There was one thing — and perhaps only one thing — Emma and her mother shared adoration for, and that was the plantation's garden. Situated off the veranda, the garden had been a peaceful area for as long as any Cartwright could remember. Knox often complained of upkeep and wasted hours of slave labor required to maintain the garden's plants, but since it cost him nothing outright, and since the camellia blooms reminded him of his beloved, yet departed Louise, he allowed it. Years ago a pond and bench seating had been added. Though the flies and bees were unbearable at times, Emma loved the scent of the purple coneflowers, the colors of the horse mint, and the beauty of the Spanish moss at sunset or after rain. Palmetto trees thrived and bowed graciously to the narrow leafed, blue-eyed grass at their base, and though the slaves often mistook the daises for weeds, they bounced back every season.
There, at her favorite place, as Sylvia ran off to play with cousins, Emma told Stuart of recent tragic events.
Stuart offered no criticisms. Sympathy radiated from him. Emma held her composure. Too many gossiping tongues were adrift for her to behave otherwise.
"Emma, you already helped two slaves escape to the North," he reminded her. "You've more than done your share, and now with war," he shook his head, "tensions are too high. You're risking your life — and the lives of others — too carelessly."
Considering Stuart had been the one to educate Emma about the likes of fiery abolitionists, such as William Lloyd Garrison and Elijah Lovejoy, Emma felt irritated. Stuart enjoyed sharing tales about such men and the way they stood up for freedom in spite of the threats and dangers from their countrymen. Until slavery was outlawed, Emma determined to exhaust her efforts. She thought Stuart had felt the same.
"I need to feel useful, Stuart. I need to do something."
He placed his hand atop hers. "We'll think on it." He sighed. "It's best not to be rash, and you can't keep putting yourself in harm's way. I wish I could be of more help."
Stuart's family owned a modest farm that required work from every member. Aside from the crops they grew for food, they also grew and harvested indigo, which paid generously.
"Well, isn't this a pretty scene?" said Vaughn. He stood for a moment, erect and imposing, before forcing Emma to slide to the opposite end of the bench, so he could sit between her and Stuart's wheelchair. "I wondered where you'd run off to. Should have known I'd find you two old maids chinwagging and swapping recipes for catfish stew." He laughed alone at his remark.
"Lovely of you to join us," Emma noted sardonically. "What's the matter, Vaughn, couldn't get one of the Merriweather girls to join you in the shed?"
His eyebrows jumped, and he moved to say something but refrained. Vaughn had no defense. Emma had walked in on him last summer, during Stella's wedding reception, and found Vaughn's face in the bosom of a Merriweather girl, whose plump features attracted her men but not a husband. Giggles had attacked Emma at the time, since Vaughn meant nothing to her, but shortly after the festivities, Olivia announced Vaughn as Emma's suitor and betrothed.
"Was there something you wanted?" Emma understood Vaughn's character, or lack thereof. Faithfulness was not in him, or the ability of loving someone more than himself. Attention to another's happiness would never disturb his mind.
"Indeed, my love. I want you to set our wedding date. I'm anxious for us to get on with our blissful life together, and I'm even more anxious to see you in the same condition as your sister."
Emma and Stuart traded disgusted glances, but not so that Vaughn would have noticed in the fading daylight. Her spine stiffened as Vaughn reached to put his arm around her. She stood and faced him.
"Now that I think on it, sometime in the year 1900 would be marvelous. Dearest." Emma smiled and Stuart snickered.
He looked at her askance. "There's no need to be so stubborn. Both of our families want this marriage."
"I have no intention of marrying you, Vaughn, now or ever."
Perturbed, Vaughn stood.
"Fine. Darling. I'll leave you with the cripple while I go and discuss the matter with your mother."
Emma's stomach sank to her feet at Vaughn's insult — and at the thought of him approaching her mother. Olivia would love nothing more than to solidify Emma's discontent. Vaughn stood straighter and turned to strut his way back to the house. But with a swift and sudden half turn of the wheels of his chair, the said cripple bumped into Vaughn, causing him to lose his balance and stumble into the pond.
