Plantation Nation (9781621352877)

by King, Mercedes

  "I can't! I know you need it for mother and for supplies."

  "That's not for your worry. This family has been prosperous for quite some time, and I will have slight peace, knowing that you have means on your journey. Money is the least of things that I can give you now."

  Emma squeezed his hand. She wasn't sure how forthright Knox was being about the family's money. Of course, she knew that such discussions were difficult and rarely undertaken with a female. She had to accept Knox's vague answers on the subject and realize he had no intention of disclosing fiscal matters to her.

  "There's something else," Emma said. "The Colt."

  He considered that. "Hmm. Your father and I taught you well. Makes me proud that you know a fine piece of weaponry, and that you know how to use it, but I admit, it's difficult for me to reconcile the fact that you may be firing upon our very countrymen with it." He paused. "But on the other hand, it helps me know that you may be safe with that particular gun in hand. Your livelihood is what concerns me most. It's a small comfort. Keep it."

  Emma embraced him. She had no assurances that leaving was the right thing to do. Her grave might be the next one added to the plot. This time, however, she would leave without secrecy, theft or deception, and a renewed passion for her role in the war against the states — and a secret hope that she might reconcile with James.

  ****

  The rest of Emma's family greeted the announcement of her departure with silence at supper later that night. Olivia couldn't be coaxed from her room, so Emma had told her in private, though the meaning of such news was lost on Olivia. Tilda and Harper, who still ate their meals in the kitchen because they felt it proper, didn't hide their tears. Emma didn't elaborate that her hospital duties were served through the means of the Union army, as she and Knox had decided that it was best for everyone, besides Stuart, not to know. Everyone, though, had gossiped about Emma's strange need to serve the Yankees instead of their boys in gray. Gradually, her cousins and sister wished her well and promised to pray for her daily. Touched, Emma held back tears. She felt Stella's gaze linger upon her, almost begging her to stay. Awkwardness came over Emma. She questioned whether leaving was the right thing to do, but when she thought of seeing James again, she pushed the feeling aside.

  Emma scooped Thomas from the table after the meal and played with him on the floor in the parlor. The family joined in, and Harper surprised everyone with rice pudding and pecan pie. Conversation flourished, and memories were shared. Stuart displayed no discomfort around her, but he and Knox both seemed mildly saddened. By the end of the evening, no one could recall the last time such laughter and lightheartedness had filled the Cartwright home.

  Alone in her room a while later, Emma finished packing her few belongings. She sat on her bed and took in every part of her room, not knowing if she would ever be there again. Countless moments she'd shared with Sylvia came flooding back, and Emma prayed, as she had for months, that her sister was safe and well.

  A knock sounded.

  "Emma, are you still up?" Stuart said from the other side of the door.

  She smiled to herself and let him in.

  "I hope I'm not disturbing you." He wheeled in and parked in the center of the room.

  "No." Emma, who hadn't changed yet into bed clothes, looked around the room. "I'm just wondering if this is the last night I'll spend in this room."

  "Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?" He gave her a half-smile.

  Emma sat on her bed and didn't look at him. She hoped he didn't intend to spoil their last evening with more talk of marriage. She already felt emotional exhaustion setting in.

  "Stuart, I know you must be angry with me, but I have to go."

  "That's what I thought you'd say." He wheeled over to where she sat. "This house hasn't been the same since you've gone. None of us have. But before you go, I have something for you."

  He handed her a modest stack of letters, tied with a string.

  "What's this?" Emma noticed her name scripted across the front.

  Stuart hesitated. "They're from Sylvia." Emma looked up at him, and Stuart continued. "She sent them last year, not long after she arrived at Aunt Celia's."

  Breathlessly, Emma stared at them. Months ago Stuart had mentioned Sylvia's letters home. With everything she'd been struck with since returning to the Cartwright home, Emma had forgotten about them.

  "Before you read them," Stuart said, "there's something you should know."

  Emma hugged the letters, uncertain if she wanted to hear what he would say next.

