Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  Emily seriously considered the offer. “I can’t. I have few articles of clothing with me and none of my art supplies. I can’t afford to buy new. Besides, I thought we decided I was going to do this on my own.”

  “Ever so independent.” He smiled in his unhurried way, with one side of his mouth pulling upward before the other. The mannerism was so familiar. She had seen him smile just like that a thousand times.

  For the briefest moment, she allowed herself to wonder what it might have been like if their relationship had grown up differently. What if the fingers that caressed her hair clung to more than just friendship? What if the affection they shared had blossomed into something sweeter? The questions turned pressing, as if she should have asked them long ago.

  Her chest tightened, and she backed against the door. Such thoughts were foreign and discomfiting. “Thank you, Jovie. I had a lovely time. I—I wish…” She faltered and looked away.

  “What do you wish?”

  The gas fixtures hissed softly in the hallway, and Emily’s smile turned bittersweet. “I was just hoping that if we stretched this evening out forever, the war could never catch us.”

  He tipped her chin so their eyes met. Her pulse pounded against her temples. “What if I capture it for you?” he asked gently. “And hang it around your neck like a locket so you can take it out and look at it whenever you need to return.”

  His words were so lyrical, so Jovie, just like the many letters they had shared. They wrapped around her like a blanket. She nodded, and he read the invitation in her answer.

  His palm cupped her cheek, and his mouth moved gently over hers, sweetly, hesitantly. She closed her eyes, heedless now of the hallway or the gaslight, the hotel or the city. Something warm and pleasant awakened within her. It wasn’t the electric thrill of Thad’s kisses. It was slower, safer, with the steady power of flowing water.

  Jovie’s fingers stiffened against her jaw, and he broke away with a groan. “Emily, do you know what you do to me?” He exhaled. “I’m not sure what’s worse, leaving you again or being with you and pretending none of this exists.” He thrust one hand against the doorjamb; the other gripped a handful of his own hair.

  She reached behind her back and twisted the doorknob with a trembling hand, frightened by his words and startled at the tide of her own emotions. Chagrin gnawed at her. Had she cast Thad aside so easily? Her wide eyes never left Jovie’s face as she retreated into her room and quietly closed the door between them.

  She collapsed weakly against the wood. What had she just done?

  5

  No one met Emily at the Charleston depot. No one was expecting her return. The lack of accountability that characterized her new independence came at a cost, she realized as she walked the mile and a half home alone. It was a new sensation and oddly unsettling. Not frightening, exactly. Not in the familiar surroundings of home. But it would require some acclimation.

  She shifted her bag to her other hand and passed into the burned district. She had forgotten how horribly oppressive it felt. The lifeless ruins, the stench of creosote, the utter desolation—they dragged at her spirit and sent it plummeting into her shoes.

  Who had started the fire, she wondered. Some Yankee sympathizer? The Northern army? Disgruntled slaves? Those were the most common theories. In Baltimore, she’d read one Northern headline that suggested God himself had kindled the blaze in retribution for Charleston’s rebellion. Emily never desired a quarrel with the North, but such callous, self-righteous gloating stirred resentment deep within her. If she didn’t guard her thoughts, they could quickly descend into hatred.

  Her parents’ house, with its two stories and curving front steps, welcomed Emily at the end of the peninsula. She slipped in unnoticed and was startled by the sight of a strange man sitting in the parlor. Had her parents returned? Were they entertaining? She glanced around in confusion. It wasn’t like her mother to leave guests unattended.

  “I comin’. I comin’.” The housekeeper bustled into the room and halted in surprise. “Miss Emily! I din’ ’spect to see you.”

  “Who were you expecting, Tandey?” Emily let a footman take her valise.

  “Well now, since Dr. Malone opened his practice, we got all sorts o’ people stoppin’ by. I meet de patients when Mrs. Malone away.” Tandey looked at her carefully. “An’ did you forget we got houseguests stayin’ wid us?”

  Emily had forgotten. “I suppose I was preoccupied.”

