Page 12 of Where the Rivers Merge

Carolina Gold (Oryza glaberrima) is the name given to rice cultivated in the Carolinas, particularly South Carolina. It was prized, known for its high quality and distinctive flavor. Carolina Gold was brought from western Africa during the colonial era and it thrived in the region’s marshy landscape. Carolina Gold played a significant role in the economy and history of the region.

1912

Resilience is a remarkable thing. It requires strength, flexibility, and, what I’ve later learned, faith. It is defined by an individual’s ability to be knocked down by fate, be tossed by uncertainty, and have one’s fortunes taken away. Then pick oneself up from the dirt and try again.

That was Rawlins Rivers. The coast was still recovering from the hurricane of 1893 when two big storms hit in 1910 and 1911. Surges of fierce wind and black water came crashing along the Combahee River with such force the salt water wiped out Daddy’s rice fields and those of all the rice farms along the coast. We heard news of boats even as far as Charleston pushed onto the city streets from the force of it. To lose one’s crop so close to harvest hurts the soul. That year was the first time I saw Daddy weep. Mama said it was the death knell for rice planting in South Carolina.

The following season, when other farmers gave up planting rice and, worse, sold their land, my daddy planted Carolina Gold again. He declared it was his duty. Mama called it his folly. They had arguments about it. Mama was all for abandoning Mayfield and moving to Charleston. Her parents offered Daddy opportunities for work in the city, but that just sparked more fights as Daddy claimed they shamed him. He believed in Mayfield, felt the weight of continuing the family legacy, and searched for other ways to bring in money.

Daddy could be convincing, and Mama, again, stayed by his side. She was frugal and did the family sewing, including making us our new clothes. She ran the household and assisted in the chores. But she refused to lower the standard of living, in particular for her children. Thankfully, her parents stepped in. The Bissettes helped their only child by helping her husband, which meant keeping Mayfield afloat.

The summer of 1912, the farm was aflutter with the news that Daddy bought himself a new horse. Not just any horse. A fancy Marsh Tacky stallion with a fine lineage that Daddy had his eye on since it was a foal. This horse, he claimed, was his hope for the future.

Daddy wouldn’t have any other kind of horse than a Marsh Tacky. He said the South needed tough horses that could thrive in our swampy, mucky soil. Marsh Tackies had been used to plow the fields, plant the crops, bring in the hay crop, pull wagons, and haul manure for generations. Some horses were just for transportation. Every one of them had a job to do and did them well. Truth be told, Daddy couldn’t run the farm without them. No machine could run in the low-lying coastal terrain of the rice fields. The soft, muddy soil swamped the machinery. The Marsh Tacky was the horse to get the job done.

On the day the Marsh Tacky was to arrive, the excitement was so intense we couldn’t think of anything else. Covey, Tripp, and I were gathered at the river dock, on the lookout for a sign of the boat coming. Heat shimmered on the water and gnats fluttered in the haze. Daddy and Wilton had left at dawn to bring the great horse to Mayfield by the river and were due soon. Tripp and Covey eagerly put a cane pole in the water and a short while later commenced dancing because they’d already caught a fine flounder. While the two of them fished, I sat on the dock, dangling my feet in the water, and daydreamed of riding the new stallion, cantering in the fields so fast my hair streamed behind me.

I was leaning on a piling at the end of the dock when I heard heavy footfall reverberating on the wood. I looked lazily over my shoulder and caught sight of Heyward coming my way. My heart sang at seeing him home again. I missed him terribly when he went off to high school in Charleston. At fifteen, my brother’s body was changing as fast as his voice. He had a young man’s shoulders that tapered down to pants that had to be belted to stay up. No matter what Clementine fed him, he stayed slim. His white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves under his overalls, and a long piece of grass dangled between his teeth.

He had another one of his new friends in tow. Heyward gathered friends like a bee did pollen. I’d never seen this one. He was equal to Heyward’s height and width, with his same blond hair and suntanned skin. In fact, they looked more like brothers than Heyward and Lesesne did. The shirttails of his unbuttoned chambray shirt flapped and swayed as he walked with the confident stride of a boy who knew the world was his oyster.

I scrambled to my feet. Closer, I saw the boy’s features were softer than Heyward’s chiseled ones. Even pretty. He laughed at something my brother said and it seemed his entire face lit up with his smile. In that moment my heart skipped a beat.

“Hey,”

Heyward called out with a short wave.

