A Most Unusual Passage
Copyright© 2026 by J&J
Chapter 44
Mom and Martha hit it off from the get go. They had similar upbeat, high energy personalities and endless appetites for new people and experiences. Martha’s obvious delight on the house tour thrilled Mom, who had put years into making the house into her personal vision. Dad was happy to give her carte blanche, as long as she exercised a bit of restraint in their bedroom and left his study strictly alone.
As we passed the study, which wasn’t on the official home tour, I saw Marcus and Dad getting along just like I knew they would. I always suspected one reason I took to Marcus so quickly was I saw a lot of Dad in him. Seeing them together made me realize that in a way, I now had two dads looking out for me, and somehow, I didn’t mind that at all.
Mom, who was in her true element playing hostess, had planned the perfect dinner. She had boiled up some shrimp earlier in the day and left them in the refrigerator to be served cold as “peel and eat.” It was the quintessential Charleston delicacy, perfect for greeting visitors. It was also eminently practical, because it made a light meal likely to sit well on the often touchy tummy of the weary traveler and ready to serve at whatever time suited their appetites. Having to peel each shrimp slowed the meal down and made it a leisurely social event.
I had the greatest fun teaching Marcus the art of shrimp peeling, since he had only known those soggy little naked carcasses, hanging around a puddle of cocktail sauce, that inland restaurants try to pass off as shrimp. I even taught him the little-known trick of exactly how to squeeze the tail to get every morsel to come out intact. By the rapidity in which a couple of pounds of shrimp disappeared, I judged the meal to be a great success.
Martha insisted she just had to walk on the beach, an idea that apparently had less appeal to Marcus. So leaving him and Dad behind to finish off the wine, we three women sallied forth to get some sand between our toes. With walking, splashing and girl talk, we were gone so long that Marcus had already turned in.
Dad assured me the two of them had already planned to spend the day together tomorrow, so we decided we would do the same. Martha took a guidebook up to bed, so she could read up on places she wanted to go.
I awoke to the smell of bacon frying and went down to the kitchen in my robe, to see if I could engineer a cup of coffee. I was slightly surprised to find Dad and Marcus fully dressed, and Dad cooking breakfast. I gave each of them a peck on the cheek.
“Dad,” I said, “You guys didn’t have to cook your own breakfast with three women in the house. You’ll make Mom feel like she’s neglecting her guests.”
Dad laughed. “It’s all right, kitten; you and your Mom have never given me reason to feel neglected. Marcus and I were just anxious to get going. And besides, you’re forgetting that I enjoy cooking. So, how do you want your eggs, sunny side up?”
“Yep, just like always, Dad. How about we make it an egg, singular? I like having breakfast with two good looking men, but I’ll probably have another at the ladies’ seating. So why are you guys in such a hurry.”
“Are you kidding?” declared Marcus happily. “This place is eyeballs deep in history, and I’ve got a full professor as my guide. With only a few days to see it all, I want to get going.”
Dad laughed, “I don’t believe we’ll see it all, but you’ll get a nice sampling at least. Besides, we hope you and Martha will be coming back. It’s almost too quiet with the kids all gone, so we love company.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “You guys will be starting at the fort, right?” Then, as an aside to Marcus, I stage-whispered, “Dad ALWAYS starts his tours with the fort.”
“And why not, Miss Smarty Pants?” Dad knew I hated being called that. “It one of the best places to show the different eras of Charleston’s military history. It’s a pleasant morning’s walk to get there, and the museum opens at 7:30.”
“Well he’s right about walking in the early morning,” I told Marcus. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy walking as much in the middle of the day.”
They were soon on their way, so I decided to start breakfast for Martha and Mom. The places we would be going were mostly not open until 9:00 or 10:00, so we would have time for a lazy morning. I got out the waffle iron and started making up the batter, when in walked both of them.
“Where’re the men folk?” asked Martha. “Marcus was gone before I woke up. I probably stayed up too late reading the guide book.”
“Oh, they cooked their own breakfast, and they’re off and running. So we can plan our day. Did you see anything special in the guide?”
“Way too much,” exclaimed Martha. ‘It’s a little overwhelming for someone from Otis. I saw some cute shops in the town of East Cooper, but I can’t find it on the map anywhere.”
“Welcome to the unique and confusing geography of Charleston,” I said, taking the map from the guide book. “Charleston harbor is where the Ashley and Cooper rivers meet to form the Atlantic Ocean, or so we like to claim. The land between the two rivers is usually just called ‘the peninsula,’ and the City of Charleston sits on the very tip.”
