"Suppose you saved my life today." Trumball handed Emma a cup of coffee and sipped from a cup already in his hand.
"Maybe," Emma answered softly. She set her sights on the forest. "But there's no need to get ahead of ourselves. We still need to make it to the train depot and then back to the encampment all in one piece." She glanced at Nash, who was sleeping peacefully. "What happens next time if they bring poisoned arrows and their own guns?"
"You might have to conjure up Sequoyah in the flesh."
Emma looked at her commander and the two shared a laugh.
"We do what we can, Edmonds, and we take things as they come. It's no good to worry about things we can't control."
They listened to the summer night. Crickets sounded bountiful and happy. Frogs croaked love songs near and far. Spruce trees provided a hearty fragrance. Even the crackle of the campfire enhanced the faulty sense of security.
"Where'd you get that revolver?" Trumball asked.
"It belonged to my grandfather." Naturally, Emma refused to mention that she had stolen it from her granddad's collection before running away.
"You keep surprising me, Edmonds. I may have pegged you wrong."
Even in the night, Emma felt the intensity in Trumball's eyes. She forgot herself and smiled provocatively at him. She wasn't sure what provoked her, but she appreciated the comfort and ease of the moment. Most of all, Emma relished the fact she had a secret and that she had fooled the lieutenant, who seemed to think he was more perceptive than others.
"I have a feeling, lieutenant, that you'll find out you've been wrong about a lot of your assumptions concerning me."
****
To the company's dismay and relief, the rest of their journey proved uneventful. Aside from an outbreak of poison ivy, the return trek to camp went swiftly with no loads to shoulder and an empty wagon to ride in. Exhausted muscles and dehydration branded them all, but complaints went unspoken. Nash continued to heal and liked showing off the battle wound, with a few dramatic fabrications thrown in.
Back at camp, Eleanor introduced Emma to Doctor Niles Hillman, the new head surgeon. Based on Eleanor's enthusiastic introduction, Emma liked him at once. Dr. Hillman further endeared himself to Private Edmonds by addressing her with the correct name.
Letters also awaited some of the men, though none for Emma. Lieutenant Trumball, however, was handed an envelope and tore into his correspondence. The contents stopped him in his tracks. When he finished reading, his hand fell to his side with the letter still in his grip. A foreign expression covered his face.
"Everything all right, Lieutenant?" Emma ventured.
Trumball walked off without responding. Emma didn't like being snubbed. She thought she and her commander had developed a bond, strange as it sounded, and somehow that entitled her to intrude on his private letters.
Grady, who had prepared a small feast for the company's return, approached Emma from behind and nearly perched his head on her shoulder. "Ain't you heard?"
"What?" Emma took a slight step away, as she feared the mix of Grady's breath and body odor might be lethal.
"Trumball's wife. She's powerful sick. Been that way since he's been enlisted. Guess there ain't nothing the doctor can do for her. Don't think she's expected to live much longer."
With all the time and care she spent protecting her identity and remaining vague about her family and past, Emma had given little thought to the lives her comrades had left behind. Though Trumball was still youthful, being in his twenties, Emma had witnessed few emotions from the man, and it had not occurred to her that he could be capable of being in love with a woman. What surprised her even more was the peculiar, jealous feeling that rose in her chest.
"Wife?" Emma whispered. "I had no idea he was married."
Grady shrugged. "Might not be for much longer."
CHAPTER NINE
Union Encampment
Northern Virginia
November, 1861
As autumn leaves lost their glory and sailed to the ground, McClellan's favor with the president also became parched and brittle. A detachment of McClellan's in Leesburg, Virginia, suffered defeat at Ball's Bluff, further adding to Lincoln's frustrations. McClellan's men, though, complained little about the general's overly cautious attitudes and missing sense of urgency, but Emma empathized with Lincoln's frustrations, wanting aggressive, decisive movement made on the Union's behalf. McClellan deflected his critics by blaming Secretary of War Winfield Scott and "the original gorilla" Lincoln for not giving him more men and greater control. McClellan's unflattering opinion of General Scott, though, lead to Scott's retirement. New York Tribune editor, Horace Greeley continued his support for Lincoln and Radical Republicans, but unlike some Northern politicians, Greeley and his publication not only wanted the Confederacy subdued, he also wanted slavery abolished.
