Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “That’s what I’m here for,” he whispered and pinched out the light.

  ***

  Emily awoke disoriented. It took a number of blinks before her memory cleared enough to recognize Mrs. Bentley’s parlor. Then the reasons for her being there followed. A patter of rain drummed against the window, a perfect accompaniment for the uncertainty brewing in her chest. She tugged the blanket over her head. Corset stays ground against her ribs, and she shifted to relieve the discomfort. Last night she had loosened the strings but hadn’t dared undress with so many men in the house.

  She sat bolt upright. What time was it?

  The mantel clock read 9:15. Emily groaned and sank onto the cushions in mortification. Every last one of them would have seen her sleeping on the sofa in a rumpled heap, even if Thad’s presence had kept them respectable. Her shift started fifteen minutes ago. Why hadn’t Mrs. Bentley awakened her?

  As she dragged herself from the sofa and began folding her bedding, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in an ornamental mirror and gasped with dismay. Thad had unpinned her hair. Her cheeks brightened with the memory of his fingers combing it out long and loose in the darkness. Now the strands twined about her head in a horrible honey-hued wreath. She fingered them into a semblance of order and fastened them in an untidy twist. It would have to do. If she only had a remedy for swollen eyes.

  She found Becca in the kitchen washing breakfast dishes. The woman smiled, unconcerned with Emily’s rumpled state. “Did you sleep well?”

  Emily grimaced. “I’ve slept better.” She grabbed a towel and began drying the clean china. “Why didn’t Mrs. Bentley wake me?”

  “She said after the day you had yesterday, you could use all the rest you could get.”

  “Did she tell you what happened?”

  “No.”

  Emily placed a dry plate in the sideboard and picked up another. “Becca, haven’t you ever wondered why I’m working here?”

  “It’s none of my business, Miss Preston.”

  “I might as well tell you. It’s all over town, anyway.” She sighed. “My father and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.” Briefly, she related the events that led to her employment. Becca listened without saying a word. Emily had just caught her up through the night in the parlor when Mrs. Bentley walked in with a tray of dirty teacups.

  “Emily, you’re awake.” The woman set the tray down and looked Emily over with a critical eye. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

  “Some,” she answered. “Not much.” After Thad fell asleep in a chair outside the parlor doorway, she had lain awake long into the night, pondering her predicament. But none of her conclusions had changed; she’d reached them long ago.

  “Are you still of a mind to continue your employment?”

  “I must. I’m short of my tuition.”

  “And you are still in need of lodging?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re certain? My dear, you are a Preston. You must have friends or relatives who could take you in.”

  “None who will allow me to pursue the course I’ve set.”

  Mrs. Bentley nodded. “Very well. You must be aware, however, that it is highly unusual for a young woman to lodge in a public boardinghouse with young gentlemen, though I understand yours is an exceptional case. I would be willing to take you in and act as your guardian in this matter. But not while Mr. Black is still in residence.”

  Emily started to object, but Mrs. Bentley held up a hand. “Hear me out. This morning, Mr. Black agreed that it would be highly improper. He has volunteered to inquire elsewhere and give up his room for you.”

  Emily’s mouth shut with a click. After last night’s kisses, how could she argue?

  Becca handed Emily a dripping saucer. “Miss Preston, if you agree, I may have a better idea that would make all this rearrangement unnecessary.”

  “I’d be very interested in hearing it.”

  “If you’re not opposed to staying with me, I’d welcome your company.”

  Emily paused mid-wipe. “How much would you charge?”

  Becca turned to face her, hands resting in the soapy water. “Miss Preston, do you know a man by the name of Alexander Grafton?”

  Emily wracked her memory but had to shake her head.

  “Well, he knows you. He’s my husband’s cousin. After the fire, you sheltered and fed him for several weeks. I would be honored to return the kindness.”

  Emily tried to remember the faces in the stable loft. After the first night, Zeke saw to their needs and she hadn’t visited again. She’d been too busy working. Now she hardly knew what to say. “You’re certain I wouldn’t be in the way?”

