Chapter 7

Much had happened during the past forty-eight hours—some of it interesting, some of it perplexing, and some of it downright annoying. The day before, Dr. Wahler and his daughters arrived on the afternoon boat—at least that’s what Audrey had been told. Thus far she’d not been introduced to the doctor or his children, an occurrence she had found most perplexing. Though she’d expected the doctor to stop at Bridal Fair before heading off to his own cottage, she surmised he had likely made a wise decision by settling the children into their new accommodations with as little fanfare as possible. A new home and strange surroundings could certainly overwhelm young children. If time permitted, she would visit the doctor’s cottage this afternoon and offer a proper welcome. For now, she needed to complete breakfast preparations.

While she mixed cream into the eggs for a satisfying Saturday morning breakfast, her thoughts skittered like bacon grease in a hot skillet. Last evening Mr. Morley and Stuart Griggs, his architect, had met in the parlor to discuss drainage problems on the island, and in the midst of their discussion, her father had interrupted them to introduce Marshall Graham to Mr. Morley. She’d been surprised when her father rattled off Marshall’s credentials as a talented construction supervisor, but her surprise soon turned to annoyance. Her father had appeared as proud as a peacock. She’d briefly considered asking if Mr. Graham carried letters of recommendation to prove all the claims of his success, but she wouldn’t embarrass her father. Yet, if Marshall possessed his father’s penchant for alcohol—and she’d been told long ago that all of the Graham men enjoyed their liquor far too much—he had likely come south because he could no longer find work up north. Granted, he didn’t appear to be a drinker, but he was still relatively young. In a few more years, it would catch up with him, and the physical effects would become apparent, just as they had with her father.

Last evening, the men had agreed to meet after breakfast, and Audrey now worried that her father’s recommendation of Mr. Graham could cause trouble. Truth be told, she’d been hard-pressed to hide her aggravation. She had hoped Marshall Graham would be boarding a boat and departing for Jekyl Island by now. She didn’t need the worry of a probable drinker moving into their home. She could only hope that Mr. Morley would realize he had no need of another supervisor for his project. And if he didn’t know it, she hoped the conversation during breakfast would prove her correct.

As soon as the men arrived in the dining room and settled at their places, her father offered thanks for breakfast and asked God’s protection over the workers and a productive day for the men. His prayer gave Audrey the exact opening she wanted. While passing the biscuits, she directed her attention to Mr. Fenton, Mr. Uptegrove, and Mr. Parks. “You’ve been so busy that I haven’t heard a progress report regarding your venture into Biscayne the other day. I do hope you were successful.”

Mr. Fenton helped himself to a biscuit, broke it in half, and slathered it with butter. “We had more men show up than either of us expected. Most of them will start the first of the week.” He peered down the table and met Audrey’s gaze. “Mostly single fellas. The married ones aren’t so keen on leaving their families behind all week, but I think we’ll have those old slave quarters filled with a good crew of workers real soon. Best part is that I found a man who was a cook in the army, and he’s already arrived to take over the cooking and laundry duties for the workers.” Mr. Fenton grinned and spooned a dollop of jelly onto the other half of his biscuit. “Now I won’t have to listen to any more bellyaching from the men we already got living in the slave quarters.”

Audrey was pleased, as well, for there had been daily reports of discontent over the men having to cook their own food, while the supervisors enjoyed fine meals at Bridal Fair. Although she’d been willing to make grocery purchases for the workers when she did her weekly shopping in Biscayne, she didn’t have the time or desire to take on cooking and laundry for all the men.

“Once we get all the workers we need, that cook is gonna need several assistants to help him, but it’s a good start.” Mr. Parks spooned up another helping of eggs. “It’s gonna take a strong hand to keep those men in line, but once they understand the rules, they’ll do fine.”

Audrey didn’t miss the supervisor’s emphasis when he mentioned rules. She offered him a bright smile. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to help you compose a list that you can post in their quarters right away. I believe it’s easier to have rules in place sooner rather than later, don’t you?”

