Four

May

May I ride with you downtown, Jackson?”

His sister-in-law’s voice cut through his thoughts of cards and cigars at the club that night. Jackson looked up to see Amanda, fully dressed and leaning over the gallery balustrade.

“It’s not even nine o’clock, Miss Dunn, and you’re already eager to go shopping?” He tugged on his gloves as Thomas led the horse from the stable to the carriage.

“Not shopping. I thought I would call on your father to see if he’s heard from Richmond yet.”

“If there was word from Jefferson Davis, don’t you think I’m capable of conveying the message during tea or at dinner?”

Amanda winced with a blush. “Goodness, I implied that, didn’t I? Forgive me.” She came down the gallery steps to the flagstone courtyard. “Certainly you would tell me, but I’ve grown impatient since the passing of my father.”

Her forlorn tone changed his irritation to pity. “It’s been only a month since we sent a letter to the president of the Confederacy. I fear he has more urgent matters than the business concerns of Dunn Mills or Henthorne and Sons.”

“I understand that, but I received a letter from Mr. Pelton, the mill’s chief supervisor. He is anxious for an update on raw materials. He said his workers will be idle by midsummer if the mill doesn’t receive a substantial supply of cotton. I feel responsible for the families working for us.”

“I will speak to my father today. Rest assured, we wish to resume trade as much as you do.” Jackson climbed into the open carriage. “In the meantime, please try to get my wife out of the house. Why not call on one of her friends this afternoon? Pining away in our bedroom for weeks isn’t healthy and won’t bring your father back.”

“You insist we make social calls while in mourning?”

“I’m only suggesting close friends in the neighborhood, not that she don a ball gown for a cotillion. She can wear her unrelenting black if she chooses, even though mourning attire only worsens her melancholia. Abigail is a lighthearted, carefree woman. At least she used to be. She’s barely left our bedchamber since we heard the news.” The horse pranced and pulled against his harness. “What say you? Do we have a bargain?”

She nodded. “I will get her out of the house today.”

Jackson thumped his walking stick and the carriage began to roll. Talking to his father had been on his mind anyway. Their company thrived and grew with the movement of goods. With less cotton and tobacco flowing out of port, their balance sheet must be suffering. He aimed to find out how bad things were before the situation became irreparable.

He found his father at his desk enjoying his favorite morning breakfast—sweet dough rolled in chopped pecans, coiled into a circle, and then baked. Whenever Randolph left the plantation before dawn, he carried several with him to eat at his Wilmington office.

“Good morning, Father. Will we have the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening?” Jackson asked as he slouched into one of the soft upholstered chairs.

“You shall because I’m staying in town.” Randolph set down the icing-topped pastry and looked at his son, his bloodshot eyes ringed with dark circles.

“You look terrible, sir. What’s wrong?”

“I went over the books last night. Today I plan to meet with our clerks and bookkeeper. There must be some mistake. Perhaps receivables haven’t been properly tallied on the ledgers.”

Jackson recognized his perfect opportunity. “If you don’t mind, I would also like to meet with the bookkeeper and assess the company’s financial condition.”

“Very well. I would appreciate your input, but I don’t think either of us will like what we see. President Davis’s edict of no trade with England has hurt us badly. Britain is the chief market for cotton and a substantial amount of tobacco. Your houseguest isn’t the only one needing restored trade routes.” He rang the bell for more coffee. “I’ve spoken to your mother about curtailing orders from her favorite couturiers and also to the overseer about not purchasing more people. Tomorrow I have an appointment with the banker about an extension of credit. Our family is trying to maintain standards until this conflict is resolved.”

“The situation has become that dire?” Jackson jumped to his feet and began to pace. “Why haven’t we spoken about this before?”

“I didn’t wish to worry you, son. I felt certain President Davis would realize how vital cotton is to the economy of Southern states and rescind his decision. This war has lasted three years with no end in sight.”

Jackson took in a calming breath. “I’m not a wet-behind-the-ears youth, Father. When William ran off and enlisted in the cavalry, I told you I would help run the company in his place.”

The mention of his brother’s name only deepened the creases around Randolph’s mouth. “It’s been weeks since we’ve heard a word from William or seen a newspaper report as to the whereabouts of his division.”

