Title: Palmetto Moon
Author: Kim Boykin
Publisher: Berkely Trade
Pages: 320
Genre: Southern Women’s Fiction
Format: Paperback/Kindle
Purchase at AMAZON
June, 1947. Charleston is poised to celebrate the
biggest wedding in high-society history, the joining of two of the
oldest families in the city. Except the bride is nowhere to be found…Unlike
the rest of the debs she grew up with, Vada Hadley doesn’t see marrying
Justin McLeod as a blessing—she sees it as a life sentence. So when she
finds herself one day away from a wedding she doesn’t want, she’s left
with no choice but to run away from the future her parents have so
carefully planned for her.
In Round O, South Carolina, Vada finds
independence in the unexpected friendships she forms at the boarding
house where she stays, and a quiet yet fulfilling courtship with the
local diner owner, Frank Darling. For the first time in her life, she
finally feels like she’s where she’s meant to be. But when her dear
friend Darby hunts her down, needing help, Vada will have to confront
the life she gave up—and decide where her heart truly belongs.
First Chapter:
“Murrah?” Rosa Lee’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head at me like
I’ve forgotten the rules, but I haven’t. Since before I was born, my
parents forbade the servants to speak their native tongue in our house.
Offenders were given one warning; a second offense brought immediate
dismissal. I say the Gullah word again, drawing it out softly. “Why are
you crying?” The hands that helped bring me into the world motion for me
to lower my voice.
Rosa Lee’s husband, Desmond, told me my first word was murrah. It was
what I called Rosa Lee, until Mother made me call her by name. “My own
murrah.” The forbidden words bring more tears. I press my face into the
soft curve of her neck and breathe in the Ivory soap Mother insists all
the servants use, mingled with Rosa Lee’s own scent—vanilla and
lemongrass.
She holds me at arm’s length, trembling, and I know I’ve done it again.
“You got to tell them,” she pleads. “Make them see you can’t go through with this.”
I point to the door that leads to the elegant dining room where my
parents are eating their breakfast. “I have told them. Mother refuses to
listen, and I’ve begged Father. He says I have to do this.” She looks
away. Her body rocks, sobbing violently on the inside. “Rosa Lee, please
don’t cry. I can’t bear it.” She shakes her head and swipes at the
tears that stain the sleeve of her freshly pressed uniform. “I won’t do
it again. I promise.”
“When you’re asleep, your heart takes over. You got no control, and it’s gonna kill you.”
She’s right. Since I graduated and moved home from college two weeks
ago, I’ve been sleepwalking like I did when I was a child, but these
outings don’t land me snuggled up in the servant’s quarters, between
Desmond and Rosa Lee. Most of the time, I wake up and return to bed
without incident, but last week Desmond found me trying to leave the
house. He said I was babbling about sleeping in the bay, which might not
have been so disturbing if I hadn’t been wearing five layers of heavy
clothing. I knew what he thought I was trying to do to myself and told
him not to worry.
Since then, Rosa Lee has insisted on sleeping on the stiff brocade
chaise in my bedroom. Of course, my parents don’t know she’s there or
that she’s so afraid I’ll walk to the bay or step off the balcony in my
sleep, she’s tethered my ankle to the bedpost with three yards of satin
rope she begged from Mrs. O’Doul.
“Maybe it will be different after the wedding.” I love her enough to
lie to her. “Father says I’m a Hadley and once it’s over with, I’ll fall
in line the way I was born to.”
“But what if Desmond hadn’t caught you?” She threads her fingers in
mine and kisses the back of my hand. A part of me wishes her intuition
hadn’t sent Desmond to check on me, that he hadn’t found me. “And what
are you gonna do when we’re not there?”
“Don’t say that.” My knees buckle, and I melt into a puddle at her
feet. Justin has made it clear he’s happy with his staff and has no
plans to add “two ancient servants.” But living under his roof and not
having Rosa Lee and Desmond with me is unthinkable, another high price
of being the last Hadley descendant.
