Beauty From Ashes (44 page)

“I know how old I was. But Papa wanted me always to try to protect you where slavery was concerned. He knew you’d grown up with slavery.”

Anne stared at her. “Protect me? Did he take the time to try to explain things like that about me—to you? I know, loving St. Simons as I did, longing so to come back to live there with him, I made it hard for him. Which, of course, forced the sweet man, no matter how he hated it, to become a slave owner himself. And oh, my dear girl, your father was indeed a totally sweet man. An unselfish, considerate, kind man. I wish I had been far more unselfish with him.”

“Don’t wish that, because if you’d stayed with him in London, I might have one of those snooty

British accents.”

“Why do you have to make a joke about everything?”

“To keep myself sane, I guess. Heriot Wylly picks flowers. I make jokes. Most of which poor Fanny doesn’t understand. Did you know Fanny’s a secessionist?”

Startled, Anne sat up in bed. “What? I never heard of anything as foolish as for you to say a thing like that about gentle, submissive Fanny!”

“I can be pretty foolish when I try. But I’m honestly not trying where my little sister Fanny is concerned. We may not have met a fire-eater socially, Mama, but Fanny’s getting sweet on one, and he’s got her completely sold on the idea that the South can secede from the rest of the country and do just fine with slave labor. Fanny’s so taken with him, she’d believe anything he told her.”

“Who, Pete? Who is this young fire-eater your sister’s supposed to be interested in?”

“His name is Buster Matthews and he works down at the Denmead flour barrel factory. I think he splits white oak for staves. Not exactly a flaming success as a citizen,

I’d say.” 591

“But where did Fanny meet him? And how do you know so much about all this?”

“Fanny doesn’t dare worry you with anything. John Couper and I have told her we’d put one of old Sofy’s hexes on her if she did or said one word that might keep you from being happy.”

“But you’ve seen to it that I found out anyway. Pete, I never know when to take you seriously. You are more like your father every day where your humor is concerned.”

“Good! But this isn’t humor. And I took the chance on telling you right out because I think Fanny should stop seeing this young man. Mama, he’s an out-and-out secesher!”

“Where did you ever get a word like secesher?”

“It’s used around here. I even saw it in print the other day in Mr. Robert McAlpin Goodman’s newspaper.”

“Well, I didn’t, and he’s such a cultivated gentleman, I can’t imagine he’d use a word like that. It isn’t even a real word.”

“Well, he used it. Of course, he was making fun of Southern hotheads who want to leave the Union, but—was

“Pete, this has gone far enough! What did you say to Fanny when she told you about this boy?”

“I told her she could do a lot better.”

“But did you tell her that her father—your father— even as a British subject, believed we should keep the Union together?”

“No, because she started to sniffle. I tell you, Mama, Fanny may be falling in love with him.”

Sitting on the side of the bed now, Anne demanded, “I want you to tell me at once why you’ve decided in your almighty wisdom that you needed to tell me when you made such a point of keeping Fanny quiet about her real feelings for this boy?”

“Because I’m not Fanny’s mother and he’s filling her full of a lot of trash about how God put a curse on Negroes because they’re the descendants of Ham or some such stuff. The curse is the reason they have to do all the hard work for white people.”

“That’s just plain ignorant.”

“Of course it is, so now do you see why I told you? Fanny needs you to order her to stop seeing him ever again.”

“I have no intention of doing any such 593 thing! Fanny is as wellborn as you, Pete, and I trust her completely. Your sister isn’t exactly a beauty, and she simply needs some extra guidance because I’m sure she must feel uneasy sometimes for fear she might not have as many suitors as you and Selina do.”

“What suitors have I got?”

“At least your dance card was filled at the last party we gave, and with that glorious red hair, you’ll never lack for suitors, Pete. If you do, it will be because you drove them away yourself.”

“If I do, Mama, it’s only because I’m so smart. Young Bobby Stiles, Mrs. Eliza Mackay’s grandson who lives over in Cartersville, told me I scare young men away because I make them feel dumb. That’s as good a reason as any for staying single—which I certainly mean to do.”

