Chapter 5 - The Line in the Sand
The next morning, the sun rose over Charleston with an oppressive, sticky heat that signaled an early summer.
I had Dany and Harry packed before eight. I didn't take them to a hotel; Scarlett called at seven and told me to bring them straight to her house.
"I have three spare bedrooms that haven't seen life since the Carter administration," she’d said over the line. "And a garden full of blackberries that need picking. Bring them here. Trip wouldn't dare set foot on my porch; he thinks my hydrangeas carry tetanus."
When we arrived, Harry was unusually quiet. He carried his small canvas duffel bag up the wooden stairs, his eyes darting around the eclectic, shadowed hallway of Scarlett’s home.
Dany immediately ran toward the kitchen, drawn by the smell of Scarlett’s buttermilk biscuits.
"Aunt Scarlett?" Harry asked, standing near the doorway of the parlor.
The old woman paused, looking down at her great-nephew. "Yes, young man?"
Harry reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out the small velvet ring box. He’d fished it out of Preston’s car before we left the driveway.
"Can you keep this?" he asked softly.
Scarlett’s expression softened, something rare and tender breaking through her granite demeanor. "Why don't you want to keep it, Harry?"
"Grandpa said it’s for when I'm ready," Harry said, staring down at the faded red velvet. "But Dany cried last night. She hid under the blanket with the dragon Grandpa gave her, and she said she wished she was a boy so she could go to college too."
A heavy silence settled over the room. I stood in the doorway, my hand over my mouth, the hot sting of tears behind my eyelids.
Harry looked up, his small face serious and pale. "I don't want a ring that makes my sister cry. It’s a bad present."
Scarlett slowly lowered herself onto one knee, ignoring the audible pop from her joint. She took the velvet box from Harry’s palm, opened it, and looked at the heavy gold signet ring bearing the Sterling crest—a falcon holding a plumb line.
"Your great-grandfather was a difficult man, Harry," Scarlett said quietly. "And your grandfather is even more difficult. But you... you have your mother’s heart." She snapped the box shut and tucked it into her apron pocket. "I’ll keep it safe. And no one—not your grandfather, not your father—will force you to wear it until you decide what kind of man you want to be."
"Thank you," Harry murmured, his shoulders visibly lightening. Then he darted off toward the kitchen to join his sister.
Scarlett stood up, using the doorframe for support. She turned to me.
"We have an appointment at eleven," she said.
"With whom?"
"Evelyn Vance."
I blinked. "The Vance from Vance & Hollingsworth? The estate litigation firm on Broad Street?"
May you like
"She’s my goddaughter," Scarlett said with a grim chuckle. "And she hates Trip even more than I do. Trip tried to have her disbarred twelve years ago when she represented his former business partner’s widow. Evelyn has been waiting for an opening into the Sterling Heritage Trust for over a decade. Let’s go give her the keys to the castle."
***
