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Chapter Five

Leroy Gaskins, a man Celia recognized as the sot fired by William’s
father, emerged from the woods. “I don’t think I’d sign that,
ya’ll.”
Turner dropped his hand from Celia’s mouth.
After Gaskins wiped his greasy face with a red handkerchief, he
tucked the rag into his torn pants-pocket. “Seems I got here just
in time.”
Turner’s hand wrapped protectively around Celia’s arm as Gaskins
gestured with his gun for William and Mabel to back up closer to
Reverend Bachman. “Unlike your gun, Mr. Owens, mine are loaded.
Might as well toss yours aside. That was a darned fool idea ya’ll
concocted. Makes me wonder what young people get taught these days at
university.”
What did he mean? Celia shivered against Turner and he squeezed her
arm, reassuring her.
Gaskins’ cheroot glowed as he inhaled on the cigar. “And
careless, waggin’ your tongues in an establishment like Poogins.
Any waterman on the Ashley or the Cooper rivers could repeat your
little plan. Anyone ends up dead here today, they’ll be lookin’
for at least one of your sorry selves—Owens or Cane. Shoulda been
called Cane and Abel. Amazin’ to me that your pappy hated your
grandpappy Owens so much that he wouldn’t even claim his name, Mr.
Cane.”
Celia looked up into Turner’s face, a muscle in his jaw jerking as
though in agreement with the filthy man’s words.
Gaskins scratched his scraggly brown beard. Swamp oaks and cypress
trees rustled overhead, Spanish moss casting eerie shadows from the
torches now planted in the soft swamp earth. Behind them, the freed
men shifted weight, seeming to consider their options.
“Once yer daddy got that ring back, me and my Maggie set our plan
a’goin’. Invited our niece, Mabel, to Charleston.”
Insects buzzed around them, and tree frogs began their song.
Mabel Holloway backed away, even closer to the minister, bumping into
him. The two fell down into the pluff mud, spattering their clothes,
and stirring up the sulfurous odor of decomposing saltmarsh.
“Oh! Look what you did. I detest this nasty swamp dirt’s smell.”
Her friend’s voice, absent the Southern accent, revealed her Yankee
roots. “I never agreed to anything, you horrid man. And I am not
your niece!”
Mr. Gaskins tilted his head sideways. “Oh, it’s true all right.
‘Best-looking and most gentlemanly man’ ya’d ever met, were
your exact words when I introduced you to William at the store.”
“I said no such thing you addled-brained—!” Mabel kicked her
feet from beneath her skirt and blew a tendril of dark red hair out
of her eyes.
William assisted Mabel to her feet and brushed some of the mud from
her gown. He acted entirely too familiar. Celia would never have
allowed her former beau such liberty.
Disappointment coursed through her, sticking in her chest. Her friend
had deceived her. “You’re not from Richmond, then, are you? Nor a
graduate of Miss Witherspoons’ Academy?”
Mabel laughed but a tic commenced by her right eye. “New York, I’m
afraid, but we moved south when Father died. Mother was a maid at
Witherspoons’ and I heard a lot. When Aunt Maggie brought us here .
. .”
Dizziness threatened to spill Celia into the dank swamp mud, too. So
her friend really was this foul man’s relation. Mercy!
Turner released Celia’s arm and gently pressed his fingers against
her wrist, his touch as natural as breathing.
Mabel’s eyes bored into William’s, their down-tipped corners
pleading forgiveness. “I thought I’d use enough information from
those spoiled girls as entree into the right circles when we came to
Charleston. But I never asked him to kill anyone. I cannot believe my
aunt married this ruffian.”
Nor could Celia.
One corner of Gaskin’s mouth tugged upward. “Seems Miss Mabel
didn’t understand another person would inherit part of Mr. Gregory
Owens, Jr.’s property. ’Parently neither did Mr. William here,
till that ring got returned. His grandpappy set up some
stipulations.”
“Is that a Southern tradition?” Mabel held out a fair, ungloved
hand toward Celia. “Your cousin told me your own grandfather set up
his inheritance so he will inherit all the Sheldon property.” She
gestured around and Celia’s breath caught at the movement amongst
the swamp oaks’ branches.
Gaskins continued his harping. “Amazin’ how much Owens loved his
son. William this and William that. Gets tiresome hearin’ all that
prattle ‘bout a spoiled soft-handed man what ain’t done a lick of
work in his life.” Wobbling, he raised his gun overhead.
Slithering movement above – must be a snake. Celia shuddered into
Turner, his hand circling her wrist—staying her.
William moved a half-step forward. “Seems to me you’ve been
imbibin’ a tad too much liquor tonight Mr. Gaskins. Which is why
Father released you from your job at our establishment.”
“T’weren’t from my infernal alcohol habit, no sir. T’was from
my uncooperative niece.” Gaskins gestured with his pistol toward
Mabel.
Celia gasped—as angry as she was with Mabel, she didn’t wish her
harm. Turner released his grip.
Mabel wiped back tears then shook her finger at Celia. “Some of
this is your fault. If not for your soft Christian heart, befriending
me when no one else would, and bringing me around into Charleston
society, I’d never have been accepted. All those names and
relations I worked so diligently to recall availed little till you
took me under your wing, Celia. Except with William. He loved my
stories – was so kind to me.”