“Hey back at you.”

The boys reached my side, and though I didn’t deign to look at him, I could feel the stranger’s eyes on me, assessing. Annoyed, I turned to give him a sharp look, the kind that told him to quit it, but when I faced him, I was caught by eyes so blue I felt like I was burned. I sucked in my breath and simply stared back at eyes all the brighter for the tan of his face. As if he figured out my feelings, he looked up at the sky.

Heyward pulled the grass from his mouth. “Lizzie, meet my friend, Hugh.”

My cheeks burned as I stammered out hello.

Hugh looked at me again, this time with the look of amusement I’d seen on a cat that played with its catch. “Hey, there,”

he drawled.

“Hugh is our neighbor. He’s one of the Rhodeses from the Magnolia Bluff Plantation down yonder. They took over from the MacDonalds last winter.”

I remembered Mama talking about the Rhodes family at dinner one night. She’d gone over to greet Mrs. Rhodes with a pie and declared her to be “a darling.”

Mama added how Mrs. Rhodes was a Barnwell from Beaufort, and thus had local ties. Mr. Gerald Rhodes hailed from Charleston. She leaned in to indicate importance. “He’s a Pringle. And that,”

she said, putting the cherry on top, “means he’s a member of society.”

She went on to tell me the Rhodes family had three fine-looking sons. Heyward and Hugh being the same age, Mama was pleased to see Heyward befriend him. She gave me a knowing look and told me that the second son was the same age as I was, so I could have my pick. The memory of this caused the pink of my cheeks to deepen.

“No sign of Daddy yet?”

asked Heyward.

I shook my head and turned to the river, feigning great interest in searching for the boat. Hugh’s presence annoyed me no end on this special day. “Mama didn’t come down,”

I said with meaning. Mama was making a point of not showing up. We could tell from her comments that the cost of this horse was putting Mayfield at risk.

“Reckon she’s still put off with the idea of a new horse,”

said Heyward. “But Daddy knows what he’s doing.”

I could only nod my head and share his belief. If both Daddy and Wilton believed in the horse—they knew more about horses than anyone else in the entire world—then what more proof did I need?

Covey and Tripp joined us from the landing and Heyward made the introductions.

“What’d you catch?”

asked Hugh amiably, pointing at Tripp’s fishing creel basket.

Tripp’s face was already getting sunburned, making his freckles come out in force. He eagerly opened his basket, pulling out a large flounder with pride. “Isn’t he fine? Makes my mouth water just looking at him.”

“What’d you use?”

“Just some mud minnows.”

Tripp put the flounder back in the basket and drew out a trout. “This here’s the prize. I had to keep moving to catch this speck,”

he said, placing the fish on the wet grass in the basket.

“Mind if I join you sometime?”

asked Hugh.

Tripp cast a worried glance at me and Covey. I knew he was thinking of the pact we’d made, how we couldn’t invite anyone else to join our sacred triumvirate.

“I reckon you can join us,”

I told Hugh in an offhanded manner. “Long as you bring your own bait.”

Hugh netted me in his gaze again. “You fish?”

I felt the familiar fury bubble up whenever someone questioned my ability just because I was a girl. “I expect I’m a damn sight better than you.”

A short laugh burst from Hugh’s lips.

“Don’t challenge her,”

warned Heyward. “She’ll put her mind to it and there’ll be no peace until she wins.”

“Eliza’s the best fisherman among us,”

Tripp declared in my defense. “She’s good at whatever she tries.”

Hugh’s blue eyes lit with amusement at Tripp’s strident defense. “You her beau or something?”

Tripp flipped the top of his basket closed and said with a smug smile, “Or something.”

He met Hugh’s gaze. “We’re going to be married.”

I closed my eyes and silently groaned.

Hugh’s brows rose. “Is that so?”

he drawled as he wiped his hand over his smile. “I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding.”

Heyward laughed. “He’s always saying that. Don’t pay him no mind.”

Just then, Covey yelped and pointed downriver. “I see them coming!”

Our attention shifted to the barge coming upriver. The engine churned loudly, and steam poured from the narrow stack. Daddy stood at the bow, hat in hand, a wide grin stretched across his face. He waved exuberantly. I wanted to hold the memory of his face at that moment forever in my heart. It was as I imagined the face of some ancient man might’ve been like when he brought back fire to the tribe. Hope, happiness, and something more powerful shone in that smile. Something akin to being a hero.