“You think it’s not going to get worse after you’re married? Who do
you think’s gonna be there to save you? Mr. Justin?” She hisses the last
word. “You think long and hard before the sun comes up tomorrow,
because I’m afraid down to my bones that you won’t be alive to see it.”
She collects herself and heads into the dining room to check on my
parents. They won’t look into her beautiful brown face and see she’s
been crying any more than they see this wedding is killing me, or at
least the idea of being yoked to Justin McLeod is. Not because he’s
eight years older than me and, other than our station in life, we have
nothing in common, and not because of his good qualities, although no
one can find more than two: He is a heart-stoppingly beautiful man and
the sole heir of the largest fortune in Charleston.
For over a hundred years, Justin’s family and mine have built ships.
And while two world wars made us rich, a prolonged peace threatens to
weaken our family fortunes considerably. Somewhere in all that, my
father convinced Justin a Hadley-McLeod union would position them to
take over the world, at least the shipping world. And Father is certain
nothing short of a blood union will keep Justin in the partnership.
Rosa Lee pushes through the swinging door and pours the coffee down
the drain, her signal that breakfast is over and my parents are no
longer close by. I smile, trying to reassure her I’m okay, that I’m
going to be okay. She shakes her head and starts to wash one of the
breakfast plates in slow motion, barely breathing. I hate those things,
and after tomorrow, I’ll own twenty-four place settings of them, part of
my dowry. I don’t give a damn about thousand-dollar plates, but I do
care for Rosa Lee.
“I can do this.” I say from behind her. My voice sounds sure, steady. “I will do this.”
“You and I both know you can’t walk down that aisle. Dear God in
heaven, Vada, tell them.” Her head is down, and she says the last two
words like a prayer. “Make them see so they’ll put a stop to this
foolishness.”
There’s no point. I’ve begged my parents, told them I can’t marry
Justin, because I don’t love him. I’ve told them I feel nothing for him,
not love, not even hate. Even after I told my father about the other
women, he shrugged and said I was being ridiculous. “There are no
fairy-tale marriages, Vada. Know your place, your purpose. Marry.
Procreate. Continue the lineage. That’s your job.”
This archaic arrangement is not the job I want or the one I applied
for. My heart races at the thought of how furious my parents would be if
they knew my favorite professor recommended me for a teaching position,
not in a posh boarding school but a two-room schoolhouse near a tiny
crossroads community. Mother would fume silently while Father would
remind me that no Hadley woman has ever worked.
But it’s 1947 for goodness’ sake. What did they expect when they sent
me away to college, that I would learn everything except how to think
for myself? The swell of defiance is snuffed out by Justin’s testy voice
in the foyer. “Well, I am here now, madam. What do you want?”
I can’t make out what my mother is saying and slip behind the
dining-room door. From the way I peer at them through the crack between
the jamb, she looks tiny compared to him, but she emanates such
presence. Justin has the posture of a rebellious teenager.
“It’s about Vada, and I am not talking about this here.” She points
toward the study. He eyes her for a moment, knowing full well the
drawing room is a woman’s place, the study a man’s domain for brandy and
smelly cigars.
I can hardly breathe as she leads Justin into the study. Maybe she
did listen. Maybe she’s finally going to tell Justin the wedding is
off.The door to the study is slightly ajar. I slip off my shoes and
tiptoe across the foyer to hear her say the words I’ve longed for since I
was fourteen and learned about this horrible arrangement.
“You have me up before noon for this?” Justin is glaring at her, but
she’s so strong, so beautiful. She’s not intimidated in the least.
“You must understand that Vada is a young girl, barely twenty. I heard the things she told her father. Your carousing.”
“My carousing?” he laughs and runs his hands through his short dark hair.
“Yes. The parties. The women. After the engagement, I thought you
would change, settle down. Surely you don’t expect to carry on as usual
after the wedding.”
