Page 23 of Where the Rivers Merge

The American bullfrog (Lithobates catesbeianus) is a common amphibian found in lakes and ponds. It is an efficient hunter of beetles, grubs, cutworms, grasshoppers, snails, and slugs. The largest frog species in the United States, the bullfrog breeds from March to August. It has a very deep call, which resembles the mooing of a cow.

1917

I dashed up the stairs to my room and slammed the door. As my fingers hurriedly undid countless buttons, I felt released from the pressure of my mother’s expectations. I swiftly changed into my old riding britches, savoring the softness of freedom. I would not be tamed here.

I raced in an unladylike fashion down the stairs and tore out the kitchen door, stopping only to give a surprised Clementine a hearty hug. As I galloped across the yard, the warm summer breeze tousling my hair, I heard my father’s voice call out, “He’s in the front field!”

His words spurred me on.

The pastures were green with patches of clover over which bees hummed. I reached the rustic wooden fence and wasted no time climbing up on the bottom rung. I spotted Capitano across the field, his bay coat gleaming in the sun.

“Captain!”

I called out, leaning far forward. “Cap!”

The stallion abruptly lifted his head, his majestic mane catching the breeze. Spotting me, his head jerked a bit higher. In a breath, he took off toward me with unrestrained grace. I watched in awe the power of his muscles as he galloped across the field and came to a sudden halt before me.

Capitano nuzzled his nose against me, emitting a joyful whinny and snorting playfully. I couldn’t hold back my tears as I embraced his powerful neck. “Oh Cap, I missed you so.”

The connection between us was built on trust, and I worried that he didn’t understand why I was gone so long. But he just seemed happy to see me now.

I climbed the fence and mounted Captain’s back. The seat felt natural, and I knew memories were playing in his mind as his muscles rippled beneath me. “Let’s go.”

Clutching his mane, we took off across the sprawling field.

After our run, we left the pasture and walked leisurely through the shaded woods, cooling down along a path that in our absence was overgrown, barely visible beneath the thick carpet of leaves and moss. But we knew our way. Before long we arrived at my private oasis, Sweetwater Pond. The heavy foliage was reflected in the water, which cast an emerald sheen on the stillness. I climbed down and wasted no time removing layer by layer of garments until I stood bare to the breeze. I slowly waded knee deep into the cool, clear water, and watched the sun-dappled surface shimmer and cast patterns upon the surrounding trees. I laughed out loud, hearing my voice echo in the stillness, then took a deep breath and plunged.

The water enveloped me, and I kicked my legs, propelling myself forward and slicing through the still water. I felt the dust and grime of the city slide off my body with each stroke.

Here I could escape the outside world, if only for a short while.

Emerging from the water, I sat on the soft grass, stretched out my legs, and let the Southern sun do its job of drying me. Dragonflies danced above the water, their iridescent wings glistening in the sunlight. Bullfrogs croaked in chorus against the occasional splash of a fish breaking the pond’s surface.

It was in moments like these, immersed in Mayfield’s wilderness, that I felt most alive. In the city I shut my senses down against the cacophony of horns blaring, shopkeepers calling out, and constant talk. This bit of quiet wilderness allowed me to find myself again.

I leaned back on my arms, faced the sun, and took a deep breath in my solitude. Then, I heard the sound of a horse approaching. Capitano raised his head and snorted. With a gasp I grabbed my clothes and dashed behind shrubs. Cursing like a fishmonger at the intrusion, I slipped my arms into my linen shirt as I peered through the branches. I was old enough now to realize the dangers of being alone in the wild. My heart raced at the sound of hooves getting close, the rustle of branches.

“Lizzie!”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. I knew that voice. Opening my eyes, I saw Hugh riding up to the pond. He was wearing a summer suit, sans jacket and tie. A straw hat tilted back on his head.

“You stay right where you are, Hugh Rhodes. I’m not decent.”

Crouching low, I clumsily thrust my legs into my britches, my damp skin making it difficult.

