Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  Blood Moon

  Ella Wood, book two

  by Michelle Isenhoff

  Blood Moon. Copyright © 2016 by Michelle Isenhoff. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Edited by Amy Nemecek.

  Candle Star Press

  www.michelleisenhoff.com

  Table of Contents

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

  11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

  19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

  26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

  Historical Notes

  Ella Wood novellas

  Divided Decade Collection

  Got Kids?

  For pictorial representations of the many historical characters and places mentioned in Blood Moon, visit my Pinterest page.

  …give unto them beauty for ashes...

  —Isaiah 61:3

  1

  Charleston, South Carolina

  December 11, 1861

  Brilliant orange sparks streaked across the night sky, snatched by the furious wind and flung onto rooftops to spring up as new geysers of flame. Building by building the fire magnified, towering over the cringing city, devouring the waterfront. Emily raced toward the inferno, compelled by visions of those she loved.

  She slowed as she came even with the SS Hornbill. The steamship rested quietly at the end of the wharf awaiting the changing of the tide. Not twenty minutes ago Emily had put Lizzie and Ketch and the children aboard, granting them a desperate chance at freedom. With immeasurable relief, she saw that they were still safe, beyond reach of the fire.

  Thad and Jovie, however, lived in the path of the flames.

  With a last mental farewell to her maid, Emily sprinted on, dodging residents who fled in the opposite direction. She passed the Custom House and reached the long, low market sheds a block from the blaze. She hadn’t known fire could grow so deafening. On the grate at home it barely whispered, but this monstrous wall of flame shrieked and rumbled and snarled like a demon unleashed from hell, whipped to a frenzy by the gale blowing in off the Atlantic.

  She could make out the shapes of individuals who had turned out to fight the flames. The volunteer fire companies were depleted, most of their crews away with the military, but two teams of Negros had already arrived, muscling city ward engines into position. At low tide, however, the intake hoses could not reach the water. Old men with nightshirts stuffed into trousers, refugees from the raids on the Sea Islands, crews from nearby ships, boys, even women with flapping skirts passed buckets hand to hand to fill the tanks while slaves rotated at the pumps. Their efforts were valiant and desperate, but mankind was powerless against the hand of nature.

  Emily paused to catch her breath and watched a dog disappear down the street to safety. The smoke tasted harsh and acrid. Even from half a block away, the heat scorched her skin. Wind poured into the flames like kerosene, goading them to greater destruction. As she rested, one of the buildings near the waterfront collapsed in on itself, sending an explosion of sparks into the air—a million tiny seeds that would spread fire deeper into the city.

  A rider burst over the cobbles. “Please!” Emily screamed. “How far have the flames spread?”

  “Go home, miss,” he yelled back. “This is a dangerous area. The fire’s path is unpredictable.”

  She lunged for the horse’s bridle and dragged it to a stop. “Please, I have friends who live nearby. How far has it reached?”

  He scowled down at her. “It’s crossed East Bay and is spreading north to Wentworth and south to Prichard. Now let me pass.”

  She released the animal and the man kicked it back into motion. The clatter of hooves was swallowed by the hot, angry snarl of the fire.

  Wentworth? Thad and Jovie lived on Wentworth! Perhaps she still had time to warn them.

  With a new surge of adrenaline, she turned onto Market, flanking the flames. The street was a confusion of panicked residents escaping with their most precious possessions. She weaseled between an overloaded handcart and a carriage stuffed with paintings, dishes, linens, and children, but her clothing encumbered her efforts. Dodging into the shelter of a courtyard, she reached under her skirt and yanked off her wire hoops, leaving the crinoline where it fell.

  A few blocks farther, traffic dispersed as evacuees veered toward safer parts of the peninsula. The outlying streets, however, attracted gawkers and nervous residents who gauged the fire, judging when and if they needed to flee. Their features contorted in the light from the distant flames. Emily dodged between them, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Angling behind the fire corridor, she intercepted smoke that funneled between buildings in thin wisps, torn apart by the violent gusts. A block farther, it thickened into opaque clouds that rolled over the city and drove more refugees before it. Wentworth lay on the other side. Avoiding the fumes meant traveling well out of her way. She could not spare the time. Raising the hem of her skirt to cover her nose, she plunged in.

  Coughing, gagging, hardly able to see through the darkness and her own streaming eyes, Emily bent low and stumbled onward, nearly colliding with a frenzied horse. The swirling veil would lift to allow clearer vision only to fold in again seconds later and choke off her breath. Twice, she careened into equally blinded individuals, and at one point, she collapsed onto the cobblestones and sucked in deep drafts of clean air until her lungs recovered enough to continue. Her body drooped with exhaustion as she turned onto Meeting Street. Only two more blocks; she must keep moving.

  By the time she staggered onto Wentworth, the worst lay behind her. She pressed on, bucking the wind and remembering when she could run for hours across the plantation and never grow weary. But those days were gone. She was no longer welcome at Ella Wood. Her decision to pursue an education had angered her father so greatly that he had sent her away. If he ever found out she had helped Ketch and Lizzie escape…

  She couldn’t think of that now. Her destination was in sight. With a renewed burst of energy, she jogged past another crowd of spectators, burst onto the piazza, and rapped on the boardinghouse door.

