Beauty From Ashes (25 page)

Mrs. Fletcher’s time was limited this morning, but there would be chances later for mother and daughter to do their own exploring. When Mama began to show more interest in fashion again, they could spend hours at J. J. Northcutt’s shop, where all manner of French and English prints were advertised along with a fine assortment of ladies’, misses’, and children’s gloves and fancy handkerchiefs. How

Pete longed for Mama to show her old 327 interest in all of life again! Maybe she would never care as she did when dear Papa was alive, but women also cared what other women thought of their looks, and Mama certainly seemed to be enjoying the company of the Howard House landlady.

Pete too liked Louisa Fletcher, who somehow, because of her thoughtful, deep-set eyes and keen intelligence, did not seem at all short or the least bit plump even to Pete, who was taller than almost any other woman. Drusilla Wilder had certainly made a good choice for Mama. The Howard House was a nice hotel, and without doubt Louisa Fletcher herself added to its attraction. So far so good. Pete’s goal was for Mama to want, of her own accord, to leave behind all the sorrow and loss and rootless years they’d all experienced down on the coast and to move to Marietta to live. Most encouraging was that Mama seemed eager to hear Louisa Fletcher sing for them. Since the moment Papa went away, Pete knew she’d avoided hearing anyone sing. A good sign, Pete thought, and was sure that years ago when she was visiting the Mackays in Savannah with her parents, she really did

remember hearing Mrs. Fletcher sing at Christ Episcopal Church one Sunday morning. She was even sure she recalled that Papa, who could sing better than anyone else, thought the lady’s voice remarkable. Did Mama remember? And should Pete find a chance to warn Louisa Fletcher not to sing her parents’ special love song, “Drink to Me Only”? Hearing it again could set Mama back for sure. Even Grandpapa Couper had realized that long before he left them last year.

Pete was taking in the obvious prosperity and charm of Marietta, but she was also keeping an eye on Mama, who went on talking and smiling and sometimes laughing with her new friend, who, after conducting them all around the Square, suggested they turn on Decatur Street toward some of Marietta’s nice homes.

“Our puddles from the recent rains aren’t so bad in that direction,” Louisa Fletcher explained, turning briefly to include Pete, too, “and you are looking for a house, if I’m not mistaken?”

“My daughter certainly is,” Pete’s mother said pleasantly. “And, yes, I suppose one could say I am too. But a modest one, Mrs.

Fletcher. My only son has his 329 heart set on our moving to Marietta. It seems Mrs. Drusilla Wilder and her husband have sold John Couper on the magic climate of your village all the way from Savannah. He sent Pete up here ahead of me to do a bit of reconnoitering.”

“Wouldn’t you and I both be happier calling each other Anne and Louisa? I know I’d like that.”

Pete caught her mother’s quick, grateful look at their landlady. “So would I, Louisa. Oh, so would I!”

Louisa Fletcher was strolling along Decatur Street between Anne Fraser and her daughter, an arm hooked into one of theirs, when the idea struck her. “There are no more boardwalks out this way,” she said. “Why don’t we go back to the Howard House and I’ll arrange for a carriage. I’ve just decided to take you a bit farther than I’d planned. Now, don’t tell me not to go to any trouble because I want to do it.”

If Anne Fraser needed a friend, a real diversion, some stimulating conversation as much as

Louisa sensed she did, there could be no more profitable or considerate way to spend the remainder of the morning. She’d already left orders for the hotel’s big meal of the day. There was no reason at all that she shouldn’t treat herself to the rare pleasure of intelligent conversation. Her days were so crowded with business chores, guest and help problems, she rarely allowed herself to enjoy free time. Today, she would.

“If you have time,” Pete said with enthusiasm, “we’d love to see more nice houses, Mrs. Fletcher. My mother will really get the feel of all Marietta’s charm and lovely atmosphere. We do thank you.”

Anne Fraser laughed. Knowing her as little as she did at this point, Louisa responded at once to the lilt in her new friend’s laughter. “I’m relieved that you’re also a spontaneous lady,” Anne said. “You’ll find the word spontaneous fitting my daughter Pete more often than not, I’m afraid. If you’re sure it won’t overburden you to be away from the hotel for another hour or so, a ride sounds like a splendid idea.”

