“Jeremiah, wait!” Why on earth would he be frightened of her? Lifting skirts that had already soaked through, she raced after him.
“Emily, where are you going?” Dr. Malone called from inside the carriage. “Emily?”
Ignoring the summons, she followed the butler up a set of rickety stairs and tugged at a door that had just closed behind him. “Jeremiah?” She entered an empty hallway, but fresh, muddy footprints led around a corner and up another stairway. Overhead, she could hear the fading rhythm of footsteps.
Emily followed quickly and silently. Up the stairs, down another hallway and around a corner. Dr. Malone called her name from a floor below, but she was concentrating on Jeremiah’s trail—a fresh smear of mud, scattered drips that hadn’t yet soaked into the faded red carpeting, and then the faint click of a door. Triumphantly, she burst around one more corner…and slammed directly into her brother.
She leaped backwards. “Jack! What are you doing here?”
His surprise was no less great, but it quickly faded into a sardonic smile.
She didn’t wait for him to speak. “I just spotted Jeremiah!” she exclaimed, her words pouring out in a heap. “He’s here, Jack! I followed him inside. If we can find him, maybe we can buy him back.” She craned her neck to peer down the empty hall. “Did you see him? He must have passed through here not a minute ago.”
He didn’t answer, and it suddenly dawned on her that the revelation had done nothing to ruffle his cool demeanor. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Jack, what’s going on? Did you know he was here? Why aren’t you with your regiment?”
Disregarding her questions, Jack crossed his arms and gloated like a little boy who had discovered his Christmas presents early. “Well, well. Of all the people I might have stumbled onto in the seedy corridors behind the Savannah Theater, I find my little sister. I am quite interested in hearing what you are doing here, Emily.”
“I just told you…” Her voice faded as she realized where she was. “William Samuel Jackson!” she fumed, her face scorching with heat. “You know perfectly well that your implications are ludicrous. I am in Savannah attending a wedding with Dr. and Mrs. Malone.”
Jack chuckled, clearly enjoying her embarrassment.
Her temper soared. “And what exactly are you doing here, Jack?” She lunged past him, wrenching open the door he had just exited. He yanked her back into the hallway, but not before she met the surprised glance of a heavily made-up woman seated inside. The woman’s hand jerked in surprise, sloshing brandy onto her filmy dressing gown before the door slammed shut.
“At least she’s dressed,” Emily said viciously.
Jack’s face darkened. “You have no business here, Emily. Go back outside to your friends and your little fairy tale life.”
“Not until I learn what Jeremiah is doing here.” She thrust her chin out stubbornly. “I’m certain that was him, and I’m equally sure that you know why. Tell me what’s going on.”
Dr. Malone called again from somewhere much closer. Jack grabbed Emily’s arm and propelled her in the direction of his voice. “I’m not obligated to tell you anything.”
“Jack, you’re hurting me!” She squirmed in his grasp.
His hand tightened, and he yanked her to his chest. His voice grated harshly against her ear. “I recommend that you forget everything you just saw, sister, or it could end very badly for a certain Negro man.”
Emily stopped struggling and her eyes grew wide. “Jack, you wouldn’t.”
He thrust her away, and his smile was cruel as he straightened his clothing.
Just then, Darius rounded the corner and stopped abruptly, leveling Jack with a suspicious glance. “Miss Preston, is everything all right?”
Jack raised an eyebrow and flicked Emily a smug glance. “In the city with Dr. Malone, are you?”
Emily straightened her shoulders and glared at her brother. “Yes, I am.”
The doctor came around the corner the next moment, his breathing slightly elevated. Jack smiled smoothly and propelled his sister forward. “Hello, sir. I believe I’ve found what you’re looking for.”
