Joseph reflected on the words he would say in remembrance of his sister, his brother-in-law, and the nephew he would never meet. He decided it was fitting that the name Lazare should appear on an empty tomb. It was, after all, the French form of Lazarus. One day, Cathy, Perry, and Ian would arise too.
As if to emphasize the depthof his own pockets, Edward purchased a new house on Church Street, in one of the oldest parts of Charleston. This house was twice as large as Joseph’s father’s, with a total of twelve rooms (not counting the piazzas or the cellar). Edward wished to avoid his wards, it seemed.
Tessa admitted her relief at leaving Friend Street and its memories behind. Tessa still visited her children’s graves; she still prayed for them; but she would no longer be forced to live in the house where she had lost them. Her wedding night had taken place in the Friend Street house, too. In the new house on Church Street, Tessa and her husband would occupy separate bedchambers.
She was particularly delighted by her new garden. Edward had considered a house on the Battery with a smaller lot, but Tessa had persuaded him to take this one. “The moment I saw the garden, I felt as if Ibelongedhere,” she told Joseph. The previous owner, a widower who would take up permanent residence at his summer home in Rhode Island, seemed relieved to have found a successor who appreciated his roses. These thrived against the brick wall thatbordered Longitude Lane. At the back of the large lot, fruit trees and vegetables beds supplied the kitchen. Many of the ornamentals had become overgrown, however, while others suffered unnecessarily. “All the better to make a new start,” Tessa said.
Charlestonians favored parterres: geometric beds bounded by low hedges and wide paths. To please Edward, Tessa would keep a parterre in the area between the house and the front wrought iron fence. And she would not dream of uprooting the roses. But in the rest of the space, she would make the garden her own.
She took her cue from Capability Brown. With suggestions from Joseph and assistance from her slaves, Tessa began to create an informal garden: a small oasis of shrubs and trees joined by grass that might be mistaken for a natural woodland glade. “As little brick and oyster-shell as possible,” Tessa declared. “I want it to besoft—so it can be a play-ground for the children. I want them to feel at home here too.” She could hardly wait until spring.
In the house itself, Hélène helped Tessa decorate David and Sophie’s chambers in preparation for their arrival. Joseph visited one evening for the sheer pleasure of watching Tessa smile—not for a few moments but for hours. His sister’s humor rebounded easily; he did not fear so much for her. Tessa’s despair was more stubborn, her joy more timid. Finally, she seemed to have found her way again. Joseph had not seen Tessa aglow like this since she was carrying Bean.
Perhaps this was why God had denied Tessa her own children, Joseph thought: so that her heart and her home would be open for David and Sophie.
That wicked part of him protested:Do you really think she could not have been mother to them all?
Perhaps her suffering had served merely to persuade Edward to pity her.
In fact, Joseph’s grandmotherdid not live to see David and Sophie again. Abiding by her wishes, Joseph laid her to rest not in the Lazare mausoleum but atop her husband at St. Mary’s. Joseph,his mother, and his sister assured Tessa that their agreement would not change; she would not lose the children. Even now, on their long journey back to Charleston, Joseph’s father would be telling them about Tessa.
When Sophie saw thechevaux-de-friseatop the Stratfords’ wrought iron fence, she gasped: “It’s like Sleeping Beauty’s castle!” These brambles certainly might be the work of a deranged fairy: iron spikes longer than a man’s hand that canted in half a dozen directions. Tessa wanted to remove thechevaux-de-frise, but Edward refused. In the wake of Denmark Vesey’s slave plot, many Charlestonians had installed these iron spikes, like porcupines bristling their quills.
When Tessa first showed the children her garden, Joseph accompanied his niece and nephew. David hung back, as if he didn’t belong with them, but everything intrigued Sophie. Her favorite part was the old brick wall with the climbing Noisettes. Joseph had seen the roses at a distance, but he’d not indulged himself by lingering or asking questions.
“Allow me to introduce you,” Tessa smiled, tipping a white rose to face them. The blossom was so densely petalled, it turned downward under its own weight. “This is Lamarque.”
“It looks like your petticoats!” Sophie exclaimed.
Tessa laughed. Shedidwear fuller skirts than Joseph’s mother or sister—that was the fashion, so that was what Edward required.
Sophie had her nose in one of the Lamarques. “And it smells like lemonade!”
“I think so too,” Tessa agreed. “But this rose down here—I can’t decide what it smells like. Will you help me?”
Sophie nodded and skipped ahead of them, toward another climbing Noisette. Against the light green of its foliage and the faded red of the brick, this rose was even more stunning—not the color of crisp linen but soft flesh.
Tessa tried to engage David: “Lamarque and this other rose that’s still in bloom—they’re siblings, just like you and Sophie. Their parents are Blush Noisette and?—”
“There’s asecret door!” Sophie cried, and dashed to it. The canes,leaves, and blossoms of the flesh-colored rose half-concealed a narrow gate set into the brick garden wall. Sophie stretched up onto her toes and craned her neck, but she still couldn’t reach the wrought iron window at the top of the gate. “Where does this go?”
“Only onto Longitude Lane,” Tessa told her. “This house’s previous owner was a merchant, so he used the gate as a shortcut to the wharves.”
Joseph’s niece rattled the doorknob. “Do you have the key?”
“Of course. We can use it in the spring, if you like, when we take the ferry to Sullivan’s Island.”
Sophie nodded in anticipation but still stared longingly toward the window. “Give me a boost, Uncle Joseph?”
“Awhat?” he asked, though he understood. As he obliged, Tessa laughed too, clearly unconcerned that her new ward did not speak like a Charleston lady. Through the round grille of the window, Joseph and his niece saw the neighbors’ live oak reaching across the cobbles and flagstones of Longitude Lane. “French gardeners have a term for this kind of openwork,” Joseph told them, nodding at the wrought iron window. “They would call it aclaire-voie.”
Sophie puzzled it out. “A light-way?”
“Très bien!” Joseph praised as he set her down. “You know your French.”
Her face darkened. “Mama taught us.”
“Didshehave roses, at your home in Missouri?” Tessa asked.
