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“Yeah, yeah, keep goin’,” Daisy urged her.

  February 15, 1844

  Dear Self,

  It happened. I met him—the man with the velvet voice. He is quite handsome, I’ll admit that—tall with strong shoulders, and hair and eyes the color of rich, dark chocolate. His hair has a slight wave to it that would make him look roguish if he weren’t dressed in such fine clothes. And his skin is very tan—bronze really—as if he came from some exotic place far from our little Alabama town. I suppose that’s what men look like in South Carolina. Every girl in church will soon be throwing herself at such a wealthy, handsome bachelor. Why Father thinks he can marry mousy little me off to him is beyond me.

  I was instructed to speak only when spoken to during supper—nothing unusual there—and Mother seated Mr. Sinclair directly across from me at the table. Small wonder she didn’t stand me ON the table, walking me back and forth so that Mr. Sinclair could study my gait and judge the quality of my bloodline. The only saving grace was that I sensed Father was not in control of this man, or my situation. Mr. Sinclair did not blabber on and on, flattering my parents and making a gaudy show of his wealth. He was quiet—not in a shy way but in a calculating one, as if he were taking the measure of us all.

  After coffee and cake, Father told me I was excused from the table, and when I stood to go, Mr. Sinclair also stood and bowed to me. “Good evening, Miss O’Dwyer,” he said.

  “Good evening, sir,” I said. And then I walked in a daze to my room. I fell asleep hearing it over and over in my head: his velvet-voiced “Good evening, Miss O’Dwyer.”

  February 20, 1844

  Dear Self,

  I realize that all men, especially ministers, are not like Father. Nor are all women like Mother. I see married couples at church who seem to enjoy one other’s company—and to enjoy the free spirits of their children instead of stifling them. Might I ever be so fortunate as to have that? I don’t know.

  Andrew Sinclair is politely ignoring the advances of all the girls at church, including Lavinia Mason, who attracts boys like horses to corn with her flirtatious eye batting and flattery. I find that silly. A girl might as well shout, “Choose me! Choose me!” What of her choice?

  “What indeed!” Evelyn said. “I tell you, the more I learn of this young woman, the more I like her. My apologies, Anna. Do go on.”

  March 1, 1844

  Dear Self,

  After three more suppers with Andrew Sinclair—and you’ll find this very stupid of me—I have come to anticipate, with some excitement, his “Good evening, Miss O’Dwyer.” How ridiculous. Perhaps it wouldn’t be entirely terrible to marry him—which I am about to do. Did I mention that? Yes, he has asked Father for my hand, and Father accepted—accepted but will not allow us one second alone together. And so I will be walking down the aisle to a man of whom I know nothing, save “Good evening, Miss O’Dwyer” and a velvet voice.

  March 15, 1844

  Dear Self,

  I have a confession to make. And you must take it to your grave. I have, for some time, been reading stories and poetry that Father absolutely forbids. They are smuggled to me by my cousin Vivian, who, I’m afraid, encourages my rebellious streak. I keep them hidden in plain view. Vivian tears the pages out of her own books when she finishes them and slips them inside something dreadfully boring that Father would approve of. If you should look at my bookshelf, you would think me quite absorbed in philosophy and theology, when in fact I am reading Mr. Edgar Allan Poe with a mix of horror and delight. Also Byron and Tennyson, whom I love. They transport me from this dreary place. Absent those fleeting journeys, I fear I would surely die. “She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.”

  “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever read,” Anna said. “She must’ve been so lonely and unhappy.”

  “Got a feelin’ the man with the tan’s about to change that,” Daisy said. “Keep goin’.”

  March 20, 1844

  Dear Self,

  Sister came to tea today, and afterward she asked Mother if the two of us might enjoy a stroll together, during which she managed to turn my apprehension as a bride-to-be into outright terror. She is much older than I, and we’ve never been very close. I’ve always felt like the black sheep compared to Esther, perhaps because I know deep down that all of my good behavior is compelled and not of my own choosing. Now that I consider it, the same might be true of Sister. Sometimes it seems she has escaped the constraints of her marriage by constraining herself even more than anyone else would dare to.