Celia couldn’t believe William’s broad, affectionate smile for
the woman who had deceived them all. “Mabel, darlin’, I don’t
mean any disrespect, but I knew all along you weren’t kin to half
the people you claimed.”
Her friend tried to step away from him but his hands secured her.
“Why not?”
Blue eyes twinkled as he gazed at Celia’s now-former friend.
“Because they’re my kinfolk, you silly girl.”
“I am not a girl.”
Celia gave Mabel a hard appraisal. How old was she truly? Behind
Turner, something rustled in the undergrowth.
Lord, please, don’t let it be a gator. Those creatures
terrified her. She spied some of the greens the slaves’ root doctor
liked to gather. Why, she’d never be out in this swamp unless she
was with Mama Teensy, looking for special vegetation for healing. Her
hands shook and she clasped them together.
“You have to believe me.”
Gaskins rubbed his head, eyes closed tight, face pained. If only
someone could knock him aside. He opened his watery eyes and glared
at Celia.
Please Lord, send us help!
“I thought it’d be so easy. Mabel’s a true beauty. It had to
have been your piety and your fortune, Miss Sheldon, ‘less he
prefers those pale washwater looks of your’n.”
Turner bent and whispered in her ear. “The drunken man isn’t able
to see well, my beauty.”
“Where’s that ring of your grandpappy’s?” Gaskins lurched
forward, toward William. “One wedding means one cousin inherits.
I want to be sure it’s the right couple.”
Celia covered her mouth, sure she was going to start screaming any
moment now. She swatted at a mosquito. No, she must be calm.
Mabel Holloway’s features hardened. “You could have had any young
man in Charleston, Celia Sheldon. But you had to flirt with the one
man I fell in love with, didn’t you? How many times had I shared my
feelings with you about William?”
Turner squeezed Celia’s hand, his dark hair falling across his
forehead as he leaned toward her. “All will be well,” he
whispered. “Have faith.”
Mabel’s eyes flashed at Celia. “I hoped you would go after my
latest beau. William and I talked about everything. He believed if I
accepted Miles’ engagement offer, you were so contrary you’d
pursue the one man I had.”
Under no condition would Celia have chased after Miss Holloway’s
beau. Heat rose up her neck.
Crossing her arms over her ample chest, Mabel fixed her gaze on
William. “Why did you tell me that, then, Mr. Owens, if you
intended to marry Miss Sheldon?”
Turner Cane Owens placed a protective arm around Celia. She leaned
into his side. The scent of leather, starch, and lemon verbena and
the warmth of his hand at her waist, soothed her.
Tears poured down Mabel’s cheeks. “If you had just let things be,
Celia. If you’d only ignored him every time we stopped by the
shops. If you’d married Jonathan.”
How did she manage to look so pretty even with mud all over her
dress, her auburn hair tumbled down, and red splotching her ivory
face?
William brought Mabel into his arms and Turner looked down at Celia,
his eyebrows raised. The serpent moved lower, closer to its target.

The scent of brackish water strengthened, the tides must be coming
in. Soon this area would be ankle deep in water. Celia finally
possessed her bearings. The quarters for the outside servants weren’t
far from here and they should be coming back from the fields soon.
Dear Lord, how could we get there, to protection? She should
have been home by now. Surely Daddy would have sent someone looking.
Wouldn’t he?
“Well, at least now you’ll cease mangling our Carolina accent,
Miss Holloway. Made me wince sometimes.” William laughed then cried
out as Mabel brought her foot down hard on his.
Slithering movement resumed in the trees ahead of Celia. Brown
variegated pattern against the tan limb suggested a cottonmouth. From
behind, whispers soft as a breeze rustled through the cyprus. From
the corner of her eye, Celia noted something moving from behind the
massive swamp oak.
Turner glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening, before he nodded
almost imperceptibly.
Warm wood slid over and forward on her shoulder and rested heavily
there. Had Turner not held her, she’d have jerked away. Moving only
her eyes to look, first the muzzle then rifle barrel appeared. She
took a deep breath inhaling the scent of fatback, lye soap, and
coconut oil that only one man she knew rubbed into his dark skin. She
exhaled in relief – her prayers had been answered.
Oblivious to the water moccasin dangling above him, Gaskins pulled
the cork out of his liquor bottle and took a swig. The freedmen’s
eyes grew wide as they stared in Celia’s direction.
“Its ‘Lijah, Missy—don’t you be movin’. You realize you be
on your cousins’ land here?” The man’s deep voice was one she’d
known all her life.
Celia exhaled in relief.
“This be her swamp, Miss Celia. I got permission to hunt back
here. Can shoot nuisance varmints if’n I see ‘em. Sure do see one
now—maybe two. Leroy Gaskin be a nuisance and a varmint so I reckon
that make him just what I say. But his kin…” The gun lifted from
her shoulder. “Cover your ears, Miss Celia, and close your eyes.”
Contributed by Carrie Fancett Pagels, http://CarrieFancettPagels.com
Chapter Six will be hosted by Gina Welborn on www.inkwellinspirations.com
written by Patty Smith Hall.
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