As soon as the driver and guard left, she turned to Tracker. “Mr. Bouchard, please join us in the dining room. I can’t offer oysters and shrimp, but I think you’ll find our cuisine palatable.”
He bowed and kissed her hand. “Would that I could, Madame, but I have vital affairs I must attend to. Perhaps on another occasion.”
“You’re always welcome, sir,” she said. “Perhaps when we meet again we can work up our appetites with another footrace.”
He laughed. “I’ve never known a woman to finish last. Au revoir.”
She stood in the doorway, while Buck stepped outside to offer his friend a final handshake. “Thank you for everything, Tracker.”
“You’re welcome.” Then he leaned forward and said sotto voce in Buck’s ear, “Don’t let her get away, mon ami.” With a final wave, he descended the porch steps and strutted toward Market Street.
“Perhaps it would be best if I departed as well,” Buck said to Sarah.
“I would welcome your company this evening, doctor. It’s been a long and trying week, not to mention today’s affair. Mother isn’t here, and I don’t feel like dining alone. On the other hand, maybe you would prefer solitude.”
He recalled the feel of her in his arms at the top of the bluff. “I would very much like to spend some time with you, but . . . is it appropriate? I mean—”
“Under the circumstances,” she said seriously, “I frankly don’t care about propriety, if that’s what you’re referring to. So sit, eat.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” Was it his imagination, or did she sound like her mother?
They sat at opposite ends of the long dining room table, while the butler served a series of courses, each exquisitely prepared, none overly large, though the cumulative effect was quite satisfying.
“May I ask what plans you have for the future?” She spread chicken pate on a piece of toasted bread. “I understand you’re considering opening a medical practice here in Charleston.”
“I know more physicians here than in Columbia, so my chances of finding an opportunity are probably better.” He lifted his cut-crystal glass and sipped tea.
“Do you have any contacts here in Charleston?”
“Some of my old professors, if they’re still around.”
“If I can be of any help . . .” The butler removed dishes and presented the next course, braised beef tips in a wine sauce. “Several friends of our family are doctors.”
“I’d appreciate any introductions you can give me.” My God, Buck thought, this is our first private conversation and we’re talking business. He covered up his smile by sampling the beef dish. “I do hope my future medical practice involves more than gunshot wounds.” And cutting off limbs.
“I’m sure you’ll be successful at whatever you do.”
So polite. So serious. Was she nervous being alone with him? Not afraid, he hoped, but the look in her eyes didn’t reflect fear. No, not fear, but . . . something.
“And you?” he asked, following her lead. “What about this lawsuit you’re involved in?”
“I’ll fight it, of course. I have no intention of letting Franklin Drexel profit by his son’s crimes or my father’s death. You may rest assured of that.”
She was a strong and determined woman. Heaven help her opponents. “You’ll prevail. And after that? Will you run the brokerage yourself?”
“Like you, my future’s uncertain. The cotton market . . .” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “My father put money aside for Mother and me, but the hardest work is being idle, as he was fond of saying.”
Buck chuckled. “I never thought of it that way, but I have to agree.”
The meal proceeded with charm and dignity, as they discussed other topics, their tastes in music and literature, Jewish customs and courtesies.
He was disappointed when dessert was finally served, not because it was simple pudding but because it meant their time together was drawing to a close. For two weeks Sarah Drexel had been the focus of his interest, the center of his attention, and the salvation of his sanity. When he left this house in a little while, he had no idea when he would return.
“I understand you’re in mourning, but may I ask when it might be appropriate for me to call?”
She bowed her head. “I wish I could say at your earliest convenience. I do want to see you again, Buck, as a friend, as a . . . confidant. But under the circumstances I feel that discretion is more important than ever. My in-laws would make hay of a gentleman caller, since under civil law I am still married to their son—or rather I am his widow. It’s touchy. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do,” he said, as he rose from the table. “I understand completely.”
The butler slipped back her chair as she stood up. “You’ll be staying at the Isaac Hayne Hotel?”
He nodded. “For the foreseeable future.”
“May I send you a message there when this mess is resolved?”
His heart skipped a beat. “Most definitely. If I relocate to another address I’ll either send you the change or have the desk at the hotel hold any correspondence that may come for me. In either case, I can promise you I will be at your beck and call.”
She grinned with amusement. “I hope it won’t be too long.”
#
The next morning Buck set out to see his friend Asa Boone. From his earlier conversation with Sarah and her mother, Buck knew the rabbi’s address on Broad Street was within walking distance. The two-story house, which sat sideways to the street, was beautifully landscaped with wisteria vines climbing the porch columns. Two large magnolia trees shaded the lane separating it from the neighbor’s equally well-tended home.
Buck pulled the bell beside the wrought-iron front gate. A minute later a servant girl came to inquire who was there. She repeated Buck’s name, left him standing in the street, returned moments later, opened the gate and invited him inside.
In the vestibule, a short, stout woman was waiting to greet him.
“Dr. Thomson. I’m so glad to meet you at last. Asa’s been singing your praises since coming to our household, and I must tell you he’s been a gift from God for Mordecai.”
“How is your husband? I understand he suffered a stroke a month or two ago.”
“It’s so sad, but with Asa’s help, he’s improving. The worst for him was that he couldn’t go on writing his memoirs. But Asa’s even helping him with that. And you know—” she placed her hand maternally on his sleeve “—I think it’s been a blessing for Asa too.”
Buck smiled, sincerely pleased with the news.
“But where are my manners? Here I am prattling on in the hallway. Please come meet my husband. I’ll have Sophie bring us tea.”
She led him down the hall past the staircase to a room with double doors. Buck’s first reaction was that he’d entered a cave lined with old papers and manuscripts. The small room, however, was merely the antechamber to a much larger one. Slumped in a wicker, high-backed wheelchair by a window sat a white-bearded man in a maroon silk dressing gown, a small round brimless cap on the back of his head. A few feet away, facing him, sat Asa, holding a pad and pencil. He looked up, saw Buck, his face broke into a broad smile. He popped to his feet. Before Buck realized what was happening, Asa was embracing him.
“Buck, I’m so glad to see you.” He released his grip. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”
“You’re obviously feeling better than the last time I saw you.”
“I want you to meet my good friend and teacher.” He turned to the man in the wheelchair. “Rabbi Cohen, this is Dr. Elijah Thomson. He saved my life.”
“Rabbi, sir, I’m very pleased to meet you.” Noticing the obvious weakness in the elderly man’s right arm, Buck bowed slightly instead of offering his hand to shake. “As for Asa, he’s being both kind and modest. He saved many lives himself.”