  She told me not to fear my wedding night, for it would be over and done with soon enough. I should think of my marriage bed, she said, like any other unpleasant but necessary task, such as hoeing weeds out of the garden. When I begged her for the particulars, she said, “Ladies do not speak of such things—just close your eyes and think of England.”

  The women of Dolly’s house all burst out laughing.

  “Close your eyes and think of England?” Daisy howled, lying back on the floor and holding her stomach because she was laughing so hard. “That makes me feel bad for poor ol’ Esther,” she said. “But I guess she finally found her a decent garden with that abolitionist.”

  “My land, that reminds me of things my grandmother used to say to me and Violet,” Dolly said when she finally stopped laughing. “You know what her courtin’ advice was for us girls? ‘Always keep both feet on the floor.’”

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Daisy said. “What does that even mean, Dolly?”

  “Well, think about it, honey. Definitely limits the mischief you can get into.”

  “Anna, you better keep readin’,” Daisy said. “I don’t think I can take any more advice from Dolly’s grandma.”

  As the women quieted down, Anna resumed her reading.

  March 31, 1844

  Dear Self,

  The good ladies of the church no doubt think me very fortunate to marry a handsome man with a fine house and deep pockets. But a grand house can hold as much sorrow as joy, and I have no idea which of the two awaits me. I know only that my own father sold me to the highest bidder like a horse or a cow. He has conveniently planned the wedding for Easter Sunday—one week from today—when, he says, my Easter frock should suffice for a wedding gown and the Easter fellowship will make a suitable reception.

  And what of Andrew Sinclair? What is he thinking right now? The ladies at church go on and on about how romantic it is for us to marry after such a brief courtship, but we’ve had no courtship at all. I’ve never had so much as a private conversation with the man I’m expected to spend the rest of my life with. He’s older than I am—I would guess in his late twenties or early thirties—and quite fine to look at. But I once read that some of the most beautiful snakes in the world are also the deadliest.

  There is something secretive about my intended. For all I know, he could be the cruelest man in the county. What happens to a bride on her wedding night if her husband is a cruel man? For that matter, what happens to any bride on her wedding night? I’m too embarrassed to ask anyone but Sister, and she was hardly a comfort.

  Anna turned the page but stopped reading.

  “Don’t hold us in suspense, dear,” Evelyn said.

  Anna flipped through the remaining pages of the journal. “They’re all blank. That can’t be where the story ends. It just can’t be.”

  Dolly put her arm around Anna’s shoulders and gave them a little squeeze.

  “But why would she just stop?” Anna was clearly distraught at leaving young Catherine hanging in her predicament, forced into a marriage against her will.

  “Honey,” Dolly began gently, “remember what I told you about the fishermen and what they found in the river? The part you just read was written the week before her wedding—the week before she disappeared. Maybe Catherine and Andre were headed downriver for their honeymoon and had an accident. Maybe she just never got to write any more. There’s no way for us to know, really.”

  Anna’s eyes
welled with tears as Dolly held her tight. “I know I’m being silly,” she said. “But I so wanted a happy ending.”

  “There ain’t nothin’ silly about that.” Daisy reached over and gave Anna’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Your story just got tangled up with hers, is all. And you want ’em both to turn out right. You got nothin’ to be embarrassed about.”

  “Indeed not,” Evelyn chimed in. “And I do not believe in abandoning the chain of one’s research. The two of you found something that was lost for decades. There is no reason to believe you won’t find more. Do not give up on Catherine. There is something special about her. She might surprise us all yet.”

  “You really think so?” Anna asked, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief Dolly handed her.

  “I do. Catherine has left us a trail and we must follow it. The next crumb will present itself in time.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Anna said.

  Evelyn smiled. “I’m always right. Just ask Harry.”

  “What do you think?”

