Page 24 of Where the Rivers Merge

An estuary is an area where a freshwater river or stream meets the ocean. Port Royal Sound is an estuary of the Atlantic Ocean, located in the southern region of South Carolina. It is fed by three small rivers that flow into Broad River, which becomes Port Royal Sound. It is the deepest natural harbor south of Chesapeake Bay and supports a variety of marine life and various bird species.

1918

Our golden boys entered the Marine Corps, and it was a long, lonely summer with them gone.

After the boys left for Parris Island, Mama immediately returned to East Bay with Lesesne in the unwelcome automobile. Lesesne couldn’t wait to get back to the city. I chose to remain at Mayfield for the summer, this never being any debate in my mind.

Even Tripp didn’t arrive for his summer sojourn. His father acquired a place in Highlands, North Carolina, and brought his son and new wife to the mountains. Tripp wrote daily missives, filled with a satire I had not known he possessed, of their futile attempts to family bond. He wrote how he longed for Mayfield, asking pages of questions about the horses, sheep, cows, and the bird hospital. Always closing with how much he missed me and asking, Do you miss me at all?

Covey and I were inseparable. We did our chores together, chatting like magpies as we swept, dusted, or folded sheets. In our free time, we rode horses to Sweetwater Pond to swim, braided our hair, weaving in strands of clover, and read book after book, devouring pages as we slapped away mosquitoes and sipped sweet tea.

Many days we stayed at Covey’s cottage. We felt so grown up being alone, not under the watchful eyes of adults. Covey painted for hours. Her skills were growing more confident and deliberate. She’d moved on from painting and drawing in notebooks to any surface she could find or afford—paper, Masonite, rocks, and driftwood. The plain walls of their cottage now displayed her murals of landscapes filled with wildflowers, birds, and trees. Stepping inside was like entering a museum of color.

As for me, I wrote poetry. Pages and pages of verse. My heart was bursting with emotions that summer. I couldn’t contain my love for Hugh, my worry for him, my dreams of what our lives together might be like. The only way I could purge those feelings was to write. That summer poetry flowed from me like a river flowed into the sea.

* * *

In August, Covey and I returned to Charleston and our formal education and careful lifestyle. The city was somber as the Great War became a reality. No longer was the action occurring somewhere in the European theater. Charleston’s position on the southeastern coast made it a prime location for naval operations, bringing the war to our shores. It affected every facet of our lives. When I was young, I used to stand on the piazza of the East Bay house and looked out over the harbor, searching for dolphins. Now I hunted for U-boats.

Like most others, I felt a surge of patriotism that fall. Many of the women I knew were volunteering to support the war efforts or being allowed to fight. I wanted to do my part, especially with Hugh and Heyward waiting to ship out. Still being in school, we couldn’t work full time, but we could join the Red Cross. Every day after school Covey and I helped raise funds for the war, knitted socks, made bandages, and created care packages.

Our streets were filled with sailors, soldiers, officers, and support staff. Restaurants were always crowded, trains were stuffed, and the ports were shipping out food, ammunition, and the frightening gas masks. The city’s trophy was a captured German U-boat. The boat was set prominently out near the Navy Yard, inspiring us to redouble our efforts. Everyone was humming the popular George M. Cohan tune “Over There.”

But always the worry of when Hugh and Heyward would be sent over there was in the backs of our minds. Hugh wrote me letters telling of the exhausting yet exciting training they were undergoing. He sounded upbeat, telling me how great his Marine mates were, describing in detail the rifles he was using and the routines of military life. I didn’t catch a phrase or word indicating fear. Oddly, that omission made me all the more fearful.

It was on a Friday in February 1918 that we dressed in our Sunday best to bid farewell to Heyward and Hugh in Charleston. The Rhodes family joined us, Mrs. Rhodes flanked by Hugh’s brothers. One could not see them and not realize the somber reality that at any time more Rhodes men would be following Hugh to board a ship and join the fray.

Their regiment was assembled at the Navy Yard where piers, docks, and warehouses, necessary for loading troops and supplies, lined the waterway beside nearby civilian port areas. It was mayhem as we jostled through the sea of marines, seamen, and soldiers gathering before a converted cruise liner adapted to ship out the United States military to France. We weren’t the only ones holding in our tears. There were so many other families, loved ones, and friends, waving American flags and bedraggled flowers, gathered to send the boys off. Mama, Covey, and I jostled for space as an orchestra played patriotic tunes. The mood was forcibly upbeat.

Hugh and Heyward looked dashing in their khaki uniforms with high standing collars. The gold bar on their collars marked Hugh and Heyward as lieutenants.

Hugh stepped away from his parents and seemed nervous as he reached out for my hand. “I want to talk to you. Privately,” he said.

I followed Hugh away from the family to stand in a shadowed corner beside a ticketing wall. We were far from alone, but when I looked into his eyes, so intent and focused, I felt like we were the only two people in the world.