  “It will be tight; I won’t mislead you. And the accommodations aren’t what you’re accustomed to. But I’ve a second room and a bed you may sleep in. My girls can take the attic.”

  Emily didn’t know Becca had children. “What about your husband?”

  “He’s been gone five years now.”

  Emily bit her lip. In all their weeks working together, why had she never asked Becca about her family? “You’re sure?”

  Becca smiled. “I’ll introduce you to my girls tonight.”

  Mrs. Bentley had listened to the conversation with pinched lips. Now she interrupted. “Emily, I’d like to speak with you in the parlor, if I may.”

  Emily dried her hands on the dish towel, laid it on the worktable, and followed the woman from the room.

  “Really, Emily, this is hardly a suitable arrangement. I like Becca as much as you do, but she’s…”

  “She’s what, Mrs. Bentley?”

  “She’s—she’s black!”

  Emily smiled politely. “I had noticed. But I’ve lived with Negroes my entire life and I’ve yet to suffer any adverse effects.”

  Mrs. Bentley’s eyes narrowed. “If you move in with a black woman, think about what people will say.”

  “My name has already been dragged through so much mud, it hardly concerns me anymore. Mrs. Bentley,” she said in a more conciliatory tone. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Without this job I would never be able to attend school. But I’ll be leaving for Baltimore in just a few months. This will be a temporary arrangement.”

  “I can help you find another place in the city,” she pressed.

  “You said yourself it is improper for me to board with gentlemen. This saves everyone a great deal of trouble.”

  Mrs. Bentley exhaled sharply. “I see your mind is made up.”

  Emily smiled apologetically. “It is.” She reentered the kitchen with the landlady close on her heels. “Thank you, Becca. I accept your offer gratefully.”

  9

  Emily sat just inside the window of a tiny frame house where sunlight spilled onto her paper as she filled in the final details of her drawing. April had opened with gloriously mild temperatures, spilling neighbors out of doors, but not all the faces were friendly as their eyes followed her down the street. Whites were not the only ones to disapprove of her housing arrangement. She preferred to spend evenings inside, where those gazes could not penetrate.

  “What are you working on?” The voice belonged to Becca’s youngest daughter, Rosie. Unlike her older sisters, the five-year-old had taken to Emily immediately and often sought her out when she returned from work. Emily didn’t mind the invasion of her privacy. After all, the bedroom really belonged to the girls.

  Emily moved the page so the child could see it. “What does it look like?”

  Rosie cocked her head to one side. “It’s not very pretty. Why do you want to draw the burned-up buildings?”

  For the last two weeks, Emily had pored over the illustrations in her copy of Harper’s Weekly. Black and white line drawings, they brought the text to life in a visual way. The technique had been used in books for decades, but only recently had it been employed in newsprint. It was as valid an art form as oils, was it not? Emily wanted to order back issues to get a better feel for the kind of images the magazine use
d, but she knew they’d never pass censor once they entered the Confederate postal system in Richmond. She’d have to wait until she crossed into Maryland. But she’d already started experimenting with different ideas.

  “Because there may be people who have never seen them. Now they can.”

  “No one likes ugly pictures. Draw something pretty.”

  Emily snatched a fresh sheet of paper. “Would you like me to sketch you?”

  The little girl giggled. Pulling up a chair, she perched only inches away and could hardly sit still long enough for Emily to finish the portrait. As soon as it was done, Rosie seized it and ran to show her mother.

  Becca strolled into the room moments later. “Land sakes! Did you draw this, Miss Preston?”

  “Of course she did, Mama. And it only took her this many minutes.” She held up three fingers.

  Emily laughed. “It may have taken a little longer than that, but yes, I drew it.”

  The woman studied the image appreciatively. “Do you think…?” she began hesitantly. “I mean, when my other girls get home, would you be willing to draw them, too?”

