Page 15 of Where the Rivers Merge

The Marsh Tacky (Equus caballus) is a breed of horse native to the South Carolina low country. It is a small-to medium-size horse with a compact build and solid hooves known for its resilience, endurance, sure-footedness, and ability to navigate through marshes, swamps, and difficult landscapes of the region. The Marsh Tacky is South Carolina’s official state heritage horse.

1914

The summer of 1914 I turned fourteen and was coming into womanhood. Mama and I had come to an uneasy peace. I agreed to take on assorted household duties and learned to sew, mend, and do needlework. Things Mama said were necessary skills for a young woman. In exchange for my docile domestication, I was allowed to assume Heyward’s duties in the stable when he was at school in Charleston. I now helped train the horses and basked in Wilton’s and my father’s compliments.

The farm was surer-footed after the previous seasons’ bountiful crops of cotton, corn, and sweet hay. The cucumbers did so well Daddy planted a bigger crop. “It’s going to be a good year,”

he predicted, slapping his hands like a man before a feast. It was fine to see Daddy feeling hopeful again. Though Mama was concerned about Daddy’s strutting ways. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,”

she warned him. Clementine shook her head and chuckled, “I hope you like cucumbers.”

Though our farm provided plenty, Covey and I rode every week with Wilton in the horse and cart to the farmers’ market for fresh butter and cheese, and other fixings when our supply ran out. Wilton traded mutton, pork, and duck for beef, a welcome change of diet at Mayfield.

Though our world felt insular, a war had started overseas. War was good business for Beaufort, however. The U.S. Marine Corps started a training program right here in Beaufort at Parris Island. It brought jobs and much needed income to our coastal city. The streets were abuzz with news of German submarines attacking merchant and passenger ships, though President Wilson declared we would not enter the fray. Heyward and my daddy were all fired up about it, that was for certain.

Nineteen fourteen was important to me, because it was the year Daddy declared Capitano was ready to race.

Heyward was returning from Charleston for the big race. The house was brimming with excitement. The Easter holiday had Mama and Clementine busy in the kitchen boiling eggs and baking cakes.

I was out breezing Captain through his workout. As I dismounted, Wilton came forward and took the reins. My face was red from exertion.

“The race will be run on the sandy beach at Edisto,”

he said, then reached up to stroke Captain’s neck. “He’s fast here, sure ’nuff. But I’m not sure how he’ll run on that track.”

“He’s a Marsh Tacky. They love the sand,”

Daddy said with confidence.

“Captain will do fine on any track,” I said.

Wilton chuckled and shook his head. “You’re mighty confident in that horse, aren’t you?”

It was my turn to stroke Captain’s long neck. He was still moist from his workout. “Mr. Coxwold read us a book by Washington Allston. Mama said we were distantly related to him,”

I added, knowing that would impress Daddy. “He wrote, ‘Confidence is the soul of genius.’ Well, sir. I figure we just need to give Captain the confidence he needs to win the gymkhana.”

“And just how do you propose we do that?”

Daddy asked, amused.

“Tell him he’s going to win,”

I replied, looking into the horse’s watery brown eyes. “And believe it.”

The gymkhana was held every spring at Edisto Beach. It was a sprint race open to any breed of horse. The race brought no prize other than bragging rights, but for a breeder, it was a major opportunity to showcase one’s stock. Daddy had raced Marsh Tackies before, and they did tolerably well. But this year he was crowing that Capitano would win it all. I worried that if Captain failed, then somehow I would fail as well.

After Daddy and Wilton left the barn, I relished a few minutes alone with Captain. His ears flickered when I drew close, and he came to nuzzle my pocket.

“I spoil you. You know that, right?”

I scolded as I reached into my barn pinafore pocket to retrieve a bit of apple. I reached up to pat his neck, scratch behind his ears, then let my palm slide down his velvety nose. It was a pattern we both knew well. Captain thrived on routine. As long as he kept to his schedule, he was in good spirits. Change it, and he grew obstinate. I cleaned his hooves then changed his water. When I was done, I leaned against his neck and spoke softly.

“Cap, you remember Heyward. He’s ridden you plenty of times. You get along fine. Heyward’s a good rider, gentle with his hands. Today, he’s going to start riding you for a while. For that race I’ve been telling you about. When he takes you to the meadow, he’s going to let you run free. When he does, I want you to show him what you’ve got. Okay?”

