Page 32 of Where the Rivers Merge

The American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) is the only crocodilian native to South Carolina.

It’s estimated there are one hundred thousand alligators in South Carolina.

It lives in coastal plain lakes and marshlands, with the ACE Basin being one of its most important nesting areas.

1924

Six years passed.

Daddy had his spells like his father before him.

During the happier days he didn’t drink as much, he would participate in the planning of crops, write a few checks, and approve my purchase and sale orders.

It was more an act of consideration on my part than his factual understanding of what Wilton and I were doing on the farm.

Then, without warning, he would go off on a drinking binge.

I never knew what set him off.

But whether it was from drink or illness, his mind grew dim and forgetful.

With Wilton, I made the decisions for Mayfield.

In truth, I was born to it.

I am industrious by nature and, as Mr.

Rhodes once told me, I leaned toward creative thinking.

Thankfully Mother had agreed to continue her family’s support of Mayfield.

With that boon and the wise guidance of Mr.

Rhodes, I greatly expanded our truck farming business.

The timing was right too.

There was a big increase in demand for fruits and vegetables from the cities.

The expansion of the railroads and improvements to the waterways among the islands gave the industry a boost.

I was careful to hire local workers for preparing, planting, and harvesting, all of which also helped the local economy.

Our warm climate allowed for a long growing season, increasing profits.

I felt pride greater than any I’d known at my accomplishments, regardless of whether my father gave me the property or not.

By the end of five years, Wilton and I had doubled our production of lettuce, cabbages, peas, and beans.

And God bless the cucumber.

We couldn’t grow enough of them.

This year’s crop was one of our best.

Come June, we were in good spirits for a celebration of the dual graduations of Lesesne from the College of Charleston and Tripp from the School of Veterinary Medicine in Alabama.

Mama graced Mayfield with her presence for the festive gathering.

Over the years, absence did not make the hearts grow fonder for my parents, though time seemed to have mellowed them.

They treated each other with benign disinterest.

Daddy curbed his drinking in Mama’s presence.

A relief to us all.

But my practiced ear noted his slurred words.

It was déjà vu the night of the graduation dinner.

The memory of the previous graduation celebration for Heyward still hung heavy in our hearts.

The candles in the heirloom candlesticks flickered.

We sat at the same long mahogany table set with the family polished silver, crystal, and bone china.

Perhaps the biggest change was the length of women’s hemlines.

I wore a new gown of pale-yellow silk that gathered at my hip.

My mother was resplendent in her favorite white with a wide red sash at her hips.

My hair was cut in the new bob style; Mama refused to cut her glorious hair, streaked handsomely now with gray.

Lesesne looked sleek and sophisticated in his new evening jacket complete with a white silk pocket square.

He’d come to possess a dashing manner thanks to years of Charleston high-style living.

Tripp’s style was the understated elegance of pedigree.

His navy cashmere jacket was conservative yet impeccably tailored.

His time at Harvard seem to have given him confidence that was a far cry from the sweet, bookish, shy child. Even Daddy had dug his dinner suit from mothballs.

Mama reigned at the head of the table with Lesesne on her right.

At the opposite end, I sat on Daddy’s right with Tripp at my side.

“Aren’t we a happy group tonight?”

Mama said, her gaze touching each of us. “I look at you all and though I remember the children, see two fine men and a young lady. Do you remember how I used to scold you to sit up straight, or chew with your mouth closed?”

We laughed lightly, appreciating the memory. “Tripp, or should I call you Arthur now?”

“Tripp still suits me,”

he replied amiably.

“Very well, Tripp,”

Mama continued. “You were such a little thing as a child. All freckles and cowlick. Look at you now! Why, I think you’re taller than Heyward—”

she paused, blinking hard, then quickly amended “—than he was.”

Tripp was adept at table talk and smoothly covered Mama’s faux pas. “We Chalmers men are late bloomers. I grew half a foot in high school and tripped over my own feet. My father jokes that I ate the beans from ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’”

Lesesne, who was still slight and barely five feet six inches, rolled his eyes.

“Eliza, darling.”

Mama turned her eye to me. “I do like your new hairstyle. So smart. Though you must come to my hairstylist in Charleston. She can do wonders. You know, I can’t help but recall the time you cut your hair for that horse race. How old were you? Ten? Twelve? Do you remember?”

“Remember?”

I replied. “I’ll never forget. If I recall, that race led to my forced exodus to Charleston. All for the good,”

I quickly reassured her, not wishing to light that fuse during a family dinner. “But do you think I got this haircut for style? Hardly. At last, I can have the same freedom I did then.”

I reached up to touch the fringe at my neck. “It’s so much easier when I work in the barn.”

Mother’s smile stiffened. Touché, I thought.

Tripp guided the conversation to another track. “Les, what are you going to do, now that you’ve graduated?”

