quarters, the far stretching open fields began.
Directly behind the house a bayou looped and turned. A trail of beaten earth followed the curves of the bayou, and they walked along it, again losing sight of the house. Except for an edging of Louisiana phlox, its lavender blue flowers dancing in the wind, the path was clear, the way open. Here the undergrowth had been cleared front beneath the trees so that the ground was carpeted with leaves, but still there was an element of wildness in the intense encroaching quiet and the view of the untouched primeval forest seen on the opposite bank of the bayou. The tall, moss-hung cypress trees soared above them near the water’s edge. Bamboo, the native cane, stood in clumps. Turtles slid from their logs, falling into the water with plopping sounds, as they passed. The greenish black water of the slow moving bayou reflected the overhanging trees, the high, scudding, gray clouds, and a small white pavilion.
Bernard used his handkerchief to dust a place for her on the bench that ran around three sides of the pavilion. Then he stood with his back against one of the columns that made up the walls, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket.
“When he designed this, place my father intended it as a destination at the end of a walk, a place for the ladies to rest. No one comes here, however. I don’t know why. But we are unlikely to be interrupted.”
Elizabeth thought she knew why no one came. It had a cold feeling to it, like the house it resembled, except there were no walls to give the illusion of privacy. It was open, airy, nothing more than a roof, a floor, the bench, and four walls of small-scale columns. The wind swept through it, sending a dry leaf scuttling across the floor. Elizabeth glanced at the sky, judging the possibility of rain.
“I won’t keep you long,” Bernard said. “There is a point or two that still needs clearing up. I don’t want you to feel that I am heaping all of this on you at once, but it is important.
“Yes. Go on,” Elizabeth encouraged him when he paused. He seemed uncomfortable, which struck her as so unusual that she became alert.
“You probably are aware that the country is in an economic panic,” he began doubtfully.
Though she had heard the expression, Elizabeth was by no means certain of exactly what it meant. Still, she knew that it had a direct bearing on money being scarce, and she was no stranger to that. She nodded.
“It affects us here with low prices for our produce. Cotton is at seven cents a pound; that is like giving it away. We grow some of the best staple in the South here on Oak Shade, and I would rather let it rot in the barns than let it go for next to nothing. I have been holding it since it was harvested, hoping for a rise in price, but so far things have gone the other way. Still, the economy cannot stay this way forever. If I can hold out long enough I stand to gain. In the meantime the money is tied up in the bales sitting in the barns and warehouses, and there are still the hands to feed, the expenses to be met, and a new crop to plant. More than that, I believe cotton will go as low as five cents per pound. Anybody with extra cash could buy up some of the cotton that is going begging, and take advantage of some of the acreage that has come onto the market now that so many planters are failing.”
He stopped as though expecting a comment, but when Elizabeth made none he went grimly on.
“The problem is cash. We are by no means poor, but like most planters we carry little cash reserves. This new house and its furnishings ate up most of my father’s cash resources. Profit the year before last was turned into more land, more hands, more equipment to work the land, and clothing, food, and medical supplies for the thousand or more slaves on the plantations. It mounts up. And as I said, we have not yet realized our profit from this past year.
“I can borrow, but I dislike doing it. The interest would have
Directly behind the house a bayou looped and turned. A trail of beaten earth followed the curves of the bayou, and they walked along it, again losing sight of the house. Except for an edging of Louisiana phlox, its lavender blue flowers dancing in the wind, the path was clear, the way open. Here the undergrowth had been cleared front beneath the trees so that the ground was carpeted with leaves, but still there was an element of wildness in the intense encroaching quiet and the view of the untouched primeval forest seen on the opposite bank of the bayou. The tall, moss-hung cypress trees soared above them near the water’s edge. Bamboo, the native cane, stood in clumps. Turtles slid from their logs, falling into the water with plopping sounds, as they passed. The greenish black water of the slow moving bayou reflected the overhanging trees, the high, scudding, gray clouds, and a small white pavilion.
Bernard used his handkerchief to dust a place for her on the bench that ran around three sides of the pavilion. Then he stood with his back against one of the columns that made up the walls, tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket.
“When he designed this, place my father intended it as a destination at the end of a walk, a place for the ladies to rest. No one comes here, however. I don’t know why. But we are unlikely to be interrupted.”
Elizabeth thought she knew why no one came. It had a cold feeling to it, like the house it resembled, except there were no walls to give the illusion of privacy. It was open, airy, nothing more than a roof, a floor, the bench, and four walls of small-scale columns. The wind swept through it, sending a dry leaf scuttling across the floor. Elizabeth glanced at the sky, judging the possibility of rain.
“I won’t keep you long,” Bernard said. “There is a point or two that still needs clearing up. I don’t want you to feel that I am heaping all of this on you at once, but it is important.
“Yes. Go on,” Elizabeth encouraged him when he paused. He seemed uncomfortable, which struck her as so unusual that she became alert.
“You probably are aware that the country is in an economic panic,” he began doubtfully.
Though she had heard the expression, Elizabeth was by no means certain of exactly what it meant. Still, she knew that it had a direct bearing on money being scarce, and she was no stranger to that. She nodded.
“It affects us here with low prices for our produce. Cotton is at seven cents a pound; that is like giving it away. We grow some of the best staple in the South here on Oak Shade, and I would rather let it rot in the barns than let it go for next to nothing. I have been holding it since it was harvested, hoping for a rise in price, but so far things have gone the other way. Still, the economy cannot stay this way forever. If I can hold out long enough I stand to gain. In the meantime the money is tied up in the bales sitting in the barns and warehouses, and there are still the hands to feed, the expenses to be met, and a new crop to plant. More than that, I believe cotton will go as low as five cents per pound. Anybody with extra cash could buy up some of the cotton that is going begging, and take advantage of some of the acreage that has come onto the market now that so many planters are failing.”
He stopped as though expecting a comment, but when Elizabeth made none he went grimly on.
“The problem is cash. We are by no means poor, but like most planters we carry little cash reserves. This new house and its furnishings ate up most of my father’s cash resources. Profit the year before last was turned into more land, more hands, more equipment to work the land, and clothing, food, and medical supplies for the thousand or more slaves on the plantations. It mounts up. And as I said, we have not yet realized our profit from this past year.
“I can borrow, but I dislike doing it. The interest would have
Similar Books
