Southern Lights: A Novel

The air outside was mild. It felt more like spring in New York than winter, and she was warm in the heavy sweater on the short ride. In fifteen minutes, they had reached Charleston, and she could see church spires rising in the air. She looked with curiosity and interest at the beautiful old homes they were driving past, painted in ice cream colors, with wrought-iron gates and balconies. The architecture was intricate and ancient, and there were lovely old bridges reaching out to tiny islands. There was a spectacular harbor full of boats, mostly sailboats. Tom pointed out Fort Sumter in the harbor, where the Civil War officially began. It was a beautiful city, and had an aura of history and grace about it. Before she came to hate it, Alexa had always said it was the most breathtaking city in the South, maybe the world. There were tall trees with moss hanging from them, which were still green although it was February. As they approached Mt. Pleasant her father told her they were oak trees.

“I’ll take you sightseeing tomorrow,” he promised, and took her hand in his, as she smiled bravely and nodded. Everything was so different and new, it felt like she was on another planet.

You could sense that everything here was different, a different culture, a different way of life, a respect for history, and a feeling of another world. She felt as though she was floating in space, although it was very pretty. The city seemed to be entirely about history and beauty. She knew that southerners were very proud of their history, and years before when she had asked her father about the Civil War, when she was studying it in school, he had corrected her and called it “the War Between the States,” and said there was nothing civil about it. Her father was every inch a southerner, by ancestry and birth, and very proud of it. He was a southern gentleman to the core, although her mother had walked away without a word when Savannah had said that to her over the years. Clearly, he hadn’t been “gentlemanly” to her, but he had extremely gracious manners. It didn’t change what he’d done to her either, but it made him nice to be around.

And the old black man who drove the cab had a heavy, warm accent. Savannah loved to hear it. Whenever she met someone from the South, it always reminded her of her father, and she said her father was from South Carolina. She was proud of it too, although in her style and habits and culture, she was a total New Yorker, like her mother. A Yankee.

The houses her father had pointed out to her in town predated the Civil War, and they bumped along over several cobblestone streets. He said there was a French Quarter he would show her too. There were two rivers, the Cooper and the Ashley. And her father told her that the beaches were terrific, at the Isle of Palms and Sullivan Island. He said she could go there when it got warmer. It was a small city, but there would be a lot for her to do. There were several colleges, coffeehouses where students hung out, and wonderful stores where she could go shopping. And he turned and asked her then if she knew how to drive a car. He was embarrassed not to know that about her but he didn’t. There was so much about her that he didn’t know—but he was about to learn now. He wondered if, in some ways, this flight from New York would turn out to be a blessing for them both. Her coming to Charleston to be with him would never have happened otherwise. Luisa would never have let it, and hadn’t for the last decade. Savannah had been banished. Thinking about it, he was deeply ashamed, and knew he should have been before this. It had made him uncomfortable, but never enough to do anything about it and challenge his wife.

“I have a license,” Savannah said cautiously. “I got my learner’s permit a year ago, and my license on my birthday, but I don’t use it. Mom doesn’t have a car—she rents one if we go away for the weekend. It’s too much trouble in the city. And you have to be twenty-five to drive a rented car, so I haven’t had much practice.” She sounded apologetic.

“Charleston is an easy city to drive in, once you know your way around. You can get your practice here. I’ll lend you one of ours. We have a couple of old ones.” He didn’t add “for the servants,” but Savannah guessed it. It was nice of him to offer. “You can drive to school.” Thinking about it scared her again, worrying about a school full of new faces, and being so different from all of them. She fell silent again as she thought about it. They drove over a beautiful bridge and entered Mt. Pleasant, the elegant neighborhood he lived in, east of the Cooper River. There were mile after mile of impressive mansions, each sitting on several acres of land, and always with the tall oak trees bordering the grounds and lining their driveways. He reminded her again that they were only ten minutes from the beach.