“Since President Davis is never going to authorize General Beauregard’s invasion plans while there’s still a chance at diplomacy, it seems likely to me.”
Reggie picked a blade of grass and shredded the fibers. “Eliza writes every week and keeps me updated on the children, but it’s not the same as being there.”
“Three of them, right?”
Reggie nodded. “Elisha’s six, Joanna’s four, and the baby will be a year in November. I want to go home, Jack.”
Jack could see the man’s heart hanging on his uniform like a medal. “You’ll be back with them before you know it.”
“I sure hope so.” Reggie reached into his pocket and pulled out his most recent letter. He didn’t even open it, just rubbed it between his fingers. Most likely he had it memorized.
Jack’s hand reached up to touch his strongest reminder of home, but the fabric of his uniform lay flat against his chest. The journal was gone. On impulse, he’d left it beneath his pillow before he’d departed the Franklin residence that morning. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
Either way, he’d have to return to reclaim his property.
***
Reggie was admitted and diagnosed with measles. Jack was released, but it was five days before the surgeon granted him permission to resume his duties and three more before he obtained a few hours’ leave from his commanding officer. That evening, after rejecting Dawes’s offer to accompany him as bodyguard, he knocked on Amelia Franklin’s door.
Her father answered, Ranger at his side. This time the dog made no fuss. “Mr. Preston, this is a surprise. I trust you have recovered from your mishap?”
“Quite. Thank you.”
“What can I do for you?”
Jack glanced over Mr. Franklin’s shoulder for a glimpse of his daughter, but Amelia was nowhere in sight. “I’m afraid I’ve misplaced something very important to me, and I was wondering if I might have left it here.”
The farmer tugged at his bottom lip. “I haven’t come across anything out of the ordinary, but perhaps Amelia has. What was it you lost?”
“A journal. I last remember having it the night I spent under your roof.”
“I’ll ask her.” He turned to call inside, “Amelia, come here, please!”
She appeared momentarily, wearing a kitchen apron and wiping her hands on a dish towel. “What is it, Papa?” Then she caught sight of Jack and slowed. “Oh. Hello, Mr. Preston.”
“Good evening, Miss Franklin.”
“Mr. Preston has come looking for a journal. Did you happen to find one?”
Jack already knew the answer. Amelia’s mannerisms had changed completely from his last visit. Instead of the assertive, defiant posture he remembered, she peeked up at him guiltily, her cheeks blooming with pink. She had found it, and she had read it.
“I did find a book in the room you occupied,” she murmured. “Let me fetch it.”
“Thank you.”
She withdrew hastily and Jack waited on the porch with her father.
“Cool weather we’ve been having,” Mr. Franklin observed. “I reckon you’ll be wishing for four walls before long.”
“Yes, sir. It’s been chilly at night.” Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That was some rain squall yesterday, wasn’t it?”
Mr. Franklin grunted, tugging again at his lip.
Amelia joined them on the porch. “I believe this may be what you’re looking for.” Shyly, she held out the leather-bound book.
His face lit in a smile. “It is, indeed. Thank you, Miss Franklin.”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“We were just about to sit down for a bite of dinner,” Mr. Franklin stated. “You’ll stay to join us, won’t you, Mr. Preston? Amelia cooked up a chicken pot pie, and it’s always more than two can eat.”
Jack’s mouth watered at the thought. “Thank you, sir. I’d be honored.”
Mr. Franklin ushered Jack to a seat at the table while Amelia brought another place setting. The rich aroma permeating the kitchen set Jack’s jaw to aching. “It smells wonderful, miss.”
Amelia smiled shortly as she joined them.
Mr. Franklin said grace and Amelia cut the pie, dishing up large slices. Jack took his first bite and closed his eyes in ecstasy, pausing just to roll the flavor over his tongue. He couldn’t stop a tiny moan of appreciation. “Miss Franklin, I don’t know if I’ve ever tasted anything so good,” he confessed after he swallowed.
“It’s just pot pie, Mr. Preston,” she answered.
“After the diet I’ve been subjected to, this is food for kings.” He took another huge bite.
Mr. Franklin carried the conversation, leading with observations about the recent growing season and displaying a substantial knowledge of the events in both Richmond and Washington. He was formally polite and far more moderate in explaining his views than his daughter had been. It was a pleasant exchange, though Jack was distracted by Amelia’s nearness and cast plenty of covert glances in her direction.
She said little, keeping her gaze on her plate and picking at her food. Jack managed to eat enough for both of them. When she cleared the empty pie dish and set an apple cobbler in its place, he faltered in the middle of a sentence, eyes riveting on the dessert with undisguised eagerness.
Mr. Franklin chuckled. “I hope you left room for dessert, Mr. Preston.”
Jack grinned. “I believe I can squeeze some into an arm or a leg, sir.”
He managed to eat half the pan.
Afterward, Mr. Franklin excused himself and carried a cup of coffee to the front porch. “It’s a habit I have of watching the sun set over my west pasture,” he explained before he left.
Jack was far more interested in the view from the kitchen.
Amelia set a cup of coffee before him and sat across from him with one of her own. She traced the lip of her cup with one finger. “I see your forehead has healed.”
