Southern Treasures (Heartsong Presents #451)
By Lynn A. Coleman
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one
Key West, 1868
“Ship’s a-comin’!”
Peg heard the bustle of folks outside her storefront window. When a ship came to port everyone tended to notice. She slid the needle into the white linen cloth and placed it on the counter. Holly leaves and red berries gave the napkin the Christmas flavor she missed. Stretching her back, she stepped up to the bay window overlooking Key West harbor. She loved her little shop and the view.
A two-masted schooner with a black hull and white trim pulled up to the long dock. It still amazed her how shallow the waters were around the island, so unlike the waters around Savannah. Out of habit, she looked toward the stern of the boat to see the name of the vessel and its point of origin. Even after all these years she still feared running into people she had known back home.
The Patriot, out of Boston, Massachusetts. A smile creased her face. She watched as the men secured the lines, then helped the passengers off the ship. Peg giggled, watching them regain their legs as the waddled down the pier.
Nathaniel Farris bounced down the gangplank from the boat. Peg waved. Nathaniel turned in the direction of Peg’s store and also waved. She knew he couldn’t see her, but she also knew he was well aware of her practice of watching the ships unload.
Ellis Southard marched up the pier, shook hands with Nathaniel, and proceeded to make his way onboard the ship. Peg stepped back from the window. Ellis always made a point to get to know the captains of the various ships. His business depended upon reliable export of his sponges.
“Anyone interesting?”
Peg jumped, and turned around to meet her customer, Vivian Matlin. “Good morning, Vivian. How are you today?”
“Fine, fine. Tell me, did anyone interesting arrive? I can’t see as far as I used to.” The gray haired woman came up close to the counter.
Peg glanced back out the window. A stately man, with dark hair and silver sideburns, braced himself against the piling, allowing his body the time it needed to adjust to solid ground. “Well, Nathaniel Farris returned from his latest trip.”
“He’s such a fine jeweler. Can’t believe he escorts some of his jewelry to New York, though. You’d think he’d trust someone else to do that.”
“Ah, but that’s because of a sweet little woman who also lives in New York,” Peg confided.
“You don’t say,” Vivian grinned. “Tell me more.”
Peg smiled. She knew more details than the rest of the island residents. Nathaniel had proposed marriage to Julie this trip. He’d made her the most beautiful engagement ring Peg had ever seen. And by the smile on his face, Julie had accepted. “You’ll have to ask Nate.”
“Oh, it’s Nate now. Come on, Peg. First you tell me there’s a special woman in New York, now you’re calling Nathaniel Farris by a nickname. You’re trying to confuse and old woman, aren’t you?”
Peg chuckled. “Possibly.”
“Oh phooey. You used to be the best source of island gossip. What’s come over you?” Vivian pushed.
“Conviction, I guess. It finally occurred to me that if I didn’t want my secrets talked about on the streets, I shouldn’t be talking about others.”
“Oh, well that’s a low blow.” Vivian smiled. “But you’re right. It’s hard when it’s the island’s favorite pastime.”
“Yeah, I know.” Peg went to the counter and pulled a package out from underneath. “Here you go, Vivian.”
“I’m so excited. May I open it and see?”
“Of course.”
“You do such marvelous work. My granddaughter will be so surprised to get this for Christmas.” Vivian delicately lifted the fancy box covered with a printed fabric and lined with lace. The box alone was quite a gift. But Vivian had insisted that, for her first Christmas as a wife, her granddaughter needed to have something very special.
“Oh my, Peg. This is wonderful.” Vivian’s voice caught in her throat. “Even in my younger days, when my eyes were good and my fingers nimble, I couldn’t have done something as lovely as this.”
“Trisha deserves it.” Peg beamed. She loved when people were genuinely pleased with her work. The store carried crafts from a variety of island residents, but the thrill of a special sale like this—or the linen napkins she was embroidering earlier for Bea Southard—made her feel useful.
