Page 31 of Where the Rivers Merge

Eliza Lucas Pinckney (1722–1793) developed the indigo crop in colonial South Carolina, one of the state’s most important cash crops. She studied botany and, at sixteen, managed her father’s plantations while he was in Antigua. She later married Charles Pinckney and gave birth to three sons and a daughter. Her son Charles signed the United States Constitution.

1918

Another September arrived and for the first time in four years I was not leaving Mayfield. The old adage Life goes on proved to be true.

I awoke each morning to the calls of birdsong. Some mornings I lay in bed just listening to the repeating chorus of the mockingbird, the quarrelsome blue jays, and the lyrical song of the Carolina wren. But not for long. I felt the call of duty to my marrow. I rose to survey the property on Captain’s back. Often, Wilton accompanied me, teaching me water management crucial for rice cultivation, delivering water evenly across the field. As he did when I was young and tucked my small hand into his calloused one, he guided me through the tasks of managing the vast property with the same calm, deliberate voice he had when teaching me the patterns in the sand of a rattlesnake, the roar of a bull alligator, or the green swards in the midst of the field where feral hogs had been rooting.

Slowly my confidence grew. I had thought I knew every acre of Mayfield. Now I felt I understood her.

* * *

Summer passed, and when the gold of autumn colored the landscape, I was ready to visit the Rhodes family. My nerves grew taut as I rode along the half mile allée of centurion oaks to the neighboring Magnolia Bluff Plantation. At the end of the shadowed lane, a grand, white house stretched out in a warm and inviting manner. I tied up Captain to the post, swept the dust from my skirt, and walked up the stairs to the red-roofed portico. No sooner did I arrive than Hugh’s younger brother, Charles, opened the door. His face, so much like Hugh’s, startled me.

“Welcome, Eliza,”

Charles said. “We were hoping you’d come when your illness passed.”

I blushed slightly, hearing the excuse my mother must have offered the Rhodes family at my refusal to meet guests. “I received your flowers. It was very kind.”

“We missed seeing you at Magnolia Bluff.”

Charles appeared older than when I last saw him. Two years younger than Hugh, he’d grown several inches taller, but it was something more. The boyishness was gone, replaced with a new aura of maturity. Perhaps he had already assumed the weight of being the eldest son, I thought, and said a quick prayer that Charles would be spared from the war. Hugh’s other brother, Chatham, was younger still. They gathered around me, a duo of handsome, blond-haired, good-natured boys.

“Mama’s out on the veranda. She has tea,”

Charles said, politely indicating the way with his outstretched arm.

I walked onto the veranda and was met with a view of the vast, glistening pond shimmering like a mirror under the afternoon sun. Lush cypress trees, draped in Spanish moss, framed the water’s edge, casting long shadows upon the tranquil surface.

“Welcome, dear girl.”

Mrs. Rhodes held out her hand to me from a white wicker chair under an awning.

I hurried to take it and was drawn lower to receive a kiss on my cheek. She was a handsome woman, slender, even frail. Her blond hair was streaked with white. When our eyes met, we saw the suffering of the past few weeks. Her hand clenched mine tighter in commiseration and support.

I sat in another white wicker chair next to the Rhodes boys, who were looking at me with sympathy and affection. I sensed communal grief in the Rhodes family and wondered, briefly, what it might have been like to be included in their warm bond. An unexpected wave of emotion swept over me, and I struggled for composure.

“Mr. Rhodes will join us shortly,”

Mrs. Rhodes said in way of apology. “He very much wants to see you. But let us begin our tea now, shall we? I don’t think I can keep the boys from the pecan tarts any longer.”

I faced a table draped in crisp white linen and adorned with delicate porcelain. The ice cubes clinked against the crystal pitcher as Mrs. Rhodes poured the freshly brewed sweet tea. On tiered platters were an assortment of petit fours, pecan tarts, and velvety pound cakes adorned with fresh berries. I watched the boys pile their plates with sweets and thought to myself how Hugh had a sweet tooth, as well.

We sipped tea and talked about everything but Hugh. The weight of our shared loss hung heavy in the air, as though Hugh was a specter floating on the outside of our intimate circle.

At last, Mr. Rhodes joined the group with his hearty apologies. Mrs. Rhodes’s face lit up on her husband’s arrival as she offered her cheek for his kiss.

“Miss Rivers!”

Mr. Rhodes exclaimed, coming to take my hand. “Eliza . . .”

He kissed it, then turned to search for a free seat. Charles immediately sprang to his feet and offered his father his chair. Mr. Rhodes settled, put his hands upon his knees, then turned his gaze again toward me.

“How are you, my dear?” he asked.

“I miss him,”

I said honestly. “Being here, I feel his presence.”

Mr. Rhodes’s face shuttered, and he looked out at the pond. “Yes, yes,”

he said softly.

Across the table, Mrs. Rhodes pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and dabbed her eyes.

With a trembling hand, I reached into the pocket of my skirt and withdrew a small velvet bag. I spilled Hugh’s signet ring onto my palm.

“I think you should have this,”

I said to Mr. Rhodes, holding it in the air. He appeared to waver, then accepted it. His gaze remained fixed upon the ring as emotions welled within him. Then he turned to Charles, who stood beside him. Clearing his throat he said, “Please give the ring to your mother.”

A ragged sigh escaped Mrs. Rhodes as she reached out to accept the ring. She studied it with shaky hands, then clutched it tight and brought her fist to her heart. “You don’t know,”

she said in a choked voice, “what this means to me.”

“I think I might,”

I replied.

Mrs. Rhodes’ smile trembled. “Hugh had come to talk to us, you see. He asked me to prepare my engagement ring. To give you.”

She paused. “When he returned.”

“I would have married him before he left. I wanted to. But Hugh . . .”

I couldn’t continue.

“He wanted to do things right,”

Mr. Rhodes finished for me. “He told us.”

He attempted a smile but failed.

“But you must keep this ring,”

Mrs. Rhodes told me. “He wanted you to have it.”

I shook my head. “It’s your family’s insignia. A treasured heirloom. It should go to Charles.”

I smiled at Charles. “Besides, I don’t need the ring to remember him. Hugh will always be in my heart.”

“Thank you,”

Mrs. Rhodes said. “You know, Eliza . . . I would have liked to call you daughter.”

My emotions were spilling over. I rose, gathering my skirt as I did my wits. It was time to leave.

Mr. Rhodes stood and took my hand. “My dear, if there is anything we can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

I paused. “Actually, if it’s not too much trouble, I would like to ask your advice.”

Mr. Rhodes tilted his head. “Anything.”

“Hugh often talked about your extensive agricultural efforts. I’ve long admired your success in truck farming. I could use your help at Mayfield.”