The Dowry Page 2

  Recalling the agent’s comments the day before, he cringed at the idea of what a 1940s renovation attempt on the old structure might have done. The Victorian he restored in San Francisco had been one of those where the previous repairs had nearly destroyed the originality of the place. In his line of work, he had seen several examples of the best intentions obliterating vintage craftsmanship. He only hoped that this house had been spared that fate.

  By the time he had finished eating, showered, and getting dressed, he was anxious to be on his way. Letting the dog out, he watched as the hound sniffed his way around the small backyard offered for this purpose. A pet friendly facility, he readied the handy cleanup bag provided by the hotel.

  “Hurry up Hunter, I need to go,” Robert explained to the distracted hound. A Blue Tick Coon Hound mix, Hunter hardly paid him any attention as he inspected every corner of his temporary domain. Finally satisfied, he did his business and then rushed inside. Robert made quick work of the cleanup and went inside himself to wash his hands before heading to the front door.

  “Not today, buddy,” Robert said as the dog waited by the door, looking expectantly at the leash hanging nearby.

  “Maybe when I get back,” he added as he slipped past the disappointed hound and locked the door behind him. Robert took the dog everywhere with him, by plane, ship or train. He likely had more travel miles than most people did. While the dog voiced a quick objection, Robert heard him quiet down before he reached his ride.

  Climbing into the rented Jeep, he started the vehicle and backed out onto the empty street. Originally only intending to stay in town a few days, he had not bothered to drive cross country using his own truck, rather choosing to fly in for the occasion. He had been asked to bid on several restoration projects here in town, recommended by a friend and business associate. His house hunting had been a whim, inspired by the events in California as he was soon to be homeless.

  Meeting separately with each of the prospective renovation property owners the first day in town, he was awarded both the jobs on the spot. His reputation had sealed the deal, but he suspected his friend’s recommendation had carried some weight in the end.

  He then found himself with time to kill before his next flight, a few days away, and no real desire to return home. Even though he and Heather had been first separated and then divorced for almost a year, he still struggled with the loss. While the pair remained on cordial terms, Heather had a way of reminding him he had made the right decision to split.

  So, rather than leave Florida early, returning to an empty house, he decided to pursue his first love and contacted a local agent whom he knew specialized in older historic homes. Outlining his wish list on the phone, he reassured her he was a buyer and not just a looker. They had then spent the following day traveling all around the surrounding countryside looking at various properties, to no avail.

  Retracing the route from memory, Robert eventually found himself back on the two-lane country road leading to the house. He could see the open fields and woods intermingled with the occasional house. Ahead, he noted a car stopped along the side of the road, facing him.

  Slowing as he passed, he could see the driver side rear tire was flat and there was a young woman sitting inside, staring at her cell phone in clear frustration. Robert quickly pulled over and slowly backed up until his window was opposite the young woman’s. Lowering his window, but not exiting the Jeep to keep from alarming her, he waved to get her attention.

  “Problem?” he asked after she lowered her window about half way.

  “I have a flat and my cell has no coverage here at all,” she explained on the edge of tears.

  Robert could now see that the woman was more of a girl, probably no more than eighteen to twenty.

  “Do you have a spare?” he asked while checking his watch.

  This was going to make him late, but there was just no way he could just drive off and leave her here.

  “I don’t know,” she replied unsurely.

  “Look, stay in the car, pop the trunk and let me look,” he replied as he checked the road for traffic before exiting the Jeep. They were the only two vehicles on the road, which was another reason he took care in reassuring the young woman.

  Crossing over to her car, he lifted the trunk lid and found both the spare and the jack inside. Moving quickly to try and minimize his delay, he was thankful that he wasn’t wearing his good clothes that morning. While not NASCAR worthy, he changed the tire quickly and soon had everything back in the trunk. As he worked, he could see the girl peeking out the open window, still only half open, watching him.

  “You are good to go now, but be sure and get that tire fixed or next time you will be stranded,” he replied as he stepped up to her window while brushing himself off.

  “I can’t pay you much,” she started, cash in hand, before Robert cut her off.

  “Good, because I won’t take it anyway; you just drive safe,” he answered with a wave as he quickly crossed the road. Climbing back in his Jeep, he waited until he saw the young woman pull back onto the road and head off before doing the same himself.

  Trying not to rush to make up the lost time, he soon found himself in front of the old Victorian once more, only this time the gates stood wide open and the drive had been cleared of debris. Slowly pulling in past the aged wrought iron gates, he could see an older Mercedes sedan parked in front of the house, and someone sitting on the front porch.

  Stopping the Jeep next to the car, he quickly surveyed the area before getting out. To his left stood a large carriage house, unnoticed when he was here before as it stood partially hidden from the street by a stand of trees. The two-story structure was so old it had once been used for horse and buggy storage, but appeared solid.

  Perhaps it was the pending sale of the house in California, or the hesitancy of throwing his all into a new project intended for himself. Either way, he found himself just a tad nervous.