  A couple of days after the women of Dolly’s house read Catherine’s unfinished journal together, Anna took it to Lillian’s house and read it to her. The two of them were sitting together on the front porch as Anna closed the small leather volume and waited to hear what her friend had to say. She was surprised to see Lillian reach into the pocket of her dress, take out a handkerchief, and blot her cloudy eyes.

  “You think they drowned, don’t you?” Anna felt her own eyes begin to sting.

  Lillian shook her head. “No, sweet Anna, that’s not why I’m crying. It’s just that I find their first real encounter so moving. Think of it! Two complete strangers about to marry one another. Andre so handsome and Catherine so beautiful. And the way Catherine is drawn to him, even though part of her fears him. It’s almost too much to take in.”

  “But she didn’t write any more. The journal ends before their wedding day.”

  “That doesn’t mean their story did.”

  “I don’t understand how you can be so sure. I wish you’d tell me so I could be sure too.”

  Lillian smiled. “Do you really think a pirate, an adventurer, one who had taken all manner of risks in his life and made his living on the mightiest river in this entire country, who could read the currents and sound the depths—you think such a man who had survived every challenge in his path would, in the end, simply drown?”

  Anna frowned. “Well, since you put it that way . . .”

  “And having saved the entire Presbyterian congregation, including Catherine’s father, whom he loathed, do you think Andre would then allow his beautiful young wife to drown?”

  Anna reached over and took Lillian’s hand. “No. I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “Then they didn’t drown,” Lillian said.

  “They didn’t drown.” Anna didn’t just say it, she believed it. And there was something about knowing Catherine survived that made her feel like a survivor too.

  CHAPTER

  eleven

  “Joe, I’m ready on this end!” Si called toward the woods. He and Harry had just turned a big wheel that opened a valve on a metal pipe about two feet in diameter. The pipe ran underground from the creek to the back wall of the lake.

  “Jesse, you ready on the creek bank?” Anna heard Joe call from behind the trees.

  Dolly, Anna, Daisy, and Evelyn were standing together on the porch of the skating rink, waiting for whatever might happen next. Everybody else on the loop who didn’t have something better to do had gathered on the boardwalk, no doubt to see if the lake would hold or if they needed to run home and move their valuables up to the attic.

  “Jesse’s ready!” Joe called.

  “Tell him to start the pump!” Si shouted.

  “Start ’er up, Jesse!” Joe relayed.

  “Lord Jesus, protect us all,” Dolly said, and Anna put an arm around her to offer support.

  “We didn’t miss it, did we?” Jo-Jo shouted as she and her cousins came running onto the porch.

  “Haven’t missed a thing,” Dolly said with a little quiver in her voice. She couldn’t seem to stop wringing her hands as they waited for the inevitable blast of water.

  Just then everybody heard an engine crank somewhere in the woods. The women gasped at what sounded like gunfire.

  “No cause for alarm, ladies!” Si shouted across the lake. “That ol’ engine on my pump is just talkin’ back a little!”

  Within seconds, water from the creek came shooting out of the pipe like a fire hose—more like ten fire hoses tied together.

  Si and Harry threw their hats up in the air, and a shout went up from the crowd as if they had all just struck oil. Creek water was gushing into the lake with such force that the stream almost reached the boardwalk on the other side.

  “Dang,” Daisy said. “That’s a real gully washer he’s got there.”

  “Might need to adjust the throttle!” Si shouted, slapping his knee and laughing as he watched the spectacle with Harry and Joe.

  “See, Dolly, it’s gonna be fine,” Anna said. But she kept glancing toward the woods, hoping Jesse would come out soon.

  “Well, at least we know the lake won’t be dry,” Dolly said. “Sure hope we don’t flood anybody out. And I sure hope this helps us pay that awful tax bill a little earlier.”

  Just then Jesse came running out of the woods to join the men.

  “Jesse!” Anna cried. “Are you alright?”

  He was laughing with the men—all of them slapping each other on the back—but even from the porch, Anna could see that her husband’s face, his clothes, and even his blond hair were black with soot. She went running off the porch and along the far bank of the lake.