  "A few months after you left, Olivia wrote a letter to Aunt Celia and the children. She told them you were gone. Not long after, Sylvia sent her last letter. She claimed she was going to find you in Washington."

  Emma closed her eyes and prayed for it not to be true.

  "I was in town one day with Granddad when a letter came from Aunt Celia. She confirmed that Sylvia ran away."

  "Dear God, what was she thinking? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Emma moved to open the first letter, but Stuart put his hand on her arm.

  "Granddad and the rest of the family don't know. I never showed them Aunt Celia's letter."

  "How could you not tell them?"

  "There's nothing they could do. Besides, news like this might kill Granddad. He's not as strong as he's pretending to be. He tries to hide the fact he's dealing with chest pains, but I've seen him, his hand over his heart, he can hardly breathe, but he blames it on something he ate or the heat. Who knows what this could do to him."

  Emma wondered the same thing, and she wondered how much stress her leaving would cause him. She hated the position Stuart had put her in. He wanted her to feel guilty for leaving and probably hoped she'd recant her decision. She glared at him, knowing this was his way of getting back at her for refusing to marry him.

  "You know I have no choice now." Emma yanked her arm from Stuart's touch. "I have to return to Washington and look for her."

  Angry, Stuart rolled his chair back, then turned and headed for the door.

  "Do what pleases you, Emma. That's what you've always done, no matter what the cost is for other people — people you say you love."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Outskirts of Washington, D.C.

  June, 1862

  Emma's journey back to northern Virginia was robust with complications and delays, but most of it was a blur for her as she re-read Sylvia's letters. Sylvia wrote that her mother had been unfair in sending them all away, and that she had begged and cried at the train station not to go. Even so, Sylvia said Aunt Celia's home was more beautiful than she remembered and her dogs larger. She promised to write Emma every week until she could return home. Then, there was the letter from Aunt Celia, sorrowfully detailing Sylvia's departure and blind hope to find Emma in the capital city. Considering Sylvia's age and inexperience of being on her own and navigating a city filled Emma with immeasurable dread. What hope did Emma have that Sylvia could in fact make her way to Washington and somehow find her?

  Plus, if she did make it all the way from New Orleans, Sylvia was looking for Emma Cartwright, not Private Tom Edmonds.

  Emma had to accept that there was little she could do, and little she could hope for.

  With their former Union encampment now a skeletal operation, Emma went to Eleanor and Zechariah's house. They greeted her with the same fanfare as her family. Eleanor was quick to whip up bacon and biscuits as they settled at the table. Zechariah said that his stint away had been uneventful. Emma shared about her trip home and her sister's attempt to make it to Washington. The concerned looks Eleanor and Zechariah traded deepened Emma's unease. Aware of the dismal mood setting in, Eleanor intervened.

  "It may not be much, but there's plenty we could try," she said.

  "Such as?" Zechariah asked.

  "Well, we could check with hotels and boarding houses in the area. If she's here, maybe she's staying nearby."

  Emma lit up. "You know you're right.
I hadn't thought of that. We could start now." Emma began to stand, but Zechariah stopped her.

  "Hold on a minute. At this hour of night you're likely to rouse tempers as much as sleeping folk. Best to wait till morning, catch folks at their best."

  Emma saw his point and eased back down onto her chair.

  "When I said we, I meant that Zechariah and I could do it."

  Both Emma and Zechariah shot Eleanor a confused look.

  "You plan to report back for duty, don't you?" she asked Emma.

  "Yes."

  The Pratts sat quietly for a moment. They respected Emma and her intention to serve the Union, but it was still difficult for them, knowing she would be in harm's way.

  "Then you'll be heading south," Zechariah said. "A fair chunk of Little Mac's troops are stationed just south of the Chickahominy River. Been having a terrible time down there with all the rain. The river's flooded the area, made most of the bridges useless, and the mud means moving the artillery takes ten times as long. Despite all that, Little Mac is fixing to attack Richmond, and believe you me, he needs that victory, especially since the siege at Yorktown was a failure and the showdown at Fair Oaks another disappointment."