  The housekeeper hummed. “Seventeen of ’em. It been plum crazy since de fire. Sometimes de bodies passin’ through dis house be so thick I can hardly squeeze myself between ’em.”

  “Where is everyone now?” The room was vacant except for the patient and the footman waiting with her bag.

  “Mos’ of ’em go off in de afternoon, since Betsy only serve one meal at midday.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “Soup houses downtown. Planters been sendin’ food to de homeless. Folks pitchin’ in all ober de South.”

  The door to William’s study opened and Dr. Malone led a woman and a little boy out of the room. The child’s arm was encased in plaster. “We’ll see you in four weeks,” the doctor called before wiggling a finger at the boy in gentle reprimand. “And no more climbing on the porch roof, Alexander.”

  The little boy grinned mischievously as Tandey opened the door. Emily wasn’t at all certain he would comply.

  Dr. Malone caught sight of her. “Emily, you’re home! How was your trip?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “And your aunt, she is well?”

  “Very well, thank you.” At least she assumed it was so.

  “Excellent. I believe Abigail is upstairs in your room, and Mrs. Malone is taking tea at Mrs. Snyder’s. I’m afraid we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.” He peered into the parlor. “I should like to hear all about your adventures this evening at dinner, but I see Mr. Blackwell is here. If you’ll excuse me...”

  Emily stepped aside as he ushered the patient into his office.

  “Upstairs with you, Miss Emily,” Tandey urged, “and rest up till dinner. You look as worn as an old rug.”

  Emily became aware of a dozen aches she hadn’t noticed on the walk home. “I believe I will.” She reached for her valise. “I can manage it, Thomas. I carried it all the way from the depot. Though I left my trunk there.”

  “I’ll send someone fo’ it,” Tandey said. “You let Thomas carry dat bag, you hear?”

  “Bes’ do as she say, miss,” Thomas said with a sly glance at the housekeeper. “Save us all a heap o’ trouble.”

  A little girl raced past them on the stairway, followed by a younger boy who screamed, “Nina! Nina!” until both children disappeared below. Emily gave Thomas a startled glance as the door slammed shut and rattled the front windows.

  “Dat be Nina and Joey Peterson from de third floor. And dis—” He indicated a toddler who trailed behind, taking each step deliberately. “—be dey baby brother, Arthur.”

  A young woman appeared and scooped the child into her arms. “Arty, you cannot go outside alone,” she scolded. She turned to Emily. “I’m sorry. I turn my back for half a minute...” She smiled. “I’m Mrs. Peterson.”

  “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance. I’m Emily Preston.”

  “Oh! You’re the owner of this house!”

  “I’m his daughter.”

  Mrs. Peterson gripped her hand tightly. “Thank you so much for letting us invade your privacy like this. I promise, the children and I will be out as soon as we can.”

  “It’s no hardship. I’m very sorry you lost your home.”

  The woman nodded, her lips forming a thin line. “I apologize again for my children. I’ll take this one upstairs and leave you to enjoy your afternoon.”

  When Emily entered her room, she found it in complete disarray. Shoes, papers, cosmetics, dishes, and clothing lay strewn about. A green dress hung over her desk chair, and Abigail lay stretched out on t
he unmade bed in her knickers with a book in her hands. “Emily!” Abigail gasped, whisking the paperback out of sight. “I didn’t hear you come up the stairs.”

  Thomas set down the valise outside the door and retreated.

  “Good book?” Emily asked, taking off her gloves. She recognized a penny novel Sophia had smuggled to her years earlier.

  Abigail retrieved it sheepishly and studied the flowery scene on its cover. “I found it in your bookshelf, behind a volume of sermons.”

  “Don’t worry,” Emily teased. “I won’t tell your mother you’re reading it.”

  “I don’t know why she would care.” Abigail’s voice carried the slightest edge.

  Emily raised one eyebrow. “Because it’s silly and sentimental?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! We’re prepped for marriage from the time we’re little girls and pawned off on the first bachelor who will have us. You’d think they’d make romance standard reading.” She tossed the book onto the bed with a scowl. “Not everyone is brazen enough to pursue a career, you know.”

