“You know best. You seen Lizzie? I can’t find her anywhere.”
“I—uh—haven’t seen her.”
The housekeeper frowned. “Ain’t like her to disappear. Guess I’ll check upstairs again.”
When Tandey had gone, Abigail lifted her eyebrows. Emily gave her a wan smile. “I’ll tell them. I promise.”
“Before or after someone alerts the constable?” Abigail drawled.
“Tonight at supper.”
Zeke wasn’t hard to locate. She found him smoking a corncob pipe outside the stable door.
“Zeke!” She greeted the old man with affection. “I wasn’t expecting you to show up here. What a pleasant surprise!”
“I din’ ’spect to fin’ you, neither, Miss Emily. Thought maybe you’d be at Mrs. Thornton’s.”
“I decided I’d be more comfortable in my own house. Until my father has need of it, anyway.”
“Don’ think he be comin’ anytime soon. Yo’ mama sent me here to help out Dr. Malone.” He handed her an envelope. “It in de letter. I s’posed to give it to him if I couldn’t fin’ you.”
She tucked the correspondence into her sleeve. “I’ll read it straightaway. But first I want to greet the rest of our guests. Have you been upstairs yet?”
“No, miss.”
“Will you go with me?”
“Mos’ definitely.” He knocked the tobacco from his pipe and ground the embers to ash before following her inside.
The distinct odors of hay, horses, and milk cow greeted her as she stepped around the Malones’ buggy and climbed the stairs to the loft that housed most of the Preston town slaves. She hadn’t visited the room since she was a child. Ordinarily, a eight people slept there. Now more than twice that number squeezed into the crowded quarters. Every inch of floor space was filled with blankets and makeshift beds. Conversations died as scores of eyes peered back at her and faces grew carefully blank.
She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Hello. I’m Emily Preston. I…uh…just wanted to welcome you…” The greeting felt entirely too grandiose for the squalid conditions she offered. She started again. “I assume Dr. Malone has already told you that you may stay as long as necessary? I’d like to reiterate that. And if you need anything, please let Zeke know.”
She stared around at the new faces. Four men, five women, and three children. Refugees. All displaced. All reeling from loss as much as Abigail. Were they slaves, she wondered? Or free? Where would they go now? What would they do?
Most of the strangers eyed her warily, but three expressed their gratitude with a smile or a mumbled word. She nodded in response. “I wish…” she began. But wishing didn’t change anything. “You’re welcome,” she answered and left abruptly.
Back in the yard, she expressed the inadequacy to Zeke. “A blanket, a meal, and a patch of floor. It hardly seems like enough.”
“You be doin’ a kindness, miss. An’ yo’ father needn’t know.”
“I suppose it is more than he would sanction.” Just then, one of the white guests ambled into the backyard. Emily raised her voice. “Zeke, I’d like to show you that azalea bush that’s faring so poorly. You remember, the one we talked about?”
“I sho’ do, Miss Emily.” Emily doubted the old man knew the difference between an azalea and an aster, but he followed her around the house to the front yard without blinking an eye.
“This is the one.” She led him to a perfectly healthy shrub near the front door. She kept up the conversation just in case anyone lingered nearby or inside an open window. “See how the leaves are yellowing at their tips? Come look.”
As he bent over the bush, she whispered, “Ketch and Lizzie and the children all made it safely away. We couldn’t have done it without your help. Thank you.”
Zeke smiled and breathed an answer. “I be right glad to hear it.” Then he raised his voice. “Try spent tea leaves, Miss Emily. Just scatter ’em down among de roots and you should see dis old plant perk right up.”
“Tea leaves!” Emily exclaimed. “I never would have thought of such a thing. I’ll try it.”
He winked at her and entered the house, but Emily tugged the letter out of her sleeve and perched on a corner of the granite mounting block to read it. The note was short, only a few lines in length, but the sight of her mother’s elegant handwriting filled her with wistful melancholy. She held it up to catch the last drops of sunlight.
Dear Emily or Dr. Malone,
I cannot express how shocked and horrified I was to hear about the fire in Charleston. Thank God you are all safe and our house escaped damage. Yes, please use it to help those left homeless and to set up a medical clinic. It is unlikely Mr. Preston and I will return to Charleston this year as I will be joining him in Columbia very shortly. I am sending Zeke to assist you in any way you deem necessary.
Emily, if you see this letter, know that I love you very much.
Sincerely,
Marie Preston
Emily felt tears pricking the back of her eyes. She’d always been closer to her father than her mother, but during the recent friction with William, she’d come to recognize Marie’s patient endurance. And it was Marie who had framed each of Emily’s childish pictures and hung them in the hall. She knew her mother was pulling for her in her gentle, quiet way. She hadn’t thought to invite her along to Baltimore, though now she almost wished she had. It might have proven enjoyable. Of course, it would have caused additional problems if William found out.
But Jovie wouldn’t have kissed her.
Emily groaned and dropped her head into her hands. Jovie had ridden home with her all the way to Wilmington, North Carolina, before turning around to travel back to Virginia. Though neither of them referenced it, the kiss sat between them the whole way. Emily hadn’t known how to reclaim the easy camaraderie they had shared before. It was a relief when he finally departed. They had made a terrible mistake, pure and simple.