“Good. My husband, Dix, keeps the

carriage ready for hotel guests who 331 want to tour our fair village, so we’ll go right back and be driven in style.” Returning to the Square over the half block or so they’d walked, Louisa laughed, too. “Count on me to help you woo your beautiful mother with every beguiling benefit of Marietta!”

Louisa Fletcher shared the comfortable cushioned carriage seat with Anne while Pete, insisting that she liked to ride backward as well as forward, faced them in the seat opposite. Both her guests appeared delighted to be riding instead of walking, Louisa thought, and she couldn’t help noticing the somewhat puzzled look on Anne’s face when she first noticed Elmer, the hotel’s skilled, rail-thin driver who spoke little but beamed each time he was called on to take anyone for a ride in the new carriage Mr. Fletcher had recently bought.

“You don’t need to worry about Elmer’s not being strong enough to handle that spirited team, Anne,” Louisa said as the carriage rolled out of the Square and onto Decatur Street, headed south as she had directed. “He’s a master with horses and never

as happy as when he’s holding reins in his skinny hands. The more spirited the team, the better Elmer likes it.”

“I’m not at all worried about your driver, Louisa,” Anne said. “I will confess, though, I’m a bit surprised that he’s—white.”

“Think nothing of that, Mrs. Fletcher,” Pete put in quickly. “Mama grew up, don’t forget, in Sea Island cotton country down on the coast. All our people there are colored. You do have colored people working at the hotel, though. I saw some at breakfast.”

“Don’t be impertinent, Pete,” Anne scolded. “It’s certainly Mrs. Fletcher’s business if her servants are white or Negro!”

“That’s not a bit impertinent,” Louisa said easily. “My husband and I are from Massachusetts, you know, and I especially do not believe in slavery. Actually your daughter is quite right. Breakfast was served by colored people, and they’re both paid free persons of color. You see, Anne, I’m a Unitarian, and even though I never had the privilege of hearing him preach, I’ve read every word the Reverend William

Ellery Channing ever wrote— 333 especially about slavery. This—this won’t come between us, will it? There are many people in Marietta who own at least two or three slaves. Some more. It’s their business, I say. I’m responsible to God only for my own soul.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Finally, Louisa touched Anne’s hand. “My dear Anne, I had no intention of rubbing your pretty fur the wrong way. Far from it. I simply am an outspoken woman. I do hold strong opinions, I guess, about almost everything. Please know that I’m aware of who you are, that your late illustrious father, John Couper of Cannon’s Point, was one of the most revered men in Georgia. That Mr. James Hamilton Couper, your brother, is considered a bright, creative light in the entire world of science and agriculture. I just don’t happen to think one human being has a right to own the very life of another. Have I offended you? Either of you?”

“Not I,” Pete said.

“Nor I, Louisa.” Anne Fraser gave her a long, direct look with those rather amazing pale, pale blue eyes. Then she said, “In

fact, you’ve relieved me. You see, almost from the first moment I met you, I’ve been trying to think whom you remind me of so much. I know now.”

“Oh?”

“A quite famous lady. One with whom I feel close. Closer possibly than I really am, but I feel that way because I liked her so much and found her so intelligent. Intelligent and deeply spiritual. Her name is Fanny Kemble Butler, the famous British actress who was once married to my father’s neighboring plantation owner, Mr. Pierce Butler of Philadelphia. The young Butlers visited St. Simons for several weeks just before—just before my husband died. Fanny and I still correspond now and then. She was a personal friend of the Reverend Channing’s and totally agreed with him.”

“How marvelous!” Louisa gasped. “I’m not only flattered that I make you think of her, I’m—I’m truly honored. I’ve tried to keep up with the interesting news this woman generates everywhere she goes and I knew she’d married an American, but—just to think, you know her in person! You know her, too, Pete?”

“Well, not the way Mama did,” Pete

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“But you do remember Mrs. Butler?”

“Oh, yes. She’s unforgettable. It’s just that she left the Island before my father died, and I wasn’t quite fourteen when he went away. Mrs. Butler didn’t talk to me the way she talked to Mama. She was really fond of my mother,” Pete bragged.

“I read last year in our newspaper of your esteemed father’s death, Anne, so I know you’re wearing mourning clothes now for him. But would I be too brash if I asked a personal question? Is your heart still in mourning for your husband?”