“Exactly!” They all turned toward Victor Morley as he added his agreement. “You do that, Audrey—help Jim get a list of regulations together and post them in several places where the men will be sure to see them. Wouldn’t hurt to read them aloud as soon as the men are assigned to their sleeping quarters, too. If we’re going to meet deadlines, the men need to know that they’re here to work and we’ll not tolerate bad behavior.”

From the look in Mr. Parks’s eyes, Audrey wasn’t sure whether he was pleased with the idea of reading or posting rules, but she knew he wouldn’t challenge Mr. Morley. “So all the positions are now filled?”

Strands of Mr. Parks’s still damp hair drooped forward. “Oh, we’re still gonna need more laborers as the work progresses, but you should have a full house here at Bridal Fair real soon.” He grinned at Audrey.

His final comment set Audrey’s teeth on edge. That wasn’t what she’d expected or wanted to hear. “Having a bedroom or two available for visitors would be much preferred, Mr. Parks. We didn’t plan to have all of the rooms filled with supervisors.”

“We didn’t?” Her father tipped his head to one side and stared at her as though she’d lost her senses. “You’re the one who told me—”

“If we fill all the rooms, where will Mr. Morley and the other investors stay when they come down here to check on the progress?” She hoped the idea would give Mr. Morley pause before he hired Marshall Graham.

Mr. Parks picked up the cream pitcher and poured a dollop into his coffee. “That’s not a problem, Miss Audrey. I’d be glad to go down to the other quarters when the investors come for a few days.” Mr. Parks nudged Mr. Fenton. “You’d be glad to do the same, wouldn’t you, Harry?”

Mr. Fenton’s Adam’s apple danced up and down as he swallowed a bite of buttered biscuit. “Wouldn’t mind at all.” He waved the remaining piece of biscuit in the air. “Just as long as I get to come back up here to the house for my meals. I doubt that fellow you hired to cook in the slave quarters will compare with Miss Audrey.”

Audrey offered a feeble smile. Under normal circumstances, Mr. Fenton’s praise would have pleased her, but not today. If she was going to prevent Marshall Graham’s employment, she’d need another plan. Right now, she had no idea what that might be, but with the proper encouragement, perhaps Aunt Thora would come up with a scheme.

The minute the platter of biscuits emptied, she jumped to her feet and hurried to the kitchen. Aunt Thora was sitting at the small table by herself. Since “the invasion of Yankees,” she’d refused to eat her meals at the dining room table. Audrey set the platter on the table and waited until the old woman looked up. “I think Mr. Morley is going to hire Marshall Graham, which means we’ll have another Yankee moving into the house.” Audrey hoped her reference to Marshall as a Yankee would win Thora to her side. “I think he’s going to be one too many boarders for us. Maybe we should figure out a way to keep Mr. Morley from hiring him—or at least from having him move into Bridal Fair.”

Thora hunched forward and reached for the jam. “Don’t know how you ’spect me to help. You and your papa spread the welcome mat for those Yankee invaders, and now you want to yank it back?” She popped a piece of biscuit into her mouth and wiped her lips. “I say the best thing to do is shoot a round of buckshot into the dining room and clear them all out of there. I don’t figure Mr. Graham’s any worse than the rest of those Yankees sitting around your grandmother’s table.”

“Aunt Thora! How can you even suggest such a thing?”

The old woman looked up, her blue eyes as clear as a summer sky. “You asked for an idea. That’s all I got to offer.” She downed her tea and pushed up from the table. “You oughta give my suggestion a little more thought. Matter of fact, I’d be pleased to go and load the gun right now.”

Audrey patted the woman’s shoulder. “I appreciate your offer to help, but I think I’ll need another plan. One that doesn’t involve guns.”

Aunt Thora looked up at Audrey. “There’s a possibility we could overtake the Yankees with knives, but knives are risky, and we’re not as strong as some of those men.” She pointed a crooked finger at the dining room. “And we’re outnumbered.”

Audrey shivered at the suggestion. She’d made a dire mistake seeking advice from Aunt Thora. If she didn’t redirect her, Thora would soon be gathering knives and attacking their boarders. “I believe we may need some additional biscuits, Aunt Thora. Would you mix up another batch?”

