Ella Wood Novellas: Boxed Set

by Michelle Isenhoff

  His comrades leaped to their feet and obeyed, stiffly at attention. Jack repeated their instructions. “Are you ready, men? We’re going in. Forward march!”

  Jack led them across a small creek and over a triangle of open ground that ran along the Hagerstown Turnpike. Directly ahead, the church gleamed white as it caught the morning sun through a haze of gun smoke. As they approached, several injured from Hood’s division trickled past, making their way painfully to the rear. Jack hailed them. “What’s the setup?”

  One of the men, holding a bloodied rag to his forehead, turned to answer. “It’s hot out there. You’re facing the Second, Sixth, and Seventh Corps. That cornfield north of the church must have changed hands fifteen times this morning. Good luck.” He saluted and stumbled away, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

  “Take up position along the turnpike, men,” Jack called. “You can see Barksdale’s men just to the north of the church. We’ll hold tight to their right flank.”

  The carnage of the morning spread out before them, but they had only moments to take it in before a barrage of artillery fire began dropping on them. They were easy targets in the open field. “We can’t stay here, Captain!” Dawes yelled, ducking as another shell exploded, dropping two men at the rear of their ranks.

  “We won’t be here long.”

  At that same moment, three lines of blue-clad troops entered the field. Colonel Gaillard rode down the line on a bay stallion. “That’s our target. Drive them back, Captain Preston!”

  Jack spun and repeated the command. “To the fence, men! Pour lead into them!”

  The company surged forward to the split rail fence lining the turnpike. It was scanty cover, but the only cover they had. The men began to load and shoot, sending a blistering fire into the Union troops. To their left, Barksdale’s regiment was doing the same. The Union brigades dropped like saplings under a lumberman’s ax, the dead piling on top of the dead. Artillery shells continued to drop on Jack and his men, but the damage was minimal compared to Union casualties.

  Gaillard came again and turned their attention to the right. “To the right! There, Green’s division. We’re to sweep them from the rise.”

  Jack turned to follow his outstretched arm. Across the road, on a low rise, another mass of blue was clearly visible. “You heard him, men. We’re going across,” Jack yelled. “Over the fence and hold!” The men moved as one. He gave them a moment and ordered, “Affix bayonets.” Another pause. Jack waited for the signal from Gaillard.

  “Charge!”

  Sword drawn, Jack led his men in the attack. The 2nd South Carolina surged forward with the rest of their regiment in a glorious wave of valor. Jack turned around, shouting encouragement, his heart swelling with affection. To the man, they followed in a mass of determination—eyes forward, faces resolute, bayonets gleaming. “Let’s go, men!” he sang out. The fever of battle kindled strong within him.

  The few Yankees on top of the rise drew back. The regiment gave chase, moving swiftly after them. They crowned the rise. Suddenly, Jack was facing the massed muzzles of two full regiments. The grass turned blue where Union soldiers waited, hunched low behind the lip of the hill, their support artillery behind them.

  “Fire!” The call rang out from the Union lines.

  The air was ripped apart by the explosion of a thousand guns. Canister shot and minie balls tore through the Confederate ranks, shredding them like ribbons. Jack watched in horror as his comrades fell two, three, four at a time. He saw Dawes go down. Then Tyler. Up and down the line, gray-clad men littered the knoll like castoff dolls.

  “Fall back!” he screamed.

  Those who remained beat a hasty retreat. Jack took up the rear, urging them on. Then pain shot through his left leg. He screamed and fell heavily to the ground. There he writhed, his face twisting in agony as he clutched his injured leg.

  Then Jovie was above him. He’d come back in the face of withering fire.

  “Go!” Jack gasped. “Leave me here.”

  “Not a chance, Jack. We’re getting you out of here.”

  With bullets humming around them like swarming bees, Jovie lifted Jack under the arms and two others each took a leg. Jack locked his anguish behind clenched teeth as his men carried him from the field. It wasn’t until they approached the safety of the church that he dropped into merciful unconsciousness.

