Southern Lights: A Novel

The day after Savannah had gone out with Turner Ashby, she drove over to see her grandmother on her own. She had a free afternoon, and she thought it might be a nice thing to do, although she wondered if she should have called first. She found her sitting on the porch, dozing in her rocking chair with a book in her hand. Eugenie’s eyes flew open as soon as she heard footsteps on the porch and she was surprised to see Savannah looking down at her, in a yellow sweatshirt and jeans.

“What are you doing here?” her grandmother asked sharply, startled to see Savannah there.

“I thought you might like a visit, so I came by,” Savannah said cautiously, as her grandmother frowned.

“You should have called first. We don’t like northern ways here,” she scolded her. “Southerners are polite.”

“I’m sorry.” Savannah looked instantly apologetic and somewhat mortified. “I’ll come back another time and call first.” She started to leave and her grandmother pointed sternly to a chair.

“No, you’re here now. Sit down. Why did you come here?” She was curious about her, and Savannah looked scared. Her grandmother was a daunting figure, even as an old lady.

“I just thought it would be nice to visit. I like hearing all the stories about the war, the generals, the battles. We don’t learn much about that in New York.” It was true, but she had come mostly to be kind to an old woman, but couldn’t say that to her.

“What would you like to know?” Her grandmother smiled and was intrigued by the request. There was southern blood in her after all.

“Tell me about your family. It’s part of my history too.”

“Yes, it is,” Eugenie acknowledged, and she liked the idea of sharing it with this young girl. It was the best way for ancestors to be remembered and history to be passed on, telling stories from one generation to another.

She began with her great-grandfather, when he had come from France, and made her way down through several generations, marriages, and generals, when they came to Charleston, how much land they owned, and how many slaves. She made no apology for it, she said it was essential for cultivating the land, and how many slaves you owned was considered part of their wealth in those days. Savannah winced at that. It was a new idea to her, and not one she liked any more than any other culture that had owned slaves.

They eventually made it to the Civil War, and Eugenie’s eyes lit up. She knew every date and detail about every major battle in the South, all the ones that had been fought in and around Charleston, who had won them, who had lost. She added personal stories about who people were married to, if they’d been widowed, and if they’d remarried. She was a walking encyclopedia of Civil War and Charleston history, and Savannah was fascinated as she listened. Her grandmother had a fine memory for dates and details and talked for hours. No one had ever listened to her in such rapt attention for as long. It was dinnertime when she stopped. She had been revitalized by remembering every detail and sharing it with Savannah. And she had promised to share some books with her as well. Savannah actually loved it, and it intrigued her to think that she was related to some of those people. It was a whole other side of her life and history that she had never known anything about and wouldn’t have otherwise, were it not for her grandmother’s recollections.

Savannah thanked her profusely before she left, helped her into the small parlor where she liked to sit at night, and left her with one of her two ancient maids and kissed her cheek.

“That’s South Carolina blood in your veins,” she reminded Savannah, “and don’t you forget it! That’s not just Yankee blood in you!”

“Yes, Grandmother,” Savannah said, smiling at her. She had had a wonderful afternoon, and was still thinking about it as she drove back to Thousand Oaks.

Daisy complained about where she’d been so late, and Savannah said quietly that she’d been to see their grandmother.

“All by yourself?” Daisy looked surprised as Savannah nodded. “It’s so boring there!” Daisy hated going to see her, there was nothing for her to do, and her grandmother was so old. She hated all that “general” stuff her grandmother talked about.

“No, it’s not boring,” Savannah defended her. “She knows everything about everything and everyone in the South. I learned a lot.” Daisy made a face in response. She couldn’t think of a worse way to spend an afternoon. When her grandmother tried to tell her about her roots, she didn’t want to know. She’d rather stay home and watch TV. Seven years older, Savannah had soaked it up like a sponge.

Daisy’s parents were out at a dinner party that night, together for once, so Savannah never got a chance to tell her father about the visit. But his mother told him the next day when he stopped by to see her after lunch.