Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  Emily blinked. “Thank you, Aunt Margaret,” she answered, unable to disguise her surprise. “But I’m afraid that will be quite impossible.”

  The old woman nodded. “I thought you’d say as much. Do you still plan to attend school?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Have you considered the fact that you will need Union currency in Maryland? And that Northern banks will not exchange Southern graybacks?”

  Emily froze.

  “I see you have not.” She jiggled something in her hand. “You will need to exchange your Confederate money for something that will hold its value across the border. Something like this.” She opened her fingers to reveal a small pair of jeweled earrings.

  “Auntie, I can’t accept those!”

  “It’s not a gift. I expect full payment in Confederate bills.”

  Tears of gratitude sprang to Emily’s eyes. It was a kindness that preserved her dignity. “Thank you.”

  “Take them to a jeweler. They’ll fetch a fair sum.”

  Emily accepted them gratefully.

  “Now I’ll feel better when I’m overseas.”

  Emily’s gaze lingered on her aunt. “Are you quite certain this is what you want to do?” She wasn’t sure the old woman would be up to such a long journey. She had complained bitterly of her rheumatism, and her cane had become a permanent fixture.

  “If the men of this country are going to shoot each other outside my front door,” she answered hotly, “then, yes, I am quite certain.”

  Emily chewed on her lip, remembering the woman’s very different response when all of Charleston had been clamoring for secession a year and a half before. “The battle is over. We repulsed their attack. You’re safe, Aunt Margaret.”

  “For how long? I am an old woman. Too old for deprivation. Too old for cannon fire. Too old for enemy troops across the harbor.” Her hands shook where they rested on her cane. “I received the fright of my life this morning. My nerves cannot handle another such episode.”

  “Will you stay with your daughter?”

  “Adella has been asking me to come since she heard news of Sumter.”

  “How long before you go?”

  “If the Yankees hold off, I’ll wait until you’ve repaired to Baltimore.”

  “Thank you, Auntie. I appreciate that.” At least she wouldn’t be homeless. But this was one more thing the war was stealing from her.

  ***

  “Darius Johnson?” Emily asked incredulously the next afternoon. She had invited Abigail to tea so she could spring the news of her engagement. Instead, Abigail’s announcement set her back in her seat.

  “I know!” Abigail said with a soft giggle. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

  “How did this happen?”

  “He sat near us in church one Sunday when you were gone, and afterward we struck up a conversation.” Abigail threaded the fingers of her hands together and laughed with delight. “He was quite comfortable to talk to. We chatted until my parents were ready to drive away. Then he called on me later that week, and we’ve seen a good deal of each other ever since.”

  Emily was still trying to smooth her surprise back into place. Shy, sensitive Darius. And Abigail, the embodiment of goodness. She could see how they would gravitate toward each other. It was just so unexpected. “Is this serious?”

  “It is for my part.” Abigail’s eyes grew dreamy. “Darius is financially secure and very tenderhearted. I can see myself spending the rest of my life with him.”

  “You know you’d become the mistress of a large plantation,” Emily said with some reservations.

  “I know. I’ve given it a great deal of thought. I’m not like you, Emily. I don’t think slavery needs to be outlawed. There are examples of it all through history, even in the Bible. But I do think it can be improved upon. This could be my chance to do some good. To set an example and maybe make some changes from the inside out.” She shrugged. “Darius is a good man. The kind of man I could stand beside.”

  Emily hugged her. “I’m so happy for you, Abigail.”

  “I’m happy for me, too. But what about you and Thad? Is he back? Have you answered him yet?”

  Emily pulled the ring from the bodice of her dress and slipped it on her finger. “Yes. And yes.”

  Abigail screamed and sprang from her seat, tackling Emily in a most unladylike manner. Emily shrieked with laughter as her chair toppled and both girls tumbled hoops over heads. The racket drew Stella, who shook her head at the girls’ exuberance and helped them untangle.

  “You were hiding it from me!” Abigail accused when they resumed their seats. “Just when were you going to tell me about this?”

  “As soon as you got here, but you beat me to it.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Abigail said, admiring the red stone. She clapped her hands together in silent enthusiasm. “Emily, you’re getting married!”

  A wave of excitement engulfed Emily. “I’m getting married,” she repeated. It was really happening. She was going to marry Thad!

  It was Abigail’s turn to grow cautious. “Emily, are you prepared to become the wife of a Southerner? Have you thought about what it could mean?”

  “Thad isn’t a slave owner.”

  “Not now.”

  “Nor will he ever be. He isn’t in line to inherit his grandfather’s estate.”

  “What if he purchases slaves to tend his home? What if he does well for himself and purchases an estate of his own? Have you talked about this?”

  The possibility had never occurred to her. She had always associated slavery so strongly with her own family, and Thad had never even owned a manservant.

  “Is he aware of your feelings?”

  A line formed between Emily’s eyebrows. “I’ve never dared to tell anyone but you.”

  Abigail reached out to squeeze her hand. “I don’t mean to put a damper on this special time. I just know how strongly you feel.”

  “We have time to discuss it. I’m going to finish my first year in Baltimore before we marry.”

