you does.”
“He the son ob the gent’man I respect more’n any other gent’man on the whole, wide earth, that why. Eve, I tol’ you ‘bout the talk Miss Anne’s got to hab wif her papa ‘cause I knows you got the same kind ob loyalty to her. She gonna need you when she walk outa the old gent’man’s room afterwhile. She gonna need a friend.”
On her feet, Eve almost glared down at him. “Leavin’ Lawrence gonna break her heart near like losin’ Mausa John an’ Annie,” she snapped. “But where you think I gonna be? You think I fixin’ to take a trip across the
ocean? It be bad enough that she got to tell 127 young John Couper good-bye down at the dock when they finish eatin’ breakfus. Hearin’ bad news from her own papa gonna grind her heart. But one thing be sure. When de time come fo’ me to help Miss Anne, Eve be right there!”
Throughout breakfast with Caroline and James Hamilton, William Audley and his likable wife, Hannah—daily growing more like her mother, Anna Matilda—Anne sat memorizing the incredibly handsome features of John Couper, who would be leaving her in minutes. She had forced herself to laugh during their meal, determined to send her son back to his fine new work in Savannah in a happy mood, not dragged down by the memory of a struggling, lonely mother left behind. Laughing had not been too difficult, despite the lingering dread she’d been conscious of since Papa’s birthday celebration yesterday. She had lain awake last night trying vainly to understand why she felt dread. Papa had seemed to enjoy himself, to feel fairly well. The reunion of their family had been as pleasant for Anne as she supposed anything would —could—ever be pleasant again without John, without
Annie. Tomorrow or at least the next day, she and her girls would be able to go back to the warm, cozy, familiarity of Lawrence, bedraggled as the sweet little house was these days. John Couper was obviously doing extremely well in his new position as clerk in the Savannah firm of McCleskey and Norton. She could feel only proud that at sixteen her boy had already carved such a promising niche for himself in a successful mercantile house. Oh, he’d tried to make funny stories of the “dumb things” he’d done with bills of lading and shipment files during his first weeks as clerk. The boy, while a bit quieter and less talkative than his father had been, without doubt had inherited John’s gift of gab, his penchant for making a good story of almost any incident. Unlike Anne’s brother William Audley at this age, John Couper was already a man—strong, decisive, energetic, responsible. Of course, William Audley had finally grown up, although he still took evident pleasure in poking fun at his staid, brilliant brother, James Hamilton, for whom he had worked as manager of Hamilton Plantation since John went away. Even with the
cotton market so bad, William 129 Audley had managed somehow to break even at Hamilton. James seemed pleased with him if only because William had harvested crops profitable enough to feed his own family and his Hamilton people. At least he’d run up no debt, and that could be said for few planters in the financially depressed year 1849. Even James Hamilton had no cash. No means of expanding his own huge operations. And poor, humorless James, as brilliant as he surely was, never seemed to catch on when William was unable to suppress teasing him. Anne longed for Papa to be having breakfast with them today because William Audley was in fine form. Anne laughed at every opportunity, wanting each last golden moment with her son to be just that—golden, despite her heavy heart at losing him again so soon. Still, finding a means to do the impossible was becoming almost a way of life for her. Perhaps Papa’s little talk last evening about his own conviction that John and Annie and Isabella and Mama were really still there with them, in spirit, had helped more than she thought at the
“He the son ob the gent’man I respect more’n any other gent’man on the whole, wide earth, that why. Eve, I tol’ you ‘bout the talk Miss Anne’s got to hab wif her papa ‘cause I knows you got the same kind ob loyalty to her. She gonna need you when she walk outa the old gent’man’s room afterwhile. She gonna need a friend.”
On her feet, Eve almost glared down at him. “Leavin’ Lawrence gonna break her heart near like losin’ Mausa John an’ Annie,” she snapped. “But where you think I gonna be? You think I fixin’ to take a trip across the
ocean? It be bad enough that she got to tell 127 young John Couper good-bye down at the dock when they finish eatin’ breakfus. Hearin’ bad news from her own papa gonna grind her heart. But one thing be sure. When de time come fo’ me to help Miss Anne, Eve be right there!”
Throughout breakfast with Caroline and James Hamilton, William Audley and his likable wife, Hannah—daily growing more like her mother, Anna Matilda—Anne sat memorizing the incredibly handsome features of John Couper, who would be leaving her in minutes. She had forced herself to laugh during their meal, determined to send her son back to his fine new work in Savannah in a happy mood, not dragged down by the memory of a struggling, lonely mother left behind. Laughing had not been too difficult, despite the lingering dread she’d been conscious of since Papa’s birthday celebration yesterday. She had lain awake last night trying vainly to understand why she felt dread. Papa had seemed to enjoy himself, to feel fairly well. The reunion of their family had been as pleasant for Anne as she supposed anything would —could—ever be pleasant again without John, without
Annie. Tomorrow or at least the next day, she and her girls would be able to go back to the warm, cozy, familiarity of Lawrence, bedraggled as the sweet little house was these days. John Couper was obviously doing extremely well in his new position as clerk in the Savannah firm of McCleskey and Norton. She could feel only proud that at sixteen her boy had already carved such a promising niche for himself in a successful mercantile house. Oh, he’d tried to make funny stories of the “dumb things” he’d done with bills of lading and shipment files during his first weeks as clerk. The boy, while a bit quieter and less talkative than his father had been, without doubt had inherited John’s gift of gab, his penchant for making a good story of almost any incident. Unlike Anne’s brother William Audley at this age, John Couper was already a man—strong, decisive, energetic, responsible. Of course, William Audley had finally grown up, although he still took evident pleasure in poking fun at his staid, brilliant brother, James Hamilton, for whom he had worked as manager of Hamilton Plantation since John went away. Even with the
cotton market so bad, William 129 Audley had managed somehow to break even at Hamilton. James seemed pleased with him if only because William had harvested crops profitable enough to feed his own family and his Hamilton people. At least he’d run up no debt, and that could be said for few planters in the financially depressed year 1849. Even James Hamilton had no cash. No means of expanding his own huge operations. And poor, humorless James, as brilliant as he surely was, never seemed to catch on when William was unable to suppress teasing him. Anne longed for Papa to be having breakfast with them today because William Audley was in fine form. Anne laughed at every opportunity, wanting each last golden moment with her son to be just that—golden, despite her heavy heart at losing him again so soon. Still, finding a means to do the impossible was becoming almost a way of life for her. Perhaps Papa’s little talk last evening about his own conviction that John and Annie and Isabella and Mama were really still there with them, in spirit, had helped more than she thought at the
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