I heard the barn door open. Covey came running in, eyes blazing.

“He’s arriving!”

she cried. “Heyward’s coming!”

I felt a surge of joy. I moved quickly to return my brushes and close the stall. Captain snorted, aware of the excitement. I patted his neck then galloped after Covey to the front of the house, arriving just as the gleaming black open carriage, streaked now with dirt from the roads, came to a stop before the house. Panting, Covey and I beamed when we spotted the two young men in travel clothes sitting under the awning in back. Mama and Daddy made their way down the front stairs, and Mama’s gaze took in the Rhodeses’ fine carriage.

Hugh was the first to stand. He swung open the carriage door and jumped to the marble mounting block, then offered his hand to Heyward. When my brother rose, we all gasped to see his arm in a sling. I ran up, refraining from springing into my brother’s arms. I stopped abruptly, my cheeks hot, and brushed the hair from my face.

“You’re home!”

I cried, then blurted, “What happened to your arm?”

Heyward made a face and shrugged. “I broke it.”

“You what?”

boomed Daddy.

I swung my head to see Mama and Daddy approach. Mother’s face was all concern. Daddy’s face was thunderous.

“Heyward!”

Mama cried, rushing to his side. Her hands fluttered about the cast, not daring to touch it. “Tell me what happened?”

Heyward’s glance moved uneasily to Daddy. His smile grew forced as his brows gathered. “It was a football accident. It’s a small break. Nothing to worry about.”

“Football!”

Daddy exploded. “You broke your arm playing a game when you knew the Edisto races were coming? How could you be so reckless?”

Mother glared at him. “He didn’t break his arm deliberately, Rawlins. Now hush, or it’ll be your neck that breaks next.”

Daddy clamped his lips tight then stormed up the stairs into the house. Heyward exhaled and met Hugh’s gaze with a crooked smile. In the resulting silence, muffled sobs could be heard.

Heyward turned to Covey. “Why are you crying?”

Covey moved her hands from her tear-stained face. “I’m not sure,”

she choked out. “Part of me is crying because I’m happy you’re home. Part of me is crying because I’m sad you’re hurt.”

Heyward’s face softened. “Be happy. It’s much better than being sad.”

“You all go inside,”

Mama said, shuffling them off. Then to Hugh, “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

Hugh shook his head. “Thank you, but no ma’am. My parents are expecting me. I’ll come by tomorrow to check on the patient, if that’s all right.”

“It’ll be our pleasure. Thank you again for bringing Heyward home in your fine carriage. You’re a good friend. Please send my best to your parents. I expect we’ll see them at the races?”

“Yes ma’am. They wouldn’t miss it. They’re bringing out a few maidens.”

“Very good then.”

Hugh’s gaze shifted to me and swept over the riding britches under my skirt and the soiled barn pinafore. Catching my eye, his smile widened, and he tipped his cap. “Miss Rivers.”

My cheeks flushed the color of the azaleas as I watched the carriage drive off.

* * *

A chill was felt in the house that had nothing to do with the weather. Daddy was drinking in his barn office. Mama’s smile was forced at the dinner table. We struggled through a meal of roast lamb and potatoes, after which we ducked off to our rooms. That night we heard our parents fighting and hollering up a storm. The raucous across the hall made sleep impossible so I retreated upstairs to sleep in Heyward’s attic room on the spare bed, feeling grateful Tripp hadn’t yet arrived to witness the spectacle.

The moon was bright outside the window, casting the room in a silvery light. I lay for a while listening to the tree frogs serenading in the damp night. I couldn’t see my brother across the room, but I knew he wasn’t asleep.

“Does it hurt?”

I asked about his arm.

“More an ache.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“I’m sorry too.”

He groaned loudly. “I didn’t figure Daddy would be so blistered. I feel bad about it. He won’t even talk to me.”

“He will. He’s just got a lot of pride riding on that race.”

Heyward didn’t reply.

“Well, you didn’t do it on purpose,”

I said to make him feel better.

When Heyward didn’t reply again I knew he’d fallen into one of his quiet spells. I rolled over to my side and mumbled, “Good night.”

