Page 2 of Where the Rivers Merge

East Bay Street is an iconic street in Charleston created nearly 350 years ago. The fabled Rainbow Row of pastel-colored, historic mansions is located on East Bay along the Battery, across from the seawall of Charleston Harbor.

1988

I dreamed again that I was nestled inside the hollow of a great tree. I could smell the green earth. Feel the fuzzy moss. Hear the rain battering the ancient oak’s trunk. Someone was calling my name.

“Miss Eliza. Wake up!”

I blinked, my senses sharpening.

“Rise and shine! It’s your birthday,”

the determinedly pleasant voice persisted. “Eighty-eight!”

I sighed as the last vestige of the dream faded. I wanted to stay in the dream. “Go away.”

A small hand tentatively nudged my shoulders. “Good morning, Miss Eliza!”

Prying open an eye, I saw the slight figure of my assistant, Hana Nakamura. She was dressed in gray baggy pants and a shapeless brown shirt, her tiny hands clasping a clipboard. Her dark hair with a single wide streak of white was pulled neatly back in a bun, making her look like a sparrow tilting its head in curiosity.

I dug deeper into my pillow. “What’s so happy about being another year older? Everyone I knew and loved is already pushing up daisies. Yet here I am, persisting aboveground for another year.”

“Celebrate that you woke up, Miss Eliza. God gave you another day. Each day is a gift.”

“A gift I never asked for,”

I mumbled as I folded back my blanket. Hana quickly moved to assist but I brushed her hands away. “I may be old but I’m perfectly capable of rising from my own bed, thank you very much.”

I swung my legs over the bed’s edge as Hana pulled open the heavily fringed silk curtains from the expanse of windows, revealing a rainy Charleston morning. A gust of wind rattled the windows, and from a dreary sky, drops of rain streaked the glass with a pattering noise. I thought again of my dream.

I rose and slid into the silken fabric of my robe. “It seems to me if it’s my birthday, I should be able to stay in bed on this rainy morning. And dream . . .”

I sighed and tightened the sash. “It was such a lovely dream. Of a place I knew as a child. I’ve had it often of late.”

“The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up and make it so.”

I chuckled quietly at Hana’s unswayable optimism. “Today I have to make my dreams come true, don’t I?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The lingering dream discarded, I focused on the day ahead. “What’s my schedule?”

Hana heard my tone shift, squared her shoulders, then lifted her clipboard. The petite woman had a backbone of steel. “At nine o’clock you meet in the morning room with your lawyer. The shareholders meeting begins at eleven in the ballroom, followed immediately by the family luncheon at the Yacht Club. You approved the menu and wine selection.”

“That dreadful affair,”

I muttered as I walked to the bathroom. Every year on the seventeenth of June my family swarmed in from all over the country to roost at my home, gawk at the historic house, enjoy my wine, and natter at one another, each deeply suspicious that someone else was getting more money from dividends they did nothing to earn.

“You’ll have everything ready for my departure to Mayfield? I don’t want any delays.”

“Of course. You are already all packed.”

“Good,”

I said, feeling relief at the prospect of leaving Charleston for my home in the countryside. At the door I turned and asked, “Is my son here?”

Hana’s smile fell and she nodded. “Arthur is in the dining room. With his family.”

“Counting the silver, no doubt.”

Hana had the grace not to smile.

* * *

I descended the sweeping staircase like a general would approach a battlefield. I’d made countless sacrifices over many years and was prepared to face the enemy today. My strategies were set, my players were in place. I smoothed the knit skirt of the carefully selected black Chanel suit—my ceremonial armor. The insignia gold buttons shone like medals.

Today I was neither a wife nor a mother. Or even a friend. Today I would make no apologies. Today’s meeting would decide the continuation of my life’s work.

Hana awaited me at the bottom of the stairs, her ever-present clipboard tucked under her arm. Arthur’s booming voice emanated from the dining room. My hand tightened around my cane as I walked down the long hall. From the row of windows overlooking the veranda, sunlight peeked through storm clouds, promising a better day. Storms often rolled in fast along the coast, dumping cold rain to flood the streets and stir the mud before heading out to sea. People could be like that too, I thought.