Louisa waited nervously for Anne’s response, more certain that she had asked a dreadfully brash question. And surprisingly, Anne’s answer mattered. Something so tender, so brave, so sad and vulnerable about Anne Fraser appealed to her in a way she couldn’t quite understand, much less put into words. But there was no one to whom she needed to explain it, so she waited, prayerfully, hoping that she hadn’t slammed shut the door that only minutes ago seemed to be opening to what Louisa needed most—a truly intelligent, sensitive woman friend in whom she could confide.

Who might trust her with the hidden desires of her own heart.

“Forgive me, Anne,” Louisa said when she could wait no longer. “I do apologize if I’ve asked something—was

“No,” Anne interrupted, her voice calm, steady, not at all irritated. “You asked me something difficult to answer, but that it even came to your mind has somehow comforted me. My husband has been gone for nearly twelve years now. I try, oh, how I try not to burden others with my—lostness.” She reached over to touch Pete’s knee. “Pete can tell you I don’t always succeed. Sometimes I know I burden her, but she’s patient with me, aren’t you, Pete?”

“Mama, you know I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but never of being patient. I’m not patient with you. I just fail most of the time to understand how lost you still are without Papa because, except for a playmate who died when we were both still children, I can’t put myself in a—widow’s place.”

“You still remember losing that playmate?” Louisa asked, truly interested that such a vital, attractive young woman as Anne’s daughter would still remember the loss of a playmate

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“Yes, ma’am,” Pete said evenly. “I still remember William Page King and I still miss him sometimes. I wonder a lot what he would look like as a man. What he would be like as a grown person.”

“You’re both extremely interesting women. Do you realize that? Or am I the only person you’ve met in Marietta to be so bold as to say so?”

Anne laughed a little. “You’re almost the only person I’ve met in Marietta, Louisa. Pete’s been staying with my son’s friends the Wilders, so she’ll have to answer for herself. Something I know my daughter to be good at doing.”

“I hope we’re interesting,” Pete said. “More than anything I can think of right now, I want Mama to—to make lots of friends here. So, I may just as well tell you, Mrs. Fletcher, you’re an interesting lady, too.” The girl’s infectious laugh was a relief to Louisa. “I like Mama and me just fine. I’ll be twenty-six years old in the fall and I can tell you honestly, my mother has never bored me for a single minute before or after my father went

away.”

“I swear to you, my dear, to hear my eldest daughter, Georgia, now thirteen, say such a thing about me when she’s your age would be the supreme compliment.” The smile faded from Louisa’s face and she turned to look at Anne on the seat beside her. “You do forgive me for my brash question, don’t you, Anne?”

“I haven’t really answered it. I should ask your pardon. The answer is that no matter where we live or how long I live, I’m resigned to living a half-life without Pete’s wonderful father. I do try not to let my heartache show, but the man did fill my life for twenty-three glorious years.”

“Mama, look!” Pete was on the edge of her seat, peering off to the left side of the Fletcher carriage, her eyes bright, fixed on a handsome white Greek Revival house nestled behind a picket fence in a grove of trees, its carriage lane leading invitingly toward it off Decatur Street.

“What, Pete? What do you see?” Anne asked, her voice a bit vague, her mind plainly still on her heartache.

“That house! That welcoming, pretty 339 house with a whole second floor and white columns holding up the roof. Don’t you just love the look of that big, cozy front porch? Do you know who owns the house, Mrs. Fletcher? Could it possibly be for rent?”

“Pete, for heaven’s sake,” her mother scolded, half laughing. “Don’t be so brash, dear! But it is an inviting place, isn’t it? There’s an air of—kindness about it.”

“I like that,” Louisa said. “Not many women would sense kindness in a mere house.”

“But it’s more than a mere house,” Anne breathed. “Would it be rude if we drove up the carriage lane for a clearer look at what’s really behind those spring green trees in the front yard? I wouldn’t want to disturb whoever lives there, but oh, I would love a clearer view.”

“Elmer,” Louisa called. “Slow the team and take us up to the Bostwick house.”

As usual, Elmer didn’t answer, but he lifted one skinny hand in willing obedience, reined the horses into a tree-lined lane so bumpy it almost seemed abandoned, then stopped the carriage.

“Well,” Louisa said, “here we are. The

house Pete called welcoming and you called kind, Anne, was built by Charles Bostwick, a Marietta merchant, back in the 1840’s, but he and his wife live in it only part of the time. They travel extensively.”