Beauty From Ashes (49 page)

Holding her mother, Pete asked, “Have you been talking to Eve about John Couper’s being on the South’s side?”

“No. No,” Mama answered, checking her sobs. “I haven’t talked to anyone but God— and now you.”

“And Mama, don’t you believe my brother when he vows he loves the military life the way our father loved it? I honestly think he’s proud to have discovered that about himself. And if, as he

says, Georgia is insane enough 661 to secede from the Union, I guess I’m glad he does love it.”

“Pete, why on earth would you say a thing like that?”

“For the same reason you’d say it if you thought a minute. I love John Couper and I want him to love whatever he does with his life. Mama, so do you!”

“I—I suppose I do.”

“You know you do!”

“Yes, and I think it’s touching that loving the military as his father certainly did makes the boy proud.”

“Mama, you had a lot of bad times with Papa over that, didn’t you?”

“I had—some, yes. In a way, I forced him to stop trying to get back in the British military by my longing so for St. Simons and home.” She turned to look straight at Pete, the very inside of her heart on her tear-streaked face. “Your father must have truly loved me, Daughter. Selfish as I was, he did love me.”

“Mama, you weren’t selfish, nor was Papa.

You were just—different.”

“I know, I know. And I need you to tell me straight out if you really do agree with me about the insanity of secession. Pete, even as a British subject, your papa believed in the union of all the states. That nothing less could endure. Will you tell me what you really think—and do it, please, in a way that gives me room to believe you?”

“Mama, I swear to you I’m no secesher and I will never be. I love St. Simons Island every bit as much as John Couper loves it. My roots are there, too, as he kept reminding me about his. But I think it will bring a particularly wild, hopeless tragedy if the South breaks away. And Mama, it won’t be just our family it divides, either.”

“Hush! And don’t ever talk like that again to me, Pete. Do you hear what I say? I know how Fanny talks, but only because of that dreadful Buster. John Couper can’t be like that. He’s my —rock. He’s yours, too, and Selina’s and Fanny’s. We wouldn’t be able to live without him! Even if I could find a way to keep breathing, I couldn’t do it.”

The sound of carefree laughter, a 663 girl’s and a boy’s, came from outside the front of the house. “Mama!” Pete ordered. “Sit back down in your chair and get yourself together. Selina’s coming up the walkway and she’s got a tall, handsome cadet with her from the Georgia Military Institute.”

“No!”

“Yes. And you can’t let them see you with all those tears on your beautiful face.”

“You’re right, but what in the world would ever make Selina do such a thing? Without a word of warning or—was

“You, Mama. You’ve always told all of us to feel free to bring any of our friends to our home at any time. None of us would dream that you didn’t mean it.”

“I did mean it!”

“Then act as if you did. Dry your eyes and let me see that sweet, welcoming smile.”

“I swear to you, pretty lady, when I met and fell hopelessly in love with you at Georgia Fletcher’s wedding last month, I had no idea my heart had been stirred by such a wealthy girl!

Your home is truly elegant. No wonder your mother likes it so much.”

Clinging to the arm of the tall, brown-haired cadet, Selina laughed. “I agree with you that the house is a wonderful place, but you’re dead wrong about the wealthy part! We’re far from wealthy. I don’t think my brother, John Couper, has told Mama yet, and maybe the sale isn’t even final, but I’m sure he plans to sell some of our people in order to keep sending us money each month. He does, you know, or we’d lose this glorious house. John Couper and my sister Pete decided Mother had endured enough loss and grief on St. Simons Island, and both of them took things into their own hands. Our need of this house is far more than a mere roof over our heads.”

“And you’re sure Mrs. Fraser won’t mind your bringing me here unannounced like this?”

“She won’t mind at all. In fact, she’s always urged my sisters and me to bring our friends home. I’ll only be obeying her.”

“Splendid. That may even give me a boost in her estimation.” He grinned down at Selina. “And I promise not to tell her on our first

meeting that I am hopelessly in love 665 with you, Selina.”

Seated beside Selina on a small damask love seat in the parlor of the handsome Fraser house, George Stubinger, after Selina had made her fluent introductions—even to the serving maid, Eve—felt oddly at home. Selina’s mother, Mrs. Fraser, was so pretty and well bred and charming, he was reminded of his own lovely mother back in Louisiana. George thought Anne Fraser so lovely, he felt almost disloyal to his mother because he’d always almost childishly believed no one had a mother as beautiful as his, Martha Jane. Sampling a cinnamon bun, George smiled at the startlingly attractive mulatto woman who was serving them.

