Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  She smiled. “Quite.”

  Relief smoothed his face. “I am very pleased to hear it. I wonder if you might consider…I mean…would you find it agreeable—”

  Emily laid a hand on his arm. “Mr. Johnson, I must stop you. I have worked out my disagreement with the same gentleman who disappointed me. He has recently broached the subject of marriage, and I am seriously considering his proposal.”

  His face fell.

  “I’m very sorry.”

  Darius stood a moment, turning red in the center of the entryway. Then he crammed his hat on his head. “My congratulations, Miss Preston. I won’t bother you anymore.”

  Emily followed him to the door, unable to think of any way to lighten the uncomfortable moment. On the street, he turned back and touched his hat brim in farewell. “Miss Preston.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Johnson.”

  She was still leaning against the doorframe watching him recede down the street when Abigail returned carrying her parasol.

  “Another brokenhearted suitor?”

  Emily shifted reluctantly. “He’s a kind man, Abigail. I almost regret sending him on his way.”

  “But you already have Thad…and Jovie.”

  “Jovie?” Emily shot her a look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I saw the packet of letters in your bureau.” Abigail handed her the gloves. “You haven’t opened a single one all year, but you haven’t thrown them away either. In fact, you tied them up in a neat bundle and carried them to your aunt’s house with you. What is that supposed to mean?”

  Emily squeezed her eyes shut. “It means I feel horribly, horribly guilty for not answering them.”

  “Why didn’t you?” At Emily’s continued silence, she added more gently, “The first one is dated days after you returned. Emily, what happened in Baltimore?”

  Emily groaned. She hadn’t let herself think about it for months. “Jovie kissed me.”

  “He’s kissed you before.”

  “Yes, well, this time I kissed him back.”

  Abigail raised her eyebrows.

  “I didn’t mean to! I was caught off guard.”

  “But you kissed him.”

  “It didn’t mean anything.”

  “It must have meant something. Jovie is one of your oldest friends, he’s on the front lines, and you haven’t answered his letters for months. Obviously, that kiss affected you more than you want to admit.”

  “It was a mistake,” she insisted. “Thad is my future. We’ve been making plans. Abigail, he’s proposed.”

  “What?” Abigail shrieked. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I haven’t said yes.”

  “Because of Jovie?”

  “No,” Emily emphasized. “Because of school. I’m not sure I can do both, and I want to study first. At least for one year. I mean, what if I became pregnant? My chance to learn would be all over. I might have to wait twenty or thirty years for another opportunity.”

  “What about Jovie?”

  Emily bristled. “What about him?”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s going to keep writing to you. And you’re going to keep not answering.”

  Emily paced to the fireplace and back, wringing her hands. “I didn’t know what to say to him, Abigail. I still don’t, although I feel terrible about abandoning him—especially now that he has two more years of service.”

  “I know.”

  Emily felt the heaviness in her spirit. “How can they do that to him? How can this go on for two more years?”

  “Maybe it won’t.”

  They heard the thump of Aunt Margaret’s cane echo in the hallway. Abigail reached for her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Write to him, Emily. Before you answer Thad, be sure that kiss didn’t mean more than you think.”

  12

  Emily relaxed against the movement of the train, head leaning against the window, eyes closed, and a sheaf of paper lying blank on her lap. For an hour, she had tried to set down her thoughts in a way Jovie could understand and accept, but he had always possessed far more eloquence than she. His stack of letters lay in the bottom of her valise, unopened. She didn’t know why she brought them along. Reading them now would only fill her head with a muddle of emotions, and the task before her seemed monumental enough already. In essence, she had to tell Jovie goodbye. But how could she wrap up a lifetime on one piece of paper?

  Without command, her hands began translating her thoughts into an image. Dark, serious eyes looked back into hers. A straight nose. Full lips, sober now but waiting to express subtle emotion. Jovie’s was a face she knew by memory. A face she had no idea how to address.

