Ireland Rose

  Up the stairs to her room for a quick toss of several underskirts, just enough to be decent. Down the stairs and through the back doors; she stepped through hoping to see them and found that no one was about. Where could they be? Hopefully, nothing bad had happened while she was away. Rose guarded her heart against borrowing trouble, just like Portia said.

  When twenty minutes passed, Rose began to wonder and so took a walk out back to the servant quarters and looked about. There under the Magnolia tree sat Portia and her family.

  Rose felt her heart relax. It was a terrible thing to think she could be here alone without her husband or Emmanuel and Portia to protect her or care for her. Suddenly she missed her parents.

  “Miz Rose. We done wondered what took ya’ll so long. I says to Emmanuel here, I was just thinking on worrying a mite.”

  “I’m here Portia. It’s so hot tonight isn’t it? Our meeting went well. I think we will be able to assist the orphanage.”

  “Now that’s mighty good of ya, chile.”

  Rose smiled, thanking Portia with her eyes. Even Lily and Thomas were quiet tonight. There was nothing worth doing this eve, except waving a fan about one’s face and so Rose joined the family for iced tea underneath the barely swaying leaves of the Magnolia

  Chapter 13

  There was still no word from her husband or Mr. Wyatt. Rose had heard rumors from returning ship captains of rampant disease in London. Surely, there would be word soon.

  The News & Courier, Charleston’s newspaper, carried news of the same sort.

  By mid-morning, she had written her husband a long letter, full of the summer activities, and her new position as a member of the newly established ladies mission group whose job it was to support Jamison’s Orphanage. Placing the letter on the hall table ready for the post, Rose went about her duties.

  The temperature was climbing now that July was almost upon them. The servants were busy keeping the insects from raiding the milled flour and tempers were fragile. Portia had appeared twice with a face shiny in sweat and Rose worried that the woman took on too many tasks.

  “Come, Portia, sit for awhile. The winds have picked up and it is a bit cooler here in the garden. Take some tea with me?

  “Chile you know I ain’t got no time to be sittin’ about. They’s plenty to be done, pickin’ the vegetables out back. Thomas and that silly grandchild Lily o’mine is trying their best, but I needs to help.”

  Rose knew Portia could not be persuaded today.

  “I’ll be about a short walk on the boulevard then.” She called out and swiftly lifted her skirts and hurried away before Portia felt the need to attend her.

  Rose put on a white straw hat, tied the blue ribbon underneath her chin and chose a light colored umbrella, a serviceable one, and headed out the front door and across White Point Garden toward the river walkway. She noticed several people standing at the guardrail watching the waves and found a place and gazed across the familiar expanse. Several ships bounced on the waters, their white sails whipping in the wind like so many sea birds.

  Fort Sumter, she knew lay in ruins across the way, the Civil War almost twenty years past. The town of Charleston had been devastatingly destroyed by the cannons fired from the ships out in the Ashley and Cooper Rivers which encased Charleston’s battery. But last year, 1883, had been a banner year for growth and rebuilding.

  Employment was high. Banks were reestablished. Charleston fortunes were again blossoming. The harbor was full of stick-like ships with white flags blowing about in the winds. The wharves reeked of fish and boxes were piled high awaiting another destination or distribution to the locals. Crabs, oysters and shrimp merchants were making restauranteurs wealthy. Hotels of immense size and respectable accommodations, helped to build the export trade industry.

  Rose felt her Northern birth had ceased to be a difficulty, at least for the time. The real estate opportunities of Charleston were booming and so were their inhabitants.

  Rose smiled. She had reported all the news to her husband hoping that her letters would make him well and anxious to return. She prayed it might be soon. She shut her eyes and pictured the Ireland Rose sitting in the harbor.

  Suddenly, she felt a bump at her arm.

  “Excuse me.” Came a sound out of somewhere nearby. Rose opened her eyes and turned toward the voice.

  “I’m so clumsy.” A young woman stared at her. “Why you’re Mrs. Lovell, are you not?”