  7

  Jack lay six hours in a crowded field hospital before a hasty amputation severed him from his leg. The next week passed in a haze of pain and fever. When he finally came to, he found Jovie sitting beside him, his eyes red-rimmed and lined with dark circles.

  “Where are we?” he whispered. His leg ached dully.

  Jovie quickly put a glass of water to Jack’s lips and helped him drink. “A little town called Winchester. You slept the entire ride back across the Potomac.”

  “We’re in Virginia?” Jack struggled upright. “Where’s Jeremiah? Did he come back with us?”

  “Easy, Jack.” Jovie pushed him back to the cot. “You’re in no condition to sit up. Of course Jeremiah came. He’s right here.”

  Jeremiah’s face entered his field of vision, working valiantly to mask his concern.

  Jack collapsed. “Oh no, Jeremiah. You should have gone on. You could have been in Pennsylvania by now.” He wagged his head against the pillow. “You should have gone.”

  “I told you, Jack. I’m not leaving you.”

  Jovie watched the exchange with a flicker of understanding. “It was a stalemate,” was all he said.

  Jack turned his attention. “Antietam?”

  “Estimates put the casualties at over twenty thousand,” Jovie said bitterly.

  Jack swallowed hard, remembering the sight of his men cut down on the field. “Dawes…Tyler…are they…?”

  Jovie shook his head. “Dawes is gone. Tyler’s holding on. He’s expected to recover.”

  Tears filled Jack’s eyes. It never got easier. Never.

  Pain shot through his leg. He gritted his teeth until it passed.

  “Do you need more morphine?” Jovie asked. “They’ve been keeping you pretty well sedated. I can go get the nurse.”

  Jack shook his head. “What’s my prognosis?”

  Jovie hesitated, exchanging a look with Jeremiah. “Jack, gangrene set in a few days after the operation.”

  Jack wilted into the cot. It was as good as a death sentence. He swallowed. “Where’s my sister?”

  “Emily?” Jovie asked in confusion. “She’s at school in Baltimore.”

  Jack turned to Jeremiah. “Fetch her.”

  “Jack, she’s a hundred miles away,” Jovie protested.

  Jack clutched his brother’s hand, looking pleadingly into his eyes. “She needs to know, Jeremiah. Will you fetch her? Please?”

  Jeremiah nodded.

  ***

  The pain steadily increased, spreading up his leg and over his torso, green-black streaks of poison that would soon claim his life. Jack held on, waiting for his sister’s arrival, but he bore the anguish of knowing that his and Amy’s love was not to find its fulfillment in this lifetime. He made his peace with her in a long, soul-shattering farewell.

  My beloved Amy,

  It is with the certainty of my own death that I write to you. Know that I face it bravely, without tremor or shrinking, having taken a wound at Sharpsburg that has turned septic. My soul is at rest, but it is with the deepest sorrow that I must bid you goodbye.

  I take with me to the grave one single, lingering regret—that our time here together was so short. What would I exchange to have one more glimpse of your face? To feel your skin smooth beneath my hand or wind your hair around my fingers? Our meetings have been so few. Would that I could go back ten years and gain an introduction sooner so I’d now have that many more memories of you to draw from. But even these few give me sweet comfort.

  Please do not mourn my passing. I have offered my life to a Cause I deemed just. What man of principle would now s
natch it back? Instead, give yourself over to life. I release you to it. Find love. Find joy. Marry. Have children. It would have been my greatest desire to walk this road beside you, snatching up with abandon every pleasure life has to offer. I now know that is not to be, and I count the weight of those unrealized years a burden nearly unbearable. But it will ease my passing to know that life in full still awaits you.

  I wouldn’t change one single moment with you, my dear Amy, from that silly concussion to those stolen moments where every nerve seemed set in place simply to show me how beautiful, how priceless a thing is love. Even in its brevity, ours has a power that death cannot break. For when you feel the kiss of a breeze on a windless day, when you hear the flutter of angel’s wings in a quiet room, it is only me, impatiently awaiting our reunion.