  “That was going to be my next question.”

  The afternoon passed far more pleasantly than any from the last six weeks, and Emily had to ask herself why she continued to voluntarily endure the lengthy visits to Maple Ridge. But she knew why. Sophia was lonely and miserable. Marie might call it her Christian duty. Emily called it pity. Duty or not, a few hours spent with Abigail were far more rewarding.

  Too soon, Dr. Malone arrived to escort his daughter home. “You are looking well, Emily,” he observed as a footman ushered him into the room. “The fresh country air did you no harm.”

  “It was quite restorative. Though it made me miss Ella Wood, I’m afraid.”

  “Understandably. You will be spending the rest of the summer in the city, I assume?”

  “Until the start of the fall semester.”

  He exchanged a glance with his daughter, who nodded encouragingly. “Then would you be so inclined as to assist me in a military hospital once again?”

  “More prisoners of war?”

  “No, this time you’ll be caring for our boys. Some of the wounded from the last few days have been moved from the field hospitals into the city. You’ll be asked to perform some simple caregiving tasks—changing bandages, administering medication, and the like.”

  Emily felt immediately uncomfortable. Last time she’d merely entertained some young men who were recovering from measles. That had been bad enough. This time she was being asked to do much more than simply make conversation and draw pictures. She gave a wry smile. “Is my reputation in such shambles that I am a candidate for men’s duties? You know what the public outcry will be to women performing in such a role.”

  “What choice do we have when manpower is stretched so thin? Women are being asked to step forward on both sides of this war.”

  She tried again. “I’ve had no medical training.”

  “Few of our volunteers have. You’ll have to learn as you go. Are you wil
ling?”

  How could she say no? These were the young men who put their lives at risk to protect Charleston—protect her—from the Union army. She owed them that much.

  “All right. I’ll do it.”

  Dr. Malone nodded in satisfaction. “I will pick you up at six o’clock tomorrow morning.” He guided his daughter from the room then hesitated in the doorway. “Abigail, will you wait for me in the carriage please?”

  The young woman nodded and shot Emily a parting shrug.

  The doctor turned to face Emily thoughtfully. “Are you aware that I spent some time with your aunt yesterday morning?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think she would have told you.” He sighed. “I cannot give you specific details and violate Mrs. Thornton’s trust, but I can tell you that Paxton came to fetch me in a mild state of alarm soon after the shelling began on James Island.”

  Emily gripped his sleeve “Is her health in danger?”

  “Not immediately. But she’s in no condition to withstand excessive anxiety. I just wanted to make you aware, should the attacks in the harbor be repeated.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Malone.” Emily’s brow furrowed. “She did mention her fright. It’s prompted a decision to visit her daughter in England.”

  “I think that would be best.” He patted her hand. “Meanwhile, just keep an eye on her.”

  Emily chewed her lip as she watched the doctor and Abigail drive away. The sounds of gunfire drifting from the harbor mouth had been light and infrequent, and Aunt Margaret had seemed quite herself all morning. She dismissed her concerns for the moment, letting the excitement of her afternoon with Abigail fill her once again.

  Returning to her room, she opened the valise containing the few personal items she had carried away from Sophia’s and pulled out her stationery. She had momentous news to share! She penned a quick note to Sophia, asking for the return of her belongings. Then she spent far longer conveying all the details of her engagement to her mother. The last letter she addressed to Lizzie.

  My dear friend,

  After so many anxious months, my heart is bursting with news of your safe arrival. You fled in good time, for the blockade soon halted most ships from entering or leaving port, and war has now come to the outskirts of Charleston. There has been fighting on the Sea Islands at the harbor mouth, within earshot of the city, but so far our defenses have held.

  Aunt Margaret will soon away to England, and I to Baltimore. But I fear my leap from the frying pan may land me in the fire, as that city is ever so much closer to more active battlefields. When the madness of war is past, I hope to one day visit you in your new home. Until then I wish you and your family every happiness. And I hope you will share mine. For Thad and I are to be married next summer.

  You must have seen the fire the night you left. It cut a swath straight through the middle of the city, from one river to the other. The damage was severe, though few lives were lost. My parents’ house and Aunt Margaret’s were spared. But the ruins remain, with neither enough funds nor manpower available to rebuild. The tragedy has taken a heavy toll on the spirit of the city. Unfortunately, in the chaos of that night, I lost the letter you entrusted to me before you boarded the ship. You seemed in earnest that I know the identity of Larkin’s father. If you still wish me to know, please write it again.

  Continue to send your letters through Uncle Isaac, should my parents return to Charleston unexpectedly, and Zeke will forward them until I can supply a Baltimore address. Give my love to Ketch and the children.

  In truest friendship,

  Emily

  She read through the note with dissatisfaction. What had taken an hour to compose still left far too much unsaid. She wished again for Jovie’s gift of eloquence, but Lizzie, she was sure, would sense the emotion she could not put into words.

  After marking the northbound letter, she left all three with Aunt Margaret’s outgoing mail.

  ***

  The military hospital proved far worse than the prison ward, where Emily’s patients had all been in a relative state of wholeness. The scene that awaited her the next morning left her lightheaded and nauseous. Men swathed in bloodied bandages lined the room in bed after bed—with horrendous wounds, missing limbs, and disfigured faces.