  Rose shaded her eyes and peered into a pair of dark eyes. They reminded her of someone. “Yes, yes, I am Mrs. Lovell. And who might I have the honor of speaking to?” She said formally.

  The woman’s smile lit up her entire face.

  My name is Mrs. Ava McGuire of Queen Street.”

  Rose returned the woman’s infectious smile unfamiliar with the name. “Had we been acquainted Mrs. McGuire I assure you I would have remembered.”

  “We have not. My brother William Ashton Wyatt is your husband’s employee.”

  “Captain Wyatt?” Rose registered surprise in her voice. No wonder those dark handsome eyes brought back her memory. She had seen them before.

  “Indeed. He has worked for your husband for over a year now.”

  “I am happy to make your acquaintance Mrs. McGuire.” Rose put out her hand, even though she knew it was not proper to do so in public. It seemed that Mrs. McGuire was without an escort as well.

  The woman’s smile was genuine. Rose suddenly found herself inviting the woman to tea at’s Tea Room. “It is only a short walk, if you have the time.” She waited.

  “I do.” The young woman agreed and swirled her pink parasol. “Pray, what is your given name?”

  “I am Ireland Rose.”

  “Ireland Rose. That is a lovely name.” The woman whispered.

  “Why thank you. Your parasol is beautiful. Where did you find such a confection?” Rose inquired as she admired it.

  “Oh, it is a special gift from my brother. He brought it back from London.”

  Rose felt a kinship immediately. “How kind of him.”

  The two chatted over tea for more than an hour. Captain Wyatt was mentioned very little, but it seemed Mrs. McGuire enjoyed speaking of her banker husband. Rose listened intently and saw a woman in love.

  Rose found herself rather pensive and quiet. She wished for a loving husband…even a husband at home…and spoke to herself sharply at her ungrateful thoughts.

  “I am happy for you.” Rose said with truth. “We shall have to get together again. I am most anxious to establish some new friendships. Perhaps you can assist me?”

  Ava McGuire was happy at the request. Rose could see it in her face.

  “Indeed. This very evening, I shall tell Mr. McGuire that I have met Captain’s Lovell’s wife and invite you to the next soiree.”

  “It will be my pleasure to meet your friends. I shall trust you implicitly.” Rose said forthright, for she sensed Ava McGuire was an honest person.

  “Indeed you may.”

  They parted ways and Rose felt herself step more lightly both in foot and in heart. She had made a new friend. Captain Wyatt’s sister. Providence no doubt.

  When they met again Rose meant to ask if she’d had a word from her brother. She’d been too reserved to turn the conversation to something so personal.

  Chapter 14

  Rose checked the table for any new posts. Disappointed yet again, she greeted the noise from the July Fourth parade without much enjoyment. The Citidel military corps made a handsome show in their uniforms. The crowd crowed with excitement as they passed. Charleston was well known for its well trained cadets.

  The parade was over and White Point Garden was full of beautifully-dressed ladies and gentlemen away from their businesses for an afternoon of social connection. She had come without an escort knowing full well that she would be shunned by the ladies with husbands on their arm. But it didn’t matter. She may well be a widow by now, the way it seemed.

  Captain W
yatt had left days ago and there had not been a word from her husband in London. Certainly he would send word through a nurse who would write on his behalf. Rose was thinking about this when she was approached.

  “Greetings on this fine day.” Ava McGuire interrupted her negative thoughts.

  “Mrs. McGuire. How nice to see you again.” Rose’s heart lifted.

  “May I introduce my husband, Mr. Theodore Madison McGuire.”

  “Mr. McGuire.” Rose nearly extended her hand and instead tipped her chin in greeting.

  Ava chatted on about the weather and the newly built Drayton House on East Battery…in the dashing Queen Anne architectural style.

  Rose knew the house. It overshadowed all the other homes along the street with its architectural design and size. Mr. McGuire was indeed a handsome man with distinct blue eyes and hair as black as coal. He was tall and finely dressed, but Rose noticed he did not listen to his lovely wife as she spoke. He seemed to be seeking someone in the crowd.