  Emily recoiled reflexively. “Do you think I’m brazen?” If that’s how her best friend perceived her, how would her decision be received by others?

  Abigail sprang to a sitting position, her cheeks growing scarlet. “Emily, I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that most girls aren’t bold enough to consider any prospects other than marriage.” Her lip twisted bitterly. “Silly and sentimental might be the best we can hope for.”

  Emily stared at Abigail in amazement. She’d never seen this side of her friend before and couldn’t guess what had prompted her sour mood. Neither, she realized with a burst of shame, did she have any idea what secret dreams and ambitions Abigail harbored. They always talked about hers. “What do you want to do with your life, Abigail?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Abigail crossed her legs and picked at the lace edging her knickers. “I’m just tired. The fire still has my emotions in an upheaval.”

  Emily sat on the bed and laid her gloves in her lap. “No, I really want to know.”

  Abigail looked away self-consciously. “I’m not like you, Emily. I don’t have any lofty aspirations. I just want to find someone who will love me and settle down to raise a family. Simple. Boring, perhaps. But it’s all I ask. And it seems so impossible.”

  “Impossible? Abigail, you’re a beautiful girl. Kind and smart. And you’re only seventeen. It’s hardly a desperate situation.”

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed that all the young men are leaving for the front. Or how few cotillions are being hosted anyway, now that half the city has burned to the ground.” The edge of bitterness crept back into her voice. “Meanwhile, you have two men fighting over you and you treat it as an inconvenience.”

  Emily bit her lip. She’d never considered their circumstances in such a light.

  Abigail dragged her palms over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m just so, so weary.”

  “And I may have been a little self-absorbed,” Emily admitted.

  “Everything just seems so uncertain.” Abigail pounded a fist on the bed, and a sheen of tears filled her eyes. “I’m tired of soot and ash. Of long faces and war. I want to look pretty again. To dance. To laugh.”

  “Abigail, have you been out of the house at all since I left?”

  “Just Sunday services. Father’s needed my help with his practice.”

  “No wonder you’re weeping over sappy romance novels.” Emily stood up and tugged at her friend’s arm. “Come on, we’re going out.”

  “Alone?”

  “Why not?”

  “Emily, we can’t!”

  “Just to White Point Garden.” Emily pulled her off the bed. “A stroll through the park will do you good. And I’m cornering your father at supper this evening,” she added, tossing her the green dress. “If we play it right, maybe we can talk him into a picnic tomorrow at Sullivan’s Island.”

  “A picnic!” Abigail’s haggard face broke into a mask of longing. “I’ll get on my knees and beg!”

  “He won’t be able to tell us no.” Emily winked. “Now that that’s settled, would you care to tell me when the hurricane struck my room?”

  “Sorry.” Abigail cringed as she dragged on a crinoline and cinched it at her waist. “The guests have created so much additional work that I told the maids not to worry about me. I thought I had another day or two before you returned. What are you doing home already?”

  Emily retrieved her bag from the hallway and lifted it onto the bed. “The rails are a mess near the border. Travel took longer than we thought, and Jovie couldn’t risk arriving to camp late.” She began unpacking while Abigail dressed—a book, a brush and comb set, pencil and paper, a few ribbons, the paper-wrapped remains of a sandwich. Most of her belongings would arrive in her trunk.

  “So, are you going to tell me about your trip?” Abigail turned her back so Emily could fasten the last few buttons. “Or do I have to drag the information out of you?”

  Emily couldn’t stop a grin of anticipation from stealing over her face. “Abigail, I am going to attend the Institute no matter what it takes.” She pulled the catalog from her valise and held it up triumphantly.

  Abigail clapped her hands together. “Show me!”

  “Let’s bring it with us.”