  She crumpled the image into a ball. And then, almost against her will, she smoothed the paper, caressing the image with her fingertips. She stared at it for a long moment, her heart twisting, before placing it on the bottom of the sheaf.

  Instead of writing, she began sketching a woman holding a baby on the other side of the passenger car. Dressed in plain clothes, with no ornamentation besides the ribbon on her bonnet, she was likely married to a farmer or a craftsman. Perhaps on her way home from a holiday with relatives. Emily knew her own appearance must look very much the same. Though she had packed three trunks for all the activities Sophia was sure to have planned, plain clothes raised far fewer eyebrows when she traveled.

  Her eye landed on the hand that held her sheaf of paper in place. Her ring finger remained unadorned. Before she left, Thad had pressed her for an answer. She had promised him one when she returned.

  With a sigh, she dropped the writing materials into her valise. Jovie’s letter would have to wait.

  It was nearly dusk when the train crawled into St. George’s station. The Buchanans’ grizzle-haired driver was the only person waiting on the platform. She greeted him with a smile as three railway employees loaded her trunks into the coach. “Good evening, Ned.”

  “It be a fine night fo’ a drive, Miss Preston.”

  Emily stifled a yawn as the countryside passed beyond the carriage windows. Sophia lived only a few miles from town, but full darkness had fallen before Ned stopped the horses outside the front door of Maple Ridge.

  A curtain moved in a window, letting out a flicker of candlelight, then Sophia was on the porch squealing a welcome. “Emily, I thought you would never arrive!”

  “Hello, Sophia.” She accepted a kiss on her cheek. “I apologize for the delay. My aunt—”

  “Oh, phooey on your aunt.” Sophia pouted. “I absolutely refuse to forgive you for making me forfeit Jaclyn Whitby’s engagement party last weekend. I was counting on you to accompany me.”

  “I’m sorry, Sophia.” She stretched some of the stiffness from her back. “I didn’t mean for you to miss it. Was Matthew away?”

  “Matthew is always away.” Her voice went flat in the darkness. “He sends his regards. He planned to pick you up from the depot last week, but he couldn’t postpone his trip.”

  “I understand.”

  “Caesar will make sure your trunks are delivered upstairs,” Sophia said as she ushered Emily inside. “I’ve put you in the yellow room again. Would you like to freshen up before I ring for tea?”

  Emily set her valise at her feet and removed her gloves. “Actually, I don’t need freshening nearly as much as I need to work the corkscrews from my limbs. Walk with me?”

  “At this time of night? It’s dark.”

  “I promise I’ll save you from any rampaging wildlife.”

  “Can you save me from the insects?”

  “Oh, come on, silly.” Emily tugged at her arm.

  Sophia stepped over the valise as they exited. “Shall I send that upstairs with Caesar, or will Lizzie collect it?”

  Emily hesitated. She hadn’t wanted to mention her maid quite yet, but Sophia was bound to notice her absence. Best to get the explanation over with now. “I don’t have Lizzie anymore.”
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  “Did your father take her from you?” Sophia gasped. “Doesn’t he know how exhausting it is to train new servants?”

  Emily was quite sure William hadn’t spared one thought for any hardship she might be suffering. “My father didn’t take Lizzie. She ran away in Baltimore.”

  Sophia crunched to a halt on the gravel drive. “I knew it. I knew you were too lenient on her. Haven’t I always told you to take her in hand? This is what comes of being too soft.”

  “You did warn me,” Emily agreed.

  Sophia began walking again. “I hope you found a suitable replacement. I’m hosting a luncheon on Friday for the St. George’s Ladies’ Aid Society, and I expect you to look presentable. You did bring clothing more appropriate than that hideous thing you are wearing?”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “I packed three trunks filled with Sophia-approved finery.”

  “Very good.”

  “But I didn’t bring a maid.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Sophia, my father forbid me to set foot on his property. Do you really think he’d supply me with servants?”

  “I suppose not.” Sophia veered off the drive to stroll the perimeter of a small garden. “Well, no wonder you’ve been looking so...medieval.” She shivered with mock horror. “I’ll lend you Nelly while you’re here.”