“I prefer if you call me by my proper name, Lesesne,”

he replied with a chilly tone.

“No offense meant,”

Tripp readily replied.

“What am I going to do now . . .”

Lesesne repeated the question. He insolently raised his eyes to Tripp. “By that you mean—work?”

Tripp held his smile. “Yes.”

Lesesne shrugged elaborately. “I have no idea. I’m casting my bread upon the water, as it were.”

Tripp’s brows rose.

“You’re welcome to work here,”

I said. “We can always use another pair of hands.”

I speared a chunk of beef and slipped it into my mouth.

Lesesne smirked. “Please. I leave farmwork to you, dear sister. You seem to like mucking about in the mud.”

“I do,”

I replied cheerfully.

Lesesne turned to Tripp. “You like mucking around in the mud too, don’t you? With the animals,”

he said in a teasing tone.

“That’s right. I’m a veterinarian.”

“Why, I’m sure Eliza can find work for you too.”

Tripp smiled good-naturedly. “Indeed.”

He glanced at me with mirth then took a long sip of his wine. “I am unsure quite yet as to where I’ll be practicing, but Eliza will be the first to know.”

Lesesne looked from Tripp to me, his eyes glittering. “Ah, I see the way the wind’s blowing. Perhaps you’ll be farming together someday?”

Mama put her fingertips together and let them tap. “Wouldn’t that be lovely? And to think, Tripp, your mother and I used to say you’d marry one day.”

“Mama, please,”

I said, coloring. “Tripp just graduated and I’m busy managing Mayfield.”

“Say again?”

Daddy said, tilting his ear as though to hear correctly. “You’re managing Mayfield?”

He snorted. “A woman? Hardly.”

I clutched my glass and stared back at him, fuming.

My father smiled at me with condescension. “I appreciate your help, of course.”

“Everything comes together as it should in the course of time,”

Mama said placatingly. Then she spoke in way of announcement. “Speaking of which . . . tonight is a special night. We celebrate the graduation of our son.”

She reached into the bag at her side and pulled out a blue velvet sack enclosed by a slim gold rope. She handed it to Lesesne. “My darling son, this is for you. A petite Cadeau.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Lesesne took the pouch and poured the contents into his palm. We leaned forward to see the gold pocket watch on a long chain. I recognized it immediately and gasped. Lesesne paled, recognizing it as well. He turned the watch around in his palm. His voice was flat. “It is engraved Heyward Rawlins Rivers.”

“Yes,”

my mother replied pompously. “And look, your name is engraved beneath it. Lesesne Bissette Rivers. My parents, your beloved Bissette grandparents, God rest their souls, loved you dearly. I know, had they survived that horrid Spanish Influenza, that they would have wanted to acquire for you a watch as fine as the gold watch they found for Heyward. Then it occurred to me that you should have that very watch. With that history, it would mean all the more to you.”

Lesesne looked at the watch dispassionately, then slid it back into the pouch. “Thank you,”

he said in a dull voice. “I’ll treasure it.”

Mama raised a brow but let his lackluster response pass without comment. She rallied, raising her glass. “Hail college graduate! You’re the first . . . and only . . . child of mine to achieve that distinction.”

I lifted my chin, knowing that barb was meant for me. She was still upset that I’d chosen to work at Mayfield than go to college as she’d wanted.

“You’ve made me very proud. As for your future,”

Mama added, looking around the room to catch our attention, “I’ve been in conversation with several notable families about a suitable situation. You’ll be well settled in Charleston soon, to be sure.”

“Charleston?”

My father’s voice rose up. He had been leaning back in his chair, drinking the cabernet, idly listening to our banter. But this comment had him sitting up straight, his eyes wide. “Not Charleston. My son won’t be living in the city!”

I was startled at his outburst. I looked at Mother. She sat ramrod straight, her lips tight, and her dark eyes flashed at him in warning.

“He’s a Rivers,”

Daddy said, his voice rising. “My eldest son. He will come back to Mayfield where he belongs. To take his place. At last. I’ve been waiting for him.”

He turned to Lesesne. “Isn’t that right, Heyward?”

My brother’s face paled. I met Tripp’s worried gaze.

Lesesne leaned forward and said earnestly, “I’m Lesesne, Father.”

Daddy paused, his rheumy eyes momentarily confused. Then he rose to his feet, holding steady on the table. He lifted his glass.

“Yes, of course. Lesesne. You went off to Charleston a boy, and you’ve returned a man. Ready to take on the responsibilities of your heritage.”

Daddy looked around the table, his brows knitted in concentration, like a priest about to deliver the benediction. A memory flashed of just such a moment, six years earlier, at this very table. At Heyward’s graduation from high school.

I paled. No, he couldn’t be . . .

Daddy began in his slow drawl, “I stand before you with a heart brimming with pride. Tonight is a momentous occasion as we witness the continuation of a cherished tradition, the passing of the torch from one generation to the next.”

