A Heart So True: A Southern Love Story

By Dorothy Love

Abigail Clayton hopes to reconcile with Dr. Wade Bennett and become his wife. But her father insists she marry her distant cousin Charles Kittridge so the plantations of the two families will be joined. With her wedding looming, Abby must choose between duty to her family and the yearnings of her own heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9780529116161

Dorothy Love

A native of west Tennessee, Dorothy Love makes her home in the Texas hill country with her husband and their golden retriever. An award-winning author of numerous young adult novels, Dorothy made her adult debut with the Hickory Ridge novels. Facebook: dorothylovebooks Twitter: @WriterDorothy  

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images/img-7-1.jpg CHAPTER ONE images/img-7-2.jpg

Pawleys Island, South Carolina

May 1860

HAD WADE BENNETT TRULY FORGIVEN HER?

Skirts tucked up, shoes dangling from one hand, Abigail Clayton stepped over the pungent remains of a horseshoe crab and studied the tumbling surf as if the answer to her question might be written there. A storm had blown ashore after midnight, leaving in its wake piles of broken shells, burrowing whelks, and clumps of rust-colored seaweed. Under the warm spring light the deserted beach took on a particular radiance that illuminated a pair of orange-beaked skimmers searching for sand crabs and a flock of brown pelicans gliding above the breakers.

Despite her worry, Abby released a grateful sigh. How perfect was God’s creation, how delightful the rhythm of life on Pawleys Island.

Last week, with the last of the rice fields planted, Papa had closed Mulberry Hall and moved the household—furnishings, livestock, house servants, and all—here. To Osprey Cottage. The twelve-mile journey—nine by water down the Waccamaw River and three by land—had been accomplished by nightfall. The days following passed in a blur of activity. After a thorough cleaning and airing of the cottage, Mama had supervised the unpacking of dishes and lamps, silver and crystal, and set about preparing for the Claytons’ annual spring barbecue. On Friday the beach would ring with the sound of dozens of their guests gathering for a three-day visit before leaving for summer homes in Saratoga or Europe.

Abby dropped her shoes onto the sand and stooped to examine a tiny fan-shaped shell. Mama was counting on her to help with the preparations, but all she could think about was Dr. Wade Bennett. Would he attend the party or stay away? Was he still holding on to his anger in the wake of their quarrel?

She heaved another sigh. If only she could take back her hurtful words. If only she could tell him that—

Miss Abigail! Rapid footsteps sounded behind her, and Abby turned to see her mother’s favorite house servant, Sophronia, hurrying along the beach. Sturdy and compact, Sophronia reminded Abby of the steamers that plied the Lowcountry rivers. All she lacked was a smokestack and a whistle. And despite her small stature, she could move like wildfire through kindling when on a mission from Mama.

Clearly that was the case now. Sophronia hove to a stop in front of Abby, hands on hips, a frown creasing her smooth brown face.

Where you been? Your mama sent me to fetch you half an hour ago.

I went down to the boathouse. Abby jumped as the cold surf rushed over her bare toes. I wanted to be sure my rowboat survived the winter. I must have lost track of time.

Humph. You know Miss Alicia don’t like you taking that boat out by yourself. It sure ain’t ladylike, and ’sides that, it ain’t safe.

I’ve had a boat since I was ten years old. And I don’t take it into open water. I stick to the marshes.

Where the alligators just waitin’ to gobble you up for breakfast. Sophronia glanced at Abby’s feet. Better not let Miss Alicia catch you running ’round with no shoes on.

I know it. Mama can be such a stickler for propriety. Abby plopped down on a patch of dry sand to pull on her stockings and shoes. Honestly, I don’t see why she must stand on formality even here at the beach.

Sophronia’s brows went up. Maybe ’cause your daddy got his sights on running for office, and the governor hisself is on the way here for the barbecue.

Sophronia held out a hand and hauled Abigail to her feet. Come on home now ’fore your breakfast gets cold as stone.

Abby followed Sophronia up the path to the cottage that had been her summer home for her entire life. Constructed of plain clapboards, it was not quite as large as the summer homes of their neighbors, the Westons, the Frasers, and the Allstons, but it boasted a prime location on the four-mile-long spit of land that was Pawleys. A wraparound porch provided a shady spot to while away a summer afternoon, watching the seabirds and the occasional pod of dolphins. The rear of the house faced the golden marshes and the endless serpentine creeks that fed into the broad, blue Waccamaw River. A sight that never failed to soothe her spirit.

There you are. Mama stood on the porch, leaning on her walking cane, watching Abby’s approach. Her voice was stern, but her brown eyes held a hint of merriment. I might have known you’d come home damp and sandy. Don’t track that dirt into the parlor, please, Abigail. Your father is expecting Governor Gist this afternoon, and Molly has already cleaned it. And for heaven’s sake, do something with your hair. It looks like a rat’s nest.

Yes, Mama. Abby ran lightly up the steps and planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek. I’m sorry you had to send out a search party. I didn’t intend to be gone for so long.

You’re here now, and no harm done. Your breakfast is waiting in the dining room. Please tidy up and meet me there. We have a million things to do before Saturday.

Ten minutes later Abby was seated in the dining room, a plate of eggs, sausage, and Molly’s delicious spoon bread in front of her. Molly bustled in and poured coffee into Abby’s paper-thin china cup. She set down a cut-glass pitcher of warm syrup. Here you are, missy. Molly knows you partial to havin’ syrup with spoon bread.

Abby drizzled syrup over the bread and took a bite. Delicious, Molly. Don’t I always say you make the best spoon bread in the Carolinas?

With a gentle nod Mama dismissed Molly. She opened a leather-bound book and picked up her pencil. Our dresses have arrived. You must try yours on at once in case it needs any last-minute alterations.

All right. Abby took another bite of spoon bread, letting the warm sweetness linger on her tongue. She peered at the stack of mail on the table. More replies for the barbecue?

Yes. These came yesterday, but I was too busy to open them. Mama withdrew a sheet of paper from a thick envelope. The Frasers are coming. Poor Francis. I feel so sorry for him, trying to raise Charlotte all alone. You must remember to make time for her, Abigail. She’s much younger than you, but desperately in need of female friendships.

Abby dug into her eggs. Fairhaven, the Frasers’ plantation, was their neighbor on the Waccamaw. On her visits home from boarding school, she’d caught occasional glimpses of a small, sturdy girl traipsing after her father in the rice fields, her dark hair flying, her too-large boots sinking into the marshy ground. Abby couldn’t help envying the younger girl’s relationship with her father. Mr. Fraser seemed to dote on his only child, whereas Abby’s own father believed girls were meant to be seen and not heard.

The Averys are coming up from Georgetown tomorrow, Mama continued. Theodosia will room with you.

Oh. I was hoping to see more of Penny Ravensdale. It’s been ages since we last spoke.

Mama scribbled in her notebook and spoke without looking up. You’ll see plenty of Penelope. The Ravensdales will be staying here for the weekend. Besides, Theodosia is perfectly lovely. And so ladylike.

And I’m not?

I didn’t say that, darling. Only you must try to comport yourself with great care this weekend. For your father’s sake. Mama’s brown eyes bore into Abby’s. "You know how strong his political aspirations are. We owe it to him to do all we can to