He shrugged. “My sister always tells me I’m hardheaded.”
She smiled slightly and looked up to meet his eyes. “Mr. Preston, I’m afraid I have a whole litany of apologies to make to you.”
“After that meal, I promise all is forgiven.”
She dropped her gaze again and stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “I completely misjudged you.”
“You read the journal.”
She nodded, still running the spoon through the brown liquid.
“Then you’ll know I’ve often been mistaken for something I am not.”
She set the spoon aside and took a sip of her drink, studying him over the rim. “So tell me, how does one go from being an oblivious boy of eleven to a man who moves runaway slaves right under the noses of his father and the local authorities?”
“Gradually. And with the guidance of some wise and influential mentors.”
“Your Uncle Isaac and a slave named Zeke,” she stated. She set the cup down. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have read it, but I found myself completely intrigued.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d guard my secret.”
“Yes, of course.” She paused. Her eyes held admiration before they dropped to her cup again. “When I think how I berated you last week I could just crawl under the table.”
“You couldn’t have known. I’ve made it my life’s work to deflect suspicion. I’ve socialized with and molded myself into the likeness of the roughest, meanest, drunkest skunks in Charleston County—including plenty of bounty hunters. I’ve gathered a wealth of useful information and saved countless lives. But it’s taken a toll.” He smiled. “It actually feels good to drop the mask. I’ve never been able to share this with anyone except the slaves, and since leaving home, only Jeremiah.”
“Your brother of mixed race,” she said. “You brought him to Virginia with you?”
“He’s posing as my servant.”
“So you can be together?”
“So I can set him free.” Jack tapped a finger against the side of his cu
p. “I plan to send him across the Pennsylvania line when the opportunity arises. If the army never takes us that far north, then I will bring him there myself when my enlistment ends. I won’t see my brother return to slavery.”
“I’ll help you if I can,” she offered quietly. “I’ve vocalized my opposition often enough, but I see now I’ve done very little.”
Jack was quick to realize such an alliance implied further meetings, further conversations. “I’d like that.”
He floated a foot above his horse’s back as it galloped into camp at the end of the night. He hadn’t told any of his messmates of his attraction for Amelia or confessed that he had left the journal on purpose. He rather liked the idea of keeping her a secret. At least he’d avoid further ribbing. But tonight, he was sure his smile would give him away.
He needn’t have worried. Jovie met him at the door of the tent when he arrived.
“Jack, Reggie’s dead.”
4
The warm hues of autumn turned cold and bleak, and rain poured down until there was no color left in the world. The army moved into winter quarters south of Bull Run Creek, very near to the site of the skirmish at Blackburn’s Ford. There, the men built four-foot log walls packed well with mud and stretched the tent canvas over the top for a roof. The shelters stayed snug when a fire blazed, but the flame had to be tended continually.
Jack shared his cabin with Jovie and Dawes and two others who had lost companions at Flint Hill. Jeremiah was allowed to join them, both out of respect for Jack and because of the benefits of Jeremiah’s service. It was a suitable arrangement, but Jack missed Reggie’s steady friendship. As sergeant, it had fallen to him to write the letter to his wife. Composing it proved an agony, and sending it off, knowing his words would destroy four lives, made him absolutely miserable.
But camp in Centreville did hold several pleasures. The first was Amelia, and the second a reduction in drills; together, they worked out quite nicely. Jack made the trip to the Franklin farm every chance he could sneak away. He always figured some excuse to explain away his absence to his messmates, but there was one man he had not fooled.
“Is she a good cook, Mr. Preston?” Captain Webb had asked the last time he signed a three-hour leave.
“Sir?”
“I asked you if Miss Franklin is a good cook.”
“Er…yes, sir.” The officer was more clever than Jack had realized.
“And pretty?” Webb cocked an eyebrow at him.
Jack’s lip twitched. “As a newborn foal, sir.”
He didn’t see Amelia nearly as often as he would like, but the evenings of quiet companionship sustained him through the long weeks of separation. They discussed everything from literature and politics to philosophy and religion, and with each contact, Jack became more and more convinced that there was indeed one woman in the South with whom he might merge his life.
Food was the final benefit of quartering near Centreville. Local farmers had quickly recognized the financial opportunities a bivouac of several thousand soldiers provided. Rather than waiting for their wares to be requisitioned, they brought them to the camp—at enormous profits. Most of the men were only too glad to take advantage of the arrangement.
Jack’s entire mess, along with Jeremiah, decided to pitch in and purchase a goose for Christmas dinner. Jeremiah willingly took charge of roasting it. As the delicious aroma permeated the cabin, the men relaxed with tattered decks of cards, homemade checkerboards, and correspondence home. Jack perched next to Jovie on the rough-hewn bench set before the fireplace. “You’ve been quiet since you got back.”
Jovie had secured two weeks’ furlough early in December and arrived back in camp only three days before. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“We received word of the Charleston fire several days ago, but the details were sketchy. What happened?”
