Page 33 of Where the Rivers Merge

The wood stork (Mycteria americana) is one of the largest American wading birds in the stork family, over one meter tall with a wingspan of more than sixty inches. The head and neck are bare of feathers, the plumage is mostly white with black flight feathers. The first recorded nesting of wood storks in South Carolina was in the ACE Basin.

1924

“Eliza?”

I felt a gentle shaking and heard someone calling my name. As I slowly woke, a sense of déjà vu swept over me.

“Covey?”

I called back groggily.

“Eliza, wake up. It’s me, Tripp.”

I blinked heavily and slowly rose upon my elbow. The light was dim, but I could see Tripp sitting beside me in his white shirt sans jacket and tie.

“You’ll ruin your good pants.”

“You’ll ruin your fancy dress.”

We chuckled as I sat up. Neither of us cared a whit for our clothing.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. I came after you. I rode over to Sweetwater Pond first. When I didn’t see you there, I knew where I’d find you.”

“This was always our place. I mean, just ours. Yours, mine, and Covey’s.”

“The three in the tree,”

he quipped. “A trio.”

He smiled at me, and I was struck by how much he still looked like the ten-year-old boy. “Hey, my name has a second meaning. Tripp for being the third of our team.”

“I like it.”

I slowly grazed my hand along the soft moss blanketing the earth. The twilight made the interior of the tree shadowy. “But it doesn’t apply anymore, does it? Covey’s gone . . .”

“She’ll come back someday. She’s our blood sister. She must.”

I looked into his eyes. He seemed so sure. It gave me heart.

Tripp adjusted his long legs, ducking his head, trying to get comfortable in the cramped space. “But I don’t seem to fit in here as well as I once did. It’s a good thing the tree is continuing to grow or I’m not sure I would have made it in at all.”

“Life’s strange, isn’t it?”

I said giving my thoughts voice.

“How so?”

“I didn’t see this coming. Tonight, I mean.”

I shook my head, still in wonder. “Les. Really? He chose Les over me. Because I’m a girl? Lesesne cares not one whit about Mayfield, other than the prestige it offers.”

Tripp sighed. “Eliza, you have confronted this issue all your life. I hate to stand by and watch you get hurt, over and over. Perhaps . . . it’s time to . . . let it go.”

“Let Mayfield go?”

I said with indignance. I couldn’t believe he would suggest such a thing.

Tripp nodded. “It’s like this tree. We fit into it perfectly as children. We shared the dreams of youth. But now—”

he shifted uncomfortably “—we don’t fit in it quite so well. Eliza, we’ve outgrown the hollow.”

“Stop,”

I whispered, not wanting to hear this.

He paused. “I’m not a particularly religious man, but I’ve always appreciated the scripture from Ecclesiastes. I believe at this crossroads, the words have meaning for us. For everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.”

I glanced up sharply. “Is this a time for me to heal . . . or kill?”

I asked him.

Tripp took my hands. “We will always have the memories of Mayfield. This place gave us an idyllic childhood. I’ll always be grateful. But now it’s time to put away the things of a child. Accept your father’s decision.”

“I don’t know that I can ever let go. I belong here.”

“Can you live here with Les as master? Can you abide with his decisions . . . or lack of them?”

I swallowed hard, not able to imagine that scenario after all I had done, the years I’d given to my father. “I could if it were Heyward,”

I answered honestly. Then shook my head. “But not Lesesne.”

I pulled my hands away. “I hate men.”

Tripp laughed.

“Present company excepted.”

“Thank you.”

“What do I do? I don’t want to live with my mother, but I have nowhere else to go.”

I covered my face with my hands.

Tripp reached out to put his hand on my shoulder consolingly. I felt the gentle pat of his fingers before they moved to take my hands again in his.

“Years back when I told everyone that we would be married one day, everyone laughed,”

he said. “But I never laughed. Eliza, I love the past we’ve shared. But now I’m looking to my future. One that I hope includes you. I know you don’t love me . . . in the way you loved Hugh. But we have a lot of things in common, don’t we? We like each other’s company.”

“Tripp . . .”

I didn’t like where this was going. I pulled back but he gripped my hands tighter.

“Come to Charleston with me. We can build our own home, our own life, together.”

I felt my head swimming in his words. “What are you saying?”

His blue eyes shone with sincerity. “Eliza Rivers, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

I pulled my hands away. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? You are my best friend. Friendship can be the best basis for a good marriage.”

He leaned forward, his tone persuasive. “I know we can be happy together.”

Perhaps at another time in my life I might have believed that I had options. But now I was floundering in stormy seas. I had lost my love in the war. I had lost my home, my ambition. I had nowhere to go, no dream left to pursue. The man who sat across from me was my dearest friend. I heard Tripp’s proposal as a lifeline. I believed we could make each other happy. He would be a much-needed comfort to me as I attempted to start over fresh, away from Mayfield, which was no longer my home.

“Yes, Tripp. I will marry you.”

In the ambiguous glow between day and night, Tripp and I held hands and meandered through the woods toward the house. The temperature was lowering, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves. Capitano trailed in the rear. We followed the worn path the horses had created, which made the walking easy. Twilight had always been a favorite time for me. Seeing the sky alight with sunset’s colors both thrilled and soothed me. I was still feeling unsure about the huge commitment we had just made.

“Let’s not tell anyone our news tonight,”

I said. “The debacle with the graduation dinner has cast a pall on the family. I’d like to keep our news for a happier time.”

“It’s your news to share, dearest Eliza,”

Tripp said.

“It is happy news, isn’t it?”

“For me, the happiest.”

“I will try to be a good wife.”

“I’ve no doubt. And I, a good husband.”

We walked in a pleasant silence as night deepened. Suddenly we heard an explosive crack in the air. We halted abruptly and swung our heads toward the sound.

“That’s a shotgun,”

I said, eyes alert.

“It’s coming from over there,”

Tripp said, pointing west.

Another shot fired and I heard the horrid thud of a bird hitting the ground not far from us.

“Who goes there?”

called out Tripp.

We heard scuffling in the woods approaching and a moment later Lesesne broke through the foliage carrying a twelve-gauge shot gun. He was still dressed in his evening jacket though his tie was gone and his collar unbuttoned. He stopped, a lopsided grin on his face. “I should be asking that question,”

came the reply. “This is my property, after all.”

His voice was slurred and on instinct I tensed.

“Hey, Les,”

Tripp called out amiably. He pointed to the gun. “Watch where you’re pointing the business end of that shotgun.”

Tripp smirked and obligingly lowered the muzzle to the ground. “Aren’t you two the lovey-dovey couple?”

I warily studied my brother. I’d known for a long time that when he was angry or deeply upset he would get drunk and go out with his shotgun and shoot birds. He had a complete lack of remorse for the senseless killing. He killed indiscriminately, letting the birds lay where they fell. I’d told my father about it, expecting him to stop it, to reprimand Lesesne, but he only shook his head, set his jaw, and remained silent. He who had always taught us never to harm an animal. Still, I thought with disgust, Lesesne was the man my father chose to inherit Mayfield.

“Why are you angry?”

I called out to my brother. “Tonight’s your big night. You’re the hero. You graduated from college. You’re the master of Mayfield. You made your father proud.”

“And what about you, sister? Are you proud?”

“Why do you care what I feel? You never have before.”

“I don’t. I know you’d rather it was Heyward who inherited. It was always Heyward you loved best. Not the one who was less than.”

“Heyward is gone,” I said.

“Is he? I still feel his ghost. He’s always in my head.”

He twirled a finger around his head. “You think I took the property to make Daddy proud?”

Lesesne weaved, shaking the shotgun in his arm back and forth like a waving finger. Tripp moved to step in front of me.

“Goddamn Heyward,”

Lesesne slurred. “He’s the one I wanted to make proud. My perfect big brother. The one who could do no wrong.”

“Lesesne . . .”

“Do you know what his final words to me were?”

Lesesne cried out, as though in pain. “His damned last words in his last letter . . .”

He shook his head. He spoke in a rote tone. “‘If I die, it is up to you to assume the mantle of family and Mayfield.’”

He paused and stared bleakly into the darkness. “It was Heyward. He told me to take over this place. I never asked for it. I don’t even want it.”

“That’s ridiculous,”

I shouted. “You do not have to take over if you don’t want to. Heyward wouldn’t want you to do that. He would want you to be happy.”

“Would he?”

Lesesne roughly shook his head like a dog with a flea in its ear. “No, sister. You’re wrong. Heyward loved Mayfield more than anything or anyone. He made me the sacrificial lamb.”

“Stop it. Heyward knows I could take care of—”

“No, you stop!”

Lesesne shouted. “Mayfield is mine now. It’ll never be yours. Find yourself another place. Get married. I’m sure Tripp there will take on the job, won’t you, Tripp?”

He used his shotgun to point at Tripp.

“Lower the muzzle,”

Tripp called back sternly.

Lesesne and Tripp stared at each other in a tense moment, before Les lowered the gun again.

“Let’s go,”

said Tripp, taking hold of my hand again.

As we walked away I called over my shoulder, “Stop shooting the birds! They didn’t do anything to you.”

It was hard to keep up with Tripp’s long-legged stride through the grass. I could tell Tripp was angry, and I was relieved he had the sense not to challenge a drunken Lesesne. Suddenly a shot rang out again. I felt a rush of heat pass my arm and the wood of a tree very close to me exploded in splinters. I screamed and Tripp spun around, eyes blazing.

“You son of a bitch!”

he called out. “You could have hit Eliza!”

My brother stood with the tip of the gun still pointed in our direction. His face was hard, and his eyes glittered with emotion, which made his grin all the more sardonic. “I wasn’t aiming for Eliza.”

Was he aiming at a bird? Or . . . Tripp? Or was that merely his macabre humor? With Lesesne, I couldn’t be sure. My shocked mind spun with questions as I stood frozen to the spot, gaping at him. Beside me, I heard Tripp swear under his breath. I felt his hand tighten over mine, and with a tug, he led us away from the possible danger brewing with my troubled brother.

Part Five

The Wedding

I cannot promise you a life of sunshine;

I cannot promise riches, wealth, or gold;

I cannot promise you an easy pathway

That leads away from change or growing old.

But I can promise all my heart’s devotion;

A smile to chase away your tears of sorrow;

A love that’s ever true and ever growing;

A hand to hold in yours through each tomorrow.

—Mark Twain, “These I Can Promise”