by Gina Danna
Trembling inside, she fought for control. It had to be the child making her feel so…She licked her lips, trying to calm her nerves. “So, Francois, why aren’t you fighting?” Ah, yes, the war. A safe topic.
He added a pinch of sugar to his tea. “I have fought. I was wounded and sent home.” He shrugged. “Now I am covered by the Twenty Negro Law and protect my family’s property while my father is in the Confederate government in Richmond. Because I am the only remaining son, all falls to me.”
Emma nodded and sipped her tea. Politics. But peering over the rim of her cup, she frowned. He didn’t look as though he had been wounded.
Two young slave girls came to the table, both about ten years old. One carried a plate of cakes, the other had fruit. Like Colette, their skin was light; in fact, they looked like weathered white women. Their reddish-brown hair was straight and silky, but it was their eyes that were most striking. They were green.
#
April 1863
Emma stood as patiently as she could while the seamstress pinned the skirt’s hem. The bronze silk ballgown seemed a bit extravagant during wartime with supplies so scarce. It also made her feel foolish–she was in mourning, not there to enjoy herself. But Marie had insisted, saying social events raised funds for the war, especially for the wounded. Therefore, many societal rules could be bent, including those that kept widows in mourning tucked away.
Thankfully, her morning sickness had subsided. She had no idea why it was called “morning” because it lasted all day. Her stomach still looked flat, but the corset felt snug. In the mirror, she saw that she had filled out, which made her look healthier than when she had arrived.
“You will dance all night, as beautiful as you are,” Marie complimented. “Francois will have to fight the other men away from you.”
Emma smiled timidly. Francois had been quite attentive, and his motives had become increasingly apparent. His manners were impressive, as was the way he walked and dressed. He was muscular and sensual. He’d kissed her once–a peck at the barn. It was nice. Not as electric as Jack’s but still nice. She feared he’d ask her to marry him. Her hand fell to the slight bulge under her petticoat. Francois had persuaded her to admit that she carried Jack’s child and he gave her a wide grin, telling her he’d be honored to be his nephew’s father. How could she say no?
Very easy. No.
But he didn’t propose. That afternoon, he had taken her for a picnic on a hilltop overlooking the Mississippi River. After he jumped off the driver’s seat of the carriage, he had walked to her side and placed his hands on her waist to lift her to the ground. Her waist had thickened, though the mirror and dress still showed otherwise.
“Soon you won’t be able to do that,” she told him glumly.
He held her chin between his thumb and fingers, tilting her head to look into his clear blue eyes. “Never. I’ll always be able to hold you.” He grabbed the blanket and basket. “Being with child makes you adorable.”
He grinned and she laughed despite herself. At only three months, she still didn’t appear to be in the family way but that would change. Would he?
Spreading the blanket, Francois patted the space next to him. As Emma sat, he handed her a glass of champagne. The bubbles tickled her nose and she giggled.
“Francois, you’ll make me forget there’s a war if you keep this up.”
That devilish grin spread across his face. “Good, I hoped all my efforts were working.” He lifted his glass. “To the future.”
She nodded and her glass touched his. As they drank, his eyes never left hers.
“You are an astonishing lady.”
Tilting her head, she squinted. “How so?”
He tore off a hunk of bread, lathered it in the whipped butter and handed it to her. She was starving–something new to deal with. Hunger seized control and she took the bread, her mouth watering as she bit into it. The bread was one of the best she’d ever tasted and the butter made it even better. She hummed, savoring it.
Francois laughed. “I see you are hungry.”
She swallowed, biting her lower lip. “Please, excuse me. I don’t know what came over me to have devoured that so quickly.”
His good humor didn’t fade. “No reason to be embarrassed, m’amour. Your child is voracious. That is good.”
Her brows knitted. “Oh, and you are a doctor, as well as acting patriarch?”
“Emma.” He leaned back. “Many times, our slaves have babies. The Fontaines protect their own, whether that be blood or property. I’d not let any of our women go without adequate care during their time.”