  Ava, unaware, chattered on with a joy known only by a woman loved. Rose put her own musings to rest and engaged herself in Ava’s excitement.

  “You are a woman of great information.” Rose declared. “You must tell me more about Charleston’s history. I’m afraid Baltimore’s is quite different.” And was instantly regretful. She’d been remiss in mentioning any other roots than that of a well-established Charleston family.

  Mr. McGuire looked down his nose at her, but Rose pretended not to notice.

  The pain of the recent war was still fresh, and well she understood what a Southerner might feel like should they find themselves in Northern territory. It was all relative as to what city one was standing in, yet she must be a bit more careful not to draw attention to her Northern roots in such a manner.

  And indeed she liked Ava McGuire very well. Mr. McGuire excused himself and went off to speak to another well-dressed gentleman. The man’s tall gray hat and gray suit set him apart from the others. Rose wondered who the man could be.

  Ava took her elbow and they strolled the boardwalk. “You must come to my home, Ireland Rose and see the beautiful chest my brother brought. It is exquisite.”

  Rose’s hand went to her throat. “Then you have heard from your brother?” She said as pleasantly as possible.

  “Oh no, not recently, indeed I have not heard from him since he left a few days ago. You have no word from your husband?” Ava looked at Rose, eyes wide.

  “I have not.” She admitted. “It has been longer than usual, I must admit.” She gazed at a child and knelt to place a fallen toy back into the chubby hand, glad for the aversion.

  “I shall write William this evening and send it in the next post.” Ava declared. “Certainly, you must not worry yourself about Captain Lovell. He is a worthy man.” She lifted her chin.

  Rose knew she had a friend in Ava McGuire. “I would be most grateful. And please call me Rose.”

  “I shall indeed.” Ava twirled her parasol, stopping several times to speak to other ladies.

  “You are well established in Charleston then?” Rose said lightly.

  “My husband is a third generation rice planter. But now that the rice fields have nearly been brought to ruin, he has gained an excellent position at the Bank of Charleston and does quite well.”

  Rose listened quietly. The conversation brought up old memories of the papers she had signed and how Mr. Wyatt had scolded her. Best to leave well enough alone, as her mother would say.

  “Have you children running about your home?” Rose asked softly.

  “Oh not yet. Mr. McGuire does not want a family for several years. He is just now establishing himself among the banking industry and things are going so well.” She said sing-song-like.

  Rose smiled. “What do you do to occupy your time? Mr. Lovell and I have no children which leaves me too much time to dawdle.”

  “My grandmother taught me to cook and embroider and garden.” Ava gushed. “But I would rather be about the city looking after the poor families.” She said in a whisper. “My husband does not approve.”

  Rose laughed aloud. “I should say I think we are kindred spirits.”

  Ava smiled wickedly. “Shall we find a cause and work together?”

  “I have just recently joined several other ladies at the Episcopal Church on and we have begun raising funds and donating material goods to Jamison’s Orphanage.”

  “Nooo…” Ava stopped and looked about. “Do not let these ladies hear you say such things.” She teased. “Else you should pay dearly.”

  “We have only just begun. Would you care to join us?” Rose said smartly.

  “Most certainly. My husband is a very busy man most evenings. When is the next meeting?”

  “Oh an entire month away, but do come for a visit. I will show you my herb garden and we can put our heads together.”

  “Shall I come by tomorrow then?” Ava giggled. “Morning or afternoon?

  “Oh morning for tea before the sun wilts my plants.”

  “Eight then?”

  “Yes, perfect. Do not dress for me, unless your husband insists upon it.” Rose added. “For I am pleased to be at ease.”

  “I as well.” But I do have to be rigid when I am in public for my husband has his reputation to think of.”

  “Indeed he does.” Rose knew the importance of one’s reputation in Charleston.

  Mr. McGuire came for his wife, politely disengaging her from Rose’s company and flew away with her. Ava turned her head and winked.