Justin is no longer amused. His face is red, the veins in his
forehead pronounced. “Let me remind you, madam, after tomorrow, I may be
your daughter’s husband, but I’ll carry on at my own discretion, not
yours, not your husband’s, and certainly not your Vada’s.”
Their standoff is palpable. Mother throws her hands up in disgust. “I
shouldn’t even have to have this conversation with you, Justin, but
Vada is extremely unhappy, and the very least you could do is try to be
more accommodating.”
“More accommodating?”
“Just tell me, what is it going to take?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your price. To be a proper husband. Doting. Monogamous.” She draws the last word out.
“Trust me, madam, you don’t have enough money.” He stands and straightens the sleeves of his suit. “We’re done here.”
“Justin.” My mother grabs his arm. He towers over her. “Don’t hurt her.”
Her steely look is returned with amusement. “My dear Mrs. Hadley, for
Vada or me to get hurt, one of us would actually have to care about
this union. Tomorrow we marry together two fortunes for the greater
good. Nothing more.”
“But you expect her to be a proper wife?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t she?”
“Your level of arrogance is remarkable, Justin, even for you. Get out of my house.”
He makes an exaggerated bow. “Good day, Mrs. Hadley.”
The door opens, and Justin stands there for a moment, looking at my
tearstained face. He sighs and pushes past me. “Really, Vada, after
tomorrow, I’ll expect you to be more presentable in the mornings.”
I’ve honored Mrs. O’Doul’s refusal to talk about Darby for three
years now, but with the wedding looming, the loss feels fresh, and I
can’t help myself. “I miss her.”
Mrs. O’Doul gives me a hard look to remind me of our silent agreement
not to talk about her daughter, my best friend. She nods curtly as she
scrutinizes my dress, which she’s had to take in, again, for the
rehearsal party. “You’ll be a good wife. You’ll make your ma and da
proud.”
I shake my head at my reflection and the exquisite design that looks
funny with my bare feet. “Maybe it’s best Darby’s not here. She’d be so
ashamed of me.”
“Who knows where that girl is now? And, to be sure, she’d be ashamed
if she showed her face around here, but not because you’re marrying
Justin McLeod, I can tell you that.”
“She’s your daughter. You can’t still be mad at her.”
Another stern look reminds me Mrs. O’Doul lost more than a daughter
when Darby was run out of town for her tryst with Mr. McCrady. But Mrs.
McCrady didn’t stop there. She made sure Mrs. O’Doul’s wealthy clients
boycotted her dressmaking business. Darby’s mother lost everything: her
daughter, her shop, her apartment. My parents fussed when I insisted on
Mrs. O’Doul altering my trousseau, but Mrs. O’Doul said it brought some
of her customers back, the only good thing that has come from this
wedding plan.
She smooths her hands down the seams of the ivory bodice and inspects
a tiny pucker. “Damn beads.” She works the seam with her fingers until
it lies flat, then steps back and inspects the dress. Her smile is thin,
almost sad. “I remember every dress I ever made for you. And now look
at you, wearing couture since you were sixteen. Getting married tomorrow
in the finest dress I’ve ever seen.”
She’s right. I’ve always had a shameless love for beautiful clothes,
even more so for shoes. But when Mrs. O’Doul made something for me, it
meant going to Habberman’s on King Street. She always said Darby and me
went together like grits and gravy, she couldn’t very well take one of
us shopping without taking the other. While she selected the perfect
material for my dress, we played hide-and-seek among the tall bolts
leaned against the walls. Sometimes we sorted through bins of loose
buttons or rhinestones and talked about what our lives would be like
when we grew up.
As I got older, I worried that Darby would be jealous of the dresses
her mother made for me. I know I would have been. But Darby said she
didn’t care—they were just dresses, and we were best friends, the
grits-and-gravy kind.
The other girls Darby grew up with wanted nothing to do with her
after I went away to college. She gave up a lot to be my friend, and how
did I repay her? I didn’t make time to phone her or return her letters.
