Celia Garth: A Novel (34 page)

And she would wither away. One of our old and valued employees.

Oh Miss Loring, was it like this for you?

V
IVIAN APPROVED OF CELIA’S
decision to go back to Charleston. “There’s no solace like work,” she said. Celia smiled politely, but she was not impressed. She envied Vivian, who was so rich she did not need to work.

Herbert’s son Eugene rode over one day to see how they were, and Vivian asked if he knew anybody who could take Celia to Charleston. Eugene said two neighbors of his, Mr. and Mrs. Kirby, were planning to go to town shortly. Eugene and Mr. Kirby were old friends, and still liked each other in spite of the fact that Mr. Kirby favored the king.

Those Tories, Celia thought angrily. It did seem that Fate was making every circumstance as unpleasant for her as possible. She envied Darren, who was a man and could ride to town by himself.

She packed her belongings. There was one box that she had not opened since she went to Bellwood to be married. It held her emerald necklace and the bracelets of gold roses Jimmy had given her; and also, folded in a covering of heavy muslin, the cravat she had made for him. The necklace she looked at sadly. Probably Roy really would get his hands on it now and give it to Sophie. She glanced at the bracelets, and quickly shut the case. If she ever saw Miles again she would give them back. They were family treasures and she was not part of the family.

But when she foolishly opened the muslin covering and saw the cravat, and remembered how many hours of her life she had put into it and what happy hours they had been—then it was as if an animal was clawing into her bosom and tearing her heart out. She took the cravat between her hands and ripped it to pieces. As she yanked at the cloth it seemed to her that in destroying her beautiful creation she was also destroying her girlhood and her young dreams. She took the shreds out to the kitchen and burned them in the cook-fire.

Before she left she gave the rabbit’s foot to Marietta. “Keep it for Amos,” she said, “to remember Mr. Jimmy by.”

Marietta wrapped the silver chain around the rabbit’s foot and put it into her pocket. When she looked up there were tears in her eyes. “Miss Celia, if you should hear anything about Amos—”

“Yes, of course,” Celia promised. “I’ll get word to you.” She envied Marietta, who still had somebody to live for.

Eugene sent a note to Mr. Kirby, who wrote back that their schooner would stop for Miss Garth on the way to town. When they came to Sea Garden they made only a brief pause, and Mr. Kirby avoided mention of politics. Mrs. Kirby, pretty as ever with her green eyes and red hair, chattered about her clothes and her children. She now had two children, her little boy George, named for the king, and her new baby Freddie. She explained that Freddie also was named for the king, as “George William Frederick” was the full name of George the Third.

Herbert told Celia good-by with grave pleasantness, and gave her a volume of Shakespeare’s comedies to amuse her leisure. Vivian said, “I’ve handed Mr. Kirby a note for Burton. You can stay with Burton and Elise until you’re established at Mrs. Thorley’s. Good-by, dear.”

On the boat, Celia spent her time helping Mrs. Kirby’s maids wait on her. Mrs. Kirby was not a deliberate snob; it merely would not have occurred to her that a working girl had any mission in life but to wait on her betters. At the Charleston wharf two redcoats came on board and asked Mr. Kirby to identify himself.

Mr. Kirby showed them a document signed by the British commandant of the district where his plantation was located. This certified that Mr. and Mrs. Kirby were loyal subjects who during the late insurrection had given aid and comfort to his majesty’s troops and who had permission to return to their town house. One of the redcoats scribbled a paper allowing them to land.

The harbor was busy with British ships. Ahead of her Celia saw Charleston, glowing like an opal in the evening sun. It would have been beautiful except for the black steeple of St. Michael’s with the white scar where the shell had struck.

They went in a hired coach to the Kirbys’ home on Broad Street. Before dark Burton called for Celia, and they walked to Vivian’s house on Meeting Street. He told her his own house had been damaged by the firing, and so far—ahem, he cleared his throat—he had not been able to manage the repairs. She noticed that Burton still wore clothes too tight for him. Evidently he was not as prosperous as he used to be.

It seemed to Celia that they passed dozens of British flags and hundreds of men in red coats. I’ll have to get used to it, she told herself. At the corner of Broad and Meeting Streets they passed the statue of William Pitt, with his left arm gone and the broken place at his shoulder like an open wound.