Jovie shrugged. “No one knows how it started. But the wind was so strong that night we couldn’t put it out. It swept all the way across the city, from one river to the other. Circular Church, St. Andrew’s, Institute Hall, the theater, the orphanage, St. John’s and St. Finbar’s…all gone. Your parents’ and your Aunt Margaret’s houses survived, but you wouldn’t believe the devastation.”
“You were there?”
Jovie nodded. “I accompanied your sister to Margaret’s that morning. Emily and your father had a row, and he kicked her off the plantation.”
Jack whistled low and cast a glance at Jeremiah, who listened from his place beside the goose. “What’d they argue about?”
“I suppose the cat’s out of the bag.” He shifted on the seat. “Emily was taking a correspondence class behind your father’s back, and he intercepted one of her letters. I wasn’t there for the confrontation, but she said it was spectacular.”
Jack frowned. “That seems a rather innocuous provocation.”
“She only took the class because your father forbade her from attending art school.”
“You mean leave the plantation and go away to school like a man?” Jack chuckled. “That’s different. I can’t believe she even had the courage to ask.”
“Your sister’s quite determined.”
Jack eyed Jovie curiously. “You sound like you approve.”
“Have you ever seen Emily’s work? She’s very good. I think she should be encouraged to pursue it.” He paused. “In fact, during my visit I took her to Baltimore to check out the school.”
“Just you and Emily?”
“Yes.”
Jack studied his friend with a blend of shock and suspicion.
Jovie frowned. “Jack, you know me better than that. We just toured the school and found her a boardinghouse. If she can earn the tuition, I think she’s really going to do it.”
Jack blew out a breath and turned toward the fireplace to muse . He wasn’t sure what to think of his sister’s new ideas, but he was very curious about her evolving personality. Apparently, she had far more steel in her spine than he had assumed.
“I’m afraid I may have pushed Emily right into Thad’s camp while we were in Baltimore,” Jovie confessed. “She hardly spoke to me the entire way home.”
“After you went out of your way for her like that? She ought to marry you. What happened?”
Jovie shrugged miserably and turned his face to the flames. “I kissed her.”
***
“Jack!” Marie Preston sprang up and clutched the edge of the piano to support herself as he strode into her music room. “Jack, you’re home!”
With little to occupy the army during winter, furloughs were given out freely. Jack’s turn arrived only three weeks after Jovie’s. He tossed down his knapsack and rushed to embrace his mother. “I’m sorry I didn’t send any warning. I wanted to surprise you.”
Marie laughed. “I’m surprised! Oh, Jack, I’ve been so worried for you.”
“You can see I’m all in one piece.”
She touched his cheek, and he could read all the things she wanted to say in the wrinkles that broke out across her forehead. But she smoothed them with another smile. “I wish your father had known you were coming so he could be here. But then he can seldom break away from his duties. I’m afraid it’s just you and me.”
“That’s more than agreeable. How is father?”
She sighed. “You heard about his falling-out with your sister?”
“Jovie told me.”
She nodded. “He wants me to come to Columbia with him.”
“And why not? Aunt Margaret will look out for Emily.”
“Did you see either of them on your way here?”
“I didn’t leave the station in Charleston. I got off one train and onto the next.”
“Then you haven’t seen the destruction. I hear the homeless number in the thousands.”
“None of that,” Jack admonished. “For the next few days, you and I are going to pretend there is no war, all right?”
“Agreed.” Marie relaxed and the smile returned to her fa
ce. “You go rest up. I’m going to speak with Josephine about a special supper this evening.”
“You have no idea how much I’m anticipating it.” He kissed his mother’s cheek before she departed.
Jack didn’t rest up. After tossing his knapsack into his room, he went to the stable where one of the grooms greeted him cheerfully. “Hello, Mister Jack! Sho’ be good to see you. When’d you get back?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
“Jolly be out in de pasture. Want me to fetch him fo’ you?”
“Yes. Thank you, Abel.”
The young man grabbed a halter from a peg on the wall. “He been missin’ you, fo’ sure.”
Jack would have liked to have Jolly in camp with him, but he’d seen what the army did to horses. The road to Centreville was littered with their carcasses, half-decayed and sucked into the knee-deep mud. He’d leave Jolly safely ensconced at Ella Wood.
Abel led the gelding into the stable and had him saddled within minutes. “You make sure you speak wid Zeke before you leave,” Abel told him. “He got big news ’bout yo’ sister.”
“I already heard.”
“Not dat news,” Abel added significantly.
Jack found himself fixating on the mysterious comment during his ride and throughout the rest of the afternoon. What could it mean? Had Emily gone off to school? Or had she gotten herself into some kind of predicament? Maybe word got out about her trip with Jovie.
During dinner, as he listened to his mother prattle on about this slave or that neighbor, he found himself watching Zeke, who still served as butler despite his emancipation and old age. But the dignified black man gave not the slightest hint that he even knew Jack beyond the formal relationship of servant and master.
It was quite late before Marie retired and Jack could approach Zeke with any discretion.
He found him sitting outside his cabin smoking an old corncob pipe. Jack settled on the porch step next to him. “Abel sent me. What’s my sister been up to besides getting herself kicked out of the house? Is she in trouble?”
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