The Dowry Read online

  “What’s that?” RD asked as they rounded a corner.

  Leaning against the back wall were several large rectangles draped in sheets and blankets. It was quite obvious to Robert that they were artwork of some kind. He stepped forward and pulled a sheet aside on the closest.

  Behind the sheet, he found a beautiful oil painting of the river outside, the view from behind the house. Extending away from the bottom of the painting, the wooden dock pushed out into the river, where a steamboat sat, taking on cargo. At its base, the name Christina, 1858 was inscribed.

  Robert moved through several more paintings, some depicting the surrounding area, others of people whose identity was unknown, and almost all signed by the same woman. Finally, he found a particularly large painting in an ornate hand-carved frame. It was of a young woman, quite attractive and in a very fine blue gown.

  It appeared to be portrayed from the front of this house, although none of the trees, nor the carriage house were in the right place. The house in the background, however, was exactly as the plans depicted it. The woman was really quite elegant, with her blonde hair piled up on her head and her blue gown exquisite.

  “Who is that?” RD asked as he stepped up next to Robert.

  “It’s signed Christina, 1857, just like the others, but that could be the painter,” Robert replied as he squatted down to inspect the right corner of the portrait.

  Standing upright once more, Robert inspected the house in the picture more closely.

  “I wonder how accurate that really is?” he asked RD while pointing to the house.

  “Well, it’s in color, which is more than I can say for the drawings we got from the city. Besides, the prints all say the house was finished in 1858.”

  “True, this could be someone’s guess. Still, I might use it as my inspiration. If they left it on the painting, it must have been close enough,” Robert said before dropping the cover once more and moving on.

  The two men continued their way through the attic, inspecting the structure, while being constantly distracted by the various objects they came across. In one far corner, Robert came upon a stack of trunks, looking very old and all latched and locked.

  “Look, CFW, wonder who that was?” RD said as he pointed to the monogram above the lock.

  “Victoria said the woman who built the house was named Charlotte, and that picture had Christina on it, so one of them, I guess,” Robert replied as he tried the latch on all three pieces of luggage. Each trunk was quite large, and from the weight of the top one, he guessed full.

  “Well, from what I have seen, I think we can do a two-zone HVAC install without blowing holes everywhere. One will feed down from here for the second floor, while the other up from the basement for the first. What about the radiators downstairs?” RD asked, referring to the antiquated heating system fed from the boiler in the basement below.

  “Let’s plan on pulling all that out and patching the holes. I saw they were added by the 1904 renovation anyway. By the way, by patching you know I mean a complete replacement of the floorboards.”

  He knew RD would never just plug the openings in the floor as a cheaper contractor might do, but it never hurt to state the obvious. Replacing the boards where they had drilled through the flooring for the radiators was far more labor intensive, thus expensive. The floorboards around each hole would have to be removed and new floorboards meticulously cut and installed in their place, matched to the existing flooring color. When done properly, you could never tell the hole was ever there. Robert wasn’t going to shortcut anything on this job, as in the end, this was going to be his home.

  “Roger that,” came the reply from the contractor.

  With their survey done, Robert bid RD a good day knowing his friend had a lot of work to do before they were ready to start work on site. In addition, Robert wasn’t ready to pull the trigger until he had word from the lawyer’s office reviewing the paperwork. Following him outside, Robert watched the man drive off while he and Hunter stood nearby

  Returning inside, he made the rounds once more, but as he passed through the kitchen, he noted a key sitting on the counter. Not remembering it from their earlier travels, he picked it up and examined it before he pocketed it as he headed out the front door.

  Making sure Hunter was not still inside, he tried the key there, but found it wasn’t the right type.

  “Still need a house key,” he said absently while making a mental note to contact Victoria.

  Satisfied, he had done all he could for the day, he ushered Hunter back into the Jeep for a trip home.

  Chapter 5

  On the St. John’s River, passing the City of Jacksonville, FL. 1857

  Standing near the bow on one of her father’s steamboats, Charlotte was in her bare feet as she watched the boat approach the docks of Strawberry Sawmill. Ever since she was a little girl, she had traveled on her father’s ships barefoot, her shoes offering little help on the often-slippery decking. Soon, she would need to put on shoes, as she wanted to appear properly attired when she met the mill owner.

  For this trip she had selected one of her nicer dresses, it being one of the many she had inherited from her mother after she passed away. As a child, she had frequently donned the selection her father had set aside for her, using them as a measure of her growth. At 17, Charlotte was just beginning to fill them out as her mother once had, although they still hung loose on her slender frame.

  This particular dress was fine enough to be considered dressed up, without being too formal. It was the kind of attire one might wear to a ladies lunch, or afternoon tea. She had selected it in hopes that it gave her a more grown up, business-like appearance. The man she was to meet was a business contact of her father’s and someone with standing in the community.