  You are so precious to me. Live, my darling. And know that my affection for you is boundless. Timeless. Eternal.

  I will be ever with you,

  Jack

  That loss of his future with Amy pared him down to a keen, aching regret. Yet there were things he still needed to accomplish. Lifelong dreams that needed to be passed to another.

  Jack felt the touch of a hand on his brow. His eyes flickered open to his sister’s expression of pity and immeasurable sadness. “Emily?” he murmured.

  “I’m here.”

  He shifted slightly and his body seized with pain.

  “Shall I fetch the doctor?” Jovie asked.

  Jack gasped. “I’ll be all right.” He lay for a long moment trembling on his cot before the spasms subsided and his breathing grew even. “May I have some water?”

  Emily found a pitcher and filled a tin cup while Jovie eased Jack upright. He took five or six gulps before the pain seized him again.

  “Are you sure you don’t want more laudanum?” Jovie asked, laying him prone again. “I can fetch a nurse.”

  “No.” Jack’s knuckles whitened around his blanket. “I need to speak with my sister. Alone please.”

  Jovie acquiesced with a tender touch and a word of reassurance for Emily. Jack watched the exchange of emotion with satisfaction. It was obvious how much they cared for one another. Once he told Emily the truth about Thad, he was certain they would find their way to each other. The thought eased some of the loss he felt at missing it. But first things first.

  Pain rippled across his torso. He closed his eyes and shuddered. “Emily,” he whispered.

  She sank to her knees and gripped his hand in hers. “I’m right here, Jack.”

  He breathed in sharply and let it out in an easy sigh. “You must think I’m the most horrible person in the world.”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “The insults, the drunkenness, the gambling... I’ve been downright hateful.”

  She bit her lip, close to tears. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It matters far more than you know.” He opened his eyes and sought her gaze. “It’s all been an act. For years, it’s been nothing but a horrible act. A part I had to play.”

  She squinted, trying to discern his meaning. “What are you saying?”

  “Jeremiah brought you here, correct?”

  She nodded.

  “Did he tell you anything?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. He met every question I asked with, ‘Jack needs to answer that.’”

  Jack chuckled then grimaced. “Have you figured out why he’s here?”

  “You must have repurchased him. But why? Why sell him in the first place if you meant to buy him back?”

  “I didn’t sell Jeremiah, Emily. I set him free.”

  “But you…” She paused, and he watch understanding dawn on his sister’s face. It prompted the most wonderful feeling of release. “Right under Father’s nose?”

  “Right under Father’s nose. And he’s not the first Negro I’ve helped to freedom.”

  Emily simply stared as he went on to describe his own evolution of the past eight years, her eyes growing wider and wider. He wanted to laugh at the expression of wonder on her face, but the long recital left him at the end of his strength.

  Emily gripped his hand when he finished, and Jack could see regret deep in her eyes. “Forgive me, Jack. All this time I thought the only allegiance you held was to yourself.”

  There was nothing to forgive her for, but he saved his breath. He wasn’t finished.

  She tenderly swabbed his face. “You should rest now. I can get the nurse.”

  “There’s more,” he ground out. “I—” His back arched in a sudden spasm of agony. Every nerve screamed in fury at the disease eating away at his organs. He strained against the pain, his hands locked in fists, the pressure in his face building. He couldn’t stop the groan that ripped from his chest.

  She jumped up in alarm. “Nurse!”

  Jack grabbed her skirt, stopping her with the strength of desperation. “Emily.” His voice was faint, his breathing shallow and rapid, but he refused to let go. Emily stayed with him, but she frantically waved the nurse over.

  “Emily!” he said, putting more effort into the words. “You need to know—”

  The nurse arrived and measured a dose of opiate into his tin cup. With practiced ease, she tipped his head back and poured it into his mouth. “He’ll ease up in a few minutes,” she assured Emily. “Next time, catch someone’s attention before he gets this bad.”