Jackson shook his head. “Yankee spies read Southern papers, sir. The less Sherman’s troops know about William’s regiment, the better.”

Randolph stood and brushed sugar from his cravat. “You have helped me, Jackson. You’ve demonstrated shrewdness at the auction by buying quality materials at the best prices, yet whatever cotton arrives in Wilmington sits moldering in our warehouses. There’s little you can do about that.”

All at once Jackson’s vision cleared. While he’d been blustering with his friends over whiskeys in the afternoon, or losing at cards until the wee hours of morning, his father had allowed Henthorne and Sons to falter. Why hadn’t he noticed how aged the man had grown? And with age came cautiousness and hesitancy. Restraint was no way to run one of the foremost brokerage houses on the Carolina coastline. “Allow me to review the books this afternoon. Then I’ll visit every warehouse in town and assess the inventory of cotton available to be shipped.”

“Shipped to where? If word of sales to England gets back to Richmond, I may be ostracized. The president insists Britain’s influence is crucial if the Confederacy is to prevail.” Randolph reached for a glass of water with a shaky hand.

“I read the papers too, Father. Munitions and supplies for our army are far more crucial than the Queen’s approval. Soldiers need guns, powder, cannon shot, food, shoes—the list is as long as my arm. There may be a way to help the Cause and help ourselves at the same time. We can ship cotton, tobacco, and tea to Bermuda. Fleet ships on a straight course to the island can return with munitions from the continent much faster than from South Hampton or Liverpool.”

Randolph scratched his chin. “Bermuda is a colony of the British Empire. Wouldn’t that still be disobeying Davis’s request?”

“Allow me to assume the day-to-day operations. Later, if we suffer censure or reprisals from my decision, I shall plead ignorance as to the nature of Bermuda’s politics. Several of my friends will attest that I paid little attention to geography in school. In the meantime, German manufacturers can get their products to us. This could be exactly what the company needs.”

“Let me think on this for a few days.”

“No, Father. Now is the time for action for Henthorne and Sons and perhaps for the Cause itself. If we hesitate, our opportunity may be lost.” Jackson straightened to his full six feet and squared his shoulders. “Give me a chance to prove myself. I won’t let you down.”

For a fleeting moment, he saw relief replace resignation in the old man’s eyes.

“Very well. I’ll turn over the reins for a while. Your mother would like me at home more. With few men around, our people continue to disappear. The overseer cannot be everywhere at once. I’ll expect reports from you each week, but I won’t interfere with your decisions.” Randolph offered his hand.

“Thank you, sir. You won’t be sorry.” Jackson shook, bowed deeply, and walked to his small office—an office that had contained too much daydreaming and not enough work. But those days were behind him. He’d always assumed he would take the helm once his father passed on, but what if there was nothing left to run when that time came? Considering the state of affairs in Wilmington, bold action was needed, not reminiscing about how life used to be.

For the remainder of the day, Jackson pored over recent correspondence from cotton planters, other area factors, and then studied the books and ledgers for hours. Although many notations for expenditures were gibberish, one thing became crystal clear by day’s end. The economic health of Henthorne and Sons had been in steady decline for the past two years. If something wasn’t done to turn the tide, they would soon need to sell assets to satisfy creditors. His father should have come to him before now, but Jackson had done little to instill faith in his abilities.

When William left to join Braxton Braggs’s troops, his father had been so proud. Randolph had begged Jackson not to do the same because Wilmington had become the most important port on the eastern coast. Nevertheless, Jackson had yearned for a way to make his own mark.

This might be the best chance he would ever get.

Amanda crept down the back stairs to the garden as quiet as a mouse. She had no desire to disturb anyone at this hour, but she couldn’t stay in her room any longer. Jackson had kept his word. Now that he’d taken over the day-to-day operations at Henthorne and Sons, cotton would soon leave the Wilmington wharves and head to the sprawling textile mills of Manchester and Derby. The elder Henthorne was apparently required at his country home, but Jackson assured her Dunn Mills would receive their fair share under his leadership.

She had kept her word as well. For the past week, she and her sister had gone out five afternoons out of seven. After a shaky start, Abigail appeared to thrive under the attention. Although she still wore unrelenting black, usually reserved for widows, Abigail secretly confided to Amanda her second reason for sorrow—the absence of a pregnancy.

