Charlestonian Gentleman

A whiff of the Landing's prized camellias tickles his nostrils. Dragonflies flit over the twin butterfly lakes and the cattails swing in the salt-spray breeze.

They are calling him, calling him to come quickly so that they can begin the picnic. Rosemary with her bonnet tipped far back, defying the Sun and any imminent freckles. Mamma, graceful as always, even sitting on a blanket stretched on the grass. And Anne, smiling that shy, sweet bride-smile of hers even after four years of marriage. She has a lap-robe stretched carefully but it doesn't hide the swollen contours of her stomach. They make such a pretty picture.

He smiles and waves, quickening his pace, the picnic hamper swinging in rhythm to his pace. He has it all, the old ways and the old grace he'd yearned for. The dignity of the Charlestonian gentleman. Happiness - certainly he ought to be happy, with a wife like Anne, with a baby on the way too.

It is not enough.