  Mr. Wyatt’s sister was a likable character. She wondered at his dark, almost sinister countenance. How could they be so opposite in personality and lifestyle? The two shared one prolific feature. Their dark eyes and lashes. Black they were and very handsome, Rose thought.

  Humming, she made her way home and entered the house, cooler by several degrees. There were noises in the kitchen beside the garden. Southern homes had unattached kitchens due to the frequent occurrence of fire, since most of them started with the cook’s fire. She thought it rather convenient most times, because it also meant the fires were not lit indoors during the broiling summer months.

  The smell of cornbread wafted to her nose. She had not eaten any of the food from the purveyors at the park. Dashing up the stairs, she changed to a lightweight dress she could appear in and still be decent, then walked hurriedly through the garden to the kitchens.

  “Miz Rose. You been out der in dat hot sun all this time? And you wit your fair skin.” She clucked. “I’s gettin’ you some lemonade dis minute.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “What you been doin’ that makes ya so happy?” Portia was back with her cool drink.

  “We will have a guest tomorrow. Early. Eight in the morning.” Rose spoke quickly, throwing back her glass in a most unladylike fashion and swallowed.

  “Dat early? That means I’s got to get my chores done afore the sun comes up.” She went about her business.

  Rose thought her maid sounded happy. Portia was as good-hearted as any woman could come. She and Emmanuel were free to leave long ago but chose to stay.

  “I done near forgot.” Portia came hurrying back. “I don’t know where my mind be at these days…you got word from over der in London. Cap’n Lovell done wrote.”

  Before Rose could turn, Portia called, “Lily, you get on up and get Miz Rose her letter. Hurry up now.”

  Lily flew on those long legs of hers and by the time Rose’s heart stopped beating so fast, she had the letter in her hand.

  It felt strange, and frightening all at once to see his familiar script. Rose settled on a settee near the roses out of the way and slowly opened the note. It was still unread when Lily came running up with another lemonade.

  “Thank you Lily. Would you mind ever so much to pick a small nosegay of pink roses for dinner this evening?”

  “No ma’am.” Lily chimed. “I knows where the knife is.” She hurried away.

  Rose stared
after her. Lily loved the gardens, especially her flowers.

  She knew she was avoiding the inevitable. Yet didn’t she now hold the letter written by her husband’s own hand. Pulling in a deep breath, the gentle fragrance from the roses lifting her spirits, she ended her foolishness and unfolded the letter and read. Slowly at first and then quicker.

  Her husband was weak from the illness, but well. He would leave for home in September. Both he and Mr. Wyatt were bringing the ships back across the Atlantic together. Rose wanted to dance. She thought of the conversations they would have, what trinkets he would bring from London, maybe even a beautiful trunk. She wanted to tell him about the orphanage. Perhaps by the time he returned, she would have good news. And she would know Ava McGuire better, too. Perhaps they all would dine together in the huge dining room that was hardly ever used.

  Suddenly, she needed to survey the house. Look at it from a visitor’s eye. What could be changed, perhaps rearranged more suitably. She had never really tried her hand at rearranging the furnishings. Lucinda had probably placed each item with perfect symmetry. Would her husband be angry if she attempted to change the decor?

  Rose stood up taller. She wouldn’t know if she didn’t try. She would start this very day. Happy for the good news and something to occupy her time, she walked into each room, crossed her arms over her midsection and took a good, long look, her small foot tapping the elegant, but worn Aubusson carpet.

  The colors were rich. Golds, greens, navy, and burgundy. They were beautiful, but made the house dark. She preferred muted tones. Soft blues and crèmes, soft greens with rose and tan. There was still time, but what funds she had left were in the drawer. And barely two months to do the work.

  Excitement scurried through her bones as she made her way to her husband’s office. She counted out four hundred twenty five dollars. That was a start. Suddenly, her brain began to bubble. She would begin with new draperies and consult with Ava McGuire on the morrow as soon as she could bring up the subject politely.

  Sitting in her husband’s chair Rose picked up a pencil and pad and began to draw. Walking room to room, she penciled in sketches and color ideas.