Vivian’s blue-veined hands pulled out the lady’s blouse Peg had transformed. A fine lace border lined the collar and cuffs. Delicate tea roses traced the tips of the collar, and a small bouquet draped high over the left breast. A ring of tiny tea roses encircled each buttonhole and cufflink. It wasn’t Peg’s normal fare, which amounted primarily to making napkins and linen tablecloths, but Vivian was a good customer, and she had purchased the blouse. Peg praised the Lord she had been able to fulfill Vivian’s desire.
Vivian gently placed the garment back in the box. Her hands shook with emotion. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I enjoyed it.” And she truly had. The money she would make from the sale wouldn’t come close to compensating her for the hours she’d spent on it. But that didn’t matter, not really. “Charity begins at home,” she recalled her grandmother saying on more than one occasion.
Vivian fished through her drawstring purse. “I can’t believe this is only costing me a dollar. You’re sure that’s enough?”
No, but that’s not the point, she reminded herself. “Yes.” After all, hadn’t Vivian helped her get this business off the ground during the war? Hadn’t she been the one to help drum up the local residents to come into the store? Vivian Matlin, advertiser extraordinaire. She was the best advertising Peg’s store, Southern Treasures, ever had.
Nathaniel Farris walked in. His broad grin spoke volumes. “Looks like it went well, Nathaniel.”
His grin slipped. “In one way, yes, in another, no.”
“Oh?”
Matt scanned the tropical island while regaining his land legs. The captain had warned him to expect a certain amount of unsteadiness. The trip from Savannah seemed short enough, but he’d watched the folks struggle down the dock. Pride dictated some decorum. If he was going to establish a business office in Key West, he didn’t want the locals first impression to be that of an unstable man.
Thankfully, he’d convinced Micah to join him during his Christmas break from school. Micah was the real reason he’d come to Key West. Granted, the business would prosper in this strategic location, but Micah’s future—and his past—quite possibly rested on this small remote island.
Matt eased out a pent up breath.
Today is not the day to be dwelling on that, Lord. Lead me to the right location and the right individuals for this business, Matt silently prayed. He lifted his brown derby, wiped the headband with his handkerchief, and placed it back upon his head.
“May I help ya, Sir?” a gangly Negro boy asked with a smile as bright as the sunshine.
“I’ve rented a room from a Mr. Isaac Salinger. Are you familiar with this man?”
“I know where he lives. Would you like me to show the way?”
The boy was probably trying to earn a coin or two, what with Christmas coming on. Matt was confident he could find the place with the help of the instructions on the letter in his pocket, but he had to smile at the lad’s entrepreneurial spirit. “That would be most agreeable. Shall we wait for my luggage?”
“Momma won’t worry none if I’m a few minutes late. I can wait.”
“What’s your name, Lad?”
“Ben. Benjamin Hunte.”
“Well, Ben, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The boy nodded and leaned toward him. In a hushed voiced he added, “If you don’t mind me saying so, Sir, you need to get in the shade. Dem dark clothes in this heat isn’t wise. Unless, of course, you’re used to it.”
Considering the trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck, he figured the boy made sense. Savannah was hot in the summer, ‘though it cooled down some in the winter. “You might be right.” Matt scanned the shoreline. There were a few palm trees, but not much shade. “Where do you suggest I wait?”
“That cluster of palm trees might help some, but ifin you have a light shirt on under your overcoat, take the coat off.”
The lad had a thin cotton shirt with short sleeves and a pair of light cotton trousers hanging loosely on him, with the cuffs rolled up to just below the knees. A pair of sandals adorned his feet. Matt’s long jacket, vest, and wool pants contrasted like night and day. Matt removed his jacket and draped it over his arm. “Is this better?”
The boy tossed his head from side to side. “Not much, but you’ll get used to it, ifin you’re going to be here for a while.”
“I’m hoping to.” At least as long as it took to explore the possibility of setting up his business here.
“Hey, Ben. What are you doing down here?” A full-bearded gentlemen in his thirties approached from the ship. Matt had seen him board the ship shortly after it docked.