“I’ll look the other way,”

Hugh called back, a laugh in his voice.

I heard his feet hit the earth in a soft thud as my fingers raced up the buttons. I combed my wet hair with my fingers, took a breath, then stepped from the cover of bushes, shyly pulling back my hair.

We faced each other across the high grass. Hugh stood in his loose linen shirt, his arms at his sides. It had been weeks since we’d seen each other, and I felt uncharacteristically nervous. Suddenly, Hugh rush-walked toward me. In a few strides he was at my side, wrapping me tightly in his arms. I felt his breath at my ear, heard him whisper my name, “Lizzie.”

I pushed him back, mumbling, “I’m all wet.”

“Oh,”

he said, awkwardly moving away. “Sorry.”

He swiftly turned his head so not to look at me. Still in his traveling clothes, he looked hot and miserable. A trail of sweat slid down his face.

“Why didn’t you change your clothes?”

“I didn’t want to wait. I came here straightaway from the station to see you. When I heard you’d gone for a ride, I just”—he shrugged—“figured you might be here.”

I laughed at his folly. Of course he knew my favorite places. “Since you’re here, why don’t you take a swim? Cool off some. You look ready to expire.”

Hugh turned and gazed at the pond. “Looks inviting.”

“Well, go on, then.”

He turned to look back at me. “You aren’t coming in?”

“I’ve already been.”

I looked down at my damp blouse. “Can’t you tell?”

He colored and swiftly looked away again. “Uh, yeah. . . . But, why not come back in?”

“I’m not bathing au naturel, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I snorted in a most unladylike way.

His back still to me, I heard the tease in his voice. “Wish you would, but you can just go in your britches like you always do.”

I turned to pluck at a shrub and said, “Well, I guess I could.”

He turned and met my eyes, grinning victoriously. “Good. No more talking, hear? I’m sweltering.”

His fingers flew down the buttons of his shirt and he threw it to the ground, then he tore off his undershirt. I caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and muscular chest covered now in pale hair that wasn’t there the previous summer. His hands went to his belt, and it was my time to turn my back. I didn’t face him again until I heard him hoot out a rebel yell. I swung around in time to see him running in his loose-fitting drawers into the pond and dive under the water.

Laughing, I followed at a leisurely pace and entered the cool water again. Hugh was already halfway across the pond, slicing through the water with strong strokes. I strolled in thigh deep and let my fingertip trace circles on the surface. Hugh reversed his direction and swam toward me. My hands went still, and I stood as still and straight as an egret watching him approach. He stopped a foot away, rising from the water to stand. Droplets fell from his hair, his eyelashes, his bare chest, and he was breathing heavily.

I felt a shift in the air; my heart quickened.

He stared at me, and I could see longing in his blue eyes. Indecision. Then, mumbling a curse, he suddenly reached out to pull me close against his chest. I gasped, my head tilted up. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips against mine. I was swimming in sensations. His lips were cool and wet as they slid across mine, like the pond. But I felt in him an earthbound sensation that was more feral. His lips trembled and his hand slid down to my buttocks to push me against his body. I gasped, feeling something hard against my leg. Wrapping my arms around his neck I pressed myself against him, hungry for more. I heard a soft moan escape my lips.

Suddenly, Hugh pulled away.

Confused, I protested. “Don’t . . . don’t stop.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

His voice sounded gruff, almost angry.

“I do,”

I argued. “I don’t want you to stop kissing me.”

Indecision flared in Hugh’s eyes. He took another step back away from me. I felt the chill of my wet clothing against my skin.

“Do you even know what kissing leads to, Lizzie?”

he asked, eyes blazing.

The shift of mood was so sudden, and he sounded so frustrated, I didn’t understand.

“Leads to?”

Hugh looked skyward. “Hasn’t your mama explained things to you yet?”

“About kissing?”

“About what happens after kissing.”

Understanding dawned. “I grew up on a farm, Hugh. I’ve seen plenty of animals mate, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

I crossed my arms, feeling desperately embarrassed. “Is that what you think we’re doing here? Because I thought we were just kissing.”