“Pete, you still don’t imagine yourself in love with Anna Matilda King’s little son William, do you? Darling girl, he was only a child when he died that day on St. Simons. You were a mere child too!”

“I think that’s my business, Mama. Don’t

you?”

“I guess it is. I just hate to think how much you could miss.”

“I know about you and Papa. What the two of you had doesn’t happen a lot, though. Can’t you just be grateful for your own perfect love and let me be—me?”

“Yes, Pete. I promise never to bring it up again. And Fanny will soon forget about this young wood splitter of hers. You’ll see. I asked a question of you a while ago and you didn’t answer. Did I talk too much at dinner today with the Denmeads about knowing such a famous lady as Fanny Kemble? If I did, that’s the worst taste.”

“Of course you didn’t. You do know her. I’d guess a lot of ladies wouldn’t even admit that now that she’s divorced, and according to what we read in that Savannah paper right after Grandpapa Couper died, Pierce Butler wanted the divorce because she hates slavery. I know I used the word again, but you might just as well get used to that, Mama.”

“I’ll try. My heart still goes out to poor Fanny Kemble. I don’t think I’ve known another mother with such love for her children as she has for

her daughters. Pierce Butler even 595 demanded that she see them only now and then. If her dislike of the evil institution—as she calls our owning people down here—costs her that much, I sometimes wonder if I believe anything as strongly myself. Oh Pete, I wish I understood more. I’d give almost anything to understand how something like that could break up a family!”

“It’s going to break up a lot more families, too, Mama,” Pete declared. “Even right here in conservative, self-satisfied Marietta. You mark my word about that.”

“Pete, don’t say such things. Don’t even think them.”

“Do you really prefer that the subject of slavery not be mentioned? At least it’s discussed up here right along with politics of any kind. To me, that’s a lot healthier than the way they skim over it on St. Simons. Papa used to say they tried to ignore it, or pretended it was natural for everybody, or boasted about how good they were to their people.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t say slaves again.”

“I’m not being mean about it to you, Mama. Papa

also told me you hadn’t really given it any thought one way or another because you were born into the ugly system.”

“Even you can’t say Eve and I aren’t real friends!”

“Wait a minute,” Pete said, taking Anne’s hand in both of hers. “You and I can’t let it come between us. I’ve never put it into words before, but I’m pretty sure I agree with Papa about slavery. Papa and Mrs. Kemble. It won’t come between us, though, will it? Promise?”

Anne tried to laugh a little. “I promise. I don’t think I even have a choice because I honestly don’t know where I stand on the subject. In a different place because I loved your father. I do know that much. In a different place from where I saw things as a child—before I met Fanny Kemble or your wonderful father. But if my life depended on it, I couldn’t explain exactly how I feel about owning Eve. I couldn’t do without her, but that’s all I know.”

Two months later, at the very moment Anne

heard Pete call her name from 597 downstairs, she was pinning into place the delicately twisted gold brooch John had sent from London before they were married. The brooch she had hurried to show Anna Matilda even before she told her parents that along with the brooch had come a letter from John asking her to marry him. Now, when Pete hurried into the room waving a note from Anna Matilda, Anne sat smiling as though she’d just won a private guessing game.

“Look at you, Mama. You haven’t even mentioned your childhood friend Mrs. King for such a long time, I thought sure you’d be surprised that I brought a letter from her! And don’t put on polite airs with your own daughter. I don’t need to be here when you read it. I can wait to find out the St. Simons gossip.”

With that, Pete hurried back downstairs, not at all surprising her mother because Pete seemed always to be in a hurry. Anne sat down in her little rocker and even though she knew Pete was out of hearing, called her thanks anyway before breaking the seal on Anna Matilda’s thin, single-page letter.

