Plantation (15 page)

I got up and opened the rest of the curtains, continuing the morning rituals, trying to avoid Richard for a moment, trying to anticipate what he would say next. “What are you thinking?” I said.

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He got up from the chair and smiled at me. “I’m thinking that you have to go see for yourself,” he said. “Besides, you haven’t been down there in almost a year.”

“Eighteen months,” I said.

“A lot can happen in eighteen months,” he said. “I can keep the boy . . .”

“Eric,” I said.

“Eric,”
he said with emphasis and a suspicious smile. “Look, it would be good for the two of us to have some time and it would be better for you to be free to spend your time with Lavinia.”

“Well, I know you’re right. I’ll think about it.”
At least Eric can
keep an eye on you and that tramp ex-wife of yours while I’m gone
.

Thank God he couldn’t read my mind. “Maybe, just for a few days.”

M i s s C a r o l i n e ’s J o u r na l
I am so worried about Mother. Something is definitely
off-kilter and I know it. I’m haunted that Trip is up to no
good and Mother is his target.What can I do even if she is?

Sure, I talk to Mother a lot on the phone, but if I try to bring
up something unpleasant in the slightest, she doesn’t listen to
me! She’s so stubborn and bullheaded. She won’t hear that
Eric is anything short of perfection and if she knew half the
things I think about Richard, she’d pitch a fit. If she knew
about the night at Lois’s, she’d burst into flames! Thank God
I’m like my father. I’m pretty calm by nature. And, I don’t
want to get involved in a bunch of sibling junk with Trip. I
have enough issues to handle as it is. I’m just gonna go for a
look-see and then come home and ask Richard to help me
figure it all out.

Eleven

Miss Lavinia Says Her Piece

}

gave life to two children in my lifetime and there was never doubt, not even a tiny shred of doubt in my I mind, that they both would be the cause of my death.

Death by Annoyance and Frustration. That’s how I would go. Let’s get one thing straight. I did not try to kill Trip with my grand-daddy’s Parker Old Reliable. I was cleaning it, he was yelling at me from across the yard, and it fired. The shot landed in the live oak tree next to the house, flushing out a flock of pigeons and wrens. I will admit that the girls and I had been out on the courses, killing clay birds, and perhaps we had imbibed a bit of something to ease the glare of the sun. All right. I know I should never drink and handle a shotgun. But this would’ve happened if I’d been drinking lemonade. An accident, you hear me?

Trip left the house this evening to drive on back to Walterboro where he lives with that wife of his and three of the most squeaky clean and insipid children I have ever seen in all my days—and just 1 1 2

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k how many days I’ve seen is nobody’s damn business. He has been fussing around here like I don’t know what—F. Lee Bailey or some detective looking for evidence, digging into my business. Well, I am going to put a stop to it for once and for all. I just have not yet figured out the course of action to take. But I will.

Why, just this afternoon he started up with me again. We were sitting on the back porch drinking a tall glass of sweet tea in my beautiful water glasses I brought home from Ireland years ago. I remarked to him that it was a lovely South Carolina day and that soon the Confederate Jasmine would be in bloom and how I dearly loved the smell. I knew damn good and well he was itching to put his boat in the river and go fishing but I was determined to make him stay and visit with me for a few minutes. I would not be treated like the harbor captain of a marina. So I decided that he would just have to sit for a short spell whether he liked it or not.

He did not.

He was particularly contentious in that he declined to split a brownie with me and I knew they were his favorite. I tried to make light conversation and to be pleasant. So I said to him, “Son, what do you plan to catch today?”

“Nothing if I keep sitting here,” he said.

Well! I thought that was extremely rude and unnecessary so I said, “Darlin’, I would never dream of holding you here or anywhere against your wishes. I am so sorry if there’s someplace you’d rather be. Truly, I am.”

Well, that got his goat. He got up and walked the full length of the porch, expelling a sigh from his nose, which by the strength of it, in my mind seemed like a fire-breathing dragon. Gave me a good giggle, but I held my peace. When he came back to where we were sitting he leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry, Mother. That came out wrong.”