  “Well, here goes nothing!” he said to himself as he got out of the Jeep.

  Chapter 2

  Foxworth Landing, 1857

  Charlotte was bubbling with excitement as she negotiated with the first of what she hoped was going to be a long line of customers wanting to use her river services to transport their goods. She was working hard to ensure her outward demeanor masked the inner thrill. The pair had just settled on a sum, and she was motioning to the man her father had entrusted to care for her purse.

  “You drive a hard bargain, young lady, but I dare say it’s a fair price,” the man commented as he watched his sons unload their wagons and place the crates in a nearby tent.

  “Sir, my father believes in long-term relationships, not short-term gains. He is also a careful businessman,” she replied as she waved to one of her other men nearby, and then paid the man with the coins her father had provided her.

  “He is a wise man, and I see his daughter is just as careful,” he replied with a smile as he gestured at the man carrying her funds. Probably the biggest man Charlotte had ever seen, she knew him to be a gentle giant when amongst the crew.

  “While not a vast sum, sir, it does represent my future. I assure you that is something I do not take lightly,” she said with a smile as she returned the coin purse to her man for safekeeping.

  As part of their arrangement, Charlotte had negotiated the direct purchase of the farmer’s goods rather than charging a transport fee. That fee would have provided transport for the man and his goods, one way, to market. How he returned home would have been a separate arrangement with her or some other shipper.

  While Charlotte had not paid him nearly the sum he would have received had he taken the goods all the way to market himself by wagon, he saved days of travel and lodging costs. The other advantage she provided was an immediate payment.

  Charlotte also knew that the price she paid would permit her a reasonable return on resale; there’d be less loss or spoilage when compared to traveling by wagon. She would have the goods to market fast
er and fresher by boat, as one of her father’s ships was scheduled to land later in the day. In addition to the produce purchased for resale, she had pulled a small amount of the crop aside for herself, having it set separately from the rest.

  This she would keep for her men, here at the building site. Her father had commented on many occasions that well-fed men were far more productive. She intended to make her construction crew extremely productive. That cut of produce was entrusted to the second man attending her and the three bid the farmer and his sons a good day.

  Bending to record the transaction in her ledger, resting it on a stack of crates, she had started a new set of books specifically for the business here at Foxworth Landing. A habit she had learned from her mother, Charlotte had been a meticulous record keeper for her father and had every intention of continuing the practice.

  “My name is Jess,” she suddenly heard from behind as she had turned away from the farmer and his sons while they unloaded.

  Turning back, she was startled to find both brothers standing there. Each appeared close to her age, as she guessed them to be in their late teens, and quite sure one was younger than the other. She wasn’t sure which had spoken, but both their handsome faces were looking at her expectantly.

  “I’m Bobby,” the younger said, clearing up her confusion.

  “I’m Charlotte. It’s nice to meet you both,” she replied politely, not interested in encouraging either of them.

  Charlotte had never been overly interested in boys after her mother had passed away. So completely engrossed in assuming her family duties, she had no time for such distractions. Now, with the possibility of her own home and business, independent of family demands, she wasn’t anxious to give it all up to a husband. She still understood she needed to be nice to avoid upsetting a customer, as the father was doing his best to look disinterested as he stood nearby.

  “We was wondering if you might be interested in a picnic. We always have one after the harvest is brought in and it’s this weekend,” the one named Jess said.

  Scanning their eager faces, she was struggling to find an excuse not to go, when the man holding her money purse nearby spoke up.

  “Miss Charlotte, the river men are coming then,” he said.

  “Oh dear, yes, that’s right. I am very sorry, but the men who are going to float my timber to the sawmill are coming. I simply must be here to watch over them; those trees are my entire future,” she replied, doing her best to show a disappointed face.

  “Well dang. Ok, well, will we see you again soon?” Bobby asked.

  “Come by any time,” Charlotte said as she smiled warmly at the two before turning to leave.

  “Thank you,” Charlotte said quietly to the man at her side. He simply returned a knowing smile as they walked away from the farmer and his sons.

  Returning to their campsite, with the farmer’s goods headed to the cooks, she could see the smiles from the workmen as they paraded the foodstuffs through the camp. The majority of the crates were left behind, intended for shipment down river, and were stored temporarily near the dock in a tent constructed for just that purpose.

  She had one of the younger men, more of a boy really, act as watch to insure nothing wayward happened to it before shipment. Having already paid the farmer, the produce represented Foxworth inventory now and its safe delivery to market was most important.

  Charlotte was quite satisfied to see all the activity that surrounded their campsite. In all directions she could see groups of men cutting trees and stripping them of their branches, so they could be dragged to the river. Her hope was they would have enough ready to float down river to the saw mill in no time at all.

  That evening, before bed, Charlotte drafted a letter to her sister. While excited about everything going on around her, she missed the companionship the two provided for one another and worried about the younger woman without her there.