Had her father held the same conviction? She tried to remember Rose Hill but nothing came to her. The house was gone, the slaves as well, she imagined. Suddenly, melancholy threatened to consume her…
“Oh, mon chere, I apologize,” he stated.
She let his endearment and the sound of his voice soothe her. No! She should still be mourning Billy and couldn’t help but think she should include Jack as well. Her vision blurred.
Quickly, he pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. “Darling, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I wanted to give you an afternoon of happiness…”
“Oh, Francois,” she sniffled, dabbing her eyes with the linen square. “I fear I’m turning rather melancholy…”
She couldn’t look at him, convinced he’d be stoic about it, just like her father was when her mother turned to tears. Instead, Francois moved closer and pulled her into his arms.
“Oh, Emma, it is good,” he murmured. “I will keep you safe.”
The comfort of being in his embrace chipped away at the emotional wall she’d built around her. One she had made to protect her from getting close to anyone other than Nathan. Except for him, God had taken everyone else she held dear. Now, though, there was another man who had begun to invade her heart, and she couldn’t fight it. Didn’t want to. She leaned back against Francois’ chest, closing her eyes and enjoying his touch.
A fleeting image came to her–Jack. His emerald gaze and seductive smile. Then he vanished. Her heart clenched. She missed him so. Deep within, a flutter startled her. The babe. A grin spread across her lips until the muscular wall behind her moved. Francois. No, this was wrong, to be in the arms of another man so soon. She should be in mourning for her husband but had failed him and society by falling in love with Jack and succumbing to him. By taking Jack away from her too, God had reminded her not to stray again. Her anxiety grew, and with a strength she hadn’t felt in a long time, she broke away from Francois.
“Emma, Emma,” he called, befuddled.
“No, Francois, no, this isn’t right.” She stood, the soothing surroundings falling away as she tried to distance herself from him. “I am still in mourning…” A sob escaped her.
He stood and looked at her. “Apologies. I had not meant to intrude, but I thought you could use some company.”
She forced a smile. “Thank you, I’m just so lost. I’ve no family, no home, nothing to return to Virginia for and my only responsibility is Nathan. And he is your family, too,” she sighed, her brows furrowed. What was she to do? She carried another’s child…one who’d be called bastard…
But Francois took her hand and kissed the back of it gently. “Your home is here, with me. And you have a family–Nathan and the little one inside you. You’re probably tired. I’ve seen this amongst our darkies when they’re in your condition. Come, let us return to the house so you can rest. Later, maybe we could discuss the future.” He tipped her chin up. “You’re a beautiful woman, ma chere. Jacques must have loved you deeply to bring you this far for safety’s sake. He’d want you happy. Let me try to help you be so.”
Emma searched his gaze. Every feature on his face showed her how sincere he was in what he spoke. Biting her bottom lip, she gave him a brief nod and slipped her arm into his.
Could she let go of the past to find a peaceful life for her and her child? Would God finally release her from His wrath?
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#
Over the next two weeks, Francois became more attentive to Emma, acquiescing to her slightest need, from finding her blackberries and rich cream to a newly stuffed mattress that eased the ache in her lower back. He was so attractive, with that wicked smile and those light blue eyes, brilliant against his dark hair. Soon, she stopped comparing him to Jack.
But nights remained difficult. Jack still haunted her dreams, although not as often. He was gone. Dwelling on memories of him would make her ill if she didn’t fight them.
To try to stay focused on her changed life, she allowed Francois to get a little closer to her. He did not kiss her again and he never pressed too hard for more, but his place in her heart was growing. And that frightened her.
On a bright and sunny afternoon, Francois took Emma for a picnic in a shaded grove near the river. In the distance, a boom sounded periodically–Union boats going upriver. It unnerved her but Francois persuaded her to ignore it, saying it was far away and that they were safe. The Yankees would never attack Bellefountaine. It was an illusion, she was sure, but with her second glass of wine, she put thoughts of the war out of her mind. She rested her head on his shoulder as he sat behind her so she could lean against him. Comfort and peace spread over her.
