blanket and peeked at the painting of Lucinda Lovell, the captain’s former wife. She was beautiful and no doubt accomplished. Rose wished for some clue as to how she might become so herself.
Sneezing as she made her way, she spotted the notes and journal she had set aside. She noted three light blue boxes of the same design with ribboned cords tied around each one and opened the first one. Letters. Stacks of them. To Darbinger Pinckney Dalton.
“Dalton?” She whispered, the sound acid on her tongue. The mysterious and not to be trusted banker. “And Pinckney was a revered name in politics and local Charleston history.
She untied the string on a small batch….three letters. On the outside was the word Darby in a beautiful script. That, Rose noted, was a strong attachment from an admirer. He obviously meant these to be personal. She hesitated. Then slowly slid a folded light blue paper out, opened it gently and read the date. She promised herself if they were too recent she would not intrude.
They were dated twelve years past…1872. She began to read. One, then the second, the third. She read through the entire first box and could not go on. The male admirer loved a fourteen year old girl. Even before he finished his 6th level at school he had loved her, he said.
The letters grew more intimate as the two grew in age. Rose wiped tears from her dusty face and knew she would never experience the kind of love those letters described. She tangled her finger in her hair, the way the boy, turned man had said in his last letter. He had loved Darby’s red gold hair and how she would wrap a curl around her finger. He longed to do the same himself.
A dozen references in the letters placed the visions in her mind. What would that be like? Rose kept reading. He loved Darby’s hand in his own. Her profile when she gazed away from him. Her eyes, so blue and filled with love for him.
Rose found herself lost in the past and knew life would not offer her such trimmings. She sighed, reverently put the letters back, and wondered what had happened to Darbinger Pinckney Dalton and W.
Each letter was signed only with a beautiful scripted “W”. Twelve years past and that would make Darby 26 years of age and “W” 29. Did the two marry? Was there any relationship to Mr. Dalton at the bank?
Suddenly, she noted the wind had picked up in the trees and shut the window, needing to get out of the dust. She scurried down the stairs with a last look at the boxes. She would read the last box of letters another day. She had images enough to last a lifetime. Perhaps she would never experience the love of a man the same way, she could only dream. Her husband was twenty-seven years her senior and Rose knew she would be a widow sooner than most women. But for the time being, she had a good life and must be grateful. Just like her mother said.
The house was quiet. Portia and Emmanuel and Lily and Thomas were enjoying the breezy evening. Smiling, she went to the kitchen, prepared some warm water and washed up in the bowl. She leaned her head over and poured warm water over her head and shampooed her hair, then combed through the stubborn curls and went out on the front verandah to watch the flowers sway in the wind while her hair dried. She hid well behind the creeping vines across the porch out of view and gazed at ladies out with their husbands for an evening stroll. Children played near the steps and she heard several ship horns announcing their arrival. Charleston was a busy town. She’d heard just yesterday that the town boasted that it could accommodate 200 vessels in its wharves. Cotton was still King of the South.
There were new businesses after the devastation of the Civil War…Charleston was beginning to make its fortunes once again. New sawmills, cotton presses, iron foundries and shipyards brought new wealth into the city. Her husband, gone so much would be very prosperous once he settled down in Charleston, which he promised to do in just a few years. She would wait and perhaps they could help the orphanage even more.
Running her fingers through her damp curls, Rose quit her musing and went inside. The wind, still strong, blew through the screened front door and straight out the back one. It had been a pleasant day altogether. Hungry, she found a slice of pecan cake sitting on the sideboard. Portia had put it there in case she wanted dessert. She smiled and ate alone at the huge dining table, gazing about the room, thinking what changes might need to be made. It was a beautiful room. The only thing she would like to change was the worn carpet beneath the dining table and chairs. Plantation shutters kept the sun out; lighter curtains at the window would be a nice addition.
Indeed the carpet looked to be ancient and Portia mentioned that it was threadbare and hard to clean.
A light pounding at the front door caused her to drop her fork, so lost in thought was she. Emmanuel was out back, and not wishing to disturb their evening, eyes focused, she walked slowly to the door. Perhaps it was Arella.
Her eyes lowered. There was a small child standing there. From the looks of it, there was some fear on the little face.
“May I help you?” Rose opened the screen door slowly.
“I’ve lost me mother.” The little girl, with blond hair and the greenest eyes, looked up at her. She must have been four, perhaps five.
“You’ve lost your mother?” She repeated and stepped out. “She will not be far away. Shall we go back down the steps and see if we can find her?” The lass was Irish.
Rose found a chubby little hand in hers as the little mouth let out a sob.
“Don’t worry. We will find her. She will be looking for you, you know.”
“Aye.” The little voice came back.
Rose’s heart jumped.
“Where are you from?”
“Ireland, to be sure.” The little voice, sounded like her own mother’s.
“Aye, so am I.”
“Ye are?” The voice raised a notch.
“Aye.”
Within a minute a frantic woman came rushing up. “Oh Colleen, you’re found. We just arrived, and I lost my wee lass.”
Rose watched the moment the two bodies connected and her heart flipped. She knew her smile was sad.