  When she reached Jesse, he opened his arms, gave her a big smile, and said, “Kiss me?”

  Anna giggled. “Who are you? All I can see are teeth and eyes!”

  “That engine of Si’s—she smokes a little.”

  “Apparently,” Anna said, looking him over.

  “Just how big is that engine on your pump, Si?” Daisy asked as the women joined the others at the pipe.

  “Took ’er off a Ford tractor—just temporarily, o’ course. Soon as we start makin’ money on the lake, I’ll get me an engine for the creek and put my tractor back together again.”

  “Think ya mighta overshot the horsepower,” Daisy said as they watched the column of water spray the lake and begin puddling in the center.

  “We won’t worry too much unless the water goes to white-cappin’,” Joe said.

  “There isn’t any way your engine could start a fire in the woods, is there?” Anna asked Si.

  Si opened his mouth to answer, but then he frowned, scratched his head, and said, “You know, you make a good point, Anna. In all the excitement, I didn’t even think about fire. Seein’ as how Jesse’s gonna need to jump in the slough and clean up anyhow, reckon you could fetch him some clean clothes and a little picnic lunch? If y’all could watch the engine for a coupla hours while I make sure everything’s runnin’ fine here and get me a bite to eat, I’ll relieve you this afternoon, and then I can hire a coupla the older boys on the loop to sit up with her tonight. Would that be alright?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just come get me up at the house when you’re ready to change shifts.”

  Anna looked at Jesse’s soot-covered face. “I think I’ll see if Dolly can spare some soap—and maybe a scrub brush.”

  “Well, I can’t hear myself draw with that ol’ Ford runnin’ full throttle,” Daisy said. “I’m goin’ home.”

  Slowly the crowd dispersed, with Si and Dolly’s crew heading to the house for lunch and Jesse starting for the creek.

  “I’ll be back!” Anna called to him.

  “Hey, bring one of your mother’s quilts with you so we’ll have something to sit on for our picnic, okay?”

  “Okay!” Anna waved to him and smiled as he disappeared into the woods. She actually felt butterflies in her stomach—
just like the first night he’d picked her up for a date. How silly was that?

  “That oughta do it,” Si said as Dolly joined him on their front porch.

  “Do what?” She could see that he was watching Anna make her way to the woods, carrying a quilt over one arm and a basket that held lunch and Jesse’s clean clothes in the other.

  Si winked at her. “That engine’s on a platform in the middle o’ the creek. It don’t need watchin’.”

  CHAPTER

  twelve

  Anna followed the trail to the creek, past the smoky engine still chugging away, and deep into the woods. She was nearing the slough, where noise from Si’s engine was distant and blessedly muffled, when she heard the sound of splashing water. Jesse’s smoky clothes lay in a heap beneath a sprawling oak, which cast its shade onto the beautiful natural pool that Si and Dolly had shown them. Anna set down her basket and spread the quilt.

  At first Jesse didn’t see her beside the tree. He was a few yards from the bank, standing in a sunny spot with his back to her. The water hit him just below his shoulders. After tipping his head back into the water, he reached up to run his hands through his hair. Anna had always thought his arms and shoulders were beautiful. Hard work had chiseled them with strength, and she loved the feel of them.

  He turned around and caught her staring at him. For a moment, he stared back. But then he smiled and said, “Sure looks hot up there on that bank.”

  Anna smiled back at him.

  “Want to come in?”

  She looked around. “What if somebody catches us?”

  Jesse scanned the woods around the slough. “All clear.”

  “Turn around.”

  “I’m your husband!”

  “I know, but it’s broad daylight!” Anna argued back.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll turn around.”

  Anna hid as best she could between the oak tree and a canebrake encircling part of the slough and laid her clothes in a neat stack. Then she scanned the woods one last time, got a running start, and jumped into the slough before anybody could see her.

  Jesse was laughing when she wiped the water from her eyes and opened them. She had to stand on tiptoe when she reached him.