“Emma,” his voice was low as he whispered in her ear. “Marry me.”
Stunned by Francois’ unexpected proposal, she stilled. At one time, she’d thought he’d propose but when he hadn’t, she allowed herself the luxury of just living. But now, her heart began thudding loudly in her chest. She should have known he’d ask her after all the attention he’d showered on her. She carried Jack’s child, so it made sense, but Francois, despite his good looks and seductive nature, would never truly have her heart. He had chipped away at her defenses, getting closer to her, but she didn’t love him. Liked, yes. But she had given her heart to Jack. A marriage with Francois would be one without love. Lust maybe, because she couldn’t fight the attraction, but was that enough? Could she live alone and try to raise the child by herself? What other man would have her? Then again, how many men would be left after the war?
“You know, I’d gladly raise my brother’s child as mine,” he added softly.
She felt tears forming. The child needed a father. Francois was Jack’s brother. This was Jack’s family home. These people would protect her and Jack’s child. A home. Tears blurred her vision. They were not of joy, but of loss. Jack. She bit back a sob. “Yes,” she whispered and as Francois smiled, leaning to kiss her, she secretly wished she had had the strength to say no.
#
Later that afternoon, after a restless nap, Emma walked to the kitchen. Her stomach demanded food and the babe inside her craved meat. She could’ve sent Tilly, but going herself would do her good as she thought again about Francois’ proposal. He was a good match— wealthy, good home and not fighting in the war. He said he’d been injured but it had not confined him, and he had both his arms and legs. So the possibility of having another child remained.
The knowledge that she didn’t love him still plagued her though. She wasn’t sure whether she could let him bed her without feeling as though she was betraying Jack. That’s why she couldn’t sleep. She hoped responding to her hunger might clear her mind.
As she drew nearer the kitchen, she saw the slave women bustling about in haste. Something was wrong. By the time she was at the door, multiple pots of water had been set to boil, along with lots of linens gathered.
“Oh, there you are,” Marie stated, walking into the kitchen. Unlike her usual wardrobe, she wore a simple work dress and apron. “Come along and see what you’ll go through in the next six months.” Grabbing a pile of linens, she nodded to Emma to follow her.
They walked back among the slave shanties. The shanties were made of white clapboard and looked like additions to the house rather than slave dwellings. The doorways were open to allow breezes and fresh air in. But screams filled the air of the one they walked to.
Inside, prostrate on the bed, lay Colette. She wore a simple chemise, bunched above her protruding stomach. Her bare legs were bent and spread open, exposing her cunny. Her black hair was tangled and wet with sweat like the rest of her. Two older women sat on either side of her, holding her hands as she screamed again, sitting up somewhat and pushing.
Suddenly, Emma stood alone, watching as Marie went to the bed, coaxing the slave. The baby’s head emerged as Colette raged louder. Jack’s mother encouraged her to push, and, face shining, she did. The infant slipped out and onto the linen-covered bed.
The room erupted in motion as the women took the child and cut the cord extending from Colette to the baby’s belly button. They cleaned mother and child.
“It’s a girl,” Marie stated proudly. “Come, Emma, see. Isn’t she a beauty?”
Emma walked slowly, fear and awe gripping her. The tiny infant looked almost the color of tea with lots of cream added. A thatch of hair on her head was light brown. Suddenly, she cried out and the room burst into laughter. The babe opened her eyes and they seemed to catch Emma’s. They were sparkling blue.
We must destroy this army of Grant’s before it gets to the James River. If he gets there it will become a siege, and then it will be a mere question of time.