  While she watched the ship being tied up to the dock, she quickly slipped her shoes on, the black leather work shoe mostly hidden under her dress. Stepping onto the dock once the ship was securely in place, she hadn’t traveled more than a few steps up the path leading from the dock before the sawmill owner appeared before her.

  “Miss Charlotte,” the man said as he extended his hand in greeting.

  “Mr. Sammis,” she replied while accepting his greeting with a brief shake of the offered hand.

  “Is this all mine?” she asked as she indicated the stacks of cut lumber lining the dock behind her.

  “It is, ma’am. If you would like to come up to the house, we can review our deal and go over the inventory while your people load the ship,” he replied with a smile.

  Charlotte was well aware that her father had already negotiated the deal with the owner of Strawberry Mills. Mr. Sammis had received all the cleared timber from Charlotte’s property, cutting it and supplying her with enough to construct her new home. In return, Mr. Sammis would get to keep the substantial excess as payment, lumber he would ship north to buyers there.

  In the offer to review the order, the man was showing her the respect he would show any other business partner, rather than treating her as just the child of a friend.

  “I would be delighted,” she replied while doing her best to suppress the smile that burst across her face. Heading up to the plantation house, she couldn’t help but compare the structure before her with her vision of what her house was to be.

  “We mixed some of our existing cured inventory in for you to help move things along,” Mr. Sammis said as he led Charlotte up the front steps and into the house. She knew that they wouldn’t have time to let all the lumber dry properly so the mix of newly cut wet and previously cut dry would be a great help to her.

  Sitting at the table as she watched the mill owner spread out the paperwork before taking his own seat, she could immediately see the significant amount of material that was generated from her trees. Charlotte had actually done a considerable amount of business with Mr. Sammis in the past, as she stepped into the role her mother had vacated upon her death.

  From that experience, she could see that the
excess lumber, even after her overages for incidentals beyond the house itself was considered, was going to fetch the mill owner a tidy sum. She made a mental note to assess the remaining timber on her land, future money in the bank should she ever need it.

  With their business completed, and Charlotte confident the lumber supplied to her would more than meet her needs, the two returned to the dock to watch the loading progress. After a while a second boat appeared, much smaller than the one being loaded, and a man approached the pair.

  “Miss Charlotte?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Your father asked me to come get you. He and your sister are expecting you for dinner.” he added as he indicated the boat.

  “With that, I will take my leave. Be assured I will see this safely loaded,” Sammis commented to the young woman as he pointed to the piles of cut lumber.

  “I thank you for all your help, Mr. Sammis.”

  “It has been a pleasure, my dear,” the man replied before retreating up the path toward the house.

  Climbing into the smaller craft, they were soon headed back out into the river and toward town. She was happy to be taking the side trip to see her family, as her work schedule of late had her entirely occupied upriver. They quickly reached the docks in Jacksonville and Charlotte was soon wandering the familiar streets, heading to her family home.

  With the house progressing so well, Charlotte had decided to take a day or two to go to Jacksonville and visit her father and sister. By traveling on the scheduled boat to retrieve the lumber, she didn’t have to inconvenience her father with a special run to come get her. In addition, she welcomed the downtime as it gave her a rare opportunity to just sit and relax.

  Charlotte was quite excited to be visiting her little sister, as the two had never been apart for so long before. Christina was two years younger than she, and the pair had become exceptionally close after their mother had died. Now responsible for helping their father with the business at home, the fifteen-year-old had still found time to pursue a hobby of her own.

  Taking lessons from a local artist, she had been learning to paint. Applauded as a natural talent, she had soon found her calling, doing portraits for local matrons as well as other well-to-do family members. So it was, that when Charlotte returned home, she was presented with a loving gift from her little sister.

  “Christina, what is this?” she asked as she was led into the parlor, facing a fabric covered rectangle almost as tall as she. Both Christina and her father were standing nearby, smiling.

  “It’s for you, for your new house,” she replied as she removed the covering with a flourish.

  There, before Charlotte, was a near life-size portrait, her new house in the background as she stood next to a tree in a fine gown. The dress was a beautiful deep blue with a shimmering finish and light blue trim. The off the shoulder Bertha neckline left her neck and shoulders daringly exposed, a look she had only seen on more affluent women.

  The short sleeves only puffed ever so slightly on the upper arm and the fabric bodice panel formed a V in front, terminating in a slight dip where waist met hips. Blossoming at her hips, the crinoline cage flared the lower part of the gown in a fluttering bell shape, marking a dramatic transition from waist to hips.

  “I did it mostly from memory, but father was able to get me some of the architect’s drawings for the house,” she explained as she pointed to the house in the background.

  “It’s wonderful,” Charlotte replied in amazement.

  “You should hang it over your new fireplace in the parlor, wearing this,” her father said, presenting her the same blue dress depicted in the painting.

  She couldn’t speak as she embraced her sister, and then her father, tears streaming down her face. Holding the gown out before her, she could see all the details captured in the painting.