“And did you bake these delicious buns?” he asked of Eve.

Pete, the tall, red-haired Fraser sister, let out a rather unladylike whoop. “You’d better not let Mina hear you say that, sir,” she laughed. “Mina’s the goddess of cinnamon buns in this house, and even Eve, who dares try almost

anything, wouldn’t risk her ire by trying to bake even one cinnamon bun, would you, Eve?”

“No, Petey,” Eve said with her own disarming smile. “I meant to say `No, Miss Pete.`”

“You did not!” Selina piped. “You never called her Miss Pete in your whole life, Eve, and no one needs to be proper around Mr. Stubinger.”

“Selina!” Mrs. Fraser scolded. “That was a most impertinent thing for you to say on Mr. Stubinger’s first visit to our home!”

“Forgive me,” George said with a big smile, “but your daughter Selina and I have known each other since the Fletcher-Cole wedding in August, and what she said is not only true, but one of the reasons we’re such good friends is her fine humor. She’s teasing you.”

“My children are all teases except for Fanny,” Anne Fraser said with a somewhat forced smile. “Quite like their father when he was alive.”

“Is that so?” George asked. “By the way, I believe I met your other daughter in the company of one of Marietta’s real Southern hotheads, a man named Buster something. He

didn’t seem at all pleased by our 667 meeting, but your daughter Fanny was most charming and friendly toward me.”

“With Selina and me standing right there in the Square, too, she wouldn’t dare be anything else,” Pete said. “Poor Fanny’s man friend is never charming. He’s too afraid someone will think he’s forgotten how to eat Southern fire, isn’t he, Mama?”

“That’s more than enough about Buster Matthews, Pete,” Anne said, almost sharply. “We all know, Mr. Stubinger, that the best way to bring Fanny to her senses about anything is to let her think her own way through it. She really has an excellent mind and, unlike certain other members of this family, knows how to keep silent.”

“She’d have to keep quiet with Buster around so much, spouting off about the evils of the Union and being a downright boor!” Selina’s big eyes snapped. “But you know already, George, that except for Fanny, we’re all Unionists. But it doesn’t matter at all to you, does it?”

“That’s a terribly presumptuous question, Selina,” her mother said, then added, “but since

you’ve already asked it and Mr. Stubinger is your guest, I’ll be presumptuous, too. A straight answer to her question, young man, could save us much heartache later on. I presume you’re a secessionist. Am I right?”

George smiled, revealing his strong, white teeth. “You’re only partly right, Mrs. Fraser. My father’s a doctor in New Iberia, Louisiana, and he does own our house servants. My sympathies are with the South, yes, but I’m no fire-eating secessionist. Selina tells me you moved to Marietta from the coast and that your family has always owned slaves. Sometime I’d love to hear why you’re a Unionist now.” The disarming smile broadened. “Am I being too forward?”

“Of course you aren’t!” Selina said firmly. “Tell him he isn’t being forward at all, Mama.”

“My only son, John Couper Fraser, is, I fear, just about where you are in his thinking, Mr. Stubinger.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice. “You’ll find that Selina’s family, except for Fanny, who has allowed Buster Matthews to influence her unduly, is in favor

of preserving the union of all the 669 states. Even my late husband, a British subject, felt strongly about the necessity of this country’s remaining one. I’m afraid my beloved son, although he strongly favors the Union, would actually risk his life for the South’s Cause, but Selina and Pete and I hate war for any reason. We can only pray that John Couper will come to his senses, although he’s very proud of his Southern roots. Especially is he proud of being named for my father, John Couper, of St. Simons Island.”

“And of Uncle James Hamilton Couper, too,” Selina put in.

“He’s rightly proud of both gentlemen,” George said with conviction. “They’re both known even in Louisiana.”

“Well, Uncle James Hamilton is known abroad, too.”

“I know he is, Selina. And you all have every right to be proud. But may I ask where your father, the planter John Couper, stood, Mrs. Fraser? And your brother Mr. James Hamilton Couper? Is he a secessionist?”