  Clouds trailed across the partial moon like the tattered fringe of a cloak, casting the front lawn into shreds of light and shadow.

  “So, was my brother on his best behavior in Baltimore?” Sophia asked mischievously.

  “How do you know about that?” Emily asked in surprise.

  “My dear,” she simpered, “when you don’t answer my letters, I must write to someone.”

  “Jovie was…very helpful.” Surely Jovie hadn’t mentioned anything incriminating.

  “I told him about your engagement.” Sophia laughed. “I bet it laid him out like a Yankee bayonet. He’s been pining for you for years.”

  “You told him I’m marrying Thad?” The announcement knocked the wind out of her. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  Sophia shrugged. “You said you were getting married. I didn’t know it was a secret.”

  “I told you we were talking about getting married.” Emily pressed her fingers into her temples and groaned. Her letter just got much harder to write.

  “Oh, what does it matter? My news was merely premature. Jovie might as well be prepared for it. Has Thad proposed yet?”

  Emily ground her teeth together. “Yes.”

  “There! You see? What are you worried about?”

  “I told you, I’m not engaged.”

  Sophia paused in exasperation beneath a blooming dogwood tree. “Well, whyever not?”

  Emily forced air in and out of her lungs. “Because I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “Oh, Emily,” Sophia said with a mixture of pity and annoyance. “Don’t tell me this has something to do with that ridiculous school.”

  Emily’s nostrils flared.

  “It does, doesn’t it? Tell me, are you trying to sabotage your future? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. A handsome, extremely eligible man has asked you to become his wife, and you want to paint pictures? Marry him!”

  “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

  “All right, we won’t. But when Thaddeus Black gets tired of waiting on your silly fancies and you end up an old maid, don’t sob on my shoulder.” Sophia swatted dramatically at a mosquito. “Have you had enough of this absurd adventure?”

  Emily sighed and turned her steps toward the house.

  Evening tea proved less combative. Sophia switched flawlessly from meddlesome neighbor to genteel hostess, displaying a knack for conversation that Emily had always envied. But after several games of ecarté, she pleaded exhaustion and retired early, leaving her guest to entertain herself.

  Emily found little to interest her on Sophia’s scant bookshelf, so she tried again to express her thoughts to Jovie. Failing miserably, she composed a letter to Malachi, begging again for any details of Lizzie, then decided to go to bed. She’d rise with the sun for an early ride. It had been ages since she’d last sat a horse, and she missed it tremendously.

  When she descended the stairs in her riding habit the next morning, however, Emily found the dining room empty. No footmen prepared the table service for breakfast. No maids trimmed the lamps or polished the mahogany. She wandered into a parlor still littered with playing cards and dirty teacups. No one stirred. The house lay silent as a chapel.

  “Sophia?” she called. “Susan? Caesar?”

  Only six chimes of the mantel clock answered her summons.

  Emily’s brow wrinkled. The staff in the Preston households rose well before dawn, but perhaps Matthew and Sophia were less regimented. She gave up and slipped outside. It was still early. She’d snatch something light from the kitchen on her way to the stable.

  A border of gorgeous magnolia trees surrounded the kitchen and littered the backyard with blooms. Their scent lay heavy in the humidity, unsullied by competing odors. No smoke rose from the chimney. No aroma of baking bread flooded the yard. Peeking inside the building just to be sure, Emily found it as cold and empty as the house. Surely the kitchen staff should have started their day’s work. Where was everyone?

  Through the branches of the magnolias, Emily caught sight of a figure moving in the stable yard and felt an irrational surge of relief. At least she wasn’t the only one left alive. She helped herself to a loaf of stale bread and a bowl of day-old strawberries and continued across the yard.

  The stable was easily the finest building at Maple Ridge, including the house. The figure she’d seen turned out to be Finn, a cheerful young groom she remembered from her last visit. He remembered her, as well. He smiled broadly. “Can I fetch you a mount, Miss Preston?”