15 March 1853

Retreat

St. Simons Island, Georgia

My dearest Anne,

This will be very brief since I am packing and the place is in a turmoil today. But there are days when I still miss you so much, I find I simply have to let you know of my sudden change of plans. My beloved husband’s letter reached me from California only yesterday with the exciting news that he and our son Thomas Butler, Jr., will be arriving soon in New York City and long for the children and me to meet them in Philadelphia for a real reunion. After he and our son have been away in California for nearly three long years, what a reunion that will be! I’ve had no news of any planned visit by you to the Island anytime in the future, but did want you to know that we will be far, far from Georgia. Thank heaven for trains! Because Thomas Butler, Sr., is Thomas Butler, Sr., our immediate future plans are, of course, still a mystery. But oh, Anne, he and our son are both well and I am, in spite of my many complaints about being left here with so much responsibility, feeling selfish

indeed. I am so, so grateful just knowing 599 that, God willing, I’ll really be in my husband’s arms again. Will write again from the North.

Yr forever friend,

Anna Matilda King

Postscript: I have just learned from Caroline Wylly Couper that her son Hamilton will share rooms in Savannah with your splendid son, John Couper, who will, I’m sure, be a superb influence on his cousin Hamilton. As you may guess, I am a bit anxious until I know that my husband will come back here to Retreat with us and not, because of his many railroad and other business dealings, have to be away from his own home again.

The pin from John—his late mother’s pin— didn’t quite suit Anne when she had finished placing it on her dress, and as she tried again, with Anna Matilda’s letter read only once, she struggled as always against the old, still-sharp desire to be with John again. Not that she envied Anna Matilda. She felt nothing but happiness for her after such a long separation from Thomas, but it was still hard not to be able to share every shred of news—good or

bad—with her own absent husband.

Summer was certainly warm in Marietta in 1854, but nights cooled down enough so that Anne could at least imagine the breezes off Kennesaw Mountain whispering that they, too, could go on helping her make the transition into her new life without John. Even in the tiny city of Marietta, where she had never awakened beside the dear body in the bed beside her, there had been times when he seemed closer than breathing. She wondered often if Anna Matilda had ever felt her Thomas that near. Since Anna Matilda’s letter early in the year, explaining to Anne that she hadn’t communicated over Christmas because she was so distraught that Thomas Butler, Sr., had felt the need to travel to Texas on railroad business instead of home to St. Simons Island, Anne had been increasingly worried about her friend. How disappointed she must have been to drive along the picturesque live-oak-lined lane into Retreat Plantation alone with her children instead of knowing the joy of finally having Thomas again beside her.

The long, sunny summer days passed rather quickly into fall 1854. And although his work kept John

Couper in Savannah, in late July 601 he had spent almost a week in Marietta, full of excited talk about his own new business and how homelike it seemed to have his cousin Hamilton sharing rooms with him.

“You’d be surprised what a difference it makes too, Mama,” he told Anne, “just knowing that when I miss you especially, I can now visit Aunt Frances Anne. I think it’s made life a lot better for Menzies, too, having his mother right there with him.”

“Does Menzies see much of his brother? I know James is at sea much of the time and that Frances Anne can go for weeks, even months, without seeing the boy.”

John Couper’s good laugh was more like his father’s every day, Anne thought. “I guess I shouldn’t laugh,” he said, “but old James is not what one could call an elevating influence—even when he’s in town. Menzies is as unlike his brother as any two men could possibly be, Mama. You must know that James has always been hard to pin down. I even find him hard to talk to, and I don’t just mean his rough language. He’s just different from the rest of the family somehow.

James seems to be almost embarrassed that his brother is such a well-respected boy. I know it’s no laughing matter. I’m sure it isn’t to poor Aunt Frances Anne.”

“I know why you’re laughing, though. There isn’t much else to do, I guess. But Menzies, with his wonderful sense of humor and good nature, certainly helps compensate for the heartache James causes their mother.”

Grinning at her, John Couper asked, “Can you imagine my spoiled cousin Hamilton Couper actually cleaning our rooms while I’m up here with you this week? He vowed he was going to do just that. But good Miss Eliza Mackay promised, the day I left for Marietta, that she’d slip Emphie over to my place just to make sure the cleaning really gets done.”

“I hope you see as much of Miss Eliza as you can, Son. I can’t even remember the dozens of times something she’s said in years past still helps me. That great lady has a straight, uncluttered path to God.”

“Besides that, she’s good company,” John Couper said. “I expect I drop by the old Mackay place at least twice a month. We’re all