The covered barge had seen better days. The paint of the hold was chipped. Beneath, dozens of wooden barrels and boxes were stored for delivery. The front of the ship held not one but three horses. The stallion was dancing nervously. The mares were taking in the scenery. The boat slowly eased close to the dock then weighed anchor. We kids were shooed off the dock to give room for the grooms to unload.

The ramp was lowered, clanging loudly against the dock, and Daddy climbed down. He waited impatiently as the groomsmen grappled with an anxious horse.

Suddenly a horse’s large head appeared from the enclosure. His ears were flattened, and his eyes were wide and wild. My heart went out to the great beast. He trembled and glared then shook his head imperiously. When the groomsman jerked the lead, the horse half reared then pawed the deck. Don’t rush him, I thought to myself. It was a dangerous moment for horse and man alike.

“Take it slow,”

Daddy yelled to the groomsmen. “The trouble we had loading him still has him spooked.”

“Ain’t none of the horses like the boat or the water,”

called back the groomsman. “We know our job. Let us do it. He’ll either come down the ramp or jump in the water. I’m hoping he don’t jump, but it’s his choice.”

Daddy tightened his lips and planted his fists on his hips, but waited at the end of the ramp, ready to assist when called. We kids held our breaths and watched as the stallion slowly began moving down the ramp, high-stepping and cautious.

I felt my heart expand, almost too big for my chest as my mouth opened and my breath came short. The stallion was a rich bay color with no white save for the star on his forehead. He was a big boy with strong muscles rippling as he walked. When they reached terra firma, the stallion paused and stood stock-still to gaze around, taking it all in. Sunlight glistened on his sweat and despite his seeming confidence, I could see the fear in his eyes.

Daddy came to our sides as we watched the horse prance and paw. “Meet Capitano,”

Daddy said, his gaze sweeping over the majesty of his horse.

“He’s bigger than most,”

Heyward said.

“He’s fourteen point three hands,”

Daddy said with pride.

Hugh whistled at that. “Good sized for a Marsh Tacky.”

Daddy wiped his brow and shook his head. “He’s had a tough time today. And he gave us one too.”

He took a breath and rubbed his jaw, harbingers that he was rolling into one of his stories. I leaned forward eagerly.

“So, it went like this,”

he began with a drawl. “Admittedly, I don’t know of a horse that willingly jumps onto a barge. I was expecting some upset, especially from a stallion. Sure enough, Capitano balked the minute hoof met ramp of the barge. I tell you, he wouldn’t budge. When we pulled, he started pulling the other way. When he reached the end of the lead line, well sir, that’s when he began to rear. He backed off the ramp and only then did they get him calmed down some. Next we tried putting a rope across his hindquarters to pull him onto the barge. But he’s a clever one and he slipped out of it. He’s snorting and pawing and daring us to approach like some demon.”

Daddy put out his hands. “It was then I noticed he kept looking back at the mares. So, I had a plan. I told the groom to just walk him a bit while we load the mares first. Those sweet girls loaded easily. Capitano watched it all and I reckon he figured if they could do it, so could he. And he didn’t want to be left behind. The groomsman walked him slowly in a zigzag pattern back to the ramp. Capitano’s breath came quick, and we girded ourselves for a battle. But then, like a sweet siren, one of the mares called out to him. That stallion lifted his head and stepped onto the ramp. He stopped. I held my breath. Then suddenly he took a single big leap and next thing you know, his front hooves are on the boat.”

Daddy laughed and slapped his hands. “It was noisy, and the clanging scared him a bit, but he was on board. We slammed the ramp closed and breathed a sigh of relief.”

“No wonder he’s spooked,”

Heyward said. “Poor guy.”

“Yeah, he’s young and all of this is new to him.”

Daddy pointed a finger at us. “Still, y’all be mindful of my words and don’t go near him. That horse will kick you as soon as look at you.”

“When can I ride him?”

asked Heyward.

I looked at my brother like he’d grown another nose. “Didn’t you hear what Daddy just said?”

“There ain’t a horse I can’t ride,”

Heyward boasted.

“You may have met the first one,”

Hugh chided.

“We’ll wait on that,”

Daddy said then skewered Heyward with a pointed look. “Don’t go near him.”

My attention was diverted to the pretty mares coming down the ramp. One a smooth, red dun and the other a beautiful grulla, both with thick, dark lines that appeared to be painted down the ridges of their backs to the slopes of their tails.