More troublesome for Emma was news of the Battle of Port Royal. Although the battle consisted mainly of Union ships bombarding shore-lining forts in the area, the conflict took place only miles from Beaumont, South Carolina. With the bluecoats declaring victory. Emma knew her family would be impacted with a heavy presence of Union troops nearby and exercising control. Word had also circulated that slaves were set free as a result of the Federals' prowess, and that schools for blacks and regiments of colored men were forming. Inwardly, Emma panicked. She not only worried about Knox's health in light of such upheaval, but also wondered how the plantation, the rice, would continue without the slaves' labor. But wasn't that what she had dreamed of, Tilda and the others having their freedom? Such freedoms would cripple her family's livelihood. Frustration wrangled Emma's heart, as she had never fully considered the effect of meaningful change.
Emma kept her head down and stuck to what she now knew best, hospital work and drills. She had no choice. Daily she hoped and checked for a letter from Stuart, but nothing came. A cloud of loneliness engulfed her, as she couldn't express her concerns among the others. Emma had grown closer with her fellow soldiers, but like Trumball, she restricted talk of her family and home life, finding it easier to cope with the absence the less she shared. The opposite proved true for Emma's comrades, who found solace in telling stories and sharing memories.
Alone and stretching on her cot inside her tent one afternoon, she heard her name called.
"Tom? Tom, are you in there?"
She perked up at the sound of Eleanor's voice then poked her head outside the tent.
"I hoped I'd find you." Eleanor's features looked distressed. "Please, come quick."
"What's wrong?" Emma grabbed her hat and darted out.
"A courier arrived moments ago, slumped on his horse and bleeding." Eleanor rubbed her hands on her apron, more from nervousness than need.
Emma asked, "What happened?"
"He's been shot by a Rebel sniper."
A brisk wind slapped the hospital tent's flaps back and forth. Emma checked the sky and didn't like the sight of an approaching storm. Heavy rain made camp life miserable. Water accumulated on the soft soil, creating thick puddles that crept inside each tent. Mud and dirty water invaded footwear and soaked their woolen socks, but Emma had no time to dwell on such unpleasantries.
She and Eleanor walked back to the operating area Dr. Hillman had set up. The courier lay face down and shirtless on the table. Two bloody holes marked his back.
"How is he, doc?" Emma asked.
Dr. Hillman held a pair of bloodied bone forceps and shook his head. Bits of bone lay at the patient's side but the round, flattened shape of a discharged lead bullet wasn't present. An assistant stuffed the holes with bandage wrap to plug the bleeding, then wiped away smears of blood on the man's skin.
"The bullets are in too deep," Dr. Hillman said, "and he's lost a great deal of blood."
News of a wounded courier spread through camp like a fresh canteen of whiskey. Colonel Reed, Trumball, and McClellan made their way to the hospital. All were updated on the man's condition. He started to rouse from the ether.<
br />
Emma knelt beside the table so she could be eye level with the courier. "What's your name?"
"Perry." His voice was weak, his eyes glassy. Chevron stripes on his torn, discarded jacket indicated his rank as a sergeant.
"Hang in there, Perry. Dr. Hillman is one of the best. We're going to get you mended." Emma squeezed Perry's hand as she often did to patients before she eased them to sleep with chloroform.
"My boot." His words came slow and distorted as his lips lay limp against the table. He tried to move his hand to his leg, but the action proved too painful. "Must get to Grant. Urgent."