  Jem, the oldest at age fourteen, already worked long hours as a household servant. She rarely arrived home before her mother. Ali, three years younger, tended Rosie during the day. Since Emily had moved in, however, she had taken to disappearing as soon as her mother returned.

  “I’d be happy to, Becca. I’ll sketch you, too, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary.” She gave a self-conscious wave, but Rosie dragged her to the chair. “Come on, Mama. You need a picture, too.”

  The woman gave in with eager reluctance. When the portrait was finished, she viewed it with a wondrous smile. “I got me a portrait just like the rich folk.”

  Emily laughed. After mother and daughter retreated from the room, she pushed aside her illustration of the ruined district and picked up the magazine. For the first time in weeks, she had let herself read what was happening outside of Charleston. Dated February 15, the reports were two months old and horribly slanted to a Northern bias, but she’d learned about the fighting on the coast of North Carolina and of a new Confederate ironclad vessel named the Merrimack. The news had reawakened an old instinct to know the worst before it took her by surprise, so she’d even begun carrying home secondhand copies of the Mercury she collected while cleaning rooms at the boardinghouse.

  The stories were anything but encouraging. Spurred on by Lincoln, the Union was spreading its aggression far and wide. With the loss of Forts Henry and Donelson in Tennessee, the Confederacy was vulnerable to attack in the west. Fort Pulaski was under siege at the mouth of the Savannah River. And the Army of the Potomac had redoubled its efforts to take Richmond. On all fronts, the South struggled to hold up against the Northern invaders, and with each setback, it seemed less and less likely that Confederate diplomats in Europe would be able to secure foreign allies.

  She had slumped over the magazine and was wishing she’d never read a word when a familiar voice called through the front door. “Dr. Malone!” she exclaimed, rushing to greet him.

  “Hello, Emily.” He beamed as he accepted a kiss on the cheek. “I thought I’d check in on you and see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine. You received my note?”

  “Yes, thank you. It set our minds at ease knowing you had landed with an old client of mine.” He gestured to Becca.

  “It’s good to see you, Dr. Malone.” Becca smiled. “Fortunately, we haven’t had much cause to enlist you since my husband died. Can I get you some tea?”

  “No, thank you. I just need a quick word with Miss Preston.”

  “Then I’ll go out to the porch and leave you two alone. Come along, Rosie.”

  When the door closed behind them, Emily asked, “Are Mrs. Malone and Abigail well?”

  “My wife is fine, but I’m concerned for my daughter.” He dropped his hat on the table. “Abigail has been suffering from melancholia, as I’m sure you noticed. The war, the loss of our home, the atmosphere of the city—they are all affecting her keenly.”

  “I had noticed, sir. Is there anything I can do?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is. Mrs. Malone and I are of the opinion that Abigail could use a holiday, something to look forward to that will take her mind off her troubles.” He cleared his throat. “It so happens that one of my patients has a son getting married in Savannah next weekend. We plan to make a few days’ excursion of it, and I’d like to extend you an invitation on behalf of my daughter. Would you be able to join us?”

  Her face lifted with eagerness. “That’s very kind of you, Dr. Malone. I’m sure I can arrange it with Mrs. Bentley.”

  He nodded his approval. “Excellent. We will pay your expenses, of course. Seeing as you can no longer afford footwear.”

  Emily pulled up her hem to reveal her stockinged toes. There was no way he could have seen them beneath her voluminous skirts. “How did you know?”

  He smiled and nodded to a pair of shoes near the door. “I recognized those. Heaven knows I’ve tripped over them often enough.”

  Emily laughed as she walked him to the front stoop where they found Becca and Rosie seated on the bottom step etching pictures in the dirt with long sticks. Becca rose, wiping the grit from her hands. “Will you stay to dinner, Dr. Malone?”

  “No, thank you, Becca. Mrs. Malone is expecting a stroll along the battery. I’m afraid my practice has been keeping me far too busy.”

  He stepped into his buggy and took up the reins. “Emily, I’ll see you next week.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Malone,” she said as they waved him out of sight.