“Excuse me while I tend to my ladies,”

Daddy said.

“They’re coming too?”

I asked in surprise.

“Sure are,”

said Daddy with a wink.

Covey leaned close to me. “Your daddy must’ve been like a kid in a candy store. He’s done gone and buyed himself two more.”

Daddy overheard and reached over to pat the top of Covey’s head. “True enough. Those mares,”

he said pointing, “will bear the future of Mayfield.”

All I could think about was what Mama was going to say.

* * *

When she learned about Daddy’s new “investment,”

Mama had a hissy fit. It wasn’t until several days—and brandy-fueled nights—later that Daddy convinced her to at least come to the barn and look at the stallion.

I stood in the barn shadows with Heyward and Lesesne as Mama approached the stall. Her long skirt rustled as Daddy walked beside her crooning out all Capitano’s attributes—his pedigree, strength, size—and boasting how this horse would win all the blue ribbons and put the Marsh Tacky on the map. Before long, he extolled, there would be Marsh Tacky horses pulling carriages and plows all up and down the coast. “Just wait,”

he told her. “Capitano will make us our fortune.”

Mama stood in front of Capitano’s stall and watched with an imperious air. In the pensive silence, the stallion drew near and the two of them locked gazes through the metal bars. I clutched Heyward’s arm and said a quick prayer. Capitano’s head bolted up arrogantly. He snorted, turned and strode to the rear of the stall, showing her his backside before releasing a loud fart. Heyward guffawed and I slapped my hand over my mouth. Mama swung her head to look at Daddy with narrowed eyes. “Looks like you bet on the wrong horse. Again.”

Without another glance at the horse, she strode out.

* * *

By the end of the first week, Daddy’s smile had slipped into a frown. The second week, Daddy and Wilton were at their wits’ end with the stallion. They stood in front of Capitano’s stall in conference. Tripp and I had finished feeding and watering the horses and went to stand beside Heyward and Hugh at Capitano’s stall at the opposite side of the stable from the mares. Hugh turned and acknowledged my presence with a nod before fixing his attention back on Capitano. The stallion was warily eyeing Daddy and Wilton, his nose up and showing the whites of his eyes.

“What’s going on?”

I asked Heyward. It pained me to see the stallion so frightened.

My brother’s eyes were bright with enjoyment, like he was at the picture show. “It’s a standoff.”

He chuckled. “I’m betting on the stallion.”

In the past weeks the two mares had settled in well enough. The sound of their munching oats could be heard throughout the stable. But Capitano didn’t like anyone or anything. He glared and kicked the stable walls, stomped and snorted threateningly whenever Wilton or Daddy came to feed and water him.

“This isn’t working,”

Daddy grumbled to Wilton. “That horse has to eat.”

“He’s eating. Some,”

Wilton replied quietly. “Some.”

Daddy crossed his arms in frustration. “What’d they sell me, anyway?”

he muttered to Wilton. “A devil’s seed? It’s like he’s never been broke. He kicks and is aggressive. He won’t let us near him, much less put a saddle on him. I never saw a horse that didn’t gentle with you. God’s truth, I’m worried. I bet a lot on that horse.”

Wilton scratched his jaw. “He was settled when you bought him. Had his mama and familiars around him. This here’s a high-spirited stallion, not some gelding or mare. You wanted him because he has a fire in his belly.”

“I didn’t think he was mad.”

“He ain’t. He just needs time to find the one person or animal he can trust.”

He rocked on his heels then said, “You know, maybe I could bring in one of Clementine’s cats.”

“Say what?”

“I’ve known a barn cat to calm a horse. Maybe a goat. Or I reckon we could bring close one of the mares he come with. They’re his pasture mates. He knows them and they smell of home. Those girls have to find their place in the pecking order here. But he already knows he’s the king.”

Daddy glanced at Wilton. “Be careful of yourself. I can’t lose you.”

As though on cue, Capitano kicked the stall. Daddy grimaced. “And don’t let the children near him.”

“That’ll be hard.”

Wilton glanced over his shoulder toward the pack of us leaning on stalls and sitting on hay bales. At his glance, Heyward stood up to come forward. Wilton gave him a subtle shake of his head. Heyward’s face fell and he stepped back.

“Heyward’s eager. And Eliza . . .”

Wilton chuckled softly. “That one is here most every day when the sun goes down. She slinks in like a barn cat when she thinks no one is here.”

Daddy’s face sharpened. “What’s she doing in here?”