Elise told her it was so nice to see her again and she did hope Celia wouldn’t mind sleeping in a little room on the third floor. It was all they had empty. The boys were with them, and also two officers were billeted here. British, yes, but really quite nice. The officers had gone to a party this evening. Really it was lucky that they were staying here, because Burton had not taken the oath of allegiance to the king, Godfrey had but not Burton, and sometimes things were made quite unpleasant for men who had not taken the oath. But with two officers in the house things were so much simpler. The maid would show Celia to her room and would she please hurry down again because supper was nearly ready.

Celia was washing up when suddenly she stopped, the cake of soap between her hands. Elise had said Godfrey had taken an oath of allegiance to the king. Celia thought of Godfrey’s patriotism during the siege. But now he had given in. And from the way Elise spoke, probably a lot of other patriots had too. I’ll have to get used to it, Celia told herself again.

The next morning she wrote to Mrs. Thorley, saying that her fiancé had been killed in the war and she would like to come back to work. A servant of Burton’s took the note to the shop and brought back a reply. Mrs. Thorley said she was distressed by the news, but would be glad to have Celia’s services again. She asked Celia to call this afternoon. Godfrey and Ida had come in to see her, and Godfrey said he would tell Darren to come over and walk with her to the shop.

Not long after dinner a maid came to tell Celia that Darren was in the reception room. She hurried down. Darren was well dressed and looked as merry as ever, but as he crossed the room to meet her she noticed that he limped and carried a cane. When she asked why, he said he was still having a little trouble from the leg-wound he had received during the siege.

“Oh!” she said, surprised, for she had not noticed Darren limping when she saw him at Sea Garden. “You mean the night you moved the—”

“Shh!” Darren said quickly. He beckoned her nearer, and gave her a smile of conspiracy as he whispered, “It’s still there. Walled up. No sense in telling them.”

Celia smiled back. It was a pleasure to know there were ten thousand pounds of gunpowder in the Exchange, which the king’s soldiers would like to use to shoot rebels but which they had not found. It was even more of a pleasure to observe that Darren was still loyal to the patriot side. But her bright thoughts were darkened at once, for Darren said briskly,

“First we’ll go to the office on Queen Street so you can swear in as a British subject.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Me?”

“Didn’t they tell you?”

Celia shook her head.

Darren made her sit down by him on the sofa. He told her that if you did not declare yourself a good subject of King George you could not hold a job or engage in business. He pushed aside the curtain so she could see carpenters repairing a house damaged during the siege. Those men might have principles, said Darren, but they had taken the king’s oath because without a paper in your pocket saying you had done this, you could not earn a living.

“Have you done it?” she asked shortly.

“Oh yes. Everybody has, except a few men so rich they don’t need to work.”

“Like Burton,” Celia said with astonished respect. So this was why he had not repaired his suburban home and had not bought new clothes. He was holding out.

“Yes,” said Darren, but he added seriously, “I’m afraid even men like him are going to have to give in. Colonel Balfour—the city commandant—arrested about forty rich men the other day and shipped them to the British fort at St. Augustine, because they hadn’t taken the oath. Since then every man who hasn’t taken it is afraid of being exiled, and a lot of them have been swearing in so they can stay with their families.”

There was a silence. Celia wondered if he was trying to justify Godfrey. She thought Godfrey was rich enough to live without working, but she could not imagine his doing so. Activity was his life.

She was amazed at Darren’s attitude. He had slipped out of town in a farm cart so he could fight for his country, and now he talked about taking the king’s oath as though it was like signing a receipt for goods. Maybe he did have to take the oath, because he had his living to earn, but he might have shown some anger at the British for making him do it.

Then she asked herself, Why am I finding fault with Darren? He says I’ve got to take the oath too. I suppose if I had a really noble character I’d proudly refuse. Yes, and then what? I can’t ask Burton to support me, he’s got all he can do taking care of his family. And Godfrey, he’d tell me to go ahead and take the oath same as he did. So what could I do? Beg my bread from door to door and sleep in an alley and get arrested for vagrancy? Well, I’m not
that
noble. I’ll swear in. They’ve killed Jimmy and wrecked Bellwood and ruined my life and now they’re making me kneel down and kiss their boots. Oh, I hate them for making me do it and I hate myself for doing it.

