The Dowry Read online

  Robert was pretty knowledgeable on what Historical and Restoration organizations considered acceptable upgrades. Currently he was well inside those boundaries. Then another thought occurred to him.

  “What happens after I’m gone; can I leave it to any future children?” he asked.

  While currently without offspring, at 35, it was still well within the range of possibility.

  “So long as they adhere to the limitations of the agreement, the contract actually encourages that you keep it in the family, so to speak,” the man replied.

  Though currently single, recently divorced and without even the prospects of a steady girlfriend, Robert found the reply both comforting and unsettling. It was as if they were somehow planning his future around him.

  “So, what do I need to do?” Robert waved at the pile of papers with one hand.

  “Just sign where the tabs are and it’s all yours. I’ll see that it gets returned to the seller’s agent,” the man responded with a smile.

  “Oh, by the way, you should be getting a fax….” Robert started before the man cut him off.

  “In that folder over there.” He pointed to a plain manila folder off to one side.

  Robert grabbed the folder and started scanning the documents inside.

  “I took the liberty of reviewing that for you as well. I would say no charge, but from the looks of that, I think you can afford the extra hour,” he replied with a smile while handing him a pen.

  ----*----

  That night, after he got back to his rental, Robert found several emails in his inbox with the digital files RD had promised him. Firing up his drafting application, he began playing with the designs he had in mind, working through the implications they had on the structure. His biggest concerns were the changes made in the past to create the indoor bathroom and the modifications to the kitchen area.

  RD had left him the paper copies he had presented earlier at the house, which helped remind him what was original and what had been changed over the last 150 years. Working on a small laptop display, the larger paper copies were a godsend. As he worked, he fired off a couple messages to both the city planning office and RD, requesting any information on application submittals and inspection timelines.

  While all the work that had been done before had been permitted, the new renovations would see them upgrade everything in the house they didn’t replace outright. Besides installing an entirely new kitchen, he intended on making over the upstairs bathrooms, as well as adding a downstairs powder room. The current bathroom fixtures had a certain charm, like the claw-foot tubs and the period lighting fixtures, so he planned on salvaging as much of the existing as possible.

  He also emailed RD, asking to get a work crew scheduled to empty the attic and basement, starting tomorrow morning. Since the papers were signed, his attorney had given him the green light to start work. While the construction needed to wait until the city had their say, fees paid, and permits approved, they could clear out the spaces they needed to do their work right away.

  Besides clearing all that out, Robert was anxious to see what had been shuffled away in storage, particularly the trunks they had seen earlier. The quicker he could get the stuff moved out to the carriage house, the sooner he could start snooping. With that completed, he spent the rest of the night researching Charlotte Foxworth.

  ----*----

  Robert and Hunter were back at the house early the following morning. They found the gates wide open as they turned off the street and came up the drive. He hadn’t remembered leaving them open, but then he didn’t recall closing them either. He made another mental note to inspect them at his first opportunity, but acknowledged that was a low priority.

  Robert laughed as the dog leapt from the Jeep in search of some place he hadn’t already inspected 5 times before. As he approached the front door, climbing the steps to the porch, he could see an envelope tucked into the door jam.

  Identical to the parchment invitation he had received the first day, this also contained the red wax seal with the F emblazoned in the center. Opening the envelope, he found the key to the front door and a note.

  “Please bring me back,” was all it said.

  Robert was impressed at the depth of feelings the family had for the house and surprised that they sold it to him at all. He thought it cute that the note implied the house was talking to him, asking for a makeover, wishing to restore its luster.

  Inspecting the key, round loop on one end and intricate notched bit at the other, he noted they had retained the old 19th century iron key and lock set. Inserting the key into the keyhole, he smiled as he imagined Charlotte doing the same thing so long ago.

  Pushing the romantic imagery aside, he tested the key, unlocking the door and then tucked it away with the other from the kitchen he kept in his pocket. Heading inside, he began opening doors and windows, letting in as much fresh air and light as possible. By the time he got the house opened up, he heard RD hollering from the front of the house.

  “Anybody home?” he announced as he led a team of workers in from the front porch.

  “You’re early,” Robert replied as he and Hunter greeted the group.

  “They wanted an early start, so we would be done well before dark.” RD pointed to the cluster of men.

  “Really? Are you kidding me?” Robert looked the group over.

  “I told you this place has a rep, man,” RD answered as he waved the group forward.

  Leading them into the basement first, Robert explained how he wanted the various items moved into the carriage house and separated for inspection. He and RD estimated that there was almost twice the space available to them out there than the attic and basement combined. Moving it all into the carriage house allowed for plenty of room to move about the piles of items once relocated.

  They agreed to have RD stay inside to supervise the extraction of objects while Robert worked in the carriage house to see things clustered in a manner that made sense to him. Rather than grouping things by item, he had them organized by room. That meant bedroom sets were separated from the parlor furnishings and so on. Frequently Robert had to make the call on where a particular piece of furniture went as the workmen had no clue what they were carrying.

