Page 9 of Where the Rivers Merge

Red tailed hawks (Buteo jamaicensis) are abundant residents in South Carolina.

They are birds of prey often spotted soaring or perching on telephone poles.

Red-tailed hawks are very territorial.

The male patrols for intruders while the female guards her nesting site, screeching out challenge calls.

1909

Spring cleaning was a seasonal ritual that turned Mayfield topsy-turvy.

While the men worked outdoors in the fields, the women tied their hair back in scarves, donned aprons, and attacked the mess and clutter of the house.

Brooms, mops, and feather dusters were put to work cleaning baseboards and shutters, washing stair railings, shaking out dusty curtains.

Rugs were beaten outdoors, windows washed with vinegar, and the heart pine floors polished till they gleamed.

The larder was filled with fresh cream, and enough ice was secured to churn for butter and the rare treat of ice cream.

Clementine set pots of soup on the stove served with cold chicken and crusty bread to fuel our labor.

There was always much to be done yet this year in particular—Mama was in high spirits in anticipation of the arrival of Arthur Middleton Chalmers to Mayfield.

The Chalmerses were one of the Charleston families Mama declared “important.” Mrs. Leila Pringle Chalmers had been her dearest friend. For years, every time Mama went to Charleston to visit the Chalmerses, which was as often as she could, she brought me along with her. Probably hoping to civilize me. Mama and Mrs. Chalmers spent most every day together while her son, Tripp, and I played. Born the same year, Tripp and I had been friends since the cradle. Our mothers thought it was cute to declare that the two of us were betrothed.

Mrs. Chalmers had recently passed. Mama was distraught and sobbed in her room for a week. When she got word that poor widower Mr. Arthur Chalmers was at a loss with his poor motherless child, she immediately wrote and invited young Arthur, nicknamed Tripp, to spend the summer at Mayfield.

We finished our cleaning just in time for the arrival of the great guest and his son. On that late May morning we rose early, as usual, had breakfast on the large, scrubbed table in the kitchen and awaited the appointed hour. Daddy was grumbling that he wasn’t out in the fields, and the boys chafed in their Sunday best. When at last a horse-drawn carriage was heard clip-clopping up the oak-lined alley, we moved to the entrance to welcome them. The late spring sun beat mercilessly as we set welcoming smiles on our faces.

When the carriage halted at the front step, only a boy sat in the rear. He bolted up, whipped off his straw hat, and waved it with a whoop of excitement.

Mama called out, “Welcome, Arthur!”

My mouth slipped open. I looked at Heyward, who stood equally astonished. We had expected Mister Arthur Middleton Chalmers II from Charleston, not just this pip of a boy. Outrage simmered at all the folderol for young Arthur Middleton Chalmers III.

“You mean Mama made us get all prettied up just for Tripp?”

Heyward rolled his eyes and shrugged.

Tripp jumped from the carriage and ran up the stairs, making a beeline for Mama. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face to her belly. Tears came to Mama’s eyes as she embraced him.

“Thank you for inviting me,”

he said when she released him. “I’m right grateful to be here. I was feeling mighty lonely, and my daddy is so sad.”

Daddy cleared his throat and slapped his back heartily. I thought Tripp would fall over from the blow. Heyward shook his hand, and so did Les, which surprised me because he didn’t much care to touch other people. Finally, Tripp approached me. We studied each other for a moment, neither of us moving. It’d been a year at least since Mama last took me to Charleston and in that time I’d grown, but he must have quit because I’d caught up to him in height, which was surprising given I was small for a girl. His hair was the same shade of light red, only now it was trimmed so short his ears stuck out. Freckles smattered across his nose under soulful eyes as blue as the sky.

Tripp lunged forward and wrapped me in a tight hug. “I’m right glad to see you again, Eliza.”

I pried him loose with an unladylike shove.

He kept smiling at me, brimming over with excitement. “You always talked about Mayfield and now I’m here at last,”

he said. “The rivers, the fields, the horses . . . I want to see everything. We’re going to have such fun together.”

I’d counted on having this summer just for me and Covey. Alone time from the boys. But seeing the adoration and eagerness in Tripp’s eyes, I thought, a bit begrudgingly, that maybe his being here for the summer wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

* * *

Mama intended for Tripp and Lesesne to be playmates and put Tripp in Lesesne’s room. It had two beds and shelves filled with books and various collections of toys. Les was as territorial as a hawk about his room. Of all his possessions. He kept his door closed and patrolled for intruders, eyeing me suspiciously whenever I tried to peek in. Lesesne took claim of our guest as though Tripp were just that, something that belonged to him. I was astonished by how he allowed Tripp entry into his room at all.