  The tears flowed down Emily’s cheeks as she sank to her knees beside him. He could see the terror in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry,” she told him, sponging his brow again.

  He watched her intently, struggling to breathe. He could not push his words past the waves of pain contracting his muscles.

  Gradually, the spasms subsided. His body relaxed into the familiar grip of the opiate, but before he succumbed to the drug, he struggled again to speak. She had to lower her head to catch his whisper. “Jeremiah…”

  He licked his lips. His vision blurred as he lost control of the muscles in his eyes.

  “Do you want me to get Jeremiah?” she prompted.

  He blinked, struggling to keep her face in focus, but the drug pulled too strongly. She drifted away from him. He let her go for now, but his spirit clung tightly to life. He would regather his strength and try again. There was still too much left unsaid. With a soft sigh, he let his body ease into the gentle grip of sleep.

  ***

  When he awoke the hospital was dark, lit only by a single kerosene lamp. He immediately remembered Emily. A quick glance revealed her sleeping on the floor beside his bed. He reached down to touch her hair.

  She awoke and rose to her knees. “Are you all right?” she whispered. “Do you need medication?”

  “The pain is bearable. I’d rather have a clear head.”

  Emily touched his cheek with the back of three fingers. “Jack, I feel terrible for thinking so poorly of you all these years.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You were far ahead of me. I’ve only recently come to see what our family, what our lifestyle, has caused.”

  “The important thing is that you see it.”

  He spoke at length of his reasons for joining the army and his hopes of changing the South. Then he stated his plans to free Ella Wood’s slaves. It was the moment he had held on so long for, this passing of the torch.

  “I’ve been planning out the details for years. But you’ll be the one who has to implement them,” he told her. He watched her face fill with doubt and trepidation, but he had full confidence in her. She had strength. She had Zeke. She was ready. “It could be years from now. But you must. Uncle Isaac will help you. Promise me you will.”

  Her fist clenched around his blanket. He covered it with a trembling hand. “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” she whispered.

  He relaxed. So much weight dropped from his shoulders. At long, long last, he and Emily were allies. Teammates. Friends.

  She shifted uncomfortably. “Jack, before you fell asleep this af
ternoon, you tried to tell me something about Jeremiah.”

  “Has he been here?”

  “He came when you were sleeping. The nurses wouldn’t let him stay.”

  He didn’t know if she was ready to hear the truth or not, but he had so little time. It must be said. “He’s our brother, Emily. Our father’s son.”

  Emily drew back as if she’d been slapped. A range of emotions crossed her features, from surprise to comprehension to outright disgust. “He was unfaithful to Mother?”

  “In his eyes, no.”

  “Who is Jeremiah’s mother?”

  He could hear the anger in her whisper. He’d had the benefit of growing up with the truth. She would need time to acclimate to all its implications. “A house slave by the name of Hannah. I barely remember her.”

  “Did Father love her?”

  “Not as he loves Mother. She died years ago, when you were very young.”

  “Why did he do it?”

  “I’ve never asked him, but Jeremiah was born three years before me—and only one year after cholera ripped through Ella Wood.” The disease had killed their four older siblings and nearly killed their mother. “Father never talks about it, but Deena told me he was a different person then. Brokenhearted. Guilty for not being at home when it happened. And lonely. Mother, even after she recovered, hardly left her room for a year. So he found comfort in the arms of another woman.”

  Emily’s anger was apparent in the stubborn set of her jaw. “It still doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

  “It’s in the past. And it’s not Jeremiah’s fault. You must do right by him, Emily.” He let his earnestness color his words. She must come to accept Jeremiah. They would need each other in the days to come.

  “Are there other siblings?”

  “No. When Mother found out, she put Hannah from the house.”

  Emily was still digesting this, her lip curled downward in disgust, when he touched her hand. “Emily, there is something else. Perhaps the most important of all. It’s about Thad.”

  She pulled away. “What about Thad?” she asked defensively. She stopped him with an upraised hand. “Wait. I don’t want to hear this. Not now. It’s all been too much.”