  "Fair Oaks?" Emma asked. "I haven't kept up with developments as well as I should have during my travels."

  "General Johnston and his troops attacked our boys, but the Rebs were having just as many difficulties as our troops. Their maps were inaccurate, and the quagmire of mud from the rains complicated everything. After three days, the Confederates didn't retreat and the Union didn't advance."

  "Has there been any word from Lieutenant Trumball?" Emma reddened, though she was sure Eleanor knew how she felt about him.

  "I was wondering when you might ask," Eleanor said. "No, dear, we haven't had any news from him. As far as we know he's with McClellan and the soldiers near the river."

  "Then that's where I'll head in the morning." Emma reached into her pocket and slipped out one of her most prized possessions. "I guess I should leave these with you then." Emma handed Eleanor her picture of Sylvia and slid the letters over to her. "Anything you can find out… even if it's… well, anything would mean a great deal to me."

  Eleanor squeezed Emma's hand. "Try not to worry, dear. Keep your head about you and focused on what you're doing. This war is heating up, and the Union needs all the able-bodied it can get."

  ****

  Southeast Virginia

  June, 1862

  Days later, sheathed in a new shoddy and with hair newly trimmed, Emma resumed her identity as Tom Edmonds and made her way to the Union encampment on the Chickahominy River. As far as Emma was concerned, Zechariah had under exaggerated the area's conditions. Mud caked everything. The river had begun to calm, but troop morale seemed non-existent. McClellan, recently recovered from a bout with the Shakes, welcomed Private Edmonds' return.

  "Edmonds," he said, his speech slow but deliberate. "I hope that your furlough was sufficient, and that you're prepared to resume your duties in full measure."

  "Yes, sir, to both counts. Thank you for granting me leave. Sir, do you know where I might find Lieutenant Trumball? I'd like to make myself useful immediately."

  McClellan grinned and instructed Emma to Trumball's general location.

  Emma's heart raced with each sluggish step. She regretted leaving him and wanted to tell him, though she had no idea how he would receive her now. She decided she would make no demands on James, that she would not ask for or expect anything from him, and if fighting next to him to help end the war was all she had with him, then she resolved to find contentment in those moments. James had children to go home to. He had a life waiting for him. Emma's future lingered as uncertain as when the war might end, and she knew contemplating it now was impractical. All she really wanted was to be with James.

  As Emma neared her company's location, Eli Nash and Joel Evans spotted her and greeted her loudly.

  "We done heard you and the Lieutenant blowed up them Rebs at Williamsburg," Nash said.

  "I guess you could say we didn't make a quiet exit."

  The men laughed and Emma, disguised as Tom, took stock of the thinned group. Graham and Daniel Procter came.

  "Where's Simon and Grady?" she asked.

  "Oh, Grady, he's here someplace," Nash said. "Probably rustlin' up skunk or somethin' for stew." Mild laughs and groans from the men intermingled, and Nash rubbed the back of his neck. "Simon, though, he, uh, he didn't fare too good at Fair Oaks. Took a bullet to the chest. Died pretty quick."

  "Oh. Sorry to hear that." The grim reality that the war had churned on in her absence made Emma hang her head in guilt and reverence. Simon had four children who would grow up without him, a fact that hit Emma hard. She thought of baby Thomas back home and how awful it would be for him to grow up without his father. Purging slavery from the United States meant creating a fatherless generation. A steep, tragic price.

  "We didn't think you were a-comin' back," Nash said.

  "Why not?"

  "Well, you done up 'n left when we shipped out, 'n Trumball didn't say much on why you left." Nash shrugged a shoulder. "You know how he is."

  "You're right." Emma couldn't explain that she'd needed to escape, that she would've been worthless as a soldier during the conflicts at Fair Oaks and Williamsburg. Mentioning the condition of her home and family, no matter how unfortunate, seemed unfair, considering the men before her hadn't seen their families in over a year, and some men, like Simon, never would.

