usually had sound reasons, even if she didn’t see fit to share them.
The smell of the early honeysuckle drew Becks from her melancholy. She found herself at the back door of Beckett, under the veranda and beside the old well. The yard—not quite as pretty as it had been when Becks was a girl—stretched out to the river, and the sun sparkled merrily on the water. The sight always lifted Becks’ spirits, and today was no different. An unfamiliar boat was tied to the dock, in between her skiff and the barge they occasionally used to move goods up to Peter’s Point. Eugenia must be entertaining today, and Becks would have to be on her best behavior. All she wanted to do was take a nap, but at least she could stop in the parlor and pay her respects.
She glanced down at herself, and decided that although her blouse was rumpled and her hair was coming out of its bun, she was probably respectable enough to greet her mother’s visitor, and then head upstairs for a rest. There was more to do today, of course, but she could afford an hour’s nap. The weeds in the vegetable patch could wait until this afternoon, and those spring greens she’d promised Lola would still be there in a few hours.
She sighed and smiled slightly. There was always more to do, but she’d do it gladly, because this was her home. Her life.
She didn’t have to marry. She could spend the rest of her life here on Beckett if she wanted, caring for Seelay and her siblings, and being cared for by Lola and Moses. And when it came time to worry about who’d care for Beckett after she was gone… why, she could just bear a child without the benefit of marriage. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? Women did it all the time. Of course, even knowing what kind of women did that sort of thing wasn’t too much of a detriment either. Grandmama’s “society” would have conniptions, but Eugenia would laugh herself stupid at the idea. Her mother had always been eccentric, and Becks knew she loved her daughter enough to support her decision to stay on Beckett, no matter the cost. Eugenia understood what it was like to be tied to the land. No, Becks didn’t have to marry.
If Creel really was courting her, why, she could just wait until he proposed, and then turn him down. For Eugenia’s sake, she’d try to do it gently, but for Pearl’s sake, she wanted to do it with a boot to his rear. The man really was a bother.
God willing, his duties would take him off-island, and she wouldn’t have to see him for a while. Perhaps his next visit would be the time she finally would have to tell him that she wasn’t going to marry. She’d hadn’t yet met a man who was worth leaving Beckett.
“So tell me, boy.” Eugenia crossed one booted, bloomer’d leg over the other, completely at ease. “Do you know Major Creel?”
Mac shifted forward to place the delicate china teacup on the table in front of him, hoping to hide his distaste. He wished Eugenia had served the tea iced, like his brother did, rather than in these tiny bits of porcelain fluff that he could crush by sneezing. He kept his expression neutral and focused on the cup, so that she wouldn’t know his hidden grimace was in response to her question. “Only what you’ve told me of him, ma’am.”
“But you’ve never met him?”
Mac had known Eugenia Middleton from the time he was a little boy, although not well. His mother had known her through a cousin, and they’d been close when they were younger. He’d been first introduced to her twenty years ago, but hadn’t seen her again until her mother’s funeral in ’72. He’d been surprised by how… eccentric she’d become. She sat in her parlor in her typical costume of old-fashioned Health Bloomers tucked into men’s riding boots, and her light hair cropped short. She would never be considered a beauty and so, in her later years, had apparently cultivated a devil-may-care attitude.
But no matter how outrageous she appeared, that
The smell of the early honeysuckle drew Becks from her melancholy. She found herself at the back door of Beckett, under the veranda and beside the old well. The yard—not quite as pretty as it had been when Becks was a girl—stretched out to the river, and the sun sparkled merrily on the water. The sight always lifted Becks’ spirits, and today was no different. An unfamiliar boat was tied to the dock, in between her skiff and the barge they occasionally used to move goods up to Peter’s Point. Eugenia must be entertaining today, and Becks would have to be on her best behavior. All she wanted to do was take a nap, but at least she could stop in the parlor and pay her respects.
She glanced down at herself, and decided that although her blouse was rumpled and her hair was coming out of its bun, she was probably respectable enough to greet her mother’s visitor, and then head upstairs for a rest. There was more to do today, of course, but she could afford an hour’s nap. The weeds in the vegetable patch could wait until this afternoon, and those spring greens she’d promised Lola would still be there in a few hours.
She sighed and smiled slightly. There was always more to do, but she’d do it gladly, because this was her home. Her life.
She didn’t have to marry. She could spend the rest of her life here on Beckett if she wanted, caring for Seelay and her siblings, and being cared for by Lola and Moses. And when it came time to worry about who’d care for Beckett after she was gone… why, she could just bear a child without the benefit of marriage. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? Women did it all the time. Of course, even knowing what kind of women did that sort of thing wasn’t too much of a detriment either. Grandmama’s “society” would have conniptions, but Eugenia would laugh herself stupid at the idea. Her mother had always been eccentric, and Becks knew she loved her daughter enough to support her decision to stay on Beckett, no matter the cost. Eugenia understood what it was like to be tied to the land. No, Becks didn’t have to marry.
If Creel really was courting her, why, she could just wait until he proposed, and then turn him down. For Eugenia’s sake, she’d try to do it gently, but for Pearl’s sake, she wanted to do it with a boot to his rear. The man really was a bother.
God willing, his duties would take him off-island, and she wouldn’t have to see him for a while. Perhaps his next visit would be the time she finally would have to tell him that she wasn’t going to marry. She’d hadn’t yet met a man who was worth leaving Beckett.
“So tell me, boy.” Eugenia crossed one booted, bloomer’d leg over the other, completely at ease. “Do you know Major Creel?”
Mac shifted forward to place the delicate china teacup on the table in front of him, hoping to hide his distaste. He wished Eugenia had served the tea iced, like his brother did, rather than in these tiny bits of porcelain fluff that he could crush by sneezing. He kept his expression neutral and focused on the cup, so that she wouldn’t know his hidden grimace was in response to her question. “Only what you’ve told me of him, ma’am.”
“But you’ve never met him?”
Mac had known Eugenia Middleton from the time he was a little boy, although not well. His mother had known her through a cousin, and they’d been close when they were younger. He’d been first introduced to her twenty years ago, but hadn’t seen her again until her mother’s funeral in ’72. He’d been surprised by how… eccentric she’d become. She sat in her parlor in her typical costume of old-fashioned Health Bloomers tucked into men’s riding boots, and her light hair cropped short. She would never be considered a beauty and so, in her later years, had apparently cultivated a devil-may-care attitude.
But no matter how outrageous she appeared, that
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