I was so wrapped up in things that didn’t matter, I forgot about the
one person who mattered most to me. And by the time I heard Darby had
been banished from Charleston, I was too ashamed of what I’d done, of
the way I treated her, to try to find her, to tell her how very sorry I
was.
“You’re a stunning young woman, Vada Hadley, and that dress—”
“The clothes you made, they were just as beautiful, and they meant something to me.”
She scoffs and puts her tools away, satisfied that my dress looks the
way Jacques Fath intended when he designed it. “You’ll not find the
likes of this fabric on King Street, I can promise you that. And if you
did, I wouldn’t know where to begin to make something this . . .
perfect. And your wedding dress? Even grander, Vada. Really.” She pushes
a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re going to be a beautiful bride.”
All through the rehearsal and this ridiculous party, everyone has
said those words to me, like somehow the way I look will determine the
outcome of this union. But nothing changes the fact that this is a
mistake.
The canvas of the massive white tent billows a little, and the night
air is damp and thick. Well-wishing men dab at their foreheads with
handkerchiefs, and little beads of sweat line the lips of pretty women
who are sweltering in the late-June heat. But even their intrusions
can’t hold my attention from the Ashley as it flows past Middleton
Place. I can’t stop looking at the river, thinking about it. Where does
it go? To Edisto? To Savannah? Does it matter? It’s free, unencumbered
by family and duty.
“Tears of joy?” Justin’s famous second cousin, Josephine, dabs at my
face. I shake my head and turn my attention back to the river.
“Middleton Place is stunning. And while I do have El Dorado, in my bones
I know this plantation shouldn’t have ended up with the McLeods, least
of all Justin. But the gods split the lot the way they saw fit. Perhaps
they intended for it to be your consolation prize.”
“Does it console you, Miss Pinckney?” I ask.
“Words console me.”
“Of course they do, your books. The movie.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Yes, the movie. Well, I don’t think
Three O’Clock Dinner will ever make its way to the theater, my dear. I
hear Lana Turner’s off again, to Mexico this time, vacationing with
Tyrone Power, and who knows who it will be next? Those Hollywood folks
don’t know what they want, not really. Besides, I don’t need a
consolation prize. But you? I’m not so sure.”
Most of the women here would kill for Josephine Pinckney’s lineage
alone, much less her present status as the darling of the literary
world. They comfort themselves with catty remarks and whisper that she’s
plain and was never beautiful. But even in the moonlight, there’s
something about her knowing look and those piercing eyes that make her
stunning and powerful.
“Walk with me?” she says.
I nod and step toward the grassy steps that lead to the river and
away from the party. Breaking a heel is the least of my worries, but
instinctively I tiptoe across the boards that stretch out across the
water, and Miss Pinckney does the same. The river makes a swishing sound
and cuts hard around the posts that anchor the dock into the muddy
bottom, and the waxing crescent of the Palmetto moon dips low across the
marsh grass. A fish skips like a stone over the top of the silvery
black water, and for the first time tonight, I feel like I can breathe.
“Run out—run out from the insane gold world, softly clanging the gate
lest any follow.” I’m not sure if she’s quoting her books or one of her
poems, but even in my hopelessness, I feel her silent prodding.
“I don’t want this.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “What do you want, Vada?”
“What I can’t have.”
“Something you can’t have. Really? The only child of Matthew and
Katherine Hadley? I speak from experience as an only child born into the
pinnacle of this caste system we live in, there’s nothing you can’t
have.”
“You’re—wrong.” The sob building inside threatens to turn me inside
out, so everyone can see the truth that doesn’t seem to matter to
anybody. Not my parents, not Justin, and least of all the party
lemmings.
“Then what is it?”
I’m shivering in this heat, teeth chattering, unable to answer. All I
can do is point to the river as it flows away from this horrible mess
and escapes toward the ocean.
“You are wrong, Vada Hadley.” She wraps her silk stole around me and
kisses my tearstained cheek. “You can have anything you want.”
No comments:
Post a Comment