Jackson was grateful his wife had rejoined society on a limited basis. And Amanda was grateful for an afternoon that didn’t involve sipping tea, eating iced petits fours, and listening to gossip about people she didn’t know. Today’s overdue task involved a tall shopkeeper with strong hands, an easy smile, and a lock of hair that was often in his eyes despite his efforts. She had waited long enough to visit Cooper’s Greengrocery. She hoped Nathaniel didn’t believe her opinions matched her brother-in-law’s, because nothing was further from the truth.

“Miz Dunn? You ready for your breakfast? Miz Henthorne gonna take a tray in her room.”

Amanda turned to find Salome under the arbor. “Yes, I am. Just toast and jam will be sufficient.”

The cook frowned. “I already got cheesy grits and ham. That no good?”

“It will be fine.” Amanda followed Salome into the subterranean kitchen. “I could just eat down here to save time and steps. It’s cooler than one would suppose.” She wandered around the immense room, ducking under hanging pots and branches of dried herbs and spices.

“Don’t know who’s doing the supposin’, but you go on up to the morning room. I’ll have Josie fetch your breakfast shortly. That’s how we do things.” There was no censure in her tone, only concern that long established rules of conduct might be broken.

“Very well, but I’ll have coffee with cream and sugar instead of my usual tea.” Amanda walked up the stone steps to the courtyard but then paused in the doorway. “Do you need anything from the grocery today, Salome? I noticed the honey pot was low, and I haven’t had parsnips in ever so long.”

The cook stopped stirring the grits. “Parsnips? Master Henthorne don’t like parsnips. That’s why I don’t fix ’em. And I got a whole crock of honey on the shelf. ’Sides, I’m going to Baxter’s on Wednesday.”

“Why Baxter’s? I thought you liked Mr. Cooper’s selection and prices.”

“Yes’m, but Miz Henthorne told me to go back to Baxter’s. Ain’t my place to ask questions. These grits are ready to eat. You go on up, Miz Dunn.” Pulling the pot from the heat, Salome added in a whisper, “But if you happen to buy parsnips today, I’ll fix them for your lunch.”

Five minutes later, when Josie carried her breakfast tray into the morning room, she blinked and stared in disbelief. Helene was seated at the table with Amanda.

“Would you bring a second bowl and plate, Josie? I wish to speak to Helene while I eat.”

Helene hated eating downstairs in the kitchen or the courtyard. If she was present—the sole white face—all conversation ceased among the slaves. Amanda decided that as long as they were alone, Helene would share the table with her.

“I’m going shopping in town today, Helene. Would you like to join me?”

The maid exhaled with relief when Josie wordlessly complied. “Of course, Miss Amanda. If you purchase black silk or crepe at the dry goods store, I will start on another mourning dress for you.”

“We won’t be stopping there. I fear the selection hasn’t improved much since my last visit.” Amanda divided the ample food on the tray between two plates.

“To the dressmaker shop, then? Your kid gloves need to be replaced.”

“No, I prefer to make do for now. I thought we would stop at the greengrocers on Water Street.” Amanda flashed her a grin.

Helene had nothing to say to that. Instead, she concentrated on her food, keeping whatever opinion she had to herself.

Amanda hated to drag her maid along, but otherwise Abigail would insist she ride in the carriage with Thomas. Within the hour the two of them entered Cooper’s Greengrocery—Helene with curiosity; she with nervous apprehension. They found the proprietor on a ladder stocking shelves.

“Good morning, Mr. Cooper. It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir.”

“Good morning, Miss Dunn. If it is such a pleasure, why have you stayed away for a month?” Nathaniel continued lining up cans of peas without turning around.

Helene gasped at his rude comment, finally drawing his full attention to the women.

Nathaniel nearly lost his balance on the rung. “Excuse me, Miss Dunn! I assumed incorrectly that you were alone.”

“I see. So my being alone is a prerequisite for your insults?”

He climbed down the ladder and brushed his hands across his apron. “My words weren’t intended to insult, only to ascertain the reason for your visit. Has Baxter’s burned to the ground or been hit by a tornado?” A smile pulled at his lips.

“I don’t believe so. Salome plans to shop there on Wednesday. But I prefer establishments that treat customers in unexpected ways.”