“I’m with you so far,” said Martha.
“Well, hang on tight, cause here’s the bumpy part. East of the Cooper River, you have Mount Pleasant, Sullivan’s Island and the Isle of Palms, but we just lump them all together and call the whole area ‘East Cooper.’ meaning east of the Cooper. In the same way everything west of the Ashley is called ‘West Ashley,’ though in reality, it includes places like James Island and John’s Island.”
“Whew,” said Martha. “Glad I have a couple of native guides. But since I do, I’m going to let them plan my tour.”
After a leisurely breakfast, we drove into town and were lucky enough to actually find a good parking place right in the City Market. Mom suggested a carriage tour as a good introduction to the city.
Martha was fascinated by the horses and their tack, especially the “diapers,” a leather pouch strategically placed on the south end of a north-bound horse.
Martha found this hilarious. “This city sure has a high tone approach to horse shit. First you catch it fresh out of the horse in a fancy leather bag. Then, according to Elizabeth, here, you magically take out the stink and sell it in pretty plastic bags to all the garden club ladies. Out in Colorado, we actually let this precious stuff fall on the ground wherever. I guess we have a lot to learn.”
I could see Mom start to get all huffy, because she was a garden club lady and had Henry bring her five-pound bags of deodorized manure on a regular basis, but Martha’s mirth was just too infectious, and soon she was laughing too.
The guide, overhearing us and realizing that Martha knew her way around horses, called her attention to the horse’s shoes. “You see, ma’am, those diapers aren’t the only thing we have to do differently to operate horses in the city. See that?” he said pointing at the horse’s shoe. “We have an inch thick rubber pad under the metal horse shoe. It keeps the hard pavement from injuring them and also helps give them better traction.”
“How do you keep them calm in all this traffic? Most horses don’t like being crowded like that.”
“Well, we first have to screen them. Some horses are just not trainable for this work. Then experience and training make them steady enough, so even honking horns don’t bother them. Usually, the horse takes it better than me. I hate traffic. Say, how’d you like to drive today?”
“I’d love it,” exclaimed Martha. “But I’ve never been here before; I don’t know the way.”
The guide laughed.”Don’t worry none about that; the horse knows where to go. I’m just here to entertain the humans. If I never touched those reins, we’d still complete the tour. Quicker, too, if it’s close to feeding.”
So Martha actually sat up with the guide and handled the horse, while he described the history of all the beautiful old homes and told the facts and legends that make up the heritage of Charleston.
At the end, I asked Martha how she liked it.
“Oh, my, that was wonderful. Not just getting to drive, though that was fun. I had no idea about the sheer number of beautiful old homes, and how well preserved it all is. The guide was nice and seemed to really know his stuff.”
“You can count on that,” said Mom. “All the tour guides have to take a very tough exam before they are licensed. Henry helped write it, and even he says it’s hard.”
The carriage tour began and ended at the open-air city market, which has tables selling everything from fresh vegetables at one end to handmade jewelry. I explained to Martha that many people call it the old slave market, but in fact, slaves were never sold here.
Martha was delighted to find a group of black women sitting outside one of the market buildings weaving sweet grass baskets by hand.
“Oh look,” she exclaimed, “‘Basket Ladies’” just like in that old National Geographic article. And I see a basket that’s identical to the one you gave me.”
Martha looked so fascinated by the baskets, I explained a little more about them
“According to the Smithsonian Institute, the Charleston sweet grass basket is the only African craft imported to America that survived unchanged.”
Martha looked impressed, and then asked, “Are they hard to make?”
“It usually takes about eight to ten hours to make an average size one. Also, since they are made partially of sea oats, which are protected, only Sea Island natives are allowed to pick the grass.”
I could see that Martha was really getting into how the baskets were made, so I continued, “These baskets really last a long time. There are baskets made in the 18th century that are still in use. The only difference is that with age, they acquire a rich brown color.”
“I’d really like to buy a larger one to go with the one you gave me. Should I get one here?”
I laughed at the obvious childlike look on her face, “Martha, we’ll take a run out on US 17, north of Mount Pleasant. We can find the best quality and largest selection there.”
“Besides,” Mom added, “I love an excuse to go shop for them myself.”
Martha pulled her little point-and-shoot camera out of her purse and started to take a picture of the group. Several of the women glowered at her and turned their faces away. I held out my hand, to indicate for Martha to wait a second.
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