Emma removed the boots and found folded papers within. The papers detailed troop movement and artillery near Belmont, Kentucky, a hotbed area both the North and South wanted to control in order to tip Kentucky's neutrality in the war. Several divisions under the commands of Brigadier General Grant and Major General John Fremont had been stationed in the town of Columbus since the summer, strengthening their position with men and supplies. The papers from Perry's boot would benefit Grant's army, which was set to attack. Such info could clinch a Union victory and enable the North to gain control of the upper Mississippi.
Perry tried to raise himself up. "It must get through. Has to be tonight," he said to Emma. "Messenger's waiting at Roanoke."
Emma glanced at his commanders. Roanoke sat two hundred miles away, and not far from Lynchburg, where Colonel Lee and a concentration of Confederate troops were supposedly located. They assumed Perry had gone wildly off course to end up here. Emma speculated that Perry must have encountered the snipers somewhere outside of Richmond. Perhaps he knew the only way the papers would get delivered was to get them into the hands of the Union officials.
"We'll take care of it, Perry," Emma assured him, although every man present knew the distance would take days to cover. "Don't worry."
"Good," Perry sighed. "That's good."
"Let's have a look at those." Colonel Reed reached for the papers. McClellan joined him, and the two scanned the maps and notes of the Rebels position. "He's right. This information is critical, and to accomplish such a journey," Colonel Reed raised his eyebrows, "we'll need a man who doesn't scare easily, and one who can leave immediately."
Perry's sudden groans punctuated the conversation. Pain cramped his entire body. Seconds later, he fell unconscious. The tension in his body deflated.
"Perry! Perry!" Dr. Hillman put his ear to Perry's back, listening for a heartbeat and breathing, but a grim expression marked his face. "We've lost him."
"It's a shame." Colonel Reed looked at Perry sympathetically. "We need to do our part, men. We need a volunteer—"
"I'll go, sir." Emma stood, though she'd given no genuine thought to what the mission might entail.
"That's brave of you, son, but there's a bad storm about to roll in, and I don't think you know what you're getting into."
"The colonel's right," McClellan said. "It means passing through enemy-held territory. It's likely the wilderness and such is thick with the enemy. You could end up like Perry here."
Emma looked at Perry.
"I'm willing to take that chance, sir." Was she? Or was this part of her desire to prove her worth to Lieutenant Trumball, even in such reckless circumstances? Or was it pure devotion shining through? Men like Perry, Emma knew, had given all they could. Who was she to offer any less? Emma put her motives in check. She wanted this chance, and she convinced herself that taking such a risk was better than the constant wading in McClellan's swamp of idleness.
Thunder cracked and ominous clouds crawled near.
"No," Trumball said. "General, Colonel, this should be my responsibility. I'm Edmonds' commander, and with a storm like that brewing, I should be the one to go."
"Colonel, I—"
"Besides," Trumball interjected, "I'm more experienced."
Unoffended, Emma raised her voice. "Pardon me, sirs, but I disagree. I'm more than capable of handling this assignment. In fact, I recently saved my detachment from death and dismemberment by a band of rogue Indians."
Emma bit the inside of her cheek. She recalled how she had tried to civilize her comrades' opinions of the Cherokee, and how put-off she had been, listening to their rants about wild savages that had no experience behind them. Here, she knew that pointing out the dangers and exaggerating the incident worked to her advantage.
"Yes, I've heard of this extraordinary encounter," Colonel Reed said. "Most impressive work, Edmonds."
"Thank you, sir." Emma darted her eyes in Trumball's direction. "And might I add, sirs, that Lieutenant Trumball has just recovered from an injury he received during the fighting at Bull Run — and a near-death experience with the Indians."
"How dare you!" Trumball exploded.
Eleanor gasped.
Colonel Reed slapped a hand on Trumball's chest. "Simmer down, Lieutenant. We could stand here and argue all day but that won't get the job done." He turned to McClellan. "General, as long as you're in agreement, I believe Edmonds is most qualified to carry out the duty."
McClellan folded the papers and handed them over to Emma. "Agreed."
"Lieutenant, you'll better serve your men here, by remaining in your position."