Approaching the dining room, I heard the words conservation easement and stopped abruptly. Leaning slightly forward in the shadows, I peered in. It was a substantial room. The celadon wallpaper and raspberry silk drapes were an elegant backdrop for the long Chippendale dining table and chairs. Mother’s portrait over the fireplace dominated the left wall. Sitting beneath the portrait, in my usual chair, was Arthur. I noticed that his blue blazer was straining at the seams and his once-reddish hair was now gray and thinning. When did my son get so old? I wondered.

To his right, I recognized his wife’s helmet of blond hair. Carolina was saying, “Arthur, don’t go flying off the handle again.”

Arthur angrily skewered a breakfast sausage. “I can’t help but get riled when I think of it. What did she expect? Giving away all that land is the same as picking my inheritance straight from my pockets.”

He set his tableware down with a clatter. “You’re right. Why should I get upset? I should be used to it by now. She never listens to me. When Mother has her mind made up, heaven help anyone who gets in her way.”

“Daddy, why do you even care? You’re always complaining about how bored you are at Mayfield. You never even go there.”

I couldn’t see Ashley, but I recognized the honeyed voice of my eldest granddaughter.

“What are you saying?”

Arthur huffed. “I took several groups of friends for hunting.”

Carolina laughed. “But did you actually go out in the weeds and shoot?”

Feminine laughter sounded from the room.

Arthur picked up his fork, mustering dignity. “I was managing the hunt from the house. Taking care of my guests.”

“Darling, no need to explain to us,”

said Carolina. “We all know getting down in a boat and sitting for hours in the damp cold isn’t your idea of a good time. What Ashley means is why are you so upset about your mother putting the land into a conservation easement? You will still own the land. You will still be able to take your buddies out there to hunt.”

A new voice entered the fray. “Daddy, I’m confused. What even is a conservation easement?”

This was the voice of my younger granddaughter. Savannah was eighteen years old. Her debut at the St. Cecilia Ball last winter was all Carolina could talk about. I’d offered the ballroom upstairs for her coming-out party.

Arthur leaned back in his chair and placed his elbows on the armrest. “Simply put,”

he began with a voice tinged with annoyance, “a conservation easement is a deal between the land holder and a conservation group that ties the holder’s hands so the land can’t be sold.”

I scoffed. That was hardly a definition. The land could be sold. But the covenants would go with the deed so the protections would continue under the new owner.

“Ever?”

Savannah asked. I heard the youth in the high-pitched, petulant tone.

Arthur nodded perfunctorily. “In perpetuity.”

“That doesn’t sound fair. And it doesn’t sound like Grandma Eliza. She’s a businesswoman. It’s not like her to just give it away,”

Savannah said.

“She’s not quite giving it away,”

Carolina replied. “There are tax advantages. You know, Arthur, you might want to look there. Consider the inheritance tax alone.”

“The land is an asset, first and foremost,”

Arthur said. “Really, children, this is elementary, so listen carefully. You asked why I am upset. I’ll tell you. My darling mother has joined a group of landowners to create some sort of task force intent on creating a wildlife refuge. They got Ducks Unlimited and the Nature Conservancy involved. Smacks of a government takeover, if you ask me,”

he said derisively. “That Ted Turner started it off by putting St. Phillips Island in conservation a few years back. Now he’s put Hope Plantation into conservation easement, which is smack dab in the ACE Basin. Sampson Island and Botany Bay Island were next. The governor is praising it all, calling it a model of how state and private groups can work together. It’s turning into a damn domino effect.”

Carolina tapped her chin. “The ACE Basin? I never heard of that. Where is it?”

“It’s an acronym,”

Arthur replied testily. “For the rivers in the estuary—the Ashepoo, Combahee, and Edisto.”

“That’s where Mayfield is,”

Carolina said.

Arthur gave a long, annoyed sigh. Yes. Exactly.”

He shook his head. “She and that Brusi Alexander from the Nature Conservancy are thick as thieves, and you know my mother. She’s front and center, trying to save the land. She already transferred four thousand prime acres into conservation. With the final thousand acres held in reserve. That’s where the plantation house is.”

He paused to let those numbers sink in. “I mean to stop her.”