  "But I'm here now," Emma said with a faint smile. "Speaking of Trumball, where is he?"

  "No one's told you?" Graham asked. Though he'd been silent until now, he'd regarded Emma with wide, unblinking eyes.

  "What?"

  Nash put his hand on Graham's chest to stop his response. "Might be best if he sees him."

  Graham looked at Nash and nodded. Emma's eyes darted between them, desperate for a sign of what had happened.

  "C'mon," Nash said.

  Emma followed Nash and Graham to the hospital tent. Nausea attacked her. She scanned every bed they passed, took note of every agonized face. They came to where Trumball lay, unattended and asleep. Sweat stained his clothes and beaded his face. Emma had no control over the gasp that escaped her when she noticed the crude, blood-soaked bandages and realized that James Trumball was missing one of his legs.

  ****

  The presence of company roused James, and he did his best to restrain his jubilation at the sight of a disguised Emma Cartwright.

  "Em— Edmonds! You came back."

  "Of course I did." Emma knelt next to the bed. "This war isn't over yet. Looks like you might still need me around." By now, Emma had assisted in dozens of amputations. Beneath her façade, she played the familiar scenario in her head. James, intoxicated with morphine, lay limp as men stood by, ready to assist, and the doctor's saw worked its way through James' flesh and bone. Such memories were branded on Emma's mind, and inwardly she ached, knowing James had endured such a fate without her by his side.

  Trumball looked at his bandaged stump. "Yeah, about that…"

  "We'd best be gittin' back to our duties," Nash said as he slapped Graham on the back.

  "Right." Graham shot Emma a strange look before the two left.

  Emma glanced after them, and when she was certain she and James were relatively alone, she edged closer and touched his shoulder. With the bustling of stewards and nurses, and the sounds of patients in need, Emma knew they could speak without being overheard.

  "James, I'm sorry. I never should've left."

  He looked at her with a drunken enchantment. A thin beard covered his face, which appeared strained and worn. Even so, the intensity in his eyes remained, and it still sent that shudder of excitement through Emma's body.

  "Wasn't sure if I'd see you again," James said.

  "You sure go to extremes for attention."

  "Might not be proper for me to say, but I'd give just about anythin' to be alone with you r
ight now."

  His coy expression made Emma blush deeply. She averted her eyes as a warm sensation washed over her.

  "What happened?" Emma asked.

  "Shell fragment hit me above the knee." He swallowed hard. "This was the only way to get it out."

  Emma felt her eyes water. "I wish I'd been there for you."

  He smiled at her. "What do you think got me through?"

  She sighed, feeling unworthy of his devotion. "I thought about you, too. The whole time. You're the reason I came back. I'm never leaving you again."

  "Good thing, I'd have an awful time chasin' you."

  Emma would've given anything to kiss him at that very moment. But a gloomy thought disturbed her inner bliss. "I suppose they'll be sending you home soon."

  "Now don't go gettin' down on me. After I heal up a bit I could be useful around here. Get me a wheelchair and I can help out the docs." He winked at her. "Nurses, too."

  She wondered how he could think of staying, but any thought of being without him proved too painful. She held his hand to her chest and silently prayed. Thankfulness poured from her heart, and she vowed she would spend the rest of her life loving and caring for James.

  ****

  Emma spent much of the afternoon at James' side after finding Dr. Hillman and officially reporting back for duty. Unlike their former encampment, the current hospital unit had more staff, including two more doctors. Emma's services were no less needed, though, as injuries from the clashes at Williamsburg and Fair Oaks had left the Union with nearly four thousand wounded. Emma assumed McClellan had been unaware of James' injury, due in part to his own illness and the staggering amount of men in need.

  Despite such conditions, Emma felt invigorated. Knowing how James felt about her and being near him renewed her spirit. She even set up a cot and insisted on sleeping beside him, in case he needed anything during the night. Some, including Dr. Hillman, found her devotion extreme. Others, such as Nash and Evans, admired her tirelessness.