Aggravation stewed in Trumball's eyes as he looked at Emma, but he gave his commander a respectful "yes, sir" before he ducked out of the tent, and the rain began to fall.
****
"I don't know about this, Tom." Eleanor wrung her hands. "Seems awfully dangerous to me. Are you sure you're suited for this?"
Her question stunned Emma almost as much as Trumball's lack of support.
"Of course he is!" Zechariah gave Emma a firm slap on the shoulder. Shorter than Eleanor with only a half-ring of hair around his head, but with eyes as warm as Eleanor's, the stout preacher could comfort anyone. Like Emma, he had sat at many a soldiers' bedside and held their hands as they groaned through pain or entered into death. He led funeral services and church services for the Army of the Potomac every Sunday morning he wasn't on assignment or tending to the sick and wounded, and his fishing skills were unrivaled among the men.
The three of them stood in Eleanor and Zechariah's house, which sat only a block from the Union encampment. A fresh horse and supplies were being readied for Emma. Eleanor had insisted on loading Emma's pockets with apple fritters and cornbread she had just baked. She offered more than there was room for.
"I'm not worried," Emma lied. She forced an awkward smile that fooled no one. Knowing the risks before setting out, gnawed at her while too many what-ifs raced through her mind.
"If you can handle an ambush of Indians, you'll do fine on this mission." Zechariah shook Emma's hand firmly. "May the good Lord continue to be with you and guide you, Tom."
Although she appreciated the sentiment and Zechariah's sincerity, Emma didn't know what to think. Was God with her? Emma wondered if God was with anyone, or if a man carved out his own destiny while the Creator watched like a detached spectator, deaf to the prayers of simple man. But she ignored the weakness of her musings. This was no time for her to question the ways of the Almighty.
Eleanor looked her over for a moment then embraced her. Emma found it difficult to breathe and even more laborious to hold back the truth about her identity. She thought about confessing, right there, telling both Eleanor and Zechariah that she was a woman. She wanted them to know, wanted them to tell her family, if anything should happen to her. But her courage fell short — or her senses prevailed. She wasn't sure which.
"Please bring him back safely, Lord," Eleanor prayed, though none of them said anything about the tremor in her voice.
****
Seated in the saddle and atop Flash, one of the army's prized horses, Emma received her final instructions and was sent off by her commanders with a map and Godspeed. Steady rain beat the ground. Graham, Nash, and several others nodded their farewell. Trumball was nowhere to be found. Emma pretended it didn't bother her.
The pounding rain complicated Em
ma's journey immediately. Dirt roads became difficult to distinguish. With the sky awash and no moonlight present, she got lost within miles of leaving the camp. Rain soaked her clothes and misery set in. She kept on but worried she was only making her situation worse.
She wanted to cry out, turn to someone for help. What would happen if she failed to deliver the papers? Should she return to camp and admit she couldn't do it? How could she ever face Trumball again? She'd been wrong, arguing with the lieutenant and mentioning his injury to get what she thought she wanted.
Emma let the horse canter. Was there even a chance she could find her way back? She prayed, earnestly, for direction, for help. Her anxiousness building, she strained her eyes, looking for a sign in the darkness. A farmhouse or even a cabin. And then, she saw it. A speck of light swayed in the pitch-black night. Emma approached it, and slowly, an odd scene came into focus.
A gray-haired man and young boy sat huddled under a canvas with their backs against a small wagon. A modest fire sputtered between them. The light Emma had seen was a lantern, hooked to a stick and swaying in the wind.
"Evenin'," the man said good-naturedly. The boy did not share the man's cheerfulness and glared at Emma with misgivings. Emma guessed him to be about ten.
"You fellas mind if I join you?" Emma asked.
"Help yourself."
She dismounted Flash and secured him to a tree. Then she scrunched herself in an attempt to find a dry spot under the canvas. She felt embarrassed and as though she was imposing on the man. The boy's unwelcoming expression worsened Emma's feeling of inadequacy.
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