Truth be told, I didn’t know much about mating between humans. I’d heard cries and sighs coming from my parents’ bedroom at night, so I knew the sounds of coupling. But Mama and I never had a discussion. Mama was more concerned about how I looked and behaved in front of the opposite sex. She didn’t seem the least worried about how I’d behave behind a closed door with a man. And yet . . . I was certain she would say this was not a subject a young lady should be discussing with a young man . . . alone . . . half dressed . . . in the wild. I turned and made my way toward shore.

Hugh strode after me, clutching my arm as I reached the grassy bank.

“Eliza . . .”

“Stop talking about such things, Hugh,”

I said, pulling my arm away. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m sorry, Eliza. I don’t mean to do that. It’s just . . .”

He raked his hair again with both hands. “You shouldn’t be swimming out here alone.”

He reached out with both arms. “What if I was some stranger? Someone who is not to be trusted?”

“Hugh, I swim here all the time,”

I said, spreading my arms. “No one’s ever surprised me.”

“I came here, didn’t I?”

I fell silent.

“I’m asking you, Lizzie,”

he said in a calmer voice. “Please be careful. You’re not a little girl anymore. You’re a—”

his eyes fell to my chest “—a beautiful woman.”

He almost choked on the words.

Forgetting the scold, I tried not to smile. He’d called me beautiful. I nodded compliantly. “All right, Hugh. I won’t.”

Hugh, as though surprised by my meekness, took a deep breath and walked a few paces nervously. “I worry because I care about you. A great deal.”

He stopped again before me. “Lizzie, I . . .”

I held my breath.

“I love you.”

I swallowed at his confession. It was like the world had stopped and all I knew, all I could take in, was that we were standing next to Sweetwater Pond and Hugh told me he loved me.

His voice grew tender. “You see, kissing . . . like this . . . with you . . .”

he stretched out his hand and indicated my damp clothes “. . . smelling of sweet water and your clothes clinging to you in ways they shouldn’t . . .”

With a self-conscious gasp I looked down to see my breasts outlined by my damp shirt. My pink nipples created peaks in the fabric. I swiftly turned my back to him and began flapping the shirt away from my body, mortified.

“I have feelings that I may lose control of,”

Hugh said in a choked voice. “I can’t let that happen. Not until after we’re married. Do you understand? It’s not that I want to stop. It’s that I like you too much not to stop.”

I turned back to him, my gaze searching his. Did I hear that correctly? “After we’re married?”

“This is not the time to talk about that,”

he said. He seemed to be mustering his courage. “I should go.”

He took a step toward the bank.

“Hugh!”

He stopped.

“I wonder . . . I mean . . . Well, if you think we might get married someday . . .”

I looked down again and said in a small voice “. . . why do we have to stop?”

Hugh laughed shortly, incredulously, then took me once again into his arms. He pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Eliza,”

he said in a low voice. “Dear Eliza.”

I felt his arms tighten around me, then he released me to grip my shoulders, and drew his face close to mine.

“We must stop because it wouldn’t be right. You’re too young.”

He puffed out a plume of air and dropped his hands. “And your father would tan my hide if he knew I’d even seen you”—he waved his hand near my chest—“this way. Much less take advantage of you.”

“Take advantage of me?”

The notion prickled and I pushed him away. “I’m not about to let you or anyone else take advantage of me.”

Hugh drew me into his arms once again. “Don’t I know it. Not you. Not ever. Still,”

he said, looking into my face, “trust me, will you? We must wait.”

“My grandmother was married at my age.”

“That was a different time. Another era. You’ve not yet graduated from high school. Or come out into society.”

Hugh took my hands and spoke with deliberation. “When those things happen, when I’m able to properly take care of you. . . .”

His expression grew serious. “When the time is right, we will do this proper. Until then, I don’t want you swimming alone in the woods. Or walking around in wet clothes.”

He cleared his throat and let go of my hands. “I really should go. I haven’t seen my parents yet.”