  Foxworth Landing, Present day

  As he climbed out of the Jeep, Robert could see an older woman sitting in a rickety wooden chair on the front porch. While the structure of the house appeared solid, he was less than confident about the chair she occupied. His heart skipped a beat as he considered her apparent frailty and the decrepit old piece of furniture she sat upon.

  Quickly climbing the steps of the porch, he accepted the outstretched hand as he approached the woman. Not one to assume, he still had to guess that she was at least in her late 70s, possibly older. He was much relieved as he noted the chair appeared much sturdier than his initial assessment.

  “Hi, I’m Robert Garrison. I am so sorry I’m late; I got a bit lost. I have an invitation,” he announced as he extended the folded parchment.

  “It’s no problem at all. I am Victoria Foxworth Baines; it is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Garrison,” the old woman replied with a smile as she accepted the offering without examining it, and then placing her hands on her flower printed dress. She then absently smoothed the fabric across her lap where her hands had been resting, as if by habit.

  “You own this house?” Robert asked, surprised to hear her name.

  “Yes, my family has always lived in this house,” she replied in a straightforward manner.

  “I was told it is unoccupied,” Robert responded, confused by her comment.

  “Oh yes, we moved out in the late 40s. 1948 I believe,” she replied.

  “After the last renovation?” Robert asked, repeating the statement the agent had provided.

  “Yes, we had tried to make it more modern. See those power lines there? My father had them installed,” she answered as she pointed to the unsightly wooden power poles lining the drive on the way to the house.

  “Why did you move out of this beautiful old house?” he asked.

  “In those days, we were far from town and mother didn’t like being away from everyone. The roads weren’t as good then and it took quite a bit of time to get anywhere civilized,” she answered easily.

  Robert could see where this would have been out in the sticks in the 1940s, the city limits and other conveniences not nearly as close as they were now.

  “Would you like to see inside?” Victoria asked as she rose slowly from the chair and headed to the door.

  “Yes, please,” Robert replied emphatically.

  Leaping to the door, he was able to get there before Victoria and, finding it unlocked, opened it wide for her to pass before him.

  “Thank you,” she responded with a smile as she went inside.

  Entering the house, Robert was greeted with the grand entrance he had hoped to find. A beautiful staircase with detailed railings on the right side of the entry hall led up to the second level landing. Pocket doors with leaded glass inlays on both the left and right sides of the foyer allowed entrance to separate rooms. There were beautiful hardwood floors throughout the space. Straight ahead was a solid wooden paneled door, closed, and blocking the view of what was beyond.

  “On the right, we have the parlor, or sitting room, as my father liked to call it,” Victoria explained as she slipped passed the partially open doors protruding from the wall pockets.

  Devoid of furniture, Robert could see a magnificent fireplace and the windows that followed the porch outside as it wrapped around the side of the house.

  “This was where Charlotte would meet her customers,” Victoria said absently.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, yes, Charlotte Foxworth. Her father built this house as a dowry for her,” she explained.

  “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “Back in the 1850s Jacob Foxworth had a shipping business on this river. If you wanted to get your produce or livestock to the markets in town, you either took a few day’s wagon ride or you paid someone like Jacob to transport it for you,” she explained with a smile.

  “And Charlotte?” Robert asked.

  “She was his oldest daughter. Jacob bought this parcel of land on the west side of the river, constructed the docks for his ships to
land and made Charlotte his agent. She was just 18 when this house was completed, and she directed its construction herself,” Victoria said with satisfaction.

  “Ok, I see. As the local agent for her father, she had an income derived from her father’s shipping business. Husband or not, she could make a living buying and shipping produce from the locals,” Robert said, filling in the blanks.

  “She did more than just that. People came here to catch the boats up and down the river, and they would sometimes spend the night. That carriage house out there also had a wheelwright to repair damaged wagons the farmers used. She was a woman of standing in the community,” Victoria finished, beaming with pride.

  “I would say she was well ahead of her time,” Robert added, impressed with the story.

  There was more to that statement than just flattery. The design of this house was progressive for the time, as the Victorian trend started in earnest later in the 1800s. For her to choose this style of architecture put her on the leading edge of Victorian era construction.

  “Come with me,” Victoria suddenly announced as if she had just remembered something.

  Following the woman, Robert was treated to a running monologue as they wandered from room to room. Everywhere they went, Victoria provided the history of the house while Robert would insert his own observations. He delighted in pointing out the details of the original construction, lamenting on the places where damage had been done in the past and commenting on how it could be restored. Victoria seemed impressed at his knowledge and appreciation of the house.

  In the kitchen, he was particularly upset to find a significant portion of the original construction had been ripped out in an attempt to modernize the room. All the lath and plaster walls had been removed and drywall had been installed in its place. The 1940s appliances and decor were an eyesore for someone keen on keeping the original feel to the place. More than once, Robert could see Victoria smile as he talked about how things could be put back to the way Charlotte had intended while still providing modern conveniences.