****
Olivia made more of a fuss over a soaked and dripping Vaughn Jackson than Vaughn made himself. He quickly claimed to have fallen into the pond on his own clumsiness, which almost encouraged Emma to like him for a moment.
Many of the family's guests stayed overnight at the Cartwright estate. Fortunately for Emma, Vaughn decided to ride home, after changing into a dry set of clothes. Only Olivia was there for his send off.
Emma, Stuart, and Sylvia escaped to the den. Emma had exchanged her dress for looser-fitting clothes, causing her back to throb with relief. Sylvia lighted the room's oil lamps as Stuart reached for the maps the family kept stored there.
"Monty is right about that blockade," Stuart said. "It could lead to plenty of trouble for the South. The North will want to cut off supplies to all major ports. If that happens, it might not take long for the South to surrender."
A loud, slurred rendition of Dixie burst forth from party guests who were still awake, and presumably, straggling up to bed.
As the merriment faded, Emma asked, "So what's Jeff Davis going to do next?"
"He's got to build an army. Seven states have left the Union now. If Davis truly intends to be leader of the Confederate States of America, he's got to show Lincoln and the Union that he's going to stick by his words of no compromise."
Back in February, as Jefferson Davis traveled from his home in Vicksburg, Mississippi, to the Confederate capital of Montgomery, Alabama, he gave rousing speeches along the way, declaring the South's separation from the Union was permanent — and talk of reunification would not be tolerated.
"Isn't this war a good thing?" Sylvia quipped. "Doesn't it mean all the slaves will be free?"
"Not quite," Stuart said. "Right now a war is about bringing seceded states back into the Union. Lincoln hasn't taken much of a stand against slavery yet. He's more in favor of colonization."
Sylvia's brow wrinkled. "What's that?"
"Lincoln and lots of other folks don't think we can live peaceably with colored people, so he aims to send all the slaves back to Africa, their native land, and let them start over. They'd have nothing. No homes and probably only the food they'd take with them, but they'd be free to build their own lives and government." Stuart shook his head. "It doesn't seem right though."
She turned to Emma. "Harper and Tilda and everyone would be sent away?"
"There's no telling what may happen," Stuart said, "not yet anyway."
"Do you think we'll see any soldiers? Any fighting?" Sylvia asked.
Stuart gave a solemn nod.
"That's probably enough for tonight." Emma raised her eyebrows at Stuart. He relented.
Emma rolled up the maps and tucked them away, not wanting to think of soldiers at her front door. But what would it take, she wondered, for her grandfather to acquiesce and let go of the only way of life he'd known? If armed Yankees stormed the front door and demanded the release of the slaves, would Knox allow it, or would his stance on violence make a sudden transformation? Emma didn't know.
****
As was the tradition whenever the Cartwrights entertained cousins overnight, Emma gathered a slew of young girls into her bedroom and told them tales before bed. Her favorite was a retelling of Uncle Tom's Cabin, though she changed elements, since the youngsters would find a story of brave and heroic slaves incredulous. Afterward, the girls settled in the room for the night. Most didn't mind sleeping on a bedroll on the hardwood floor, but Emma, despite the long evening and her aches, couldn't sleep.
As a rhythm of soft, steady breathing filled the room, a rumbling stomach forced Emma out of bed. Vaughn and his mannerisms had ruined her appetite earlier. She tiptoed over the web of cousins and crept down to the kitchen, anxious for a wedge of stale bread or a bowl of cold oyster soup leftover from the night's feast.
She paused in the hallway when she heard Knox's voice. She peeked around the corner and into the library. Knox, standing beside a fledgling fire, read from the family Bible. Alexander and Quinn stood close by. Emma's throat tightened when she heard the words from her father's favorite verse.
"Love the Lord thy God with all your heart, all your mind, all your strength, and all your understanding."
When Knox finished reading, he closed the Bible and cradled it in his arm. Then he looked at Alexander and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you sure you want to do this, son?"