“You won’t come for dinner? We’re celebrating Heyward’s graduation.”

“My parents are hosting their own graduation dinner. Can I see you tomorrow? Eliza, there are things I want to talk to you about.”

I nodded, mute at the possible discussion.

The water rippled as we strode from the pond toward where the horses were grazing. Hugh kissed me again, softly this time. “I’ll come by tomorrow after lunch. We can take a swim together.”

When he saw me smile, he laughed and added, “In our swim clothes. We’ll bring Heyward. I don’t trust myself alone with you here.”

I watched him ride off the trail until he was enveloped in the foliage. I put my hands on my chest where my heart thumped wildly. Hugh said we were getting married.

* * *

The family had already gathered in the dining room when I entered. Daddy sat at the head of the table, his usually windblown hair slicked back, clean shaven, and in his dinner jacket. Mama was resplendent in white lace with her dark hair, graying at the temples, swept high on her head and adorned with pearls. My brothers were also wearing dinner jackets and looking grand. I entered wearing a blue silk frock with my hair fashioned in the new upswept style that Mama approved of. I basked in the compliments.

“My little sister has certainly grown up,”

Heyward said, raising his glass in my direction.

“Amazing what a little soap and water can do,”

quipped Lesesne.

Daddy silenced him with a look. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said.

“Where’s your friend Tripp?”

asked Lesesne. “I thought for sure he’d be tagging along with you for the party.”

I didn’t rise to the bait. “You take a particular interest in Tripp.”

Lesesne’s brows rose in surprise at my retort. Then he shook his head and waved me off, striding off to his seat at Mother’s left.

Heywood thoughtfully pulled out my chair then took his seat at Mother’s right. I smiled demurely and murmured my thanks as I slid gracefully into the chair. The long mahogany table was gleaming, the family silver was polished, and the candles were ablaze. An undefinable charm of being enveloped together as a family permeated the room. Tonight, I was not the only one being evaluated. Daddy wanted to show Mayfield at its best to Mama and prove that he could put out the finery if the occasion arose. Likewise, Mama was intent on proving to him how time in the city had civilized his children.

Clementine prepared a feast of soup, fish and meat dishes, and several desserts. Conversation was more polite chatter, the kind of trivialities I knew my father hated. The weather, the routines at school, Daddy’s recitation of crops being planted, and Mama’s droning on about the Poetry Society. At the meal’s end, Daddy stood and raised his glass. We quieted, sensing the importance of the moment.

“Tonight,”

Daddy began, “we celebrate the graduation of my beloved son, Heyward. As I stand here, my heart is filled with immense pride, joy, and a touch of melancholy. For this day means not only an end, but also a new beginning.”

He paused to look directly at Heyward. “I believe it is fitting to mark this occasion with a gift that symbolizes the trust and faith I have in you, my eldest son. As a token of my—and your mother’s—love and confidence, tonight, at the occasion of your graduation, I have formally and legally named you as the heir to Mayfield.”

This was no surprise to any of us; nonetheless, we clapped with joy as a family to witness the continuity. Heyward, as the eldest, would by law of primogeniture inherit Mayfield. Heyward had often assured me I would always have a place at Mayfield, regardless of whether I chose to marry or not. I could only hope that I’d be given a small patch of this beloved land to call my own. I believed Heyward would make this happen. As long as I had a foothold on my beloved Mayfield, I’d be content.

“Such a surprise,”

Lesesne said, lifting his wineglass. It was filled with half a glass of champagne, a boon from my father despite his only being thirteen.

“That’s enough, Lesesne,”

said Daddy with sharp disapproval.

Lesesne leaned back in his chair, staring at his glass. I knew he didn’t want the farm, so I wondered at his surly reaction. He might look like my father, but he was all Mama’s boy. It was well known that the house he had his eye on was East Bay. Neither house would ever be mine. As a daughter, a woman, it had always been made clear that I’d marry into the house I would someday call home.

“Thank you, Father. Mother,”

Heyward said with heart.