—General Robert E. Lee, CSA, conversation with Lieutenant General Jubal A. Early,
Spring 1864
Chapter Thirty-Two
St. Francisville, Louisiana
April 1863
Union control of the Mississippi River north of Vicksburg, Mississippi and south to the Gulf of Mexico had made the last part of Jack’s return home a nightmare. Not that the beginning of his journey through southern Tennessee and northern Mississippi had been any better. He had to avoid being discovered by both armies and was glad he was responsible only for himself and Goliath. Although losing Goliath would slow his progress considerably, it wouldn’t prevent Jack from continuing to make his way to Bellefountaine.
Despite Jack’s painful chest wound, he had made relatively good time until the spring rains came when he was in the middle of Mississippi. Torrents drenched the countryside, turning abandoned former farm fields into mud. Many times, Goliath could barely proceed because of the way the mud sucked at his hooves. The most valuable tool Jack had was a hoof pick. One day, the downpour was so bad that it brought both man and horse to a complete halt.
Emma was constantly on Jack’s mind. He knew Van Dorn’s rank would ensure her safe passage to his parents’ home, but how quickly? And once there, would she stay? Especially after she discovered the dark secret of his past? He should have told her, forewarned her, but how? His desire to make sure she and Nathan were safe had overruled everything else. One thing was sure–Pierre Fontaine would do anything to protect his family. Anything. And his father owned enough land and wielded enough influence in politics, with many connections both in the United States and Europe, to do so.
It was the legacy Jack should have inherited but one he had adamantly refused. The rift between him and his father could never be mended, not by Jack’s standards. But he had counted on his father to take Nathan and Emma under his protection until he could get to them.
But what of Emma? Would she reject him? Could she ever forgive him? For most of the journey home Jack cursed and berated himself. Poor Goliath had heard it all but continued to plod onward. The horse’s fortitude helped Jack keep one foot in the real world.
He sneezed. Hell and damnation, this illness would never leave him! As if the rain and the armies hadn’t been a big enough impediment, along with the stinging chest wound, he had come down ill two weeks ago. He had figured it was from being wet all the time, spring temperatures dipping occasionally, and insufficient food. Two days of hovering on a hillside, burning with fever, had cost him more than a week of travel. As his strength had waned, he fell asleep in the saddle, only to waken when he fell off Goliath.
It was pre-dawn when the boat pulled up to the dock at St. Francisville.
&
nbsp; “Thanks.” He slid his Union dollars into the boat captain’s hand and tugged on Goliath’s reins.
The horse’s hooves made a loud clacking sound when he walked up the planking to solid ground. The sky was a muted pink as the sun rose. Jack stepped onto the main street and when he saw his reflection in store windows, he cringed. He knew he was filthy but he looked worse than he thought. His stubble had grown into a short straggly beard, his hair matted against his head. The sack coat was covered in mud and mold. His face was chapped and scratched from making his way through wilderness, and his hands also were raw. No doubt he reeked to high heaven, too.
As though his appearance wasn’t awful enough, Goliath looked equally unkempt, with a dull coat, his mane and tail windblown and tangled with burrs, and his legs were marked and bloody. The saddle blanket was dirty and worn, the bridle frayed. Frankly, Jack figured if anyone had been up and seen them, they would have reached for a rifle. Thank God no one was. But he couldn’t go to Emma looking as he did.
He turned down the road toward Delilah’s. At the two story-clapboard house, one lone light shined on the second floor. Jack picked up a rock and threw it at the window just hard enough to tap it. The curtain was moved aside and a familiar face looked out. Through the closed door, Jack heard the creak in the stairs–a creak he had hit every time he had been there.
The door cracked open. He smiled apologetically. “Good Morning, Del.”
#
“Oh, yes, right there. Oh God, woman, that’s the spot.” Jack sank deeper into the tub.
Delilah laughed, dropping the wash rag and picking up the pitcher. Standing above Jack, she dumped the warm water over his head. He sputtered as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“So, tell me how you’re alive, Jack.” She handed him a linen sheet as he stood. “Last I heard, you were before a firing squad for desertion. Or was it betrayal?” She eyed him, her gaze stopping at his chest. “That be lookin’ like something tried to kill you for wearing the wrong color down here.”