Emily shook off the memory and rose to bring the letter to Dr. Malone. She found him jotting notes to himself at a table in her father’s study and dropped the page in front of him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Permission to stay. My parents won’t be returning in the foreseeable future. You’re free to use the house as long as you need to.”
He skimmed the words and rested the letter on the table. “This sets me at ease. You’re sure you don’t mind the arrangement?”
She chuckled morosely. “It wouldn’t matter if I did. I have less approval to be here than you.”
Questions arose with the lift of his brow.
She settled heavily into a chair. Dr. Malone already knew part of the story; he’d helped her cash her check last summer. “My father found out about the correspondence course. He ordered me out of the house.”
“I see. I’ve wondered why you were in the city alone. I assumed you were under your aunt’s supervision.”
“I planned to stay with her, but she isn’t too keen on my choices, either.”
“And your mother?”
“You know she won’t stand up to my father.”
He watched her steadily. “So where does that leave you? Will you marry your young gentleman?”
“I’m going to attend the Maryland Institute next fall.”
“Why am I not surprised?” His smile appeared fatigued. “How do you plan to accomplish it?”
Her shoulders drooped. “I’m still working out the details. You wouldn’t happen to need an assistant, would you?”
The tiredness reached his eyes. He set his pen down and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ll do everything I can for you, Emily, but I’m afraid I can’t afford to hire you. I need to get back on my own feet. Your parents’ charity won’t last forever.”
“I thought you’d say that.” The muscles in her jaw tightened as she stood up. “Tomorrow I’ll start making inquiries.”
6
Washington Race Course lay outside town on the north side of the peninsula�
��a two mile hike from Emily’s front door. She hunched over her valise in the bottom row of the grandstands, overlooking the soldiers’ tent city from behind a hand-lettered sign that read Portraits 50¢.
Emily had applied at every reputable inn, tavern, and shop in the city to no avail. Even Dr. Malone’s contacts had turned up nothing. She had given up trying and instead sat for a few hours each day near the barracks hoping someone might request a sketch. But last year’s fad had not caught on again. After three days, her reticule held just two dollars.
A handful of coins fell into her lap. “I’d like a portrait, if I may.”
Emily looked up to find Thad standing over her, his expression unreadable. Her eyes slipped downward, and she hunkered tighter over her art supplies.
“How long have you been back?” he asked.
She shrugged. “A few days.” Nine.
“Were you planning to let me know?”
“I didn’t figure you’d care.”
“Emily, that’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe. How’d you find me?”
“I asked at your house. Miss Malone said you’ve been back since before Christmas.”
It hadn’t felt much like Christmas. Her guests held a small celebration. Betsy had made cookies and eggnog, and Dr. Malone had supplied each child with a lollipop. Abigail had spent most of the day in her room, despondent and homesick. Emily shrugged again. “I’ve been busy.”
He straddled the bleacher in front of her. “You might as well start sketching. I paid for a picture. I’m not leaving without it.”
Mechanically, Emily set her charcoal to the paper and outlined the shape of his face, the high brow, the straight nose, the firm chin, the widow’s peak—so familiar, yet uncharacteristically sober. At the moment, there was no trace of the dimple in his cheek. She started on his eyes—if she’d brought her pastels, she would have tried to get the shade of blue just right—and lingered on his lips. Soft, generous… She closed her eyes, remembering the many times those lips had claimed hers. The way their smile could light up a room. The way they whispered her name against her hair.
She opened her eyes and studied the face gazing back from the paper. For the past year, Thad had added color to her black and white world. When she resisted, he pursued. When she dreaded the formalities of high society, he made each event a lively adventure. When she’d been certain romance must be put off until she accomplished her goals, he had made her feel beautiful and alluring and wanted. He’d awakened her heart.
If she could just have Thad and her art…
She looked back up at Thad’s flesh and blood face, and those cobalt eyes fixed on hers, deep and questioning. His brow tilted just off center, and his lips contemplated a smile. The expression tugged at her affection and coaxed her to make amends.
“Thad, I’m sorry.” She looked away and tapped her fingers along the edge of the paper. “I should have given you a chance to speak without getting angry.” She met his eyes again. “I guess I just didn’t want anyone talking me out of going to Baltimore.”
“I shouldn’t have tried. I think I’m beginning to understand just how important this school is to you.”
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She handed him his portrait.
His eyes filled with admiration and he looked up with chagrin. “I do believe this is the first example of your work I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re jesting. I showed you my portfolio, didn’t I?”
He shook his head and pressed his lips together guiltily.
“You didn’t see any of the assignments from my correspondence course?”
He shrugged helplessly. “I should have asked.”
Her eyes grew thoughtful. She couldn’t point fingers. She’d often wondered about his home, his family, his future plans, but she’d contented herself with a superficial relationship. Did she dare hope for more? She scrunched her nose. “What have we talked about this past year?”
“I think we’ve done a lot more of this.” His palms held her cheeks and he brushed his lips against hers.