  A harried-looking woman answered. “Yes?” Her arms were loaded with books, blankets, and dishes that she seemed impatient to deliver. “What do you want?”

  “I—I just wanted to warn you about the fire.”

  “I’ve seen it,” she snapped. Then she added more kindly, “Thank you.”

  “Are Thaddeus Black and Jovie Cutler here?” Emily asked hopefully.

  “They both lit out at the first warning.”

  The woman shut the door and Emily sagged against the frame in relief. Of course news would reach the house ahead of her. Hadn’t the warning preceded her up every street? Could anyone in the city not know about the conflagration eating its way inland?

  Released from one worry, her thoughts snapped back to Lizzie. Were she and the children safe? Had the fire kept its distance? What if they needed to evacuate the ship?

  Reprieve morphed into reproach. She should have stayed to watch the steamer. If anyone learned that Lizzie wasn’t a white passenger beneath her gloves and veil and fancy gown but a runaway slave, the escape could turn deadly.

  Succumbing to weariness, Emily sank onto the piazza’s top step and slung her head over her knees. Lizzie was half a mile away, the wharf was well out in the water, and her body needed a rest. She had given Lizzie over to Ketch; now she needed to trust his judgment. She had to let it go.

  She enveloped her head in her arms and rocked from side to side. Had she left Ella Wood only that morning, engaging Jovie in lighthearted conversation w
hile hiding Robin in her trunk? Even if Lizzie made it to safety, Emily must somehow explain the young woman’s absence. And without a home to return to, she still needed to figure out where to stay and how to provide for herself. With her defenses so low, the challenges threatened to overwhelm her.

  A pinprick of pain bit the back of her hand and jerked her head upright. The smoke was thickening, the sky raining ashes. Ashes and live sparks. She rubbed at the burn as the roar of flames amplified in her ears. While she’d been moping, the inferno had crept closer. A row of black buildings still separated her from the main battle line, but the fire had sent a thousand glowing skirmishers in her direction.

  Another ember smoldered on the step below her feet. Emily extended a leg and ground it into dust. Slowly, she became aware of the activity around her. Spectators were now participants, on roofs, on ladders, actively beating at cinders with towels and wet sacking. She jumped to her feet, unsure what to do.

  Just then, a shadow pounded up the boardinghouse steps, colliding with her in the dark. “I’m sorry, miss,” he said, steadying her. “I didn’t see—” His grip tightened as he peered into her face. “Emily? What are you doing here?”

  “Thad!” She threw herself into his arms. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “I just spent the last half hour assuring myself that the fire wouldn’t spread in your direction, and here I find you in its path.” He squeezed her close.

  “Was Jovie with you?”

  “He kept going, to check on you and your aunt. I decided to come back and do what I could to help Mrs. Bentley save the place.”

  A frantic voice called to them from the street. “The corner of your roof’s aflame!”

  “And just in time, it seems.” He sprinted up the stairs to the piazza’s second level. Emily backed toward the street and watched him step onto the railing and hoist himself up to the flat roof with easy grace. Then he yanked off his shirt and used it to beat at the flames.

  When the patch of fire was out, he paced the roof, grinding out embers wherever they fell. Emily followed his movements with unabashed admiration as the fire cast an orange sheen across the muscles of his shoulders and torso.

  “Emily, tell Mrs. Bentley to bring a bucket and all the blankets she can find!” Thad called down to her. “And then get out of here. Go home!”

  With reluctance, she ripped her gaze away and pounded once more on the door of the boardinghouse.

  “What do you want now?” Mrs. Bentley asked with undisguised irritation.

  “The roof is catching fire. Thad said to bring blankets and water.”

  The woman’s face changed instantly. She disappeared and returned seconds later with an empty bucket and some towels. “There’s a well out back. I’ll strip the beds.”

  There was no way Emily was going home. With one lingering glance up at Thad, she darted around the corner of the house and into the backyard.

  She found the hand pump easily enough and worked it with a rhythmic groan—click—groan—click. The smoke had thickened, blasting through the backyard and swirling in the lee side of the stable. Emily’s eyes streamed, and she breathed intermittently, but by the time Mrs. Bentley arrived with an armload of coverlets, she had the bucket nearly full.

  “Dunk them and run them up to Mr. Black,” the landlady commanded. “I’ll be back with more.”

  Emily threw the first blanket into the bucket, shoving every bit of cloth beneath the water. Rivulets ran down her arms as she carried the streaming bundle up the steps and called to Thad.

  His head and shoulders appeared over the edge of the roof. “What are you still doing here? Go home before the fire cuts off your escape.”

  A thick ribbon of smoke rolled over her as if to emphasize his point. She waited until her fit of coughing subsided then lifted her chin defiantly. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

  “And what if you get hurt?”

  “What if you get hurt? Just tell me how to lift this up to you, because I’m not leaving.”

  With a glower of frustration, he nodded toward the far end of the piazza. “There’s a bench over there.”