Stern and rigid, Alexander nodded. "Whatever it takes to protect our rights and property."
Knox said nothing, but gave his grandson a firm pat on the back before facing Quinn. Although he was eighteen and blooming into manhood, Quinn looked puny next to Knox. Of all the Cartwright children, Quinn endured the brunt of every illness that visited and had a propensity for injury. Emma recalled a time when she and her father had been racing Knox and Quinn on their new steeds. Quinn's horse made a clumsy gallop across the meadow while the others waited. Knox chided Quinn for his poor horsemanship. Frustrated, Quinn attempted to dash the stallion back to the barn, but instead, the horse threw him. Quinn broke his leg from the fall and spent months in bed healing, and sulking.
"I'm not certain this would be a proper undertaking for you, Quinn. War is a terrible thing, even for the best, strongest of men. You might be of better service here on the plantation."
"No, Granddad! I'm as strong as anyone. I can handle it, and I want to be a Confederate soldier more than anything."
Pain and doubt melted over Knox's countenance, but he gave no argument.
"I fear what this news may do to your mother, boys, but we'll deal with that in the morning. This is a time that requires great sacrifices from us all. I admire you both. Remember to honor the Lord in all you do, and remember that you are representing the Cartwright name. I will pray for you both every day, and I will have only restless sleep until you've returned."
He shook their hands.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow dawns a new era for this family."
Emma slipped back to her room, forgetting her stomach, and having no inkling about how true her grandfather's words would prove to be.
****
The morning proved chaotic under the Cartwright roof for many reasons. The household slaves scrambled to feed the bounty of people. Extra hands in the kitchen got in the way of experienced hands. Plates slipped and glasses fumbled. Harper, head of the household slaves, regarded the kitchen as her kingdom. Whether she was feeding an abundance of slaves, when laborers were often grouped together from neighboring plantations during planting and harvesting seasons, or preparing dishes for a Cartwright feast, she was tireless. She sassed the slaves accustomed to field work and extinguished mumbles about the sudden news of war. Few things ruffled Harper's ire like waste and inefficiency, but her tolerance for gossiping registered just as low.
During breakfast, Knox announced Alexander and Quinn's plans to travel into Charleston and sign with the Confederate army. After a pause, several other relatives and friends admitted their intentions were the same. Discussion followed then about heading into Beaumont and procuring train tickets for the young men.
The tension resonating among the slaves differed from the anxiousness gripping the young men set to enlist, but everyone felt a degree of stress. Burnt biscuits and grits mattered little, as knapsacks were hastily packed and young men suppressed apprehensions of going headlong into war. Playing hostess distracted Olivia from hysterics. Knox commended all the boys for their sudden and sure support for the South.
Emma's eyes swept to Stuart, who was bidding farewell to his oldest brother. They shook hands and exchanged promises. Emma knew no such sentiment would pass between her and her brothers. Alexander, quiet and awkward, rarely shared affection or conversation. He spent most of his time hunting or devoted to activities that required no interaction with his family. And when it came to Quinn, Emma knew what a black heart beat within him. As Quinn stood postured and prideful, surrounded by relatives, Emma remembered those harsh summer days when Quinn gathered frogs from the marshes, twisted and yanked off their legs, then dropped them down his sisters' dresses for no other reason than to amuse himself. Emma and Stella always cried and ran to their father. Despite Thomas Cartwright's loving but firm hand with his sons, he remained at odds with Quinn.
"Why are so many people crying?" Sylvia whispered to Emma.
"The boys are leaving to fight the Yankees." Emma thought of Vaughn and his refusal to be inconvenienced by a battle over slavery. Some of the young men, Emma knew, had no choice in the matter. Duty and honor compelled them. Emma hated that separation, war and death seemed the only course for a resolution. "We might never see some of them again."