Lesesne proudly showed Tripp his extensive collection of glass marbles and regiments of tin soldiers. Lesesne spun his top with a fervor, glancing up often to gauge Tripp’s reaction. Tripp was kindly and tried to seem interested, but I could tell he was just being polite.

“Come sit on the rug,”

Lesesne called out, grabbing a deck of cards from his bed table. “Do you know how to play Snap?”

“I like that game a lot,”

I exclaimed from the doorway, rushing into the room.

“You can’t play,”

Les shouted at me so meanly I was taken aback. “It’s just me and Tripp.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Les. You know I’m a good player.”

“Get out of my room!”

Les leapt up angrily and pushed me.

I stumbled back, barely catching myself from a fall.

Tripp’s face colored, and he gave Lesesne a fierce push right back. Les fell to the floor then stared up with demon eyes of fury.

I looked intently at Tripp, stunned that someone beside Heyward defended me.

“You don’t push girls,”

Tripp told him in a grown-up tone, brows knitted. Then offering an olive branch, he said, “Sorry I pushed you. Come on, it’ll be more fun to play with three.”

He extended his hand.

“Get out,”

Lesesne yelled as he slapped Tripp’s hand away. Then he lunged for a marble and threw it at Tripp. His aim was true. The big bonker hit Tripp smack in the middle of his forehead.

Tripp let out a yelp to wake the dead and slapped his hands over his forehead. I stood mouth agape. Mama came running with Heyward at her heels. When she learned what had happened she lit into Lesesne like I’d never heard before. Lesesne sat on the floor, stone-faced. I didn’t see one lick of remorse on his face.

Daddy must’ve heard Mama’s shouts clear from the barn. When he walked into the room, he stalked over to Lesesne and grabbed hold of the neck of his shirt and proceeded to drag him to his feet. “To the shed, boy,”

he told him.

Heyward and I exchanged knowing glances. We’d both visited the shed to meet Mr. Flog, the long piece of hickory Daddy used as his switch. I felt its sting only once.

I thought back to that time a year earlier. I’d been ashamed to be taken to the small shed behind the kitchen where Daddy kept his tools.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,”

I had cried to my father. “Just ’cause I don’t want to help make jelly? You don’t make Heyward do that.”

“Because your mama says so.”

He let out a long, weary sigh. “Why must you frustrate your mama so? You have to learn the female arts. It’s expected of you.”

“I don’t want to learn that stuff. It doesn’t suit me. I can do barn chores. Wilton says I’m right good with the horses. Near as good as Heyward. And a site better than Les.”

Daddy put his hands on his hips and studied me. His face was tanned and leathery from long hours out in the fields. “I know it. It’s a shame you weren’t born a boy.”

In the following silence I heard the batting of wings against wood. Looking over, I saw a Common Grackle trapped indoors. I said, “I wish I was.”

Defeat washed over his face. “Eliza, you are my only daughter. I value that, even if you don’t. And as such, you have responsibilities that the boys do not. Your mama knows this and she’s doing her best to raise you proper.”

He blew out a plume of air. “I suppose the fault is mine. I spoil you and let you stay in the barn with the boys, and truth be told, I like having you around. You’re a tintype of your mama.”

He snorted. “Only easier to handle.”

He cleared his throat, and his face grew stern. “But you listen here, Missy. You’ll do your indoor chores. And brush your hair. Because if your mama wants it so, then it will be so, hear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now turn around.”

My eyes widened. Daddy had never laid a finger on me, and now I was to meet Mr. Flog. I swallowed hard and turned around, gritting my teeth and clenching my fists. To my surprise, I felt two light taps on my behind. Barely a sting. Still . . . I’d been whipped. I exhaled loudly and my shoulders slumped.

“Eliza . . .”

I turned, shamefaced.

“That near killed me. I never intend to strike you again. I don’t expect you’ll give me cause. Are we in agreement?”

“Yes sir.”

He nodded and turned to leave. As he opened the shed door I called out.

“But . . .”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder, brows raised.

“I can still help in the barn?”