“Of course it did,” I said. “It’s all right.”

“So, Mother? Would you like to share with me just how you managed to scrape your knees, hands, and face?”

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“It is the height of all rudeness, Trip, to comment on another’s misfortunes.”

“Why did I know you’d say something like that?”

“Sweet boy, I don’t mean to frustrate you, but I don’t wish to discuss it.”

Don’t you know that he sat with me for five more minutes and then went straight inside to Millie and she told him the whole story? In all my days! Such impudence! Such betrayal! And no conscience about it either! I never should have allowed him to become a lawyer! It only served to encourage him to be the unfortunate way he had become and allowed him to justify his most ungenteel behavior under the guise of caring about his poor old—so old she’s half dead—mother.

They say I am irascible, but I was well within my rights when I called him last night and read him the riot act. He still wants me to consider moving into a retirement community! Oh, yes! He made a grand speech! He went on and on about how beautiful they are and how I’d make new friends. Then he pussyfooted around about how inconvenient it was for his poor pregnant wife to be constantly burdened to check on me and how they would soon have four children and their house was too small. Did he think for one split second that I couldn’t see through him? I told him he was completely insane.

And that where I lived and how I spent my time was none of his affair. And for good measure I reminded him that it wasn’t my fault Frances Mae was pregnant! Again! What nerve!

And this money-borrowing thing of his has simply got to stop.

He wanted another ten thousand dollars! I said to him, Dear boy, you must think Mother prints it in the basement! He did not even smile at my clever remark (as we do not have a basement), but, in fact, looked slightly annoyed. When I asked him again what it was for, he became visibly anguished. I don’t give a toot. I’m not giving him any more money until he tells me what’s going on.

Don’t think I didn’t take care of Millie’s bahunkus either.

When I realized she had blabbed on me and the girls, I went straight 1 1 4

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k to her in the kitchen. She was just as calm as could be, humming a little tune and polishing my mother’s Strasbourg silver flatware, which had been given to her mother before her by a dear family friend descended from Robert E. Lee himself on the occasion of her marriage. Well, alright, I got it through Neiman Marcus online, but who needs to know that?

“Millie?” My voice sounded shrill. Her eyebrows shot up.

There was nothing more offensive than a lady with a shrill voice unless, of course, it was a natural, God-given sound. And then it honestly could not be helped.

“Yes’m, Miss Lavinia?” She continued to work without raising her eyes to meet mine.

“Millie? Is there a reason why you are avoiding my eyes?”

She carefully put down the silver and took off her rubber gloves, placing them beside the pile of forks, knives, and spoons.

She took a deep breath, put her hands on her hips, and looked at me square in the face. God’s Bible, those eyes of hers could be unnerv-ing, but after all the years we had been together, I had adjusted to her and her ways.

“Well? Say something, damn it!” I said.

“Miss Lavinia? If you don’t want me telling your boy the truth, get yourself another woman to run your business! You don’t pay me enough to lie before the eyes of God.”

“Is this about money?”

It was a vulgar question and I regretted it the very second the words left my mouth.

“No, ma’am, it is
not
about money. If you don’t want people talking the story about you then you need to behave better.”

Well, we were both plumb, hopping mad. I really didn’t blame her, but I couldn’t excuse her traitorous deed either. Besides, she didn’t scare me. I slammed my hand down on the table so hard that it stung like mad.

“You’re fired!” I said.

“I ain’t fired and you know it! Who else gone put up with you?”

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“I will not have you telling tales on me to my children!”

She put her hands down on the table and spoke to me in a quiet tone, the kind used when trying to talk a madman into coming off the window ledge.

“Then don’t give me no tales to tell. If Mr. Nevil were still alive, God rest his blessed soul, he would take a switch to your fanny for using a shotgun and drinking bourbon at the same time.

Now you go on and let me finish my work or I
will
quit, and then what will you do?”

