D orot h y L ov e
“I will.” Something crashed overhead, and Lettice shot to her feet, spilling her lemonade onto the bare floor. “I don’t mean to rush you, my dear, but the ferry is so unreliable these days—perhaps you should go. You don’t want to be stranded on this side of the river in the dark.” She hurried to the door and called for Trim. “Miss Fraser is ready to go now.” She kissed both Charlotte’s cheeks. “Trim will take good care of you. I must see to Charles.” Trim helped Charlotte onto the wagon seat. He called to the horses and they set off again. From her perch on the wagon seat, Charlotte took in the sights and smells of home. On either side of the river, serpentine creeks crisscrossed the marshes in an endless pattern of blue and gold. The air was fresh from the sea, and the riverbank was covered in new green that in a few weeks’ time would blossom with violets and blue jessamine. They passed a family of Negro women casting their nets for herring, their children playing in the shafts of late-afternoon sunlight falling across the shallows. One of them called to Trim and he returned her greeting, tipping his hat as they passed. When they reached the other side, they drove off the ferry, left the road, and turned up the long avenue of two-hundred-year-old oaks toward Fairhaven. Trim jumped down to open the gate and Charlotte’s heart sped up. Here was home at last. Though long neglected, the climbing roses had survived; here and there, new leaves had stitched through the banks of wild jessamine, forming patches of green among the brown thorns. They continued along the edge of the river past a narrow sand beach where she had played as a child. To the right was a sloping green lawn, now marred with burned-out patches, and the overgrown garden where neat rows of lettuce and asparagus had once 24
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