“I see. Then how may I assist you?” He walked behind the counter and reached for his order pad and pencil.

Amanda addressed Helene, who appeared fascinated with small packages of thread. “Would you mind visiting the dressmaker’s shop on Front Street? I have changed my mind about new gloves.” She dug in her purse for money.

Helene stepped closer. “Don’t you wish to select them yourself, ma’am?”

“I do not. You’re familiar with my tastes, and our hands are the same size.”

“Very well, Miss Amanda.” The maid cast the shopkeeper an anxious glance before turning toward the door.

Amanda waited until Helene was on her way before giving Nathaniel her full attention. The counter separating them seemed an inadequate barrier. “First of all, I came because I wanted to apologize for my brother-in-law’s behavior.”

Nathaniel squinted and cocked his head as though unsure he’d heard correctly. “That dinner party was more than a month ago. Your apology for someone else’s actions is wholly unnecessary and decidedly tardy.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

She duplicated his defensive posture. “Why on earth would it be unnecessary? We’ll deal with the tardy aspect later.”

“Unnecessary because you’re not responsible for his behavior. Besides, Mr. Henthorne did us both a favor.”

“Is there no limit to your opacity? Please be more specific.”

“In our mutual desire for friendship or due to physical attraction, we overlooked factors obvious to everyone else.”

“May I conclude then that you find me physically attractive?”

Nathaniel blinked several times. “All those words and that’s what you heard?”

“I heard everything but chose to respond to my attractiveness. With that out of the way, what factors are we ignoring?” Amanda felt rusty at verbal sparring, which she hadn’t engaged in since her brother’s death, but she wanted to rise to the occasion quickly.

“That we have nothing in common. You and I live in separate worlds, so different that never the twain shall meet.”

“Forgive my slow wit and clarify.”

“Your brother-in-law is a rich aristocrat from a long line of planters. They created their vast wealth by using slaves. On the other hand, I am a poor man from the western hills. Not one of my ancestors ever accomplished much in terms of society’s expectations. Although a Southerner born and bred, I’m not an advocate for slavery, which puts me at odds with central and coastal North Carolinians.” His voice lifted a notch as he shifted his weight to the other hip.

“You assume I share Jackson’s ethical code because I’m not poor? I take offense to your misguided notion. Although my parents are as wealthy as the Henthornes, they and I abhor slavery. Don’t forget we’re British, and England abolished the heinous practice in 1833.”

Nathaniel yanked his apron over his head. “You’re correct. I’m sorry I judged you falsely, Miss Dunn. But it doesn’t change the fact your family loves you and would prefer you didn’t take up with a mere shopkeeper.” Something sad lay just beneath his words.

“You haven’t met the rest of my family, only the sister who eloped at seventeen to marry an American cotton factor. Jackson spirited her away to a magistrate for a hasty wedding and then onto the next ship leaving port. Knowing he would be refused, he didn’t approach my father for her hand in marriage. He simply took what he wanted and has never allowed Abigail to visit her home since.”

Tension filled the shop until a boat whistle on the river broke the silence. “Is that the moral behavior you feel you could never aspire to match?”

Pulling off his cap, he slapped it against his leg. “Confound it, Miss Dunn. If you wanted to salvage the worst night of my life, why did you wait so long?”

She clasped her hands together, willing herself not to cry. “I waited because the very next day my sister and I learned that our father had…had died. He passed in March, but we didn’t receive word until then. Ever since the failure of the transatlantic cable, messages are at the mercy of the high seas.” She gestured toward her black dress, shawl, and shoes. “I am in mourning, but I chose to come to town today expressly to see you.”

He stared in confusion. “I saw the dark clothing but didn’t put two and two together. I thought your dress was English conservativeness.” He dipped his head respectfully. “My sympathies for your loss, Miss Dunn, and for Mrs. Henthorne’s as well. Did his death come as a shock?”

“To me and Abigail, yes, but probably not to Mama. I didn’t recognize my parents’ motivation for the trip’s urgency.”

“They were protecting you.”

“While robbing me of a…of a chance to say goodbye.” Amanda shook away the moisture stinging her eyes and drew in a deep, sustaining breath. “Let’s not dwell on my loss, please. Life is full of events beyond our control, but your discomfort in my sister’s home should not be one of them.” She reached for his hand. “I apologize and promise it never will be repeated if you will accept my friendship once more.”