“Lizzie,”

he said, holding my hands in his. “I hate goodbyes. I don’t want to leave you. To go off and fight. But I must and I will,”

he said, as though encouraging himself. Then his eyes brightened. “But I’ll be back. As soon as I can. So, let’s not say goodbye.”

I laughed. “Then what shall we say?”

He smiled. “Instead, we’ll say . . . I’ll see you soon.”

My eyes watered and, tightening my lips, I nodded. Please don’t do this, I thought to myself. I’d been working so hard to be brave. Not to cry but smile. But if Hugh went down this path I’d lose control and the tears would gush out.

Hugh let go of my hands and bent his head to pull his signet ring from his finger. He looked again in my eyes, earnestly.

“Do you remember our conversation at Sweetwater Pond?”

I blushed and nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“That was my clumsy way of telling you that I want to marry you. I love you, Lizzie. I want you to be my wife. I’m not in a position to formally ask you that question. But when I return, I will. I’ve talked to my father. And my mother. They approve, of course. And . . . Magnolia Bluff will be put in my name when I get back.”

He took a step closer. “We can be married then.”

He spoke so earnestly that his words danced in my heart. I was smiling, sharing his dream, nodding my head. “Yes, Hugh. Yes!”

Hugh grinned with relief and took my left hand to slip his signet ring on my ring finger. We laughed when the heavy gold slid around, much too big. He moved the ring to my middle finger, where it sat securely. I stared down at the handsome family crest—a lion with its claws up in a fierce display against a shield with four stars.

“Oh Hugh, it’s beautiful. I’ll treasure it.”

“This ring carries my promise of our engagement. You will marry me, Lizzie?”

His eyes shifted to worry.

As if there was any doubt. “Yes, Hugh, I will marry you.”

He burst into a smile and lunged forward, clasping my head in his hands to kiss me. It was a joyous kiss, the kind that sparkles with giggles and tears and promise. Then we hugged, holding tight, as though if we held tight enough we assured that we would never let go of our promise of a future together. At that moment, on a crowded dock, under a cloudy sky, jostled between strangers, I committed my love to Hugh more than I could in any chapel.

The call to board the ship echoed through the air, breaking our embrace. Hugh reluctantly released me, but kept his hands on my cheeks, as if memorizing every detail of my face.

I clutched his jacket. “Don’t go,”

I said in a choked voice.

He leaned in, our foreheads touching. Time stood still as we held on to each other, trying to etch the moment into our hearts.

“Hugh!”

We both turned our heads to see Heyward fighting his way against the path of the crowd to our sides. He waved urgently.

Hugh dropped his hands and looked at me. “I must go.”

I felt our time together disappearing second by second. Panic gathered in my heart, but I nodded, and fighting back tears, I spoke with determination. “Stay safe, Hugh. Come back to me.”

“I will. I promise.”

Heyward reached us. “Okay, lovebirds,”

he joked, then he swept me in his arms for a brotherly hug. When he released me, his face turned serious. “I love you, sister mine. Take care of Mama and Daddy. And Lesesne. You’re the strong one. We all know that. I’m counting on you to keep Mayfield going until I get back.”

“I will. Take care of yourself. Please, no heroics.”

Hugh drew me close again and kissed me one more time. This was a farewell kiss—tender, sad, filled with longing.

Heyward slapped Hugh’s back. “Come on, Lieutenant. We don’t want to miss the war!”

“Write to me,” I cried.

“I will. Every day. I promise.”

“You too, Heyward.”

Hugh suddenly turned, his face distraught. He cupped his mouth and called out, “Lizzie! I’m sorry I won’t be there for the St. Cecilia Ball!”

I shook my head, laughing, waving him off. I wanted to laugh. What did a ball matter now?

I found Mama and Daddy standing with Lesesne at the edge of the dock. Covey stood with the family, as well. She’d refused to be left behind. I went to her side and watched the military personnel in a solemn procession, marching up the ramp leading to the awaiting ship. Each step forward carried palpable emotion.

I madly searched the men’s faces lining the railing of the ship waving farewell, their hands cutting the air like so many flags. I jumped up on tiptoes when at last I spotted the beloved faces of Heyward and Hugh.

“Over there,”

I said, pointing.

Mama peered out at the ship and mass of men, tears streaming down her face. “Where?”

“There, second level. Center. Heyward! Hugh!”

I cried at the top of my lungs.

“I see them,”

called out Covey, jumping up. “Heyward!”

Hugh and Heyward spotted us and slapping each other’s shoulders, waved back, their blue eyes shining, white teeth bright against their tans. They were both so full of life. Brothers of the heart. I thought to myself, I’ll hold on to this image forever. I felt the significance of this moment: the departure of my loved ones into the unknown, the hope for a safe return, and the knowledge that the world I knew would never be the same.