I inhaled sharply, feeling a mother’s heartbreak that my son, my only child, was a stranger to me. Worse, an opponent in my efforts to protect Mayfield. I’d always recognized that Arthur had different dreams and goals than mine. I had turned a blind eye to his insatiable greed and accepted him, with all his faults and attributes, with a mother’s resignation. But I could listen no more.

I straightened my back, lifted my chin, and entered the dining room. The clatter of silverware silenced as all eyes turned to me with surprise.

Arthur was the first to recover. “Mother! At last. The birthday girl is here. Sit down,”

he said, rising to his feet. “I hope you don’t mind we started.”

“Grandma Eliza, hello,”

sang the chorus from the two young women.

I met Carolina’s eye as I passed, and we shared a womanly understanding that I’d overheard all. Carolina looked down as I walked to the opposite side of the table, Arthur following closely. He gallantly pulled out the chair for me.

As I sat, my maid, Camila, appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and poured a cup, then walked around the long table refreshing everyone’s coffee.

“Would you like breakfast?”

she asked me.

“Some toast would be nice, thank you, Camila.”

I picked up the napkin from the table. “I don’t have the stomach for more.”

Laying the napkin on my lap, I breathed deeply, willing myself to not let them see me upset.

I gazed up at my two granddaughters, the only children of my only son. They were tolerably pretty, as my mother would say. They had the Chalmers oval face and short forehead. Ashley, at twenty-five, had more of Carolina’s classic Southern belle genes in her features—wispy blond hair, slightly protruding, large blue eyes, full lips. But I could clearly see my ex-husband’s features in eighteen-year-old Savannah. She was small and fine boned, like her grandfather Tripp. She also had his ginger hair. I held my smile at seeing she wore the round eyeglasses that Tripp had worn too. I wondered if some of Tripp’s gentle spirit lived on in the girl as well.

I smiled magnanimously. “I must confess. With every passing year I feel all the happier seeing you. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, Mother. Where else would we be, today of all days?”

My gaze returned to my granddaughters, and I felt a twinge of love . . . and regret. “I really must make more of an effort to find time to be with you, my darling girls. My mother would have doted on you, I’m sure.”

“I wish I’d known her. I love her portrait,”

said Savannah. “She was so beautiful. I wish I had her dark hair.”

“And that waistline,”

Ashley added with a laugh.

“Sloane Bissette was considered the season’s beauty when she made her debut,”

I said. “Poems were written about her, as she often reminded me. When she moved back to Charleston from Mayfield, this house was always filled with artists, musicians, and writers, especially poets.”

I looked up at her portrait behind Arthur. She stood dressed in white, her dark hair adorned with pearls and roses. In her hand she carried a plumed pen. “Mother’s greatest passion was poetry, you know.”

“And you, Grandmother Eliza?”

The corners of her lips rose faintly. “Your passion is business?”

I turned toward Savannah and offered a languid smile. “Business?”

I considered that a moment, then shook my head. “No. I’m good at it, but it’s not a passion. Horses, perhaps. Wait, that’s not right. Mayfield. That place is my passion. The land, rivers, animals . . . all of it. Always has been. I’m happiest there. Which suits me. I’ve never been the celebrated beauty my mother was. And I didn’t care one whit for parties.”

“You still don’t,”

said Arthur.

“True enough. Which is why I prefer living at Mayfield. This house is beautiful, even grand, but Mayfield is home, rich with our family history and heritage.”

“Then why did you put an easement on the property?”

asked Savannah.

The question shattered the sweet moment of nostalgia.

“Oh, do shut up,”

snapped Ashley.

“For God’s sake, let’s not spoil breakfast,”

Arthur muttered. “It’s your grandmother’s birthday.”

I studied my younger granddaughter’s face. Savannah’s eyes were wide, and I saw no malice there.

“This has everything to do with my birthday,”

I said, looking at Arthur. “Because Mayfield stands for everything I’ve fought for all my life.”

I set my hands on the table, one over the other, then turned to Savannah. “It sounds to me that you’ve been listening to your father.”

Savannah bit her lip.

“There is often misunderstanding about what a conservation easement is. I’ve been able to control what happened to Mayfield for as long as I owned it. With the easement, I can continue to protect the property from development after I’m gone. It’s that simple. I realize your father feels the easement will tie his hands. Make it impossible for him to sell. Or develop. And for what, he asks.”