  She dragged it to the railing and handed up the blanket. While he spread it across the roof, she raced to douse another one. Half the water in the bucket had been absorbed, so she maneuvered the pump handle and filled it anew. Pump, soak, climb, lift. After only three rounds, her body began to protest.

  Mrs. Bentley arrived with another load and shoved Emily aside. Throwing her considerable weight into the task, she worked the lever with strong, even movements. Emily carried blanket after blanket. Her dress soaked through, and its weight dragged against her strength, but it protected her from the scorching blasts of wind.

  They had covered half the roof when Thad yelled, “Emily, the stable!”

  She whirled to find flames licking at the roof. Grabbing a towel, she dunked it and sprinted toward the building, scanning for some means to scale it. There wasn’t a ladder in sight. A high fence wrapped around the back corner of the building, but she didn’t think she could manage it. Then she spotted an elm that draped a limb over the roof. Trees she could climb.

  Twisting the towel into a rope, she hoisted her skirts and secured their length around her waist. Within a minute, she was dropping lightly onto the stable roof.

  The tongue of flame had spread. As she beat it with the sopping towel, she could hear an echoing thud of hooves pounding the timbers below. There were animals housed within, frantic with the smoke and the roar of flame. When the fire was out, she mopped at the burned area and extinguished the embers completely.

  There on the rooftop, Emily was fully exposed to the elements. An enormous sheet of flame raged only one street away, giving her an entirely new appreciation for the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. The furnace baked her face and drew wisps of steam from her dress. And with nothing to block it, the furious wind tried its best to shove her off the edge of the roof.

  Emily braced herself and bent over to catch her breath, coughing and gagging on the smoke-laden drafts. That’s when she caught sight of dark figures trickling into the yard below. Men and women. Strangers. Charlestonians saving what they could. The roof of the boardinghouse was soon completely protected. Extra buckets were passed hand to hand to re-soak the blankets. And any sparks that landed on the piazza or the wood siding were quickly extinguished.

  Emily stayed on top of the stable, knocking out sparks wherever they landed. When the fumes whirled in thick gusts, she covered her face with the towel. When the towel dried out, someone threw her a new one. The night inched onward, with nothing to mark its passing but the creep of fire across the horizon.

  At last the smoke thinned. The sparks lessened. Emily sank to the rooftop and rolled some of the ache from her shoulders.

  “You can come down now. The blaze sideswiped us. The danger’s past.”

  She peeked over the edge of the roof and made out the faint outline of Thad peering up at her from the darkness below. The faceless strangers had quietly slipped away.

  “I don’t know if I can.” Her voice came out thin and charred.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head before remembering that he couldn’t see her any more clearly than she could see him. “Just tired.”

  “Climb down the back side. You can step onto the fence. I’ll catch you from there.”

  She lobbed the towel into the grass before inching down the roof and easing herself over. With her feet steady, she knelt to grasp Thad’s hand and ease to the ground, but her skirt snagged. A squeal of ripping fabric accompanied the graceless tumble that sent them both sprawling into the grass.

  Emily lay where she fell, exhaustion pressing her into the ground.

  Thad disentangled himself and raised up on one elbow. “Still all right?”

  She took a quick inventory. “Everything but my pride.” Her muscles ached, her throat felt blistered, and the hard ground chilled her after the intense heat of
the fire. But the desire to curl up right there and fall asleep nearly overwhelmed her.

  “Why didn’t you go home?” Thad asked. She could sense him studying her in the dimness.

  “And leave you here?” She brushed away a fan of hair that had fallen across her face. “Everything worked out. We saved the boardinghouse.”

  He reached out and traced the hollow of her neck with one finger. A pale orange glow lit the underside of the clouds and faintly illuminated the contours of his shoulder and bicep. She became excruciatingly aware that he hadn’t replaced his shirt.

  “If anything happened to you…” His voice was low and rough.

  She went completely still. “Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing yet.”

  He leaned close and pinned her in place with a kiss. She felt fear in the tremble of his lip. Tasted desperation in the pressure of his mouth. He had been as terrified as her.

  The shadow of peril made the moment sweeter. Thad shifted nearer, pressing his weight more heavily against her side. Her hand rose to his chest. Smooth, warm skin met her touch. She traced tentative fingertips over a fuzz of hair, a sheen of sweat. Fire sprang up in her belly. Smaller than the blaze that ravaged Charleston, but equally hot, equally hungry, and just as difficult to extinguish.

  Reluctantly, she turned away before it grew beyond her strength.

  Thad tucked her head against his shoulder and stroked the softness of her cheek. There she stayed until the cold night air extinguished every ember of desire. When she began to shiver, Thad raised her to her feet. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

  He retrieved a new shirt from his room and they picked their way down Anson. On the east side of the street lay nothing but smoking rubble, but the diligent work of fire departments and volunteers had saved the homes to the west and nearly stopped the blaze. Egged on by the relentless wind, it had crept around their southern flank and renewed its thrust into the city. From Market to Queen, all lay in ruins, and the sky still burned in the west.