She and Sylvia glanced at their brothers, and Franklin crossed Emma's mind. Oldest of the children, Franklin had been Emma's favorite brother. He left the family soon after the Uprising and their father's funeral. In a note he left with Harper, Franklin claimed his guilt was too great to stay. He said he would head west to Kansas and dedicate himself to preventing the spread of slavery. Known as "Bleeding Kansas," the territory had been a battleground over whether or not it would enter the Union as a free or slave state, based on the population's preference. Various abolitionists and pro-slavery groups had fled to Kansas, each intending to ensure their preference. Violence became commonplace and resulted in nearly sixty deaths over a period of two years. Once new leaders helped reestablish reasonable peace, Kansas earned its statehood in January of 1861 and joined the Union as a free state.
However, Emma and her family understood the message Franklin intended. As the months passed, no correspondence followed. The family's assumptions about Franklin's fate were endless. Since the aftermath of the Uprising and Thomas Cartwright's death were still fresh, the family found it even more difficult to accept another loss, especially Emma and Knox. Speculation about Franklin waned, and when everyone sensed it was best for Knox not to hear Franklin mentioned, talk about him ceased, and his name was no longer spoken out loud.
Emma considered him a coward for leaving the way he did, but she admitted to no one, including Sylvia, how she missed him terribly.
"I'm glad we're girls," Sylvia said.
"Oh?" Emma said, snapping from her gloom.
"We get to stay here, and we don't have to worry about fighting." Sylvia threw her arms around her sister and held her tight.
Emma kissed Sylvia's cheek. "I'm glad too," she lied.
****
Knox and Olivia escorted the boys to the train depot in Beaumont and allowed the younger children to tag along for the outing into town. Company trickled homeward, and Emma set to helping Harper and the other slaves with restoring order to the household. Stuart decided to extend his stay. He pitched in with drying dishes and carting the wash to Tilda. Emma appreciated his efforts as much as his company. She told herself life without Quinn would be an improvement, though she wondered if George Napier's role around the plantation would deepen with the older Cartwrights gone. She also worried about Knox and the toll the boys' absence would have on him.
"Beaumont must be busting at the seams with all those Cartwrights in town," Emma said. Stuart and Harper laughed while Emma set down bowls of rice with black-eyed peas. She pictured Sylvia at the train depot, eyes wide and taking in all the sights, sounds and people.
Emma tried to imagine Quinn handling a gun and taking orders, two areas of weakness for him. Since they were adolescents, Emma had been a better shot, and Knox's gift of a Colt revolver for Quinn's fifteenth birthday had been an embarrassment.
T
he afternoon dissipated, and a strange quiet hovered throughout the house.
"Maybe we should bake a sweet potato pie for Granddad and Mother, help take their minds off the boys," Emma said. "They should be back soon."
Stuart slapped his hands together. "Sweet potato pie is my specialty."
Harper flashed a droll glance Stuart's way but only chuckled at his boast. At least Stuart knew better than to brag about making cornbread. Harper's recipe rivaled none other. She hollered for the younger colored children and had them help with preparations. A slab of salt pork and okra soup were also called for. Soon, the kitchen vibrated from the boisterous hymns Harper led them in singing. Stuart twirled in his wheelchair, and it was the lightest Emma had felt in recent days.
As she and Stuart set the table, Knox and Olivia arrived home. The colored children scattered like mice. Harper stopped singing and averted her eyes.
Immediately, Emma took notice of her mother's paleness and Knox's haggard face.
"Are you all right?" Emma asked them both. She moved toward them, almost prepared to catch her mother.
Knox released the scowl on his face. He brushed his hand down his overcoat. Dust billowed. "A mighty busy scene. I believe every young, able-bodied man in the county showed up at that depot."
"It was quite encouraging." Olivia sighed, her weariness apparent.
Emma listened and wondered why she didn't hear her siblings, chatting and rumbling into the dining room.
"Are you having the children eat in the kitchen?" she asked.
Olivia darted a glance at Knox. She took a deep breath and sat in her usual spot at the table.
"The children will not be joining us this evening," Olivia said. "I spoke with your grandfather, and I have taken a precautionary measure where the children are concerned."
"What measure?"
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