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“How can I help?”

“I’ve decided to sell our house, most of its contents, as well as the brokerage.”

“Selling the brokerage may not be too much of a problem, however, I must advise you that this is not a good time to be disposing of private property. I’ll do my best for you, of course, but it’s unlikely you’ll get more than half of what it was worth before the war.”

“I’m in no great hurry. You can wait for a rich Yankee who wants the social standing of living on the Battery.”

He chuckled.

“There is one condition, however,” she warned.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing will be sold to any member, relative or close associate of the Drexel family. I’m counting on you to insure there is no subterfuge.”

“You have my word.”

She stood up. “I want to go to Columbia to see Mother and perhaps live with her, at least for a while, but first I need to settle matters here. It’ll take me at least a month to pack what I want to keep and arrange for the servants employment. Do you think rail service will be reestablished by then. After what happened last time I can’t bear the thought of making the trip again by coach.”

“From what I’ve heard work has already commenced restoring the lines. There’s certainly enough labor available to do it.” Simon rose, came around the corner of the desk, and extended his hands. “I’ll look into this for you and let you know. In the meantime, please don’t hesitate to call on me if there is anything I can do to help you, not only as your attorney but as your friend. I’ll greatly miss your presence here in Charleston. Your parents and I go back a long time together. The future doesn’t look very bright at the moment, but you’re still young, and that’s my consolation.”

Sarah left the lawyer’s office a few minutes later and had her driver take her to the Isaac Hayne Hotel. At the desk she asked for Dr. Thomson’s room. The desk clerk tried not to impart any judgment that an attractive young woman was inquiring about a single man’s room number, but didn’t quite succeed. He hit the bell on the counter and when the bellhop arrived moments later, directed him to take “this lady” to Dr. Thomson’s suite. Sarah almost giggled as she followed the young man in the brass-buttoned red uniform up the stairs.

Buck opened the door and stepped back when he saw her.

“Dr. Thomson, sir,” the black bellhop said, “this here lady come to see you. That all right?”

Buck stared at Sarah, then replied, “Yes, yes. Just a minute.” He spun around to the table behind him and removed a coin from his purse and handed it to the boy. “Thank you.”

The lad, who couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen, gazed at the coin. His jaw dropped. He’d probably never been tipped a whole dollar before. As if he were afraid Buck might reconsider, he backed up, bowed, offered effusive thanks and disappeared down the hall.

“Come in. Come in.” Buck backed away from the door and waved his hand in invitation.

She stepped into the room, her hoop skirt gliding over the worn carpet, and turned to face him. He closed the door and stood speechless in front of her.

“May I sit down?” she asked with a smirk on her lips.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Of course. Please, sit down.” He rushed to the table and pulled out a straight-back chair. “Can I give you something to drink? Wine or tea or . . . something?”

“I want to tell you about my plans. Won’t you sit down too?”

“Plans?” He pulled out the chair across from her and almost tripped into it.

“I’m leaving Charleston,”

“Leaving?” He looked shocked, fearful. “Why? Where to?”

“Columbia. I received a letter from Momma. She’s decided to stay there. Told me to sell the house and brokerage. Wants me to visit her there.”

“And you’re going?”

She nodded.

“When? Not right away, surely.”

“No, not right away. In about a month perhaps, depending on how long it takes me to settle my affairs here.”

He said nothing for what seemed like an eternity. “I don’t want you to go,” he finally declared.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want you to go. Not by yourself.”

“The trains will probably be operating again by then,” she informed him. “The trip will be a lot faster and safer.”

He stood up and came around to her side of the table. “I can’t let you go.”

“To Columbia?”

“From my life.” He turned and paced before continuing. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me, Sarah. I’m searching, but I’m not sure for what. Until I do I can’t make any commitments. Or ask anyone else to. But what I feel for you . . . I’ve never felt for any other woman.”

She studied him with steady eyes and waited.

He started to take her hand, then turned away. As soon as he did, she bolted to her feet and whirled around to confront him. “I’m not asking for any commitments, Buck. Would it surprise you to learn I’m as confused as you are? I’ve never been in love before, but I think I am with you.”

“You love me?”

She smiled. “I think so.”

He circled her with his arms and gazed into her eyes. “Frightening, isn’t it?”

She found her attention focused on his mouth. “Terrifying, yet I—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before his lips smothered her words.

It would have been impossible for her to recount the series of steps that followed, except that they led to the bed in the other room. What happened there, well . . .

#

In the days and weeks that followed, Buck received only two wrinkled letters in response to his inquires about medical practices. One expressed no interest in his application. The second appreciated his interest but had already filled all their vacancies.

Now that Sarah had told him she was returning to Columbia, he wrote another letter to Dr. Meyer, expressing his interest in diseases of the mind and spirit. To his utter amazement he received a reply in less than a week. Dr. Meyer was enchanted with the possibility of having a partner who would see patients with mental problems so he could concentrate exclusively on his interest in neurological diseases. He ended his letter with “I eagerly await your arrival.”

Still clutching the correspondence in his hand Buck rode Gypsy immediately to Sarah’s house, spun her around in his arms and announced that he was going to Columbia with her. Over the course of the next few days, he helped her finalize her plans. She gave each of the servants glowing letters of recommendation and generous severance packets. The one exception was Janey who would accompany her back to the Grayson household.

Simon Weinberg had already sold the brokerage and found a promising prospective buyer for the house. Finally, on a sunny but cool autumn morning, Sarah made one last sweep through the mansion that had been her home all of her life, noted the sheets that covered the furniture her parents had accumulated through thirty years of marriage, and said a final farewell to Oscar the butler who had served the family for more than twenty years. She and Janey, climbed into the hired carriage that would take them to the railroad station. Buck followed behind on Gypsy.

Simon Weinberg had used his influence to get them the last seats in the one passenger rail car of a troop train going to Florence. From there they would have to take another train west to Columbia. The route was indirect but far safer than traveling by road.

Lulled by the clickety-clack of the iron wheels on the newly-replaced tracks, Buck’s thoughts wandered. Time was indeed a remedy. A few plantations were already being reestablished, though not with the intensity of labor they’d once demanded. The steady exodus of former slaves continued. If questioned about their destinations, they invariably answered: “Goin’ north.” Buck wondered if, like the Great Diaspora, they were doomed to wander endlessly, seeking permanent homes.