He couldn’t be doing this, I thought in denial. I looked at my mother. She met my gaze, equally incredulous. Clearly, she had not known about his intention.

Daddy weaved to the left but caught his balance and continued the toast. “To my dear son, I entrust you to continue the legacy and obligation of our generations. I entrust Mayfield to you, my son. May the Rivers legacy continue to thrive in your capable hands!”

We sat in a stunned silence. At length, Lesesne lifted his glass and drank. He was the only one to join the toast. The rest of us sat and looked at each other, disbelievingly. Mama clutched her glass, fuming. Tripp put his hand on mine.

“No!”

I cried out.

My father sat clumsily in his chair and looked at me questioningly.

“You can’t do this,”

I told my father. “I am the next in line after Heyward. I was the one who came running to your rescue. There was no graduation celebration for me because I was here, with you, to manage this property. For six years! Me!”

I caught my breath, feeling my body shake.

“Eliza . . .”

Father said in a condescending tone.

“How can you hand over Mayfield to Lesesne?”

I railed. “To him? He has no management skills and knows nothing about running the farm. He doesn’t even like farming. Or even being here.”

I shook my head. “This isn’t right.”

I turned to my brother and pleaded. “Lesesne, you know what I say is true.”

Lesesne was unmoved. He shrugged. “I will do as my father wishes.”

I sat back, speechless. I saw it all clearly now. Lesesne only wanted his father’s approval. He would do anything for it. Step over anyone to get it.

I tried again, gathering my calm. “Brother, I don’t think you clearly understand what Daddy’s gift entails. Maintaining this property is difficult. Hours of work every day. It’s a life’s commitment.”

“You underestimate me,”

Lesesne replied. “You always have.”

“But you don’t want it!”

I cried, feeling helpless.

Lesesne lifted his glass and studied the red liquid. “You forget there are legal constraints that hinder Daddy leaving Mayfield to you. Seeing as you are a woman.”

“True,”

Daddy said. “Truly, if you had been born a son—”

“Stop,”

I said indignantly. “Don’t say that to me. Not ever again. I am not a son. I am your daughter and as such I’ve proved my worth. As for legalities,”

I said to Lesesne. “Your education is lacking, Mr. Graduate. The Nineteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution has been ratified. We are challenging and changing laws that discriminate against women.”

I turned to my father. “I can inherit Mayfield.”

Daddy slowly shook his head with sympathy. “My dear Eliza. I do appreciate all you’ve done here. You are a dutiful daughter. But don’t trouble yourself with these feelings. You’ve always done so. I am doing what my father did before me, his father before him, for generations. I can do nothing else.”

His tone changed to appease me. “Take heart, daughter.”

He reached over to pat my hand. “You’ll soon have your own property to manage. When you marry Hugh.”

My hand went to my throat. I couldn’t speak. Frustration overpowered my anger as I saw the dimness return to his eyes. In that moment I knew I couldn’t reason with a man without reason. The die was cast. I would never win this fight.

The room was suffocating. I rose from my chair and marched away, my heels clicking against the floor.

* * *

Clutching my skirt, I ran through the empty kitchen and out the back door. I sprinted to the paddock behind the barn. The sun was still bright in the sky and beyond in the green grass I saw a mare and her foal, lazily grazing. They ignored me. I took off again, running past the small enclosure to the bigger fenced pastures.

“Captain!”

I called out, almost stumbling in the uneven earth. “Cap!”

I heard a whinny in the distance, and I ran toward the sound. The vibrant green grass was dotted with clover as I scanned the horizon. I spied my boy running toward me, his powerful hooves pounding the earth beneath him, his head high. It was as if he sensed my urgency. I reached the fence and climbed on the rung.

In a lunge I wrapped my arms around his great neck and buried my face against his velvety fur. “Oh, Cap . . .”

When I opened the gate, Captain followed me, eager, his ears perked. I climbed on a higher rung, hiked up my skirt and, using the fence to boost me up, I hopped onto his back.

“Go, Cap!”

We took off along the dirt road at a trot, dust kicking up in the still air. The forest was cool and dim, the smell of composted leaves and earth prevalent in the air. On this evening it smelled to me of death.

We burst into the meadow at a canter. I nudged Captain with my heels, held tight to his mane, and felt the wind in my face as we raced across the open expanse. All the pain and sorrow I’d held inside bubbled up. As we galloped through the meadow, I lifted my chin to the sky and from my heart a scream erupted. I screamed until my throat was raw.

I fell limp against Captain’s neck, and we came to a stop under the great oak. I didn’t remember guiding him. I’ll always believe Captain understood I needed to come to this spot. I slid from his back, let him loose, then without hesitation crawled into the womb of the tree.

The dark interior smelled of mushrooms and wood. I laid my head on the soft moss and curled up with my knees close to my chest and wept.