Low Country by Anne Rivers Siddons

perfectly into the wild that you
    had to look twice to see it. Not an alligator would be
    relocated; not a raccoon or a deer would be run out.
    I would never forget who was here first. And I would
    have no one in my place who did not feel the same
    way.”
    We were silent for a moment.
    “Never heard of a place like that,” my grandfather
    said finally.
    “There’s never been one,” Clay Venable said. “But
    there will be, and it will be mine, and it will be some-
    where on this coast. I know that.”
    “Take more money than God’s got,” my grandfather
    said.
    “I can get the money,” Clay said. “If I can get

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    the right piece of land, I can get the money.”
    “Don’t you have it backwards?” My grandfather
    chuckled. “How you gon’ get a chunk of prime ocean-
    front or marshland without any money? Not much of
    that left. And another thing…any empty land I can
    think of around here hasn’t got mainland access. Not
    an automobile bridge between here and Hilton Head.
    How you gon’ find this wild land with a bridge already
    built?”
    “Because I’ve got a master plan,” Clay Venable said.
    “It’s as detailed and complete as it’s humanly possible
    to make it. I’ve been working on it for three years, ever
    since I got out of college. Since before then, really;
    since the second or third time I came down here with
    Hayes. I’ve gotten two or three of the best young archi-
    tects on the East Coast to work on it, strictly gratis,
    and city planners and environmental specialists and
    lawyers, and I’ve gotten the Sierra Club people and
    the Coastal Conservancy folks to put in their two cents’
    worth, and the U.S. Corps of Engineers. None of them
    would take a penny. It will work. It’s a beautiful plan.
    It’s a beautiful concept. It’s ready to go. I am absolutely
    sure that if the right people see it, the land and the
    bridge and then the money will follow. I know that. I
    don’t mind working at…whatever…for a few years
    until I can get it going.”

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    My grandfather took a long swig of bourbon and
    rattled the ice in his glass.
    “Where is this plan?” he said.
    “In a bank vault back in Charleston. And there’s a
    copy at my bank at home in Bloomington.”
    “Who’s seen it?”
    “Nobody yet. Except the guys who’ve worked on it,
    of course, and they’re sworn to secrecy. They’ll be
    partners, so I don’t worry about them letting it out.
    Outside of them, nobody.”
    “I’ll say,” Hayes said. “Not only have I not seen it,
    I haven’t heard the first word about it. Jesus, Clay…I
    had no idea! Why didn’t you tell me, show it to me?
    I can help you with it.…”
    “It’s not time yet. When it’s time, I will. I wasn’t
    hiding it from you, Hayes.”
    “I’d like to see a thing like that,” my grandfather said,
    as if to no one in particular. “I reckon that would be
    something to see.”
    “I could bring it out tomorrow or one day soon,”
    Clay Venable said, and smiled, a swift, transforming
    smile that I had not seen before. My breath stopped.
    “Why don’t you do that?” my grandfather said.
    “Me, too?” Hayes said.
    “Not yet. But soon. I promise,” Clay said.
    “Well, I like that! I take you to the party of

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    the year at the numero uno hostess’s house in
    Charleston, and introduce you to the movers and
    shakers, most of whom are falling all over themselves
    to offer you jobs, and you won’t let me see your…vil-
    lage Eden,” Hayes groused. I thought that he was only
    partly kidding.
    “You’ll see it before anybody in Charleston,” Clay
    said, giving Hayes the smile. Hayes nodded, apparently
    satisfied.
    “Would you like to see it, Miss Aubrey?” Clay said
    to me.
    I jumped. He had not really looked at me since we
    had settled ourselves on the porch. His attention had
    been bent upon my grandfather.
    “Very much,” I said, and my unused voice cracked,
    and I