  “It’s just as well he didn’t stay,” Becca said. “We haven’t much left to eat. I need to get to the market in the morning.”

  “I’ll go,” Emily volunteered. “Then you and your girls can spend a few hours together without me.”

  “That isn’t necessary. They can learn to get on with you without complaining.”

  “I don’t mind making the trip.”

  Becca grinned. “You want to go, don’t you, Miss Emily?”

  It would be her first solo trip. In her mind, shopping at the city market signified her independence. It was time she contributed a few of her own precious coins to the household expenses, as well. Emily grinned. “I do.”

  “Then I won’t stand in the way of your grand adventure. Come inside, Rosie.”

  The little girl protested until Emily picked her up. “Let’s wash those dirty hands. Then I’ll locate an extra piece of paper and show you how to draw a picture of your house.”

  The next morning, Emily took a shortcut through Ansonborough, a well-to-do suburb where several of her parents’ friends owned town homes. She was admiring the brick masonry of one of the grander buildings when she heard her name spoken. Turning, she saw two women alighting from a carriage that had just pulled up. Emily identified the house as belonging to Governor Aiken, a former colleague of her father’s. A moment later, she recognized the governor’s visitors.

  Emily smiled curtly. “Hello, Mrs. Barton. Peggy Sue.”

  As if on cue, both women curled their lips disdainfully. Mrs. Barton promptly hoisted her skirts and marched into the house. Peggy Sue stayed, eying Emily’s clothing with a sneer. “It’s true then. I didn’t believe the rumors at first. Surely even you couldn’t be stupid enough to give up your dowry and hire out like some Negro servant.”

  Though they were born into the same small circle of affluence, Emily and Peggy Sue had never been friendly. Emily couldn’t stomach the girl’s simpering and conniving and utter lack of ability to make intelligent conversation. “Fortunately, what I do is none of your concern.”

  “And for what? A classroom? You’re the laughingstock of Charleston. All the leading families view you as a grand jest.”

  Emily shrugged. “I happen to find the leading families of Charleston to be stuffy, overdressed snobs.”

  Peggy Sue’s eyes narrowed to fel
ine slits. “You’re a foolish girl with a foolish whim who’s brought shame on her family. I’ve seen your father’s embarrassment.” She looked Emily up and down with a sniff. “And you without a bit of remorse. I don’t blame him for casting you out.”

  She couldn’t have chosen any words that would have made Emily less repentant. The anger Emily harbored against her father flared into brilliance. She wanted to squeeze the smug look right off Peggy Sue’s face, but she smiled sweetly. “You may be right. But then again, it just may be that in a few years, when you are begging your husband for permission to spend a few pennies, I’ll be doing whatever I please with the money I’ve earned.”

  Hatred spread in splotches across Peggy Sue’s face. “Do you really think anyone is going to take you seriously?”

  “I am taking it quite seriously, I assure you.”

  Peggy Sue laughed derisively. “Emily, even if you come away with some kind of certificate, it will be entirely meaningless. In Charleston, your accomplishments will never be viewed as anything more than a joke.”

  ***

  The last breaths of evening billowed Emily’s skirt and swept the leaves into a gentle waltz. Beside her, sunlight refracted on the harbor’s surface, painting it in shades of fuchsia and apricot. A plover peeped softly as it wheeled back and forth, racing the waves ashore and then chasing them back to the river, but without the bass thrum of steamships as an accompaniment, its piping sounded oddly flat.

  “Emily!”

  Her head jerked up. Thad turned her to face him, pulling her out of the line of couples parading along the battery promenade. “You’ve hardly spoken a word all evening. And just now, after I poured out my apprehensions regarding a particularly difficult physics examination, you found the situation quite wonderful.”

  “I did not,” she protested.

  A smile quirked the corner of his lip. “‘I’m afraid it will pull down my grade,’ I said. To which you replied, ‘That sounds lovely, darling.’”

  She felt her cheeks grow pink. “Did I truly call you darling?”