* * *

The following afternoon Hugh returned to Mayfield as promised. Entering the house, he whispered gravely that he had news to share and instructed us to gather at the gazebo. The white wooden structure was tucked in the trees by the river, out of sight and sound from the house.

The yellow powder of pollen coated the earth and the gazebo benches and clung to our boots as we tramped over the grass. Even the river was a swirling slate blue and yellow like a Van Gogh painting. Lesesne’s nose was running, and his eyes were the color of poppies. Hugh took a rag and wiped the pollen off the white bench for Covey and me to sit. We huddled close as Hugh bent forward, arms on his thighs. He spoke in the low tones of secrecy.

“I found out that your father and my father made a bet on the race. That’s why your father is so upset you’re not riding.”

“A bet?”

Heyward’s features sharpened. “What did he wager?”

Hugh hesitated. “You recall how your daddy’s been after our pond that abuts our properties?”

Heyward’s chin jutted out. “Your pond? Sweetwater Pond has always been Mayfield property. It shouldn’t never have been sold.”

Sweetwater Pond had been sold decades ago in a desperate moment by Rawlins’s father when the rice plantation failed. Our grandfather had bills to pay and hungry mouths to feed. Likewise, Daddy didn’t have the money to buy it back. It was all he could manage, with Mama’s support, to keep Mayfield afloat. But the dream of bringing Sweetwater Pond back to Mayfield was always in our hearts.

Covey gently touched Heyward’s arm.

Heyward met her gaze, nodded, and mumbled an apology to Hugh.

I watched the exchange and wondered about Covey’s influence over my brother.

Hugh spread out his palms with equanimity. “The deed was done long ago. It was part of our property when we bought it. My father doesn’t hold any special attachments to the pond, truth be told. But he’s grown partial to Marsh Tackies. Do you recall he came by to look at the horses a while back?”

We nodded.

Hugh cast a wary glance my way. “Well, Daddy saw Captain run. And he’s been yearning for that horse ever since.”

I bolted to my feet. “Well, he can’t have him!”

“Ain’t no way Mr. Rivers will ever sell that horse,”

said Covey.

Hugh put his hands up in defense. “I know, I know. So does my daddy. He knows your father loves that horse. And he knows he loves Sweetwater Pond too.”

He slapped his palms on his thighs in summation. “Thus, the bet.”

Heyward sat straight, his face pale. “You mean, Daddy bet the horse against Sweetwater Pond?”

Hugh nodded. “If your dad wins, he gets Sweetwater Pond. And if he loses—”

“—your father would get Captain.”

My voice choked.

Hugh nodded again, his face grim.

There was a pained silence as we all considered the possibilities.

“Shit,”

said Heyward as he leaned back against the railing. He put his hand to his forehead and groaned.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t imagine losing Cap. I slumped back to the bench and felt Covey’s hand over mine.

Heyward sat bolt upright. “Wait. If Capitano doesn’t race, the bet is off.”

Hugh shook his head. “If he doesn’t race, your father forfeits.”

“But that’s not fair. Not if there isn’t a race!”

I yelled, directing my anger at Hugh. After all, he was in the enemy camp. “You can’t just take our horse.”

Hugh looked stricken. “Lizzie, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t make the bet.”

“You’re a Rhodes, aren’t you?”

I said accusingly.

“I’m on your side. I came here to help.”

For a moment, we eyed each other, tongue-tied.

“Don’t kill the messenger,”

Heyward said sullenly. “We’re in this mess because of me.”

“What can we do?”

I put my hands to my face.

“I thought about it, and I have an idea,”

said Hugh.

All heads turned toward him.

“Eliza has to ride Captain,”

said Hugh.

My mouth slipped open as I stared back at him.

“She can’t,”

snapped Heyward. He looked at me apologetically. “I wish she could,”

he hurried to add. “She’d win it over me. But she’s a girl.”

Everyone waited for me to explode, but I couldn’t argue the fact.

Hugh looked at Heyward, eyes flashing. “I found a copy of the rules,”

he said. “Nowhere does it state that a girl cannot ride. The race is open to all horses, and it doesn’t state the rider has to be a male or a female, child or adult. It’s merely a social custom.”

He grinned victoriously. “Officially, Eliza could ride and win.”

I held my breath and looked at Heyward, waiting for his response. Could it be possible?