  “Fields hospitals can’t possibly cope with the number of casualties. Along with the wounded from local skirmishes, we’ve received trainloads of men from the campaign in Virginia. These were the ones deemed most likely to survive transfer.” Dr. Malone spoke to her and Abigail in low tones.

  Jovie was in Virginia. So was Jack.

  “Steel yourself against fate,” the doctor continued. “A liberal dose of compassion may be all you can offer some of them. We cannot save them all.”

  As Dr. Malone gave them a tour of the facility, showing them where to find bandages, scissors, bedpans, cloths, basins, and lanterns, Emily dreaded looking too closely at the faces of the maimed and dying lest she discover someone she loved. Her fear, coupled with the viscous smell of blood, threatened to smother her. “I don’t think I can do this,” she choked out.

  Abigail took her hand, flooding her with warmth. “If we don’t, who will?”

  Emily let her eyes rove the beds. One man wore a tattered wreck of a uniform that looked as if it had never been washed. He was missing a hand and the opposite foot. Another had lice crawling in his clothing. A third man, with a bandage nearly obscuring his long, grizzled hair, rasped and shuddered with each breath. These men had given everything. How could she abandon them?

  She took a deep breath, gagged, and forced down her revulsion. She would meet this challenge as she met all others—head-on. She clenched her hands into fists. “Okay, what must I do?”

  Her first week on the job was a bombardment of ghastly horrors that seared themselves into her memory. She grew acclimated to the whisper of bedsheets covering bodies that could not lie still for the pain. She learned to recognize the sickly odor of gangrene before she changed a dressing. And she received a thorough and embarrassing education of the male physique. The sheer number of patients left her little time to process her surroundings. It was insulation of a sort. But she could not stop herself from caring each time she learned a name, a face, a personality. Each death tore away a bit more of the girl she used to be, and when the hospital followed her home at the end of the day, only exhaustion overcame her sorrow.

  For the remainder of June and into July, she spent her waking hours washing wounds, emptying bedpans, and cleaning messes when a bedpan wasn’t soon enough in coming. Many of the men suffered from dysentery that swept through the close quarters of camp. Jovie had referred to it lightly as the “quick step” that hastened a trip to the latrines, but the reality was severe and life threatening. Emily could only guess how men who suffered from such illness found the strength to march and fight.

  Nevertheless, a new sense of optimism took hold of the city following the Battle of Secessionville, as the skirmish outside of Charleston became known. And as details trickled in of a stunning Confederate victory on the Yorktown Peninsula, which crushed the Union’s hopes of taking Richmond and forced the Army of the Potomac back to the James River, the name of newly appointed general Robert E. Lee hung on every tongue.

  The survivors in the military hospital celebrated with no less enthusiasm than the rest of the South. On a stifling afternoon in early July, a rawboned man with a tongue that often forgot ladies were present shipped in fresh from the Virginia battlefield with a lead ball through his hip. He gave a colorful account of the campaign.

  “General Johnston had about as much pluck as my grandmother.” He punctuated the statement with an expletive that made Emily’s ears burn. “Sorry, miss,” he muttered before continuing with renewed energy. “For weeks he let McClellan push us around like little girls running from a schoolyard bully. It was Bobby Lee who put the devil in us after Johnston decorated hisself with a piece of artillery shell. We sent those Billies back to Harrison’s Landin
g with a boot in their…ahem…backside,” he finished with a sideways glance at Emily.

  She engaged him in conversation as she washed out his wound. “What did you do before the war, Mister—?”

  The man waved at the crop of flies pouring in through the open windows. “Fink. Private Tom Fink, miss. Reckon we ought to be on a first-name basis if you’re gunna be sightseeing inside my drawers.” He smirked as the men within earshot guffawed. “I worked the Charleston docks as a general no-account.”

  Emily couldn’t quite keep her cheeks from turning pink. As she worked, she was careful to keep the blanket that covered the rest of him firmly in place. “You’re from Charleston then?”

  “Naw. I hail from the piedmont. I was a cotton picker from knee-high. Lit out after my ma died and figured I’d earn my bread on the docks. Problem was, I lost it on the poker table quick as I earned it.” He grinned.

  Despite his coarseness, Emily liked the soldier. He handled the discomfort of his wound stoically and raised the spirits of everyone around him. After three days of listening to his humorous, pleading requests, she even smuggled a deck of cards past the watchful eyes of the head nurse.

  His eyes lit up as she slipped the deck under the edge of his blanket, and he grinned broadly. “I am going to marry you for that, darlin’,” he said, grabbing her left hand and raising it to his lips.

  “I’m afraid someone has beaten you to the question,” she bantered, but stopped at the consternation that froze his features.

  “Where did you get this?”

  She recoiled at the harshness of his voice.

  “My fiancé gave it to me. It was a family heirloom.” She tried to tug her hand away but he gripped it tighter.

  “It certainly was. My family’s.” His eyes shifted to hers. “That was my grandmother’s ring. I lost it in a game a year ago.”