I glanced his way and saw his eyes widen. Now he knew that I’d overheard their discussion.

“To preserve Mayfield for you, your children, and their children.”

There followed a long silence.

I turned again to Savannah, “Why don’t you come with me to Mayfield? I’d like to help you understand why I must protect the land.”

Savannah blinked her pale lashes. “For how long?”

“As long as you wish.”

Her eyes brightened at the possibility. “Well, sure. I suppose I could. I mean, I don’t have much planned this summer.”

“What about that internship at Charleston Magazine?”

Arthur pointed out. “Your mother pulled strings for that.”

“I haven’t gotten it yet,”

Savannah replied with a frown. “Besides, that’s what she wants me to do. I’d rather be with Grandma Eliza. And I haven’t been to Mayfield in ages.”

“It’s best you stay in Charleston,”

Arthur said with finality.

Savannah stared at her plate, her eyes narrowed.

“This is important, Arthur,”

I said, annoyed at his interference. “In fact, why don’t you come too? The whole family. I can’t remember the last time we were all together at Mayfield.”

That sounded close to the pathetic plea of a lonely old woman. “I regret we haven’t spent more time there together, all of us. And . . . it’s lovely this time of year,” I added.

“Not a good time, unfortunately, Mother,”

Arthur said, smoothing out his napkin. “The shareholders meeting and all. Perhaps in the fall.”

“I’m sorry, Grandmother, but I couldn’t right now,”

Ashley said in a rush. “I’m tethered here. The twins are a handful, and Roger’s family expects us in the Highlands.”

“Perhaps for a weekend?”

“We’ll try . . .”

was Ashley’s half-hearted response.

“Daddy, please, I’d like to go,”

Savannah tried again. She cast me a sidelong glance of commiseration.

“We’ll talk about it later,”

Arthur said. His tone made it clear she wouldn’t be allowed to come.

I closed my eyes, feeling profound disappointment. Did my son never feel the pull of the tides to Mayfield? Or to hear the call of the curlew at dawn? Or see the sunlight dapple through the twisted boughs of a live oak? Or smell the pluff mud after the rain? Why was it at the end of one’s life, when time was so precious, that one understood the importance of legacy? How could a legacy continue with no steward to tend to it?

A soft cough at my side drew my attention. I opened my eyes and saw Hana.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but it’s almost nine o’clock. You have your meeting.”

“Yes, thank you.”

I turned to my family and fixed a smile. “It was lovely seeing you all this morning. Thank you for coming so early to celebrate my birthday. Do finish your breakfast. I’ll see you later.”

“Who are you meeting?”

asked Arthur, straightening in his chair.

I rose slowly then said, “Bobby Lee Pearlman.”

Arthur made a soft choking sound like he had a hair caught in his biscuit. “Should I be present?”

I studied my son. He looked older than his sixty-two years. His face sagged at the jowls, the top of his head was balding, and he had the pastiness of skin that came from a sedentary life. We had endured some hardscrabble years, just the two of us. Yet he’d also shared in the great wealth that came later with the DeLancey Group. Given the choice of being rich or poor, I allowed rich was better. But there were important lessons to be learned in poverty. Hard-won building blocks that forged character.

“No,”

I replied with a perfunctory smile. “You are, as you so often tell me, a busy man. Tend to your family. I’ll see you later at the shareholders meeting.”

* * *

Some fifty years earlier, I had come to the Charleston office of a young man I’d known since childhood. Bobby Lee Pearlman was a newly fledged lawyer in Charleston, and I needed to seek his counsel. Bobby Lee was already gaining a reputation of being brilliant in his field of estate law. After a long meeting, he had nervously confessed he’d been in love with me since the first time he had seen me at cotillion at Hibernian Hall. I was flattered and touched by his surprising declaration, and if times had been different so might have been my response. But at that particular moment in time, I had my sights set on another target.

Instead, we’d formed a long-lasting, trusting relationship that delicately danced between devotion and friendship. Over the years, Bobby Lee used his vast knowledge of the law to protect me. Now, though formally long retired and having handed down the law firm to his son, Bobby stayed on as retainer exclusively for me.

Bobby Lee waited patiently as I settled in the chair opposite his at the table in the morning room, then he cleared his throat to speak. “Happy birthday.”