Heyward’s brow furrowed and he scratched behind his ear as he pondered. Then he dropped his hand in a desultory way. “You know as well as I do if Lizzie shows up on the horse, they’ll never let her ride. Hell,”

he swore. “The women will be up in arms same as the men. Maybe worse. They’ll stop her.”

“Not if they don’t figure out that it’s her,”

said Hugh.

“What do you mean?”

asked Covey.

Hugh turned to Heyward. “Who knows about your broken arm, besides us?”

“No one outside of Mayfield,”

replied Heyward slowly. He looked at Hugh with a glint in his eye, catching on.

“Exactly,”

he said, grinning back. “The race is in a few days. No one has to know it’s not you riding Capitano.”

He spoke quickly as he relayed his plan. “You go to the race but you hide the cast.”

“How is he going to do that?”

asked Lesesne.

Hugh waved the question aside. “We’ll figure out something. When it’s time for the race, Eliza slips in wearing the same outfit Heyward was wearing. In all the rush and excitement, they’ll assume Heyward is riding. Why would they think differently?”

“That’s a pretty big assumption,”

said Heyward. He turned his head my way. “I mean, look at her. She’s too small. And her hair is dark.”

Hugh’s face tilted in study. “She’s a mite, that’s true. But she’s flat as a pancake. If she wears a cap with a low bill to cover her hair, and keeps her head down, she could pass for a boy.”

My cheeks flamed at his description. Lesesne snickered and Covey squeezed my hand.

“Might could work,”

said Heyward doubtfully. He crossed his arms in thought. “Here’s another idea. Why don’t you ride Captain?”

he asked Hugh. “He likes you well enough.”

Hugh shook his head. “Can’t. I have to ride for Magnolia Bluff.”

“You’d be riding against me?”

I sputtered.

Hugh nodded somberly. “And I’ll race to win.”

We looked at each other, neither of us speaking. I hated Hugh at that moment. My heart broke and I felt betrayed. How could he run against me when he knew the risks I’d be taking? When he knew Captain was at stake?

Hugh looked back at me, equally pained. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. If I hold back, my father will know. The race would be questioned. And so would my honor. The plan would be revealed, and all would be lost anyway.”

“But—”

I stammered, pursing the subject. He made a good case, but I couldn’t let it go.

“But.”

Hugh’s gaze held mine. “Lizzie, I still think you’ll win,”

he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t suggest you do this if I didn’t believe it. You’re a better rider than I am. And you’ve got a better horse. Eliza, the race is yours to win.”

He crossed his arm against his chest. “But if you don’t want to do it, I’d understand. After all, this risks your reputation as a lady.”

I scoffed. “I don’t care about that.”

“You should.”

His face was serious.

I tightened my lips, unsure of what to say.

“Mama will have your hide if you race,”

Lesesne said casually.

“You won’t tell her?”

challenged Heyward, leaning forward menacingly.

Lesesne smirked. “Of course not. I’m just saying. You know I’m right.”

“I don’t care about that either,”

I said mutinously. “She’s never happy with what I do anyway.”

There was a pause while everyone waited for someone else to make a suggestion.

“It won’t work,”

said Heyward in a defeated tone. “Think it through. Daddy is the one registering for the race and he’s the one taking the horse to the starting point. We can’t fool him, and he’ll never agree to our plan.”

Hugh sighed and leaned back against the railing, slump shouldered. “Well, it was an idea.”

Lesesne spoke up. “I’ll ride Captain.”

We all swung our heads to look at him. It took us a moment to digest that he would volunteer to help. Then, his suggestion took root.

“You’d do that?”

I asked. “For me?”

“Daddy will have Eliza’s and your arses,”

warned Heyward.

“Only if we lose that bet,”

Lesesne replied urbanely. Then his expression grew serious. “Sweetwater Pond should belong to Mayfield.”

“Thanks for offering, little brother, but you ride Capitano?”

Heyward shook his head. “All that will happen is we’ll both have broken bones. And we will still lose that race.”

“I have no intention of riding that hellion,”

Lesesne said with a smirk. “All I have to do is tell Daddy I’ll ride Captain.”

He glanced my way. “We are closer in size, so she won’t raise alarms. Eliza will ride Capitano. To win.”