  They tore down the stairs and giggled over the sidewalk to the garden, where Emily halted abruptly. Most of the park’s greenery had been uprooted and earthen bulwarks erected in their place. Massive guns huddled on the shore like great silent beasts, with their hindquarters sunk in pits and their long snouts sniffing the wind for danger. They were tended by a watchful company of artillerymen. While she had been away, her city had armed itself for war. It was a blatant reminder, only three doors from her own house, that hostilities were already escalating beyond posturing and rhetoric.

  “I should have told you,” Abigail apologized. “I forgot you hadn’t seen them.”

  More soberly now, the young women skirted the garden, passing remnants of alyssum and a few hearty pansies that still adorned the street and eyeing the young men on duty. As they walked, Emily related everything—the dreadful train ride, the tour of the school, Mr. Woodward, Mrs. Calkins and her boardinghouse, the play—everything except Jovie’s kiss. A three-day return trip hadn’t been long enough to sort that out.

  Their path carried them to the southeastern tip of the peninsula, beyond the cannon, where a bathing house jutted into the harbor at the point where the Ashley and Cooper Rivers merged. There the girls paused to watch the rivers unite in their ancient rivalry against the tide. At the moment, the sea was winning, surging over the fresh water and pushing the rivers back upstream.

  Abigail looked to the distant ocean. “I wish I could travel somewhere I’ve never been. It sounds like such an adventure.” She leaned against the promenade railing and sighed wistfully. “Sometimes I begrudge men their mobility.”

  “I’m not sure I envy them at the moment,” Emily said, casting a glance behind.

  “You’re right, of course. But I would dearly love to see someplace besides Charleston.”

  “Then you must come visit me in Baltimore.”

  Abigail giggled. “Wouldn’t that be an adventure?”

  Emily gripped the railing with intensity. “Abigail, I just have to figure out how to earn enough money to attend.”

  “How much do you need?”

  Striding purposefully toward a nearby bench, Emily plunked herself down and opened the catalog. They spent the next hour poring over fields of study, class listings, fees, course requirements, and supply lists, scrawling notes on a scrap of paper.

  “You should try photography,” Abigail suggested. “You’re so good with expression. Figure out how to get people to pose for happy pictures rather than looking grim all the time.”

  “It’s the most expensive program. Didn’t you see the fees?”

  “Then try printing. Or textiles. Or you could design a sc
ulpture to display here in the park.”

  Emily laughed. “Maybe I will.” She tossed the booklet onto the bench. “There are so many options I’ve never considered. I wish I could try them all.”

  “Even if you stick to painting, how will you come up with—” Abigail paused to glance at their calculated estimate. “—eighty-six dollars?” The figure included only tuition and room and board, not a penny extra for unexpected expenses. The total had stunned her.

  “That is a very good question.” Emily slumped against the back of the bench and crossed her arms over her stomach. “What options do I have? I intend to go door-to-door looking for work.”

  “There is no work. Half the refugees living in your house are looking for jobs. Between the fire and the blockade, there aren’t enough to go around. Shops are closed. The harbor’s nearly empty. It’s like Sunday everyday.”

  “Then what would you suggest I do?” She was aware of how difficult her situation was.

  “You could draw portraits for the soldiers as you did last summer.”

  “The prison is closed and the guard regiment shipped out. I’d have to march into the camp and start sketching.”

  “Is that any worse than knocking on doors?”

  Emily grimaced. “All right, I’ll do both. But unless I’m lucky enough to snag a few well-to-do officers again, it will take many portraits to earn enough money.”

  “Well, you can’t start anything today.” Abigail pushed herself off the bench. “If we don’t go home soon, my parents will start worrying.”

  Emily would have preferred to lounge on the bench and watch the water till the sun went down, but she followed obediently. Tandey met them inside the door. “Dere you be, Miss Emily. Zeke been lookin’ fo’ you.”

  “Zeke is here?” Emily perked up. “Where?”

  “He in de stable. I’ll go get him.”

  “I can find him, Tandey.”

  “De stable be full o’ refugees, miss.”

  “Then I shall make their acquaintance.”