“Thank you ma’am. We are just off from Ireland and…” she stopped unable to speak. “O how could I lose my lass so quickly? This town is too big and too busy. My home was quiet and not so…so industrial.”
“Aye. I know it, too.” Rose said quietly.
“Ye are from Ireland then, too?”
“Well, I was born in Baltimore, but from Irish parents. They returned home.”
“Aye, it is I who wish to do the same.” The woman declared. “And I’ve just arrived.”
Rose understood.
“And you have married then? And live here in Charleston?”
“Aye.”
“I am sorry for you then.” She said quickly, then relented. “Ach, it is sorry I am to say such a thing. I’m sure I will find my way. My husband has come to work for the shipyards. He has christened his ship, “The Blarney Stone.” She laughed. “Is that not the silliest name? I said he could have at least christened her the Patrice after me…or even his wee daughter, Colleen.”
Ireland Rose laughed. “Leave to men such things! I guess he was hoping for the luck o’the Irish.”
“Well, it is a point you have there. I am Patrice Elizabeth Riley, County Galway. May I ask your name?”
“Ireland Rose Lovell, my parents came from County Clare.
“Ah we are kindred no doubt.” Patrice smiled.
“Indeed. My husband Captain John Camden Lovell has two ships. I think we and our husbands shall become friends.”
“Aye.”
Rose noted her new friend’s relief as she spoke.
“And this….” Patrice leaned down to gaze in her
daughter’s eyes, is my little Colleen Elizabeth Riley.
Rose smile down at her, the child’s face calm now that she had her mother in-hand.
“I live here.” Rose pointed to her house. When you are settled, would you like to come for tea and scones?”
“Ah, it would be a pleasure Mrs. Lovell to eat an Irish scone. Your husband is Irish too, for he carries the name of the Irish on the west counties of Ireland.”
“You would be correct. But he has a touch of Scot as well.” Rose laughed. “Indeed we shall meet again. Now you must find your husband…it is almost dark.”
“Indeed or you may find Colleen and I knocking at your door again.” She said as she hurried away.
Rose’s heart beat happy in her chest. She would have another new friend. And the angelic child with the Irish brogue reminded her of herself. Lord you are so good to me, filling in the spaces where I am lonely…
With a last look through the screen door, she shut the large door and locked it, then went to lock the back door, only to find that Emmanuel had already done it. She’d distinctly remembered the door was open. She smiled.
Chapter 18
The next morning, as scheduled, Ava came knocking, her arms full.
“Oh what have you brought?” Rose took some of her burden.
“These are straight from New York. My friend the designer has come to live here in Charleston and brought with her these swatches of fabric that we may look at.”
The two spread the pieces over the huge dining table, tossing ideas this way and that.
“Now choose lighter.” Ava reminded her. “Your rooms will look more airy and soft.”
“Oh, but we haven’t time to order from New York; besides that I have limited funds, of course.” Rose mumbled as she pulled out three very agreeable materials.
“That’s a good match. This for the curtains, this for the chairs and this for the pillows.”
Rose felt the situation was rushing out of control. “We can begin with curtains. Put them up and then try the other fabrics…”
“Have you a seamstress?” Ava got to the point.
“No, I do not.”
Both looked at each other.
“Shall we ask Mrs. Jamison at the orphanage? We could engage one of the girls.”
“What a splendid idea.” Ava gushed.
“I shall call upon her myself this very afternoon.” Rose said.
“And I shall accompany you. I must see the orphanage so we can work together.”
Rose tittered with excitement. “Your husband will not mind?”
“My husband will not know.” She said firmly and handed a piece of fabric to Rose. “See do you like this one better…I do believe it has the shades you need.”
“Yes, I think I do. Better than the one I chose.” Rose smiled. “We have our three fabrics, shall we make our trip then after tea?”
With Ava’s affirmation, Rose reached to pull the rope as Portia came with a tray. “We were just going to ring for tea.” Rose laughed. “And here you are.”
“Happy to oblige, Miz Rose.” She set her tray on the table and served. “Will you be wantin’ sandwiches?”
Ava spoke up. “I’m thinking it would be good to stop at Clarinda’s Tea Room and lunch there to be seen together about town. We will need the ladies to join our adventure.”
Rose smiled a bit worried that the ladies may not wish to join their adventure, but tucked away her worry for another time. Above all things she did not want Mr. McGuire to be shamed with his wife’s associations. That would not do at all. She pushed her thoughts away and sipped her tea, grateful for Ava’s friendship.
Yes, Portia we will lunch at Clarinda’s. Thank you.”
“Let us make a list.” Ava suggested. She pulled a bit of paper from her elegant silk string bag and a pencil. “I must write things down or forget them altogether.” She began writing. “First we must find the seamstress and then immediately go to my friend. She has bolts of fabric, brought with her from New York; a veritable storehouse in fact.”
“A storehouse?” Rose set her cup in the saucer, having doused her thirst with half the cup.
“Indeed. She could not give up her design ideas and her very rich husband is so daft about his wife, he brought her entire warehouse to Charleston.”