  As they moved upstairs to the attic, they unearthed an exquisite dining room set that easily sat 12 or more people. Additionally, they extracted a desk and chair Robert assumed belonged in the second floor study, with a pair of overstuffed chairs and end tables. These he set aside once they were moved outside, specifically with the intention of cleaning them up himself rather than having them sent out.

  In all, the furniture they found in the two storage spaces alone was sufficient to completely furnish the downstairs and half of the upper floor. As he inspected several of the pieces, he noted that they were not US manufactured items, but instead most carried European maker’s marks. From what little he had learned about Charlotte so far, she was not what he would have assumed to be snobby or pretentious, thus in need of European decor. He would need to do some more research to try and learn how those items had come to be in her home.

  With most of the large pieces taking up the first floor of the carriage house, he had the men start filling the second floor with the smaller items. Smaller was a relative term as several of the trunks and crates required more than just two men to move out of the house and across the open area between the buildings.

  To answer the need, Robert and RD had resurrected the loft hoist and trolley to get the heavy items upstairs. Originally used to lift large bales of hay and straw, it was perfectly suited for the task at hand. Once items were loaded onto the hoist platform, a pair of men could raise the load high enough to enter the open doors at one end of the building. Inside, they could roll the load the length of the upper floor and into place via the overhead trolley.

  By the time they had emptied both the attic and basement, it was still several hours before dark. Robert had to admit that he had never seen a more motivated w
orkforce in all his years of construction. After a quick inspection of both spaces, they let a clearly relieved work crew depart before the sun set in the west.

  “Are you heading out too?” RD asked as he watched the last of the workers drive out the gate.

  “No, I want to do a little snooping. I really didn’t get a chance to look at things beyond the sorting process. You can stay and help if you like,” Robert said, a little distracted as he continued to head to the carriage house.

  “No that’s quite alright. See you in the morning,” RD replied, waving off the invitation.

  “Have it your way,” Robert added with a laugh.

  “OK, see you in the morning,” he replied again with a wave as he headed to his truck.

  Robert found Hunter lying next to the first pair of open doors to the carriage house. The dog had long since exhausted himself trying to keep pace with the men coming and going between the two buildings. He raised his head as he watched Robert pass, but seemed content to let him go inside while he stayed put and watched the door.

  Climbing the ladder to the loft above, Robert produced a flashlight to offset the dying sunlight. It took him several minutes to find the trunks he had seen the day before, as he wasn’t on hand when they were moved from the attic. Struggling to pull one free from the pile, he moved his selection to an open space nearby.

  Producing a key from his pocket, the one that he had found on the kitchen counter, he inserted it into the lock. He watched in surprise as it released the latch holding the lid firmly in place.

  Chapter 6

  Jacksonville, 1857

  From her location on the upper deck of the bouncing riverboat tied to her pier, Charlotte could see the workmen standing up the first walls of her house. Partially blocked by the trees lining the riverbank, it slipped in and out from view, giving her brief glimpses of her vision coming to life. On the deck below her, she could see the unloading of more building materials.

  She had spent a considerable amount of time with the architect her father had hired, explaining in great detail everything she wanted. The man had drawn up the plans, insuring she got everything she asked for in her dream house. The materials below were intended to help with the more esthetic parts of the design. She knew she should be below inspecting things, but she preferred to be right there to watch as they framed the structure.

  Charlotte had been collecting newspapers and drawings of the new British Architecture that was catching on in the North since learning of her father’s plans for her dowry. With its high peaked roofs and tower style rooms, she was enamored by the ornate trim and bright colors. She had read detailed descriptions of newly constructed homes north in Savannah that inspired her. Her architect seemed excited by the challenge.

  Today, she had been up since sunrise, reviewing all the work that was to be completed on the house this day and supervising the unloading of the cargo headed to the construction site. It was an unusually small shipment, but that fit nicely into her plans. The less they were bringing in, the closer they were to finishing.

  On the other side of her life, the last visit home had produced an unexpected bump in her future plans. The dinner with the Waters had gone nicely enough, the couple hosting a delightful evening for Charlotte, her sister and their father. Mr. Waters and her father did extensive business together so she was well acquainted with him, but Charlotte had never met the rest of the Waters family. His wife was there that evening, but apparently their older son, slightly older than Charlotte, was away on a trip to Europe as a college graduation present. The younger Waters boy was away visiting family in the north.

  She found herself overwhelmed by the Waters’ home. Its décor was exquisite, but a bit overdone in Charlotte’s opinion. As they moved from room to room during the evening, she mentally noted things she would have done differently were it hers. Beyond the lavish furnishings, probably quite costly, the wallpaper in every room seemed to scream at her with its mix of colors and patterns, all too busy to bear.

