Emily bit her lip. She couldn’t blame him. Not really. But she found nothing admirable in his methods. “Thad, where did you get your funds? You led me to believe your parents paid for your education and your uncle backed your blockade business. But I strongly suspect everything you’ve ever told me was a lie.”
Thad walked several strides before answering. “This is why I came, Emily. I need to start fresh and tell you everything. I hope that in time you’ll be able to forgive me. But even if I never regain your trust, I can’t live any longer with this on my conscience. No lies. No stories. Just the truth.”
She kept her eyes straight ahead and her voice even. Jane had said no one was irretrievable. Could he have seen the error of his ways? All his ways? “I’ll listen.”
“Fair enough.” Breathing deeply to bolster his courage, he began. “My mother was an actress. I grew up in an acting troupe. We never settled anywhere for long, and when I did find myself among children my own age outside of our own company, it was usually an unpleasant experience. I was ridiculed, beaten, called names. I learned early to stand up for myself. My mother tried her best to protect and instill values into me, but it was a hard life. I was in scuffles more days than not.
“When I was eleven years old, a man joined our troupe who took an interest in me. I never knew my father, so I spent every minute I could with him. He showed me that there were better ways to get what I wanted out of life than fighting. I’d had bit parts with the theater, but he showed me how I could play a role every day. The way I dressed, how I carried