11
“Emily, will you deliver Mr. Oliver’s suit to his room, please? And tell him that hereafter, laundry will be washed only on Fridays. Further requests will be charged an additional fee.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She picked up the clothing, sincerely hoping Mrs. Bentley’s newest boarder hadn’t arrived home yet. The man was an arrogant lout who had twice made advances at her. He and Thad would certainly find themselves on a collision course if she continued her employment, but she had given notice only days ago. She had saved enough to pay for two terms. Sophia expected her next week. Then, when summer temperatures climbed, she hoped to leave for Baltimore. She had already written to Mrs. Calkins.
A summons at Mr. Oliver’s door received no answer. Scrawling a hasty note with Mrs. Bentley’s instructions, she left it on the bed with his clothing. Then she gathered several days’ worth of plates, cups, and saucers and carried them downstairs. “The man is a positive boor,” she complained as she deposited them on the kitchen table.
“You said it, not me,” Becca replied from her place at the cookstove.
“He demanded this ham sandwich four days ago.” Emily picked up the moldy remains with finger and thumb. “If I recall, he was about to die of starvation.”
She reached to toss the sandwich into the fire, but Becca stopped her. “Leave it for Mrs. Bentley to deal with. She can be very persuasive.”
Emily chuckled. The boarder and the landlady had already exchanged heated words several times regarding the house rules. It was quite possible Emily’s employment would outlast the man’s stay. “Where is Mrs. Bentley?” she asked, catching sight of several peonies freshly cut from the front garden where they grew in abundance. “I thought she was going to deliver those to Mrs. Dimitri next door.”
“Her lumbago is bothering her again.”
Emily retrieved a vase from the dining room and arranged the pale pink flowers. The landlady had taken to her bed with the ailment frequently as of late. “What is she going to do when I leave?”
“Before you came, she had spoken of purchasing a maid.” Becca met her eyes. “But I plan to ask if she’ll hire Ali. Jem hired out a year younger. And Rosie’s getting old enough to tend herself.”
Emily thought Becca’s girls seemed entirely too young for such responsibility, but their upbringing had been far different than hers. Before she could reply, they were interrupted by a knock at the front door. “I’ll get it,” she said. Detouring to set the peonies on the dining room table, she paused at the sight of the face framed in the glass. “Paxton?” she asked as she opened the door.
The man bowed in acknowledgment. Peering beyond him, she recognized the matched team, the magnificent carriage, and a ridiculous sunflower bonnet that no one in the city would be brave enough to wear except…
“Aunt Margaret,” she whispered, her lips parting in astonishment.
“Paxton, help me out of this confounded contraption!”
Emily stepped onto the porch and watched in amusement as the driver retraced his steps and half-lifted the old woman from the carriage. She hobbled up the walk, supported by a cane, and caught sight of her niece. “Emily Marie Preston, I want to speak to you.”
The smile dropped from Emily’s face. What could her aunt want? She hadn’t seen her since the day after the fire.
“Don’t look so hangdog. I’m not here to lynch you.” Aunt Margaret strode past her, let herself in the door, and pointed her cane at the parlor. “Sit.”
Emily dropped into a hard-backed chair.
“I have spoken with Dr. Malone. He says you have been working hard, earning money for that school of yours. He said you came back from Baltimore more determined than ever to attend. I admire that determination. I am—” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I am here to apologize. I should have offered to accompany you to that school myself.”
The apology caught Emily completely off guard. “It—it’s fine, Auntie. I managed quite well. I spoke to the principal and found lodg—”
“Of course you managed. But it looked bad, child. I should have gone with you. I had the time. I could afford the expense. I was simply afraid to get mixed up in my little brother’s affairs.” She thumped her cane sharply on the floor so the brilliant petals on her hat quivered. “William be stuffed. If he wants to alienate his own daughter, that’s his prerogative. I happen to think very highly of my only niece, and I’d prefer to spend what time I have left with my family. I intend to pay all your school expenses, and I insist that you quit this job and move in with me today.”
Emily’s eyebrows leaped up her forehead. “Aunt Margaret, that is very kind of you. And quite unexpected. But I’m afraid I can’t agree to it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I promised Mrs. Bentley that I would finish out my last week of work.”