Happiness poured into her. Even after her distance and stubbornness, he still desired her. But what did she want? It was so easy to be with Thad. His smile, his charm, his indomitable spirit, they drew her naturally. But could she let their relationship grow into something deeper, something more deliberate, and still hold onto her dream?
Her cartwheeling heart seemed to be answering for her.
Thad broke away with a chuckle that sounded equally relieved and amused. “I was afraid I’d lost you this time.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “I still think you’d be wise to work things through with your father, but I want you to be happy. If that means you spend time in Maryland, so be it. I’ll never ask you to choose between me and your talent.” He leaned back and scratched absently at the stubble on his chin. “But if we’re going to ride this out, I think we’d best work on our communication skills.”
With a mischievous smirk, she leaned in for another kiss.
“Verbal communication,” he clarified, pushing her away. “I’ll start with a question that’s been eating at me all week. How did you like the school?”
“It’s perfect. I met the principal. He answered all my questions and directed me to suitable lodging. I’m enrolling in the fall. I’ve already picked out all my classes.”
“You haven’t wasted any time. You’re sure this is what you want?”
“Positive.”
“Then I want it too.” His eyes flicked over the rows of tents blanketing the infield. “I do have an issue with your fundraising methods, however.”
Her spine stiffened. “How else am I going to earn my tuition?”
“I’m not fond of your going door-to-door, either.” He cut his eyes at her. “Miss Malone filled me in on your recent activities.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to ask for handouts.” She lifted her stack of papers and aligned the edges with unnecessary force.
“Don’t get angry. I’m simply concerned. It’s not safe for a young woman to be asking around at the back door of every shop in town.”
“Thaddeus Black,” she cried indignantly. “Just where do you think I’ve been applying?”
He bit back his amusement, and her eyes thinned to suspicious slits. “You’re up to something.”
“Me?” he asked with feigned innocence.
“Tell me. Or I’ll march straight to the dockside and hire in at a house of ill repute.”
He laughed. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve found you a job.”
“That’s impossible! I’ve been everywhere. No place in town is hiring.”
“No place except one.” He smirked. “After talking to Miss Malone, I stopped home and used my powers of persuasion on my landlady, Mrs. Bentley. She’s been considering the purchase of a maid but agreed to hire you for a trial period.”
Emily gasped. Then her arms flew around his neck. “Oh, Thad, thank you!”
“She’s agreed to pay you ten cents an hour. A pittance compared to your father’s bank account, but it’s a fair wage.”
“I’ll gladly agree to it.” She figured rapidly. It would take months to save enough for tuition, even with no expenses. But it was a start.
He moved up to sit beside her and squeezed her in a one-arm embrace. “It’s good to see you happy. Remember, I’m on your side. Always.”
She hummed her agreement and snuggled deeper into his side. “Walk me home?”
He kissed the top of her head. “Only if you agree to bring in the New Year with me and my roommates tonight. Mrs. Bentley agreed to an informal celebration provided we don’t get too loud and we clean up our own mess in the morning.”
She smiled. “You have two miles to talk me into it.”
7
By mid-February, the lowlands had garbed themselves in the earliest blooms of spring—daffodils, dogwoods, azaleas, and quince. They drew Emily’s gaze and lifted the corners of her mouth. She closed her eyes and drew in a l
ungful of the cool, sun-drenched air drifting through the open window, though her mind wasn’t on flowers or sunshine.
“Pay attention, Miss Emily, or we can re-brick de city wid dat bread you bakin’.”
Emily jerked her attention back to the bowl of flour in which her hands were buried wrist deep. “Sorry, Betsy.” She gave her a sheepish smile. “I’ll try to rein in my daydreaming.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” Betsy said with a sigh. “Be hard to keep yo’ mind in Charleston when Baltimore beckon so bright.”
Emily didn’t tell the cook that her thoughts had only strayed one mile away.
“Don’t feel much like Race Week, do it? Can’t hold de usual festivities wid soldiers camped on de horse track. I s’pose no one feel much like celebrating, anyway.”
Emily murmured her agreement. Everyone felt the pinch as contributions from other states slackened. News of the losses at faraway Fort Henry and Fort Donelson circulated between stiff lips, while the Union navy secured foothold after foothold along the Southern coast. Planters had even taken to burning their crops before the Union’s advance. Charleston’s grim-faced residents hunched their shoulders, trimmed their waistlines, and carried on beneath their ruins as best they could.
“What a difference from las’ year,” Betsy observed. “One could hardly walk for all de wavin’ flags and marchin’ soldiers.”
Emily twisted the sticky dough. “I can’t say I’ll be sorry to leave,” she admitted. “Thanks to your cooking lessons, I’ll have a much better chance of finding work when I do.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks. You already know how to cook.”
Emily snorted. “Compared to the meals you serve, I’m like a little girl playing make-believe.”
“You jus’ need practice.” Betsy downplayed the compliment, but Emily could see how it pleased her. “Knead more flour into dat yeast sponge or we really will be throwin’ dat bread to de hogs.”
Emily renewed her efforts, listening to the shrieks of laughter coming from the yard as the Peterson children ran laps around the outdoor kitchen.
Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2) Page 6