Nathaniel’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “There is nothing to forgive. If you want a friend who’s never heard of escargot, I offer my services with pleasure.”

They shook hands a bit longer than necessary. “I’m glad that’s settled—a weight has been lifted. Could we share lunch soon, perhaps next week? I promise not to pack snails.”

“I would be honored, Miss Dunn.”

She reached for a cluster of parsnips as Helene entered the store. “I must hear why one uncomfortable dinner became ‘the worst night of your life.’”

“No need to wait until next week. I had wanted you to like me more than anything. And I reckoned I had a better chance of swimming to France to see that new tower everyone is talking about.”

“On one of those prospects you have succeeded.” Amanda placed coins on the counter and pivoted on her heel. She grabbed Helene by the arm and hurried from the shop. Her confidence had waned, yet she felt confident that in the verbal battle of wills, she had prevailed.

Abigail stretched languidly like a cat and rose to her elbows. The nap had done her good. Her headache was gone, along with the strange queasiness she’d experienced during breakfast. Lately she hadn’t been able to stand the sight of poached eggs. When she could tolerate eggs at all, they needed to be cooked to death the way most Americans preferred. Perhaps by the time she reached old age, she would have developed a slow drawl and a preference for grits over porridge. She picked up her book and went in search of a cool spot to read with Estelle trailing at her heels. Yet under the shade of an ancient live oak, Abigail hadn’t read a chapter when Jackson broke her concentration.

“Amos said I would find you here.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Splendid, in fact. Better than I have felt in weeks.” Lifting her legs to the ottoman, she fluffed her voluminous skirt around her ankles. “What brings you home at midday?”

“I’m on my way to the docks, but I was worried about you. Salome said you haven’t been eating much at breakfast or lunch. At dinner you barely touched the fine ham my father sent from the country.”

“Salome is a tattletale. There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

Jackson peered into the shadows of the garden. “Where is your sister? Has she gone to pay afternoon calls without you?”

“No. According to Salome, she went shopping with Helene.” Estelle appeared with a tray of lemonade and handed her a glass.

Jackson waved off the lemonade. “What kind of shopping? I thought you instructed Salome to return to Baxter’s.” He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something foul.

“I believe new gloves were the object of my sister’s desire.” Abigail took a sip of her cold drink.

“Why on earth would she take Helene as though they were school chums off on holiday? She could have sent her maid on the errand, or if something required her presence, then Helene should have assisted with chores around here.” He paced back and forth on the flagstone path.

“Goodness, Jackson. Are you piqued that Amanda took Helene to town? Perhaps she enjoys the woman’s company or didn’t wish to carry the heavy parcel herself.” She chuckled despite her husband’s agitation.

He came to perch on the edge of her chaise. “It’s not solely about today’s excursion. Amanda treats Helene far too grandly for a maid. Did you know that when you take breakfast on a tray in your room, she invites Helene to dine with her as though they are equals? Don’t tell me that would have gone on back home at Dunncliff Manor.”

“No, certainly not. Helene would eat in the servants’ hall with the other maids and footmen.”

“Yet Amanda comes into my house and upsets the established order.”

Abigail sobered instantly, realizing the extent of her husband’s displeasure. “Forgive me, Jackson. Have I been lax or neglectful in other ways too?”

“Not in the least.” He took both her hands in his. “But how does it look to the slaves when this maid sleeps in a private alcove, comes and goes as she pleases, and doesn’t do a lick of work not directly related to your sister? Which, I might add, cannot be very taxing because I purchased Josie for her.”

Abigail swung her legs off the chair. “I will speak to Amanda about Helene’s preferential treatment. But you know her opinion of slavery. I’ve given her a wide breadth until now to not ruffle her feathers.”

Jackson reflected for a moment. “You forget, wife, that I have been to Dunncliff Manor. Amanda judges us harshly, yet her parents have a dozen on staff who are paid a mere pittance beyond room and board. Their cold rooms contain stark furnishings, with two or three occupants per room. And the meals? Hodgepodge stews and soups from uneaten leftovers from upstairs. Those workers barely own one set of clothes for Sundays in addition to their uniforms. All of that sounds little different than life here in Wilmington, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Goodness, Jackson. How long has this been simmering inside you?” She patted his hand affectionately.