  “Now hurry and get changed, we are dining with the Waters family tonight,” her father added as he passed the dress to Charlotte.

  Over the St. John’s River, Passing the city of Jacksonville, FL. Present Day

  Robert was on the Mathews Bridge, heading east, away from downtown Jacksonville and toward Clifton, a point of land just across the river. Once there, he was to meet with the representative of the owner of the Sammis Plantation house, one of his two projects here in town. Once the home of the plantation and sawmill owner, the house had been originally constructed in the 1850s by John S. Sammis.

  The owner of an expansive holding here, it included the Strawberry Sawmill, Sammis eventually sold off the property in 1873, but the house had remained intact throughout the years. The present owner wanted Robert to assess the condition of the house and restore it to its former 1800s charm, undoing some of the minor changes applied over the years.

  Taking the first exit at the base of the bridge, Robert continued down University Boulevard until he turned and entered the more modern neighborhood now surrounding the house. Following the instructions he had been provided, he quickly found himself in front of the Sammis Plantation house.

  Looking about, it saddened him a bit to see how the world had grown up around the once stately plantation home. The neighborhood was well kept, but the surrounding homes were all obviously of newer construction and somehow out of place.

  “Mr. Garrison?” he heard as he stepped out of the Jeep. Turning, Robert watched a man step off the front porch and approach him.

  “I’m Daniel, the owner’s representative,” the man continued as he extended his hand in greeting.

  “Robert,” he replied in kind while shaking hands with the man. Robert recalled from his initial meeting that the owner was to be away and had assigned Daniel as his representative, overseeing the work to be done.

  With introductions complete, Daniel proceeded to lead Robert, first around the outside of the structure before taking him inside. As the two men walked, Daniel relayed all the information he had on both the history of the house as well as the desires of the current owner. The two men talked for over an hour before Robert was satisfied that he had what he needed to start the project.

  Making his goodbyes, he climbed back into the Jeep intending to return to town and meet with the lawyer reviewing his paperwork. As he was preparing to leave Clifton, his phone rang, causing him to pause. Checking the caller ID, he saw that it was his agent back in California.

  “This is Robert,” he replied as he answered the call rather than letting it go to voicemail.

  “I have an offer on the house I think we should consider,” she replied without fanfare.

  “Really, so soon?” Robert knew that the housing market there was hot, but considering his asking price, he had been prepared for a wait.

  “It’s one of Heather’s clients. He heard the house was going up for sale and called me with a cash offer. He wanted to get it to us before it hits the open market,” she explained.

  Robert wasn’t surprised to hear one of Heather’s clients was interested. They had hosted several parties after it was finished, and she had displayed the house as a trophy. At the time, he had assumed she was as excited about restoring the history of the area as he was. Unfortunately, he eventually learned she was just interested in the value added to the property.

  “We have an all cash, six-million-dollar offer,” she explained, the excitement in her voice quite evident.

  Considering the area and the amount of restoration work he had performed on the three-story free-standing house, it wasn’t an outrageously overpriced bid. They had actually discussed the possibility of a bidding war when they set the asking price.

  “Does Heather know about this?” he asked cautiously.

  “She was the one who brought the buyer to me, she thinks we should take it. I just need your signature to make it official,” she replied flatly.

  Bingo, Robert thought to himself. What he had discovered in his relationship with his ex-wife was that the one thing she was passionate about was money. He had put a lot of work and love into the restoration of what
he thought of as the center of their life together. In the end, he was deflated to learn otherwise.

  “Fax me the paperwork and I’ll sign,” he replied with a sigh as he pulled out the card he had taken from the lawyer’s office and read the fax number to her.

  ----*----

  “I don’t know who they had draft these documents, but there are legal terms in here I haven’t seen used in ages, and handwritten? Honestly, some of the references were so old I had to run them past the partners to confirm their relevance,” Michael Jones, the attorney, said as he referred to the paperwork they had spread across the conference table.

  “Is there anything of concern in there?” Robert asked as he scanned some of the documents the man had been indicating.

  “No, not really. Other than the arcane language, it’s all in order. In short, if you restore the house, to as close as reasonably possible to its original state, and continue to maintain it as such, it’s yours to keep for $1,” the man said reading a portion from the paperwork.

  “However, should you choose to relinquish your caretakership sometime later, after taking possession, it is to be bequeathed to the Florida State Historical Society. Without recompense I should add.”

  “Not back to the family?” Robert asked in surprise.

  “Nope. It’s either you or the Historical Society. It looks like they just wanted to guarantee the place didn’t ever get torn down,” the attorney replied.

  “So, I can restore the place and live there forever. However, if I try and sell it or otherwise alter it in a nontraditional way, I lose it completely to the Historical Society?”

  “Pretty much. There is some wiggle room in the interpretation of nontraditional, but I suspect that you understand that definition better than I,” the man replied while holding up one particular page.