“He is not!” Anne snapped. “Nor was my

father. Both men would be firmly with those Mariettans who pray that if things get worse, Georgia will remain staunchly in the Union.”

“I’m quite at home with your family, madam,” George said. “I would, along with your son, John Couper Fraser, enlist in the South’s Cause, but I pray there will be no need for either of us to go that far.”

For a few moments no one said anything, and then Selina’s mother smiled at George. “You can be sure everyone in this room joins you in that prayer, Mr. Stubinger,” she said sincerely. “And will you add my otherwise gentle, sweet-tempered daughter Fanny to your prayer? I loathe the cloud of enmity falling over this peaceful little city and wonder how I could bear Fanny’s ever becoming an active part of it.”

Jasper, Florida

Dear Aunt Pete,

Before I get to the point of this letter, let me wish all of you happiness and health in the new year

1860. I know I wrote only last 671 week, but I have had a little accident since and so am taking advantage of what I feel is our special bond. Letters are fine and I have kept and cherish every letter you’ve written to me, but I’ve tried for three full days now to get over my longing to see you and talk and laugh with you face-to-face and I have failed. I will be nineteen in September of this year, but I sound like a spoiled little boy, I know, when I beg you to think long and hard about paying me a visit here in Jasper. I do so want you to meet my stepmother, Miss Jessie, who has been so kind to me now that I broke one leg bone trying to climb a tree I should have left alone. I know you will like her a lot and my hope is that you will be able to convince my beloved Grandmother Anne beyond question that my father did not insult the memory of my dear mother by marrying Miss Jessie. Now, don’t say anything about that to Grandmother because her attitude toward Miss Jessie when I was up there told me far more than she actually said. Our weather is fine here and you can reach Americus, Georgia, by train, then a stage to Jasper. Do think about it and let

me know soon how Grandmother received the idea.

My love to all there,

John Fraser Demere

Pete kept young Fraser’s letter to herself for the remainder of the month of January, through her mother’s sixty-third birthday. Of course, she wrote at once to Fraser, expressing her excitement at the mere idea of seeing him again, and explained that it would take a little time for her to work things out in Marietta.

He’s a smart boy, she thought, as she walked toward home alone after posting a letter to her brother, telling him about Fraser’s invitation. She seldom wrote to John Couper on the sly, but Mama’s lingering animosity over Paul Demere’s having married another woman so soon after Annie’s death still haunted Pete. Owning his own business kept John Couper in Savannah for such long periods, she felt more and more responsibility for helping their mother. She thought often of seeing Mama’s best friend, Louisa Fletcher, to ask her advice about how to broach the subject of a Florida trip with Mama. Seeing her would be easy now, since her husband

had leased the Fletcher House to a 673 Mrs. Starr, and Louisa was no longer burdened with being a hotel landlady. Since August of last year, the oldest Fletcher girl, Georgia, had been married to Henry Greene Cole, the well-to-do owner of the prospering Marietta Hotel, where Georgia and Henry and her parents now lived.

Pete was so accustomed to making up her own mind about everything that she wondered at herself. Not for having written to her brother for advice about a Florida visit, but because there was another person she longed to tell. Eve. If anyone knew Mama through and through, it was Eve, and more than any other colored servant Pete had ever known about, Eve was apt to be outspoken with her mistress. She cared that much for Mama, and if Eve thought she needed guidance, or a scolding, she let fly. Some days Mama fussed back at her, showing more than a spark of her own mother, Grandmama Couper. Most days, though, the two—Eve and Mama— ended up laughing together. Mama loved her lifelong servant, and no one with a grain of sense could doubt Eve’s devotion to her. It was obvious also that Eve was partial to young Fraser.

Even though Eve belonged to Mama, Pete found herself hoping that when dear old June died, as he likely would before Eve—he was now about seventy-seven—Mama would somehow find the strength and the wisdom to give Eve the support she would surely need when June went away.

Climbing the rise in the ground to the white-light house, Pete said aloud to herself, “Thank heaven, I’ve already been through my big grief over losing the person I loved most. I’m sure Mama and anyone else who happens to know about my feelings for my best playmate, William Page King, think I’m as peculiar as Heriot Wylly, but I guess I’m the one who knows myself. Until the day he died, I planned to marry William someday, so my big sorrow, like Mama’s when Papa died or Eve’s when poor old June dies, can’t happen. Let them all think what they want to.”