Abbeville, South Carolina
1857
She was running out of time.
Jorgine Emerson stared out at the lush green fields, the white boles of cotton swaying in time with the horses’ hooves. A bumper crop this year for certain. They’d need to harvest their crop and get it to market before the price plummeted. She’d need every spare penny to keep Piney Brooke up and running for another year.
Her home was the only thing she had left on this earth that was hers.
“Really, Jorgine. You’re not listening to a word I say.”
She took one last look at the ripening field and then turned toward the young woman sitting across from her in the carriage. Millie Shephard had been a friend since the cradle, a fact Mrs. Shephard loved to bring up whenever there was someone close by to impress. The town of Abbeville had been built around the Emerson family, the closest thing to royalty in this part of the state. Thank heavens, Millie was kindness itself without any of her mama’s ambitious social climbing.
Jorgine took a deep breath of humid air and sighed. “I’m sorry. So why are we going to the Wallaces’ garden party? I didn’t think you knew them that well.”
“I don’t. I mean, we’ve exchanged pleasantries.” Millie’s gaze dipped to her clenched hands in her lap. “Mama just says it’s a good place to start.”
Dear heavens, what was that woman up to now? “A good place to start what?”
Her friend’s cheeks turned pink. “Mama feels that it’s time I started looking for a husband.”
Jorgine shook her head. “We’ve talked about possible suitors, but you’ve never mentioned anything about a beau.” When Millie didn’t answer right way, she leaned forward and grasped her friend’s hand.
“Because I don’t have one.” Millie’s green eyes were somber. “Business at the mill hasn’t improved since Papa hired freed Negroes and paid them a living wage.” She swallowed. “People would rather travel to Spartanburg or Columbia for their lumber rather than buy anything from Papa right now.”
“I’m sure folks will get tired of that long trip into town and give their business back to your father. It just takes some time.”
“I don’t have time, Jorgine.” She pulled a white handkerchief from her wrist and sniffed. “Mama fears if I don’t make a good marriage now, we might not survive the backlash. I must get married, and to someone with enough money to help my family see this through.”
“Oh, Millie. I had no idea things were that bad. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her friend gave her a watery smile. “Help me find a rich husband? Maybe someone like your Win?”
Your Win. Jorgine’s throat tightened at the mention of her fiancé. Winfield Wakefield of the Charleston Wakefields had been handpicked to be her husband by her uncle and guardian, Richard Emerson. Not that Jorgine had been given any choice. Why Papa had asked Uncle Richard to be her guardian when she was perfectly capable of running Piney Brooke on her own was beyond comprehension. Now nearly everything Papa had possessed, including the slaves and the shipping business, belonged to Uncle Richard. Everything but Piney Brooke.
“Your mind is wandering again.” Millie gave her a forgiving smile. “Perfectly understandable at the mention of your intended. You must be so excited with the wedding just a few weeks away!”
Jorgine gave her a halfhearted nod. Terrified might be a more fitting description. Not for herself. Win had made it perfectly clear that once his senatorial campaign was over, she was free to live at Piney Brooke, which suited her just fine. With the inheritance her father had left her upon her marriage, she might just manage to make their land profitable again.
No, her concern was for her maid, Sally. If the whispers about her future husband’s relationships with his female slaves held even a grain of truth, Sally’s virtue was in danger.
“You never did tell me how he proposed.” Her friend giggled behind her lace glove. “Did he get down on one knee when he asked you to marry him?”
Poor Millie. If she was hanging all her romantic dreams on Jorgine, she’d be so disappointed. The proposal had been more like a business arrangement. “We just agreed that we suited each other. He proposed, and I said yes.”
“But he did tell you he loves you?”
She nodded slightly. Not as much as he loved the large campaign contribution her uncle had promised once they said their vows. Jorgine understood her papa’s concerns for her future, but why did Uncle Richard have to pick her husband? And why someone as vile as Win Wakefield? Yes, the Wakefields had political clout, but what did her uncle hope to gain from her marriage?
“I’ve lost you again.”
Jorgine caught sight of Millie’s hurt expression and sighed. “I’m so sorry. With everything that’s going on, I can’t keep my thoughts straight.”
She relaxed. “It’s all right. I can’t imagine putting on a wedding of that magnitude. How are you handling it?”
“Fine.” If the truth be told, it had been frustrating. All the simple touches she’d wanted for her wedding had been systematically vetoed by Win’s mother. “Mother Wakefield has taken over most of the planning.”
“What a lovely gesture!” Millie’s eyes sparkled. “Your fiancé is a very important gentleman in our state and deserves a wedding befitting his esteemed position.”
An esteemed man with a horrible habit, one she couldn’t share with anyone. If this news got around town, Jorgine would be more humiliated than she already felt. “Mother Wakefield has more experience arranging such things. As I don’t have a mother to advise me, I thought it best to leave it in her capable hands.”
“That’s so kind of you.” Millie studied her for a long moment. “I don’t know if I could step aside and let another woman plan every detail of my wedding. Unless it was my mother.”
“Of course.” Millie’s mother chased society’s whims like they were the last crust of bread in South Carolina. But Millie had a point. If things had been different, if this union had been blessed with love, Jorgine would have taken great joy in planning all the details of her wedding. As Uncle Richard had told her, this wasn’t about silly emotion but the joining together of two great Southern families. “Mother Wakefield enjoys this kind of thing more than I do. Besides, Piney Brooke needs my attention now.”
Millie leaned back and snapped open her silk fan. “I can’t believe your father left it to you to manage. Mother says it’s unseemly for a woman to partake in business.”
“It’s not as if I’m doing the planting myself, Millie.” Jorgine chuckled, tugging at her gloves. “Big Jim tends to all that.”
“Don’t you ever feel nervous being in that big house all by yourself?”
Jorgine gawked at her. “Since when did having a cook and a lady’s maid as well as Big Jim constitute being by myself?”
Millie pressed her lips together. “What I mean is it’s nothing like when your father was alive, so why stay when you could live with your uncle Richard?”
“Maybe I want to stay in my own home.” Which was the truth. Piney Brooke was the only home she’d ever known. But Millie was right. Piney Brooke was a shell of its former self since her papa’s death from a heart seizure five years ago.. It held none of the laughter and joy that had infused the place while Papa was alive, maybe because he always wanted her to know the great love he had for her. Family, though it was just the two of them, meant a great deal to him. “Piney Brooke is where I belong.”
“I know. Just be careful.” Millie straightened as their carriage turned through the gates of the Wallace Plantation. “I’ve heard shocking things that no moral, upstanding young lady should hear.”
Jorgine’s lips twitched. “You were eavesdropping again.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Well, maybe a little. Still, some of those stories about Negro men are terrifying to think of. So please, be careful.”
She knew Millie meant well, but she had heard those stories too, tales meant to scare children into behaving. But Papa’s slaves had always been so good to her, treating her like she was one of their children, swatting her backside when she misbehaved and kissing her scraped knees when she fell. Big Jim had shared God’s saving grace with her when she was still a child. And no one could ask for a better friend than Sally.
She glanced at Millie. Any reassurances she could offer would fall on deaf ears. Best to help her make a profitable match, and the best way to do that was a little confidence. “That green muslin looks lovely on you. It brings out the color of your eyes.”
“Why, thank you!” She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. “I heard that anyone who is anyone will be here today, so the rumors must be true.”
“What rumors?”
Millie snapped her fan together and tapped Jorgine’s knee. “Supposedly, Hudson Wallace has returned home.”
Dear goodness. The last time she’d seen Hudson, she’d made a cake of herself. She’d been so silly, giving her heart to a man she barely knew. He probably didn’t even remember her. “Last thing I heard, he was still in Atlanta charming the ladies.”
“His father called him home.” Millie opened her fan again. “He wants Hudson to manage the daily running of the plantation while he takes Mrs. Wallace down to Savannah for medical treatment.”
“She never has recovered from her bout with pneumonia last winter. Maybe the sea air will help her,” Jorgine replied. “Still, Hudson is a poor substitute for his father. His parents may wish they’d left Olivia in charge.”
As the carriage pulled up to the brick walkway, Millie let out a tiny squeak. “I wasn’t expecting to see Mr. Raley here. He was supposed to be in Charlotte on business.”
Jorgine fought to keep from cringing. Why did all her friends act so silly when it came to men? She’d never understood it, maybe because she’d spent her girlhood following her father around the plantation or in Charleston while he worked. She felt at ease with men, enjoyed talking with them—much to her father’s chagrin. If love meant acting foolishly, she’d take duty, family, and honor—things that truly mattered—any day of the week.
A servant in red and gold livery waited as the carriage came to a halt. It rocked softly as first Millie then Jorgine was helped down. The other girl didn’t waste any time. With a glance toward Mr. Raley, Millie sashayed over to a young man Jorgine didn’t recognize and smiled up at him. The gentleman must have realized his good fortune as he offered Millie his arm, and together they walked over to the refreshment table.
Jorgine shook her head. Why couldn’t Millie simply be truthful with Mr. Raley and confess her feelings? But she already knew the answer. It wasn’t the proper thing to do.
Movement in the far upstairs corner of the house caught Jorgine’s attention. She could barely make out Olivia’s slender shadow, but the bright colors of the wedding ring quilt she held were unmistakable. Why would her friend be hanging such a blanket from the window of her balcony?
Jorgine sucked in a quick breath. Papa had mentioned a group of people who used quilts and such as a system of welcoming runaway slaves and helped ferry them north to freedom. An underground railroad he’d called it. Was it possible Olivia and her family were involved? But what if she was wrong?
All she could do was ask. Like Papa always said, nothing ventured, nothing gained. If anyone could help her, Olivia would. It was a well-kept secret that she’d taught her father’s servants to read. Maybe she could give Jorgine advice on how to help Sally.
Jorgine glanced up at the window once more then hurried toward the front hallway.