Daddy was beaming. I wasn’t sure which of the two men was the happiest.

“Son, this gift carries a profound significance. It speaks to how I entrust you with the responsibility of the next generation to uphold the land that has sustained the Rivers family for over one hundred years. This land is steeped in generations of our family’s toil and dedication. It holds not only the legacy of our ancestors but also the dreams and aspirations we have nurtured in its fertile soil. This land represents our heritage and the indomitable spirit that has defined us.”

I listened, stirred to tears at his words. I may be a woman, but I was a Rivers. I took my father’s words as Bible truth.

“I raise my glass to you.”

Daddy lifted his glass higher and looked at each of us. “Let us toast Heyward’s accomplishments.”

He looked at my brother. “And the possibilities that await you. Congratulations, my son. May your life be as bountiful as the harvest reaped from Mayfield. Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

we echoed as we clinked glasses and sipped our champagne. It was my first taste of the sweet bubbly beverage, and I immediately took to it. “More, please?”

Mama frowned. “Only a sip, my dear. We mustn’t gulp.”

Embarrassed, I set my glass down, feeling the bubbles reach my head.

“I’m so proud of you, son,”

Mama said to Heyward. “And to think, you’re off to Princeton next. That is the cherry on top of your education.”

She was exceedingly pleased that Heyward was admitted to the prestigious university that her father had attended. Behind the scenes, letters had been written, contacts made on Heyward’s behalf. Both he and Hugh were accepted.

Heyward’s smile froze, and his expression had me lean forward in my seat. Something was amiss.

“I want to discuss that,”

Heyward said, his brow furrowed. He glanced at Daddy, and from the exchanged look I realized Daddy knew what was coming.

“You know there’s a war on in Europe,”

Heyward began, rubbing his palms together.

“Please, let’s not ruin our celebration with talk of the war,”

Mama said.

“Mama, it’s not talk anymore,”

said Heyward. “We’ve declared war on Germany. The United States is no longer neutral. More to the point, the government has established a national conscription system.”

Mother paled. “That’s only rumor.”

Heywood shook his head. “It’s fact. It was authorized.”

“What is conscription?” I asked.

Heywood folded his hands. “That, dear sister, is a lottery that will draft men into military service. We are at war. The United States is offering Europe more than our resources. We will fight.”

“No.”

Mama’s voice was a whisper.

“I’ve given this a great deal of thought,”

Heyward said, sounding by the minute more the man and less the boy. “We all knew this was coming. Wilson couldn’t keep us out. The Porter Military School has prepared me for being an officer. So—”

Heyward pressed his palms together “—I have enrolled in the Officer’s Training Program at Parris Island. I will sign up with the Marines next week.”

There was a stunned silence. I looked from face to face, searching for someone to speak out either in objection or approval.

“Did you know about this?”

Mama asked Daddy in a sharp, accusing voice.

He met her gaze. “Heywood informed me before dinner.”

Mama tossed her napkin on the table.

“Sloane,”

my father said, his voice urging her calm. “This is a good decision. He can go in as an officer.”

“I don’t want him to go at all!”

“No one wants war. But we have to face the writing on the wall. Listen to me, Sloane,”

he said gesturing with his hands. “We know Colonel Dunlap. He’s an honorable fellow. I’ve invited him to dinner at Mayfield often, he and other officers. And I had Heyward talk with him, man to man. The colonel has taken our son under his guidance,”

he added with a hint of pride. “Under the colonel’s leadership, the Marines have expanded their base in Beaufort. His efforts are a credit to him.”

Mother reared back in her seat. “You entertained him? Here? With Heyward?”

“As I said.”

Mama swung her head to face my brother. “Heyward, why didn’t you tell me of these conversations? Or that you’d visited Mayfield?”

“I knew it would upset you,”

Heyward replied evenly.

“Yes, I’m upset. You’ve been accepted at Princeton. I worked hard to make sure that would happen. I’m no fool. Of course, I knew war was coming. Once at Princeton you could request a deferment. You could stay out of the war.”