Aunt Margaret snorted. “Is that all?” She rummaged in her handbag and pulled out two crisp bills. “Give her these. I’m certain they will more than compensate for your absence.”
Emily made no move to take the money. “I’m sorry, Aunt Margaret. I gave my word. And when I’m finished here, I am due at my friend Sophia’s house.”
“Jovie’s sister?” Aunt Margaret sniffed with disdain. “That girl doesn’t have the brains of a billy goat.” She eyed Emily critically. “You heard me say that I would pay for your schooling?”
“I heard you. And I appreciate your generosity. But I have already earned enough for my immediate needs. I intend to find employment in the North to pay for the rest.”
Aunt Margaret stared at her, dumbfounded. Then she sank heavily to a chair. The hand holding the bills began to tremble. “Jack wrote to me,” she said in a voice that seemed to sag with the weight of her words. “He’s not coming home. William and Marie are…” she made a weak, dismissive wave. “Donelson, Hatteras, Pulaski, Shiloh, Yorktown,” she listed recent battles. “Yankees swarming outside our harbor. Times like this make an old woman think about what’s important.”
“Wait,” Emily said, backing up the conversation. “Why isn’t Jack coming home? His enlistment ends this month.” And Jovie’s, she added mentally.
“He’s been conscripted.”
Emily frowned. She’d overheard plenty of debate about the new law in the boardinghouse dining room. It seemed most of those who wanted to join the military already had. The rest weren’t so keen to be forced into it. “He can’t have been. He volunteered. He already served his term.”
“The law forces current soldiers to lengthen their enlistment to three years.” Aunt Margaret’s lip twisted bitterly. “Richmond has too much invested in them. They can’t afford to start over with green recruits.”
Emily pressed a hand to her throat. The casualty lists that followed each battle were obscenely long. Three years would be a death sentence.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Aunt Margaret said. “The Yankees aren’t going to be satisfied to stay in Port Royal forever. According to William, the regiments surrounding Charleston are continually being leached to feed the army in Virginia.” Moisture seeped into the creases enfolding her cloudy eyes. “I should have known money wouldn’t persuade you. That line of reasoning certainly backfired on your father.”
Her aunt’s strong facade had been reduced to rubble, and Emily could now clearly see the frightened old woman hiding behind it. Wealth, after all, could not stop a cannonball. “Aunt Margaret, if you wanted me to come stay with you, all you needed to do was ask.”
The woman blinked rapidly. “Confound this wretched pride. Emily, I’m sorry for trying to manipulate you. Your decisions are yours to make, and I won’t interfere. But until you choose to leave Charleston, would you come keep an old lady company?”
Emily smiled. “I’ll move in directly after work.”
Some of the fire returned to her aunt’s eyes. “Now about this job.” She stood, snapping the bills. “I’d like a word with your employer. That is, if you don’t mind,” she added more contritely.
Emily gestured toward the parlor door. “Do your best.”
The standoff between the old women proved as volatile as a clash between French and British warships, but in the end, Aunt Margaret’s money overrode Mrs. Bentley’s objections. Emily soon found herself thanking the landlady for giving her an opportunity to earn the money she needed. With a hug and a wink for Becca, she added, “I know of a fine young worker to fill my shoes.”
***
A rejection notice for the sketch of the Charleston ruins arrived. Emily studied the illustrations in her issue of Harper’s Weekly, comparing her image to those appearing in the magazine, and tried to determine how she might improve her chances of publication.
“What am I doing wrong?” she mused. “My picture looks just as good as these.”
“Every bit as good.” Abigail leaned over her shoulder. “But the fire is old news. The war brings new catastrophes every day. No one cares about ours anymore.”
Emily bit her lip, acknowledging the truth of her friend’s words.
“And this is a Northern magazine. You need something that will appeal to Northerners.”
Emily sighed. “What, in all of South Carolina, would appeal to the Yankees?” She was already afraid her correspondence could land her in trouble. With every letter that crossed the Northern border now being screened, she didn’t want to end up shot for a spy.
“Faces.”
“Faces?”