  The evening itself had her somewhat confused, as the conversation over dinner consisted almost entirely of questions surrounding her and her plans for the house on the river. Why Mister and Misses Waters would be concerned beyond politeness was unusual. The most perplexing part of the evening, though, was later when the men had gone off to the study and Christina was admiring the art, Mrs. Waters had taken Charlotte into the parlor to talk privately.

  “Dear, I was quite sorry to hear of your mother’s passing, and at such an important time in a young woman’s life…” she began.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Waters.”

  “I want you to know that both you and your sister are free to come see me any time,” she added sympathetically.

  “Thank you. Father does his best to make sure we have everything we need,” Charlotte replied, not quite sure where this was going.

  “I am sure he does, dear, but there are some things only another woman can provide you. Here, I want you to take this. You are coming of age and I know your mother would have wanted you to have it.” She slipped Charlotte a small printed card.

  Glancing at the card as she accepted it, Charlotte was startled to see its contents. It took her a moment to compose herself as she read the simple lines, understanding its gist all too well.

  Rules of the Southern Belle

  -Never wear white shoes before Easter or after Labor Day except if it is as a bride.

  -Thank you notes are a necessary component of being gracious and appreciative.

  -Never chew gum or smoke on the street.

  -Never show anger in public. Smile and act like a lady.

  -Act helpless and confused when it's to your advantage; never let them know how clever and capable you really are.

  -Charm, Charm, Charm.

  -Be elegant and graceful.

  At first, she was taken aback, as she was not the least interested in becoming a pampered socialite. These were the rules for a woman looking to acquire a husband, something not on her priority list. However, after a second glance, she found certain references had suited her plans quite nicely.

  Foxworth Landing, Present day

  Robert opened the first of several trunks bearing the CFW monogram above the lockset latch. Convinced they belonged to Charlotte, he was anxious to see what they held, hidden away for so long. Inside the first, he found mostly clothes, including the beautiful blue dress he had seen in the painting.

  In the second, there were books and other personal items. As he shuffled through them, he noted that there was a wide selection of literature and educational texts covering business, economics and law. His earlier research of Charlotte had indicated that she had studied law privately, because at that time women were not allowed in law school. She had worked on her own, and while not a recognized attorney, she had successfully defended herself in several disputes with other local shippers.

  It was the third trunk that Robert found the most fascinating. Inside, he discovered letters, diaries and other private documents covering Charlotte’s personal and professional activities. Opening one of her ledgers, he began reading the entries.

  Purchases, 5th of June, 1859

  John M. Waller Paid a sum of $178.27

  Pine Apples 37 crates

  Tomatoes 40 "

  Limes 60 "

  Sugar Apples 100 boxes

  Cephas Longsteade Paid a sum of $209.30

  Oranges 40 crates

  Grapefruit 65 "

  Avocado Pears 50 "

  Sugar Apples 60 "

  Tomatoes 50 "

  Items to be sold as Foxworth inventory in Jacksonville, payment rendered to growers, $387.57

  What impressed Robert most about this was that he knew the wages of an average worker in 1860 was about $300 a year. Here, a nineteen-year-old girl was turning that much money around in a single day, denoting a substantial amount of business for its time. He expected they likely made close to $500 on this deal, reselling the produce and giving them a $100 profit on t
he day.

  In the stacks of letters, he found envelopes addressed from Jacksonville and Boston. These appeared to be from her sister Christina, as they frequently began, “My Dearest Sister” and usually discussed family matters. He noted a gap in the dates between 1861 and 1865, likely caused by the Civil War.

  The diaries in particular were of interest to him, as one of the earliest volumes contained detailed notes on the construction of her beloved home. He became extremely excited as she described, in detail, the different rooms of the house, noting special efforts being placed on trim, woodwork or other finishes.

  “Today the workmen began finishing the interior walls with the latest shipment from Mr. Sammis’s sawmill. Mr. Adams, father’s architect, says the plasterers will be here next week to begin plastering over the lath boards they are placing across the vertical studs.

  He tells me the lime, sand and oyster shells will require the cattle hair we purchased from the ranchers for strength and durability. At first, I thought it a joke, but he assured me it was a mixture intended to last for ages.”

  Even the comments about wallpaper were enhanced with small swatches she had clipped from samples, now safely housed between the pages of the book. He laughed at her references of dissatisfaction over the unappealing form of wall covering and how the architect kept pushing samples at her.

  “Though a fine man and a competent engineer, I find the choices recommended to me by father’s architect to be garish and unappealing. His fascination with the ornate wall coverings currently in fashion in the North are not to my liking.

  Their vivid colors and complex patterns appear frivolous and detract from the purpose of protecting the plaster. I find a simple wall paint will suffice in preventing the kerosene and lamp oil smoke from disfiguring the finish.”