“Apparently for longer than I realized. Forgive me for speaking plainly, but I’ve heard your sister making comments to Salome, Amos, and Josie—things she has no business saying. I don’t want her stirring up trouble where none exists.”

“I doubt that is what she’s trying to do. Amanda has always been opinionated and headstrong. But I will speak to her about Helene and reach some sort of compromise. We can’t make her maid sleep with strangers in the slave quarters, but she will eat in the kitchen and at least help with the laundry and ironing.”

Jackson scrubbed his face with his hands. “I shouldn’t involve myself with what is your domain, but I have held my tongue around your sister too many times to count. Amanda is so…unlike you.”

“That is such a paradox. To look at us, one would think we’re mirror images, yet the longer people know us, presumed similarities disappear. We’ve always been different as night from day. You have every right to express your displeasure with the household, Jackson, but please attempt to like my sister. She won’t be here forever, and I so enjoy her company.”

“I will try. I would do that and more for you—anything in fact.” He stood and straightened his coat. “I’m dining in town tonight. I called a meeting of the cotton factors. Ships are leaving port on a regular basis now on a course for Bermuda.”

“I’m pleased for you.”

Jackson kissed her lips tenderly and took the walkway to the street at a brisk pace. Abigail settled back to wait for Amanda and Helene’s return. She had lost her place in the book she’d been reading because her thoughts kept drifting to one perfect possibility: Her monthly was again two weeks late. Considering her nausea during the early morning hours, hope flamed anew for what had eluded them thus far—a baby. But she would say nothing, not to Estelle or Amanda, and certainly not to Jackson. Her patient husband had been disappointed too many times. She would wait until his son or daughter was ready to make a noisy entrance before she admitted the truth. In the meantime she would hope and pray and let nothing vex her.

Rousing from another nap an hour later, Abigail overheard female voices on the porch and hurried to intercept them. “Amanda, may I have a word with you before you go upstairs?”

Her sister was pink cheeked from her jaunt up the hill in the bright sunshine. “Of course, Abby. Are you feeling better?”

“I am, thank you. Let’s talk for a moment.” She pointed to chairs in the shade.

“I’ll see you upstairs, Miss Amanda.” After a cursory nod in Abigail’s direction, Helene turned to leave.

“Just a moment, Helene. Where are you going?”

“She usually naps in the late afternoon when I do,” said Amanda. “I’m afraid your Carolina heat and humidity have wreaked havoc on our stamina.”

“But your maid is needed this afternoon in the laundry. I’m afraid there’s a frightful amount of bed linens to be pressed.”

“Of course, Mrs. Henthorne. I’ll see to it at once.” Helene curtsied and vanished down the steps into the garden.

Amanda lifted her chin but remained silent. It was a pose Abigail was familiar with.

“I must insist that your maid tend to housework when you don’t need her, and that she dines in the kitchen or courtyard with the other servants. It’s unseemly that she takes her meals in the morning room. It doesn’t set a good example for the rest of the staff.”

Amanda pursed her lips. “Do you mean the slaves? I doubt they see much connection between Helene and themselves.”

Abigail plucked a spent bloom from a potted plant. “But that’s just it. They should see a connection and so should she. Please maintain my household’s equilibrium.”

Amanda turned pale as watered milk. “This doesn’t sound like you, Abby. Helene’s activities haven’t concerned you a bit since we arrived. Are these your husband’s requests, but he sent you to soften the impact of their delivery?”

She pulled a sour face. “Whether they originated with me or not is immaterial. Jackson is my husband and this is his home. All that you see is his, handed down from several generations of Henthornes. Please, dear sister, show him the respect he deserves.”

Amanda staggered back a step. “Of course. It was thoughtless of me not to recognize and implement these changes on my own. I beg your pardon.” She gazed down at the porch floor.

“I knew you would understand.” Abigail brushed Amanda’s cheek with a kiss. “Let’s not speak another word about it. I’ll see you at dinner. We’re having a leg of lamb. Isn’t that one of your favorites?” She turned and entered the house with a lighter heart. So good to have that unpleasant business over with.