“Absolutely. This,” Abigail said, tapping the Charleston drawing, “looks exactly like all the ones drawn by their staff illustrators. But people are your specialty. Find a compelling subject, add the emotion of a human face, and your image will stand out from all the others.”
Emily considered the suggestion. It definitely had merit.
After leaving the boardinghouse, Paxton had driven to Becca’s and then to the Preston town house where they filled Aunt Margaret’s carriage with Emily’s possessions—and with Abigail. At her aunt’s suggestion, the Malones had readily agreed to their daughter’s visit. And Emily had written Sophia to postpone her visit by a week.
The move had been good for everyone. In five days, Aunt Margaret had treated the girls to an all-day picnic in the countryside, lunch at the prestigious Mills House, and a lecture at St. Michael’s Church about Charleston’s role in the Revolutionary War, though the address hadn’t piqued their interest nearly as much as the handsome young professor who had delivered it. And she’d invited Thad to dinner—twice. Despite war and ruin, the girls were relaxed, making their own fun, and enjoying themselves more than they had for months. It was like a holiday.
“Look at this picture.” Emily pointed to an illustration that stood out from the others. “See what the artist does here?” She studied the image intently. “Look at his shading. See how dark the shadows are and how bright it makes the highlights appear? It’s brilliant.” She murmured the last words to herself. “So much sharper and more eye-catching than the rest.”
Without the use of color, newsprint limited the impact an illustration could deliver. Wood carvings often appeared thin and weak, but not this one. High contrast gave it a solidity missing in more detailed line drawings.
“Put your magazine away,” Abigail ordered. “You leave in a few days, and I won’t see you again till Christmas. We’re going for a stroll.”
“Without a chaperone?” Emily teased. She peeked at the artist’s name before closing the magazine. Winslow Homer. She would search out more of his work.
“Let’s ask Mrs. Thornton to join us.”
“She’s still in bed. Her rheumatism is bothering her today.”
“Then we could push her in her wheeled chair. The weather is perfectly glorious.”
“You’ve talked me into it.” Emily tossed the magazine onto her bed and followed Abigail downstairs.
Aunt Margaret r
eadily agreed. As they waited for her in the entryway, someone knocked on the door. Emily pulled it open to find a mildly startled Darius Johnson with his fist still poised.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Johnson. What are you doing in the city?”
He took off his wide-brimmed hat and nodded shyly. “I’m just here on business.”
“With my aunt?” she asked in surprise.
“Oh, no.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I called at your parents’ house. The doorman said you were here.”
“I see. We were just about to take my aunt for a stroll. Would you care to join us?”
He looked from the girls to the wheelchair. “Perhaps I should come back at a more agreeable time.”
“No, it’s fine. We’re still waiting for Aunt Margaret. Come in.”
He took a few steps inside, spinning his hat awkwardly in his hands.
Emily exchanged a quick glance with Abigail, who backed toward the stairway. “If you’ll excuse me,” Abigail said lightly, “I think I’d like to fetch my parasol. The sun is quite strong today.”
“Will you also bring my new pair of gloves?” Emily asked. “They’re in my top bureau drawer.”
Abigail waved her agreement.
Darius relaxed incrementally at her departure, and Emily gestured toward the parlor. “Would you care for any tea, Mr. Johnson?”
He remained standing. “No. You have plans. I’ll only take up a moment of your time.” He cleared his throat. “It was very good to see you in Savannah.”
“Thank you, Mr. Johnson. It was a pleasure. I apologize again for my foolish escapade.” After her jaunt through the mud and rain, she’d had to return to the hotel to change into dry clothing, making them late to the reception. And all for nothing.
He waved away her concern. “I, uh, couldn’t help but notice that you were unaccompanied.”
Emily suspected the conversation might swing in this direction. “Mr. Johnson,” she began gently.
“No, please let me finish.” He clutched the brim of his hat in a death grip, but he plowed on. “The last time I called, you mentioned a tremendous disappointment. I am…I am hoping you have recovered?”
Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2) Page 11