  “Yes, thank you. Choose one with spirit and endurance. I might be out for some time.”

  She breathed in the universal smell of horses, a mixture of leather, feed, and manure. The odors were common enough in the city, but the distinct atmosphere of a country stable transported her home to Ella Wood and her own mare, Chantilly. Her heart twisted. Did the animal ever wonder why her mistress had disappeared? How large had her foal grown? When would Emily see them again?

  Finn delivered a sleek silver mare, and Emily’s heart lifted as she rode into the waking morning. It was her favorite time of day. Baltimore, William, Jovie—they faded into the recesses of her mind, replaced by the sights and sounds of the countryside. Maple Ridge was more open than Ella Wood, less wooded with more tilled earth. Sunlight lay thick across dewy fields. The light had morphed from dawn’s pale silver to a rich gold that would soon burn away the water vapor lingering in the hollows.

  As she rode out of the yard, Emily became aware of the ring of an axe in a woodlot somewhere to her left. Swiveling her head, she also noticed a slave repairing a pasture fence. The overseer had the plantation functioning, she noted. Only the house slept.

  Skirting the slave huts, she followed the curve of a small stream. The outlying fields blushed green with row after row of cotton seedlings, and already gangs of workers could be seen toiling among them. Men and women, their backs bent toward the earth, hacked away at the weeds that threatened the crop. It was a familiar scene, one Emily had long been accustomed to. She didn’t begrudge the slaves their work. Indeed, if they were free, most of them would probably continue the only labor they knew. Like Zeke. It was the choice they lacked.

  Emily nudged the horse into a gallop. The mare was eager to run, and she let it go. The wind snatched at her hairpins as they traversed hill and dale at a reckless speed, slowing only when the mare chose to do so. Emily had no idea where Matthew’s land ended, but eventually she crossed a narrow lane and figured it for a boundary. She judged she had meandered for nearly two hours when she turned the mare for home. The sun had doubled as her clock and her compass, but the animal had no need of e
ither. Emily relaxed in the saddle and let the horse pick its way home.

  When she reentered the house, she found it as vacant as when she left. “Sophia?” she called, checking the dining room, the parlor, and the front porch. All empty. “Sophia!” Frowning in consternation, she hiked her skirts and climbed the stairs.

  A young girl barely old enough to be a maid passed her going the opposite direction. “Have you seen Mrs. Buchanan?” Emily asked.

  “She still be sleepin’, miss.”

  “Sleeping! But it must be after nine o’clock.”

  “When Mr. Buchanan gone, she don’t get up till noon.”

  Emily gaped at her. “But where is Susan? Where are the rest of the house servants?”

  “They ain’t started workin’ yet.”

  “I see.” Emily mused thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, miss.” The girl continued down the stairs.

  Emily marched the rest of the way to the second story and threw open the door to Sophia’s bedroom. “Good morning, Mrs. Buchanan,” she said crisply, tugging open the curtains.

  Sophia flew into a sitting position, her eyes wide and startled. “Emily! What are you doing?”

  Emily indicated the clock on the mantelpiece. “I’m waking you up.”

  Sophia groaned, slumped over, and caught her head in her hands. “Mornings don’t much agree with me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily retorted caustically. “I assumed that since you invited me to your house, you might want to spend part of the day in a conscious state.”

  “Oh, don’t be so cross.” Sophia pouted. “You know I have no willpower before noon.”

  “Apparently your household is aware of it, too. I had to get my own breakfast.”

  Sophia’s face registered surprise and then anger. “They had specific instructions. I—” Her face grew dark. “It’s Keturah,” she fumed. “I hate her. She is sulky and disobedient. I cannot get her to mind no matter how I beat her. She is perfectly insufferable.”

  Emily recalled the cook’s insubordination on her last visit, but this household apathy went far beyond one slave. “Sophia, there is no one working downstairs. No one.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you sleep till noon when Matthew is home, too?”