A small laugh escaped my lips. “Bother that. We all know the vultures are circling under the guise of celebrating my birthday.”

He chuckled then handed me a navy blue folder with the DeLancey Group logo embossed in gold. “And this, my friend, is my gift to you.”

I took hold of the folder and opened it, glancing at the fifty-some pages enclosed. “Why don’t you just give me the bullet.”

“The bullet will sting, I’m afraid.”

“Go on.”

“What you’re holding is the result of several months of quiet investigation. It appears your son has been attempting to garner support on the board, as well as with shareholders.”

He paused. “To remove you as CEO.”

I sucked in my breath. He was right. The words stung. Yet I was not completely surprised. “Let me guess. His search began after I opposed him and put Mayfield into conservation.”

It was more a statement than a question.

“Yes.”

I shook my head wearily. No amount of money, no measure of love, was ever enough for Arthur.

“I believe he will make his move at today’s meeting,”

Bobby Lee said grimly.

“Is he going for incompetence?”

“Not overtly, but implied, perhaps. Arthur intends to introduce mandatory retirement at sixty-five. There is a strong precedent in other companies.”

I pondered the implications. “But if he succeeds, Arthur is already sixty-two.”

“He does not intend to remain chairman for long.”

He paused again, weighing his words. “Arthur intends to sell the majority interests.”

I sat back, stunned. “He wants to sell the DeLancey Group?”

Bobby Lee nodded.

I exhaled, letting the pieces settle in my mind. In this way too, Arthur was just like my brother Lesesne. Eager to sell to the highest bidder without loyalty. Money had always been the crux of my troubles. Being land rich and cash poor forced difficult decisions. Yet I worked like a beast in the harness until we were wealthier than I’d ever dreamed.

“So. Arthur has no intention of entrusting the company to his daughters.”

I laughed bitterly. “Primogeniture continues strong in the family.”

Bobby Lee offered a slight shrug.

“I’m old and I’m tired, Bobby Lee. I’ve been fighting all my life. And this breaks my heart. I don’t know if I have fight left in me.”

“You face two battlefronts. One, the takeover of the DeLancey Group. Second, the conservation easement for Mayfield.”

“Mayfield is the entire war.”

“Then we must secure it.”

“I thought the conservation easement was a fait accompli.”

“Not quite. You’ve settled on the terms for the four thousand acres. I expect to hear from the Nature Conservancy any day regarding their approval. It’s a mere formality. Once the papers are signed, the final step is for them to be recorded at the county courthouse.”

“But they are not yet signed,”

I said, understanding the threat.

“Exactly.”

Bobby Lee gathered his hands on the table. “Eliza, I am not overly concerned about the land you have already placed in conservation.”

He paused. “Arthur has his sights set on the final thousand acres of Mayfield. Your house.”

“That thousand acres is not controlled by the DeLancey Group. It is mine, and mine alone.”

Bobby Lee paused. “And your inaction there has left that land vulnerable.”

“I’ve designated that it become the Mayfield Wildlife Foundation.”

“The foundation exists only on paper.”

“I know,”

I said softly. I raised my gaze. “I want a Rivers family member to head the board of trustees. And if my family is to avoid paying exorbitant inheritance tax, I must leave the land to the foundation”—I smirked—“upon my death.”

“No need for that now,”

Bobby Lee replied with a wry grin. “A signature is enough.”

“Is it? Bobby Lee, I can lose the corporation. Lose my fortune. But to lose Mayfield is unthinkable. It cannot happen. Mayfield isn’t business. It’s personal. I do not own the land. The land owns me. I am merely the caretaker for my generation.”

I touched my brow. “It just breaks my heart that I do not have one member in my family who will take on the responsibility that has been unbroken for generations.”

“Even so,”

Bobby Lee said in a tone that brought reason back to the discussion. “You’ve run out of time. You must make your move. Or lose Mayfield to Arthur.”

I dropped my hand and, straightening my shoulders, looked Bobby Lee in the eye. “Have the papers ready.”

“They are at my home in Green Pond.”

“Good. I’m leaving for Mayfield today. Let’s finalize them as soon as we can.”

“And the votes?”

“We shall soon find out.”