Darren had limped to the door and was waiting for her. Celia stood up. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”

A building on. Queen Street had been partitioned into small offices for the king’s troops. Darren showed Celia into a room where two bored-looking redcoats lounged at desks. Darren spoke to one of them, showed his own paper, and said that Miss Garth wanted to take the king’s protection and resume her former employment.

The redcoat yawned, asked her name and age and wrote them in a ledger, yawned again, asked where she wanted to work, and wrote that too. Then he said, “Raise your right hand do you solemnly swear bumble bumble bumble bumblebumblebumble.” Celia put her left hand into her pocket and crossed her fingers, held up her right hand and answered “Yes.” The redcoat took a printed form out of a drawer, filled in the information she had given him, put on an official stamp, and handed her the paper. As she took it he rubbed his eyes sleepily and asked the other redcoat what time it was. Celia and Darren started for Mrs. Thorley’s shop.

Celia was shocked at the look of the town. The streets had been cleared, but at the corners were piles of bricks and broken glass and other trash, not even yet carried away though the siege was four months past. Some stores were open and doing good business, but others still had boards nailed across the doors and windows. Repairs on damaged buildings were makeshift: window-panes had been replaced by oiled paper or sheets of tin, chimneys mended with pieces of brick stuck unevenly together, woodwork painted badly or not at all. The whole place looked tired and sick. Just the way I feel, she thought.

It was late afternoon, the fashionable hour for shopping and driving, and the streets were full of people. Here and there Celia saw redcoated soldiers on guard. Others, off duty, idled along the sidewalk or leaned on the walls, watching the people go past. They eyed her with such meaningful glances that she understood why Godfrey had sent Darren to be her escort. She saw officers accompanied by well-dressed ladies and gentlemen. Several of these she recognized as customers of the shop, and she thought, Now I’ll be making their clothes and I’m no better patriot than they are.

At the shop she went to the side door, trying not to remember the gray Sunday afternoon when she and Jimmy had come to this door together and he had kissed her in the little hallway. Darren said he would leave her now.

He limped down the steps and away. Celia looked after him. It was really odd about that limp. She was sure he had not had it when she saw him at Sea Garden.

In Mrs. Thorley’s office you would not have thought anything had happened. Mrs. Thorley sat at her desk, large, calm, starched. The room was in perfect order. The windows even had all their panes. Either this building had been mighty fortunate or Mrs. Thorley had managed to get some glass from somewhere; knowing Mrs. Thorley, Celia rather imagined it was the latter.

Mrs. Thorley greeted her as if Celia were reporting for duty after a holiday. “Come in, Miss Garth. I hope you are well?”

“Yes, Mrs. Thorley, thank you.”

Celia stood respectfully before the desk. It had seemed the same. But it was not the same. Mrs. Thorley was saying, “I trust you have taken the king’s protection, Miss Garth?”

Celia felt a twitch of shame as she answered, “Yes, Mrs. Thorley.”

“May I see your paper, please?”

Celia handed it over.

“This seems in order,” Mrs. Thorley said crisply, and returned it. She folded her large hands on the desk. “Take a chair, Miss Garth.”

Celia sat down. She crossed her ankles and laced her ringers on her lap. It was like that other afternoon a year ago when Mrs. Thorley had summoned her to say she had received a letter from Mrs. Lacy.

But again, it was different.

This time the difference was in Mrs. Thorley herself. She had not spoken twenty words when Celia realized that Mrs. Thorley no longer looked upon her as a beginner fit only for buttons and bastings, but as a dressmaker who knew her trade. Mrs. Thorley was actually asking her what sort of work she would like to do. She said there was now a plentiful supply of good materials, and they had more orders than they could fill—orders for dresses, and fancy caps and kerchiefs, and the delicate little gauze aprons so fashionable just now, and gentlemen’s fine shirts and sleeve-ruffles—

And as Mrs. Thorley talked, offering her the sort of work she had yearned for, Celia felt nothing at all.