“Mr. Ellis, I’m helping him—” The boy pointed in his direction. “He needs to find Mr. Salinger’s place.”
“I see. And does your Momma know you’re down here?”
“No, Sir.”
“What about Mo?”
“I saw Dad a few minutes ago. He knows.” The boy puffed out his chest.
The stranger extended his hand. “Name’s Ellis Southard. Ben, here, is the oldest son of my foreman.”
That explained the man’s familiarity with the child but. . . “Pleasure to meet you Mr. Southard.” Matt extended his hand and exchanged a short courteous handshake with Ellis Southard. He always believed you could tell a lot about a person by their handshake. This one was firm and straight to business. “My name is Matthew Bower. I’m looking into using Key West as a possible location for my export business.”
“It’s a busy port. What do you export?”
“Cotton. I’m based in Savannah, but the war was hard on my industry.”
“On a lot of men’s, I’m afraid. I’m not sure how a cotton export would work for you here, but if I can help, just let me know. I deal in sponges. It’s a natural product for the area and the demand for them is growing.”
“Interesting. I export from Georgia, as well as the Louisiana and Alabama areas, so it seemed logical to see if Key West would give me an advantage over waiting for the cotton to sail up to Savannah.”
“Makes sense.” Ellis Southard nodded slightly. “I hate to run, but I’m on a tight schedule. Ben here will show you were to go. See that dock over there?” He pointed to a dock to the left off where they stood. It was long, and loaded with brown and yellow balls, obviously sponges. “That’s my dock. Come on over after you’re settled in. I can give you a general idea of the time schedule of the ships.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”
“Just being neighborly.” Ellis Southard waved and headed down the dock toward shore.
“Friendly.”
“Most folks know everyone here,” Ben offered.
Matt hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. “Appears so. You’re father works for Mr. Southard?”
“Mo is my second dad. My father, he died in the war.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Son.” And he truly was. He lost a brother to that war. And he’d been fighting his personal politics on the subject ever since.
Finally his trunk was lowered and brought off the ship by some seamen. “Can you bring it to the end of the dock?” he asked them.
“For two bits.” One sailor cocked a grin.
“One.”
The two grumbled and carried the trunk to the end of the dock. He’d need to rent a wagon or something to bring his trunk to Isaac Salinger’s.
The boy tugged on his shirtsleeve. “I can get a wheelbarrow.”
“Thanks, I think that would be a good idea.”
Ben ran off like lightening was licking at his feet. Matt ambled down the dock. The two crewmen walked up to him and held out their palms. He tossed them a silver dollar and figured they could work out splitting it between them. He sat down on his trunk and visually examined the local businesses. The harbor seemed lined with boats and warehouses. Tucked in among them he noticed a store.
A store? Sure enough, in the heart of a trading port was some sort of ladies’ store. He could barely make out the sign. S O U T H, Southern, T R E A S, Treasures, Southern Treasures? What kind of a business was that?
Matt heard the sound of iron hitting rock and turned to see Ben pushing a wheelbarrow just about as big as himself down the street. Matt rushed over to relieve the boy. “Where’d you get this?”
“Mr. Ellis.”
Either Ellis Southard was quite important to Key West, or he was just a very friendly man. On the other hand, Ben’s stepfather was the foreman of Ellis Southard’s business. “Tell Mr. Ellis I said thank you when you return it for me.”
Ben nodded and stood back while Matt lifted his trunk onto the wheelbarrow. “What’s that store over there?” he asked the boy.
“Southern Treasures.”
“What kind of a store is it?”
“Mostly ladies things. My dad bought my mom some fancy napkins and a tablecloth from there for her as a wedding present.”
“Oh. Are there other stores in town?”
“Sure. But Miss Martin, she owns Southern Treasures, she likes being on the water.”
“Martin?”
“Yeah, Peg Martin.”
Peg Martin! Margaret Martin—Lord, it can’t be that easy to find this woman, can it?