Heyward’s face went still. “Mother. Do you think I would do that? Don’t shame me. I want to serve our country.”

“How does fighting in Europe save our country?”

Mama returned. “We can give them money, food, resources.”

Her voice chilled. “But not our sons. Wilson promised he would keep us out of war.”

“A promise he couldn’t keep,”

Lesesne said, entering the fray. “Mama, the German U-boats are bombing our ships. We feel that right here in Charleston, being a port city. The war isn’t just over there anymore.”

Seeing her shocked face at his outburst, Lesesne shrugged. “We can’t let them do that.”

Mama’s eyes flashed. “Don’t take their side. In a few years they’ll call you to fight. Two sons at war?”

She shook her head so fiercely her chandelier earrings swayed. “I won’t have it.”

“Don’t worry. Once we get in the fight, it’ll soon be over,”

Lesesne said with boyish confidence.

I was heartened by my brothers’ certainty but kept quiet.

“Sloane, our son is a man now,”

Daddy said, his voice even. “This isn’t up to us. Heyward must make his own decisions.”

“And you support him in this decision?”

Daddy nodded. “I most certainly support his decision.”

His tone grew cajoling. “You’re a woman, so I don’t expect you to understand, but military service is part of a man’s role. It is our duty and our obligation.”

“Hasn’t this family lost enough to war?”

Mama said, tears flashing for the first time.

Daddy swallowed thickly. I saw a pall slide over his face.

His father had come home from the War Between the States a broken man. The crops had been raided and the land was fallow. He’d lost two sons in the war and his wife died soon after he’d returned. His father remarried and Daddy was born soon after. Thank heavens, or the Rivers family line might have ended then. After the Civil War, Grandfather was a changed man. Some said he went mad. Others said it was grief that did it. He hid in his room like a spooked dog whenever the sky thundered. He acted erratically, mistakenly calling Rawlins by the names of his dead half brothers, made irrational decisions, and spent hours wandering in the woods. No one dared say the truth that he got lost on his own property. He died in a hunting accident, or so the coroner declared. There was talk in the family he took his own life.

“We have, indeed,”

Daddy said in a low voice. Then, turning toward Heyward, he brightened. “But I have confidence Heyward will make his country proud. As he’s made us proud all of his life.”

He looked at Lesesne. “Son, I pray you won’t have to enter this war. But if you do, I know you’ll do your duty, as well.”

“What about his duty to the family?”

Mother said, her voice rising. “What was all that talk about duty and responsibility to Mayfield?”

“It’s one and the same,”

Daddy said, leaning back in his chair in the manner of pontificating. “His duty to defend and protect Mayfield is synonymous with his duty to defend and protect our country. To make a sacrifice for the greater good.”

“Mama, can you ask me to turn my back on my honor?”

Heyward asked. “I can’t. And I won’t.”

“You’re registered for Princeton. Your future is secured. You’d give that all up?”

Heyward’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Mother. My decision is made. I report next week.”

Mother’s face crumpled and she turned her head abruptly, staring out as she fought for control. Lesesne watched, for once not making some quip. Heyward turned to me. A sad smile crossed his face.

“Hugh will be joining me at Parris Island.”

My blood chilled. Hugh too? I shuddered as Hugh’s words from the pond flashed in my mind. He had said he wanted to talk to me the next day. Of course . . . Heyward and Hugh were going to war. Together. One wouldn’t go without the other. It felt, suddenly, that my entire world was shifting.

“Oh Heyward . . .”

“We’ll be fine!”

Heyward said, his voice enthusiastic. “Us doughboys. We’ll be back before Christmas, gathered around this very table.”

Part Four

The War Years

Over there, over there,

Send the word, send the word, over there,

That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming,

The drum’s rum-tumming everywhere.

So prepare, say a prayer,

Send the word, send the word, to beware,

We’ll be over, we’re coming over,

And we won’t come back till it’s over, over there.

—George M. Cohan, chorus to “Over There”