She was right. With her whole career consumed by the care of my children, my home, and yes, me, it was plain for any fool to see that I should’ve been more grateful. I decided to be gracious and let her win this round.

“Oh, Millie! I am sorry. Truly. Can you forgive an old woman?”

“You ain’t old, but you’re certainly making us all old!”

“Well?”

“Oh, all right. Why don’t you go have a nap and I’ll call you in an hour.”

I just turned and walked away. In my mother’s day, her housekeeper would never have spoken to her like that. Anyway, Millie wasn’t a housekeeper, but my estate manager. Also, my mother never had a woman like Millie. Millie would have dressed down the Pope and the president themselves if she thought they needed it.

I climbed the steps to the second floor, thinking a cool bath and a short nap might be just the thing to revive me. Millie. She always knew exactly the right thing to do. Bless her heart.

I just adored escaping to my bedroom. It faced a long stretch of the Edisto River. From my windows I watched the sunrise and in the evening I would go out onto my terrace as it slipped into Mother Nature’s pocket for the night. Nevil had restored the suite of rooms for me years ago. It had a lovely large bedroom, a very ample dressing room, and the most beautiful bathroom we could conjure up at the time.

He always understood my little indulgence for shoes and had 1 1 6

D o r o t h e a B e n t o n F r a n k built a special sliding storage area that held all two hundred pairs in their original boxes and acid-free paper. Every pair was photographed and the picture was taped to the end of the box so I didn’t have to rummage around to find what I wanted. Each pull-out shelf was like a pocket door on rollers and the shoes were stored by color. The first held all my white and beige shoes, the second reds and navies. The third held blacks and the fourth was all sandals, mules, and slippers. Not exactly a Dewey decimal system, but it worked fine for me.

My collection of shoes was as expansive as my clothes collection. My mother taught me long ago to buy the very best that I could afford and make sure it was classic. No frills or ruffles. Who listens to their mother? I buy one complete outfit in the spring and another in the fall, and they are as dramatic as possible. I always have a simple black dress for each season and I wear my South Sea pearls every evening for dinner. If I haven’t worn something in two years, I pack it in acid-free tissue and store it. I love clothes and what I wear each day reflects my mood.

The yellow and rose flowered curtains and bedspread of the bedroom were getting old and beginning to fade, but I didn’t care a fig about that. The room was exactly as it had been before my darling Nevil left the earth. Oh! What a fabulous lover he was! All right. Maybe not, but oh, he was such an elegant man! When he was in the room my heartbeat picked up and I became giddy with the sheer delight of just sharing the same space with him. Even though Nevil was a perfectionist and a little prissy, being called Nevil Wimbley’s wife was the greatest honor I have ever known. I missed him every single minute of the day but I sincerely hoped that he wasn’t watching me from above every single minute of the day. I didn’t think he would have been too terribly happy about some of the company I had been keeping.

Certainly Trip and Frances Mae weren’t pleased about my last boyfriend and I knew it, although they rarely said a word. Was a widow not entitled to a little happiness? Was I supposed to just P l a n t a t i o n

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prune the roses and wait for the Grim Reaper to call for a date? I think not.

When Nevil went to his well-deserved rest and reward, I decided to kick up my heels a little—have a little fun. And if that meant having a younger man at my side, what was the harm in that? Men did it all the blessed time!

My friends thought Raoul was perfectly wonderful. He was as handsome as he was virile. Trip thought he was a common gigolo.

Oh, yes! I knew what he thought! Trip and Frances Mae were much more concerned about their
inheritance
than my happiness.

Don’t think I didn’t know that!

Now if he knew the truth about how I had scraped myself up he would rant and rave until he barked like a fox with a bushy tail.

I was wearing those damnable Italian trousers Mr. Armani made and the heel of my new J. P. Todd’s got caught in the cuff when I went to jump down from the quail buggy. I hate cuffs! Does anyone think that my son doesn’t take a cooler of Heineken on the boat when he fishes? Lord! This double standard! How did a woman like me ever blow breath into such a prude?

Well, we all had our crosses to bear, like my mother used to say.