Rose, smarting from the letters above stairs, thought…W would have done such a thing for Darby. Then shook her thoughts from her head. She was becoming entirely romantic which was ridiculous. She must take on her mother’s sensibilities and concentrate on the matters at hand. After all her own husband would be back from London in less than eight weeks if the winds were favorable.
“Well,” Rose announced, shall we get on with our plans then?”
Energized, Ava finished her tea. “I say. My friend will no doubt be glad to assist us once we find a seamstress. And…it is nigh noon. We must use our time well.”
Rose felt excitement at Ava’s willingness to help and enjoyed her spontaneity.
“Indeed.”
Within the half hour over cucumber sandwiches and teacakes and more tea the ladies decided they would stop next at Mrs. Jamisons and seek her advice. “Emmanuel, here is a sandwich for you.” Rose handed her driver the food.
She noted he laid the sandwich next to him.
He did not wish for Miss Rose’s fine lady guest see her do such a thing.
When the carriage pulled up to the orphanage Ava’s intake of breath concerned Rose.
“If you do not wish to go inside it is quite all right.”
Ava spoke from behind her handkerchief. “Is has such a stench. Have they no inside toilets?” She coughed.
“I’m afraid they do not. Even the outhouses are standing at angles as you can see.” Rose said.
“I had no idea.”
“Aye, ‘tis the way of it.”
“Well, if this squalor is where people actually live, I must be brave and brace myself.” Ava McGuire stepped down and immediately lifted her skirt from the grounds. “Come. I must see for myself.” She moved ahead, Rose walking beside her.
“Emmanuel would you mind asking Mrs. Jamison if we may visit.” She noted no children ran out to greet them this time.
Emmanuel stepped forward and knocked at the door.
Within minutes Rose and Ava were being shown around by three of the older children. Mrs. Jamison, it seems, had gone to beg for food from several of the fish vendors down at the wharf.
“We are instructed never to open to strangers, Miz Rose, but we know you.”
“Are you sure it is all right to come in, Arella?”
“Yes Miz Rose.”
Arella gave them a short tour. The ladies noted the condition of the children’s clothing. Rose noticed several of her own donated items were being worn by the girls and she smiled. The rooms were neat and picked up, even though the stench from the outhouses could not be ignored coming through the open windows.
“Mrs. Jamison goes to the wharf at this time every day. The fresh fish comes in about dis time and she takes away anything not sold.”
“Is that healthy?” Ava asked.
“Seems so to us.” Arella said seriously.
“We came to inquire if you have a seamstress among you.” Rose got to the point. Do any of the older girls sew well enough to make curtains and pillow covers, perhaps?”
“Yes ma’am. Miz Nettie. She sew all kinds of things. Fact, she down at a rich lady’s house right dis minute doin’ just that very thing.”
“Really?”
“I have paper. We’ll leave a note.” Ava fished in her purse, dropping her handkerchief on the floor.
Arella retrieved it and handed it back.
“Now then, what shall we say?” Ava looked to Rose.
“We’ll ask Mrs. Jamison to send Miss Nettie with Arella. Tell her Emmanuel will come for them tomorrow at the same time unless we hear otherwise.”
“Ava wrote the note and handed it to Arella.” Please see that i
t is given to Mrs. Jamison.”
Arella took the note and immediately ran off. “I’ll be puttin’ it on her desk right this very minute.”
Rose smiled and Emmanuel helped the ladies up into the carriage and they drove off after deciding to make their visit for fabric tomorrow.
The usually talkative Ava was quiet for some time. Rose left her to her thoughts.
“I see why you are interested.” Ava spoke quietly gazing at the landscape as they passed.
Rose was satisfied.
* * *
That afternoon after Ava left, Rose began her sketches. First of the new curtains hanging at the windows. She used colored wax to give the effect and was quite pleased. Next she set the fabric swatches in sunlight and then at dark checked them again. Indeed the house would be brighter. She only hoped that Captain Lovell would not be offended. She must tread lightly. After all Lucinda may have chosen these materials and she must not cause more trouble for her husband. Perhaps she had been too anxious. She bit her lip.
Needing something to assuage her worrisome thoughts, she headed up to the attic again. It was late but with all the ideas flashing about in her mind’s eye she could not go to sleep. Portia and Emmanuel had retired early.
Very quietly, she pulled the rope to bring down the stairs and climbed up. She needn’t worry about the noise too much, because Portia and her family chose to sleep out in their cottage out next to the kitchen on hot summer nights. But she must not let her housekeeper know she was up or Portia would not rest. She had already told her she would get herself undressed and off to bed tonight. Still she knew Portia had eyes and ears aplenty!
For some reason, she could not stop thinking about Darby and W. What had happened to them? Why were the letters up in this attic? Had they both died? She could almost picture them. Darby with her long curls and W…what did he look like? There were no descriptive letters from Darby to W.
The dark attic, lit only by one lantern, was eerie. It was early evening…just dark -- thankfully there was a touch of moonlight through the windows.
She found the last box, sat and arranged the light just right, and pulled out the letter on top. Rose already knew they were in the exact order Darby had received them. She read one after the other, tears falling from her face. What had happened to them? It was only 12 years ago…surely someone would know. Rose wiped away tears. There were only three letters left. She didn’t want them to end.