“Singing.”

“What?”

Daddy paused and cocked his ear like he didn’t hear right. “You say she’s singing? What the . . . I don’t like her in here alone with this horse.”

“She doesn’t go in the stall. I’m watching her and wouldn’t allow that. She just stands by his stall and sings to him. Real sweet like. Truth be told, the only time I see that horse settle is when she sings to him.”

Daddy squinted his eyes in thought then turned his head to look at me. Feeling his gaze, I sat up straight. I saw something shift in his eyes when he studied me. A kind of wonder and, dare I think it, respect.

“Lizzie, come here a minute.”

My eyes widened and I rose from the bale of hay, aware that all the kids were watching me, the whites of their eyes showing just like Capitano’s. I walked slowly and confidently, careful not to startle the horse. Capitano snorted and shook his head when I approached. I glanced up and met his big eyes, then looked at my daddy. “Yes sir?”

“I hear tell you’ve been sneaking in here at night,”

Daddy said.

My stomach fell as I prepared to meet my doom. “Yes sir.”

“You sing to Capitano?”

I swallowed. “Yes sir.”

“What do you sing?”

I was flummoxed and my head spun. I scratched my head in thought. “Well, sir, I don’t rightly know. I sing whatever comes to mind. But . . .”

I paused, not wanting to sound like a silly girl.

“But what?”

I rubbed my nose and muttered, “I think he likes ‘Camptown Races.’”

A short laugh escaped Daddy’s lips. “Say again?”

He turned to Wilton and was greeted with a wide grin. Daddy shook his head and said, “Well, go on. Let me hear it.”

“Now?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Hugh watching me with curiosity shining in his eyes. Heyward was watching me too, only his expression was stunned.

I blew out air, nodded, then turned to face Capitano. The horse’s eyes were on me, liquid and curious. I didn’t see any changes that meant he’d rear, bite, or kick. Emboldened, I strode up to his stall and grabbed hold of the metal bars, pressing my face closer. Capitano took a step toward me. I could feel his warm breath on my face.

“Careful now,”

Daddy said softly.

I wasn’t the least bit afraid of Capitano. When that horse looked into my eyes, I saw clear as day that he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was frightened and lonely, was all. Capitano was the only stallion in a barn with geldings and mares. Daddy kept him separate from the others. Treated him differently. Had high expectations for him too. Those nights I visited him, I stood close in the dim light and spoke in a low, soothing voice as I told him I felt the same way. I was the only girl in my house among my brothers. My family had expectations of me too. I didn’t comprehend what they wanted, not really, and I was sometimes afraid. No one asked if we wanted the burden. But we knew we had to carry it. I told Capitano I would be his friend. He didn’t have anything to prove to me.

“How are you doing, Captain?”

I asked in a soothing voice. I understood why they gave the stallion a Spanish name. It was on account of the Carolina Marsh Tacky being developed from Spanish horses brought to the island and coastal areas of South Carolina by Spanish explorers and settlers as early as the sixteenth century. But I didn’t speak no Spanish, and Captain felt right on my tongue. I figured the horse liked it too. When I called him Captain, he nickered.

I cleared my throat and began to sing in a soft voice:

De Camptown ladies sing dis song—doodah. Doodah.

De Camptown race track’s five miles long—oh doo dah day.

Gwine to run all night

Gwine to run all day,

I’ll bet my money on de bobtail nag

Somebody bet on de bay.

When I finished, Captain nickered again and shook his head. The taut rippling of his muscles stopped. He strolled over to the other side of the stall and commenced to pee a river.

Daddy whooped and slapped Wilton on the shoulder. “I’ll be damned. Looks like Capitano’s found his familiar.”

Wilton rubbed the back of his head and acknowledged the truth of it with a slow nod. “I have to admit, this is the first time someone stole my rodeo. But if that horse can be gentled by a small girl, I’ll take it.”

I beamed at Daddy and Wilton, proud to have been found worthy in the barn. From my peripheral vision I watched Heyward cross his arms and frown. It served to make my grin bigger.

Daddy pointed a finger at me. “Still,”

he said in a firm voice, “I don’t want you going into that stall alone, hear? I still don’t trust him. Not till I give you the go-ahead. But you can accompany me and Wilton when we do the feeding and watering. We’ll take it one day at a time.”

“And I can still come in and sing to him?”

Daddy reached out to rustle the hair atop my head. “I’d appreciate it if you would.”