His lips twitched but he forced a stern look. “Yes.”

Now here it was, Lesesne’s turn to meet Mr. Flog, and I didn’t think Daddy was going to go as light on him as he did with me.

Mama was contrite and her face contorted in regret as she reached out to take Daddy’s arm. “Rawlins, I don’t think this calls for the shed.”

“It’s long past time,”

he told her and marched Lesesne from the room as he howled in protest. Heyward and I looked at each other, satisfied that the day had finally come for Lesesne’s comeuppance. Mama had been able to save Les from Mr. Flog in the past, but this time Daddy was firm.

Flustered, Mama took a slow breath and wiped her hands on her dress. Then she inspected Tripp’s wound. Heyward and I crowded in to see an angry bruise already swelling up like a bull’s-eye in the middle of his forehead.

Mama stroked the hair back from Tripp’s forehead with tenderness. “You’re awake and there isn’t any blood. You’ll be all right,”

she said with relief. “I’m sorry for what transpired on your first day. Lesesne has a fearful temper, but rest assured he’ll think again before acting so rudely toward you. Now go on with Clementine and let her put some ointment on your forehead.”

She met Clementine’s eye. “Send Wilton up, please. I’ll need him to move a bed upstairs.”

* * *

I wasn’t joyful spending the first day of summer in Heyward’s attic bedroom helping Mama ready it for Tripp. Heyward sat on his bed, a book in his lap that he wasn’t reading, not lifting one finger to help.

“Why are we doing all this work just for Tripp?”

I asked as I laid out the linen.

“He’s our guest,”

Mama replied.

“Why, Tripp’s no guest. He’s just Tripp.”

Mama was spreading the log cabin quilt over the bed. She paused and brought her hands together to look sternly at me. “Eliza Pinckney Rivers, as my daughter you must learn that anyone who spends time at Mayfield is a guest.”

“Yes’m,”

I replied somberly. Whenever she used my full name, I knew she meant business.

She sat on the bed and tapped the mattress for me to join her. Her tone changed to conciliatory. “Tripp’s mama, Leila, was my dearest friend. I was maid of honor at her wedding, and she was mine. Why, you and Tripp were born just weeks apart. You were christened Eliza Pinckney Rivers, and he was Arthur Middleton Chalmers III. Such fine names.”

Her face softened with memories. “After you were born, I didn’t return straightaway to Mayfield but stayed with my parents in Charleston for some time. For recovery,”

she hastened to add. “You played together as babies, did you know that?”

I nodded.

Mama said wistfully, “You looked so adorable together. Leila and I always said that you and Tripp were betrothed.”

She chuckled at the memory.

“You mean like we’re going to get married?”

I asked, horrified at the prospect of marrying anybody, much less someone I liked like a brother.

“At the very least, we agreed that Tripp would be your escort to the St. Cecilia Ball when you come of age. You know, only a male descendant of a member can extend an invitation to that ball. The Chalmerses are one of Charleston’s finest families. Why, they’re connected by marriage to just about everyone important. I want that for you, Eliza. To secure your place in society. You are a Rivers, after all.”

She looked into my eyes, and I saw a longing I’d not seen before. “It is important that you and Tripp remain friends.”

“All right, Mama. He can be my friend.”

From the other side of the room, Heyward grumbled aloud, “But why does he have to sleep in my room? I’m sure as H not going to marry him. He should sleep downstairs, with Les. That was what you’d planned.”

Mama turned to her eldest son. “You saw what happened.”

“But he met Mr. Flog.”

Under his breath he added, “About time.”

Mama ignored that. “Heyward, look at me,”

she said. When my brother obliged, she folded her hands in her lap and spoke only to him. “You will be the master of Mayfield one day. It’s the mark of a gentleman to be kind to those in need. Tripp is an only child. He just lost his mother. Don’t you think it would be nice for him to have someone to look up to now? Someone he could see as an older brother?”

Heyward was a good soul, and Mama knew to play to his tender side. He groaned, tossing his pillow, but said, “All right.”

“Thank you for your generous spirit.”

Wanting my generous spirit to be acknowledged as well, I tugged Mama’s sleeve and blurted out, “And I reckon I could marry him.”

Mama burst out with a light laugh, said, “Dear girl,”

and bent to kiss the top of my head.

I looked up, and seeing her smile, wondered what in heaven had come over her.