Thora’s thick white eyebrows drooped low above her eyes, and her lips tightened into a thin line before she finally spoke. “One minute you’re talking about wiping out the enemy, and the next minute, you’re wanting me to feed ’em.” Frustration shone in her eyes as she yanked off her apron and slapped it on the chair. “I’m not sure which one of us is crazy: you or me. I’m going down and sit by the river for a spell. Maybe by the time I get back, you’ll decide what you want to do about the invaders.”

For several minutes after Aunt Thora disappeared from sight, Audrey stared out the window. Her aunt was right: She didn’t know what she wanted. While they needed the income from the workmen, she certainly didn’t want the likes of Marshall Graham moving into their home and influencing her father to return to his old habits. Even though her father had given up drinking and grown in his faith throughout these past years, she didn’t know if he had the strength to resist his old ways if lured by the appeal of a so-called friend offering liquor.

She couldn’t guess how much sway Marshall might have over her father. Guilt still occasionally plagued him when he remembered the incident that had taken Wilbur Graham’s life. Her father had been the one who’d convinced Wilbur to stop for a drink after work the night he’d been killed. If Marshall should happen to dwell on that topic for long, Audrey couldn’t be sure if her father would turn to prayer or down a bottle of liquor instead.

When she finally returned to the dining room, the men had completed their breakfast, and her father greeted her with a broad grin. “Marshall’s going to be staying on with us, Audrey. Isn’t that fine news?”

She turned an icy stare in Marshall’s direction. “Be sure you read the rules, Mr. Graham. They apply to all of our boarders.” Deciding whether Mr. Graham or her father had been more surprised by her remark was difficult to determine. They both appeared taken aback by her curt comment, but she didn’t want Mr. Graham to plead ignorance to the rules. Not now. And not later, either.

“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Graham said with a hint of amusement. “Samson told me all about them when he was . . . um . . . keeping me company the other day.”

Audrey felt her face redden. Her father stifled a choking laugh, while the other men appeared confused. Audrey looked at Mr. Graham and nodded.

“So long as you know.”

The late afternoon sun turned a shimmering golden hue that glistened as it shone through the kitchen windows, but before Audrey could begin supper, the dry laundry needed to be removed from the clotheslines. For a moment, she considered sending Aunt Thora to do the job, but four hands would be quicker than two. “We need to get that laundry off the lines, Aunt Thora.”

The shuffle of the older woman’s shoes announced her approach from the dining room. “Make up your mind. You want me to set the table or take down the sheets?”

Audrey glanced over her shoulder and shot the woman a warm smile. “Both.” She waved toward the back door. “There will be plenty of time to set the table after we get back to the house. I haven’t even started supper yet.”

“You’re the one who told me to set the table.” Aunt Thora muttered her rebuke as they walked the path to the washhouse. “Sure would be easier if the clotheslines were closer to the house. Think I’ll tell Boyd to move ’em between the trees in the backyard.”

“I don’t want the view blocked by laundry flapping in the breeze. Besides, we’d have to carry the wet clothes all the way from the washhouse, and those baskets are heavy.”

“I guess you got a point about carrying the baskets, but since the Yankees arrived, there’s no time to enjoy the view anyway. We’re too busy tending to the needs of the boarders you’re inviting into the house at every turn.”

Audrey sighed. Although Thora understood their plight, Audrey doubted she would ever accept the idea of boarders living in Bridal Fair, especially boarders that hailed from north of the Mason-Dixon Line.

When they arrived at the washhouse, Audrey proceeded inside and picked up two large wicker baskets. Outside, she plopped one of them on the grass near Aunt Thora’s feet. “You begin with this line, and I’ll go down and begin with the other.”

The woman chuckled. “Trying to get as far away from me as possible? You just don’t want to hear the truth. I tell you, this world has just turned upside down. If you would have ever told me that I’d be doing laundry for a bunch of Yankees, I would have said you were crazy as a goose.”

Audrey waved and shook her head. “Just take down the clothes, Aunt Thora.”

When her father had proposed the idea of taking in boarders, Audrey hadn’t considered the extra laundry. Not that it would have changed her decision. They were without many choices. Still, washing and ironing the clothes for the extra men, along with the additional linens, had already presented more work than she’d anticipated. Once they were on better financial footing, she’d speak to her father about hiring someone to help.

While still considering the possibility of another woman to assist with the chores, Audrey removed a clothes-peg from one of the sheets.

“Here, let me help you fold that.”

Audrey startled and turned toward the man’s voice. Marshall Graham! “What are you doing out here? Aren’t you supposed to be off learning about your duties?”

He removed another wooden peg and continued walking toward her while folding the length of sheet. “We’ve finished for now, and I decided to take a better look at the property out here behind the house.” He nodded toward the corner of sheet that she held in her right hand. “If you’ll give that to me, I’ll have it in a neat square in no time.”

Audrey didn’t move.

“During my younger years, I helped my mother with the laundry. If you’ll just turn loose of that corner, I promise I’ll fold this into a perfect square.” He moved forward, and Audrey instinctively took a backward step and dropped the sheet from between her fingers. As the fabric started to fall, Marshall jumped forward and caught the corner. Aligning the edges, he snapped the fabric in the afternoon breeze and formed a perfect square. He held it at arm’s length. “There, you see? My mother taught me the trick of folding sheets at an early age.”

“And I’m sure that some years later your father taught you some of his tricks, as well.”

Marshall tipped his head to one side and studied her for a moment. “I would say you’re right on that account. Even his former supervisors would agree that my father was a capable tradesman.”

Several sharp retorts came to mind, but Audrey held her tongue. She wouldn’t speak ill of his deceased father, but she was certain Marshall’s father had taught him about drinking as well as the construction business. Marshall dropped the neatly folded sheet into the basket and reached for another sheet. “I don’t need your help, Mr. Graham. Aunt Thora and I have managed to do laundry without any assistance for many years.”

He lowered his arm but kept his gaze fixed on her. “Exactly what have I done to offend you, Miss Cunningham?”

He’d given her the perfect opening, but before she could open her mouth to reply, Aunt Thora stomped in their direction, her arms piled high with laundry. “You’re a no-account Yankee, that’s what!”

Marshall backed up a few steps as Thora continued toward him. A devilish grin played at his lips as he settled his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s not entirely correct, Miss Thora. I’m actually only half Yankee. My mama was born and raised in Savannah.”

Thora’s eyes clouded with confusion as she stepped closer. “Savannah? As in Savannah, Georgia?”

Marshall chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. I don’t believe I know of any other Savannah.”

“And I don’t know that I believe you.” The lines in her weathered face deepened into a frown. “Whereabouts in Savannah?”

Samson sauntered over to Marshall and rubbed up against his leg. Marshall smiled and picked the cat up. “Over on Randolph Street, close to the river—at least that’s what she used to tell me. Thought I might do a bit of looking for the place once I get settled in.” He removed a clothes-peg from one of the shirts and dropped it into the basket. “Maybe you’d like to come along and help me.”

Audrey wanted to yank the cat from Marshall’s arms and declare him a traitor. Goodness, she thought, I’m starting to sound like Aunt Thora.

“Don’t you be trying to win me over with your Yankee ways, young man. I can do some checking on you with my friends in Savannah, and I’ll soon know if you’re telling me the truth. Meantime, I’ll be keeping a sharp eye on you.”

Audrey grinned as she listened to the banter between the two. Mr. Graham had met his match with Aunt Thora. No doubt she’d be writing a letter to someone in Savannah and sending it with Old Sam in the morning.

“You’re quite fetching when you smile, Miss Cunningham. You should try it more often.” He put the cat down and gave Audrey a grin.

Thora took a step forward and waggled her finger beneath Marshall’s nose. “How can I believe your mama was a true Southern woman when you exhibit the manners of a Yankee? No Southern gentleman would act in such a forward manner with a lady.” She poked a gnarled finger at his chest and tsked. “It’s clear your Yankee blood is stronger than your Southern heritage.” Samson sauntered between the two of them. “’Course maybe that’s why Samson took a liking to you—he knows you’re a Southerner at heart, even if you haven’t entirely learned our ways.”

Marshall chuckled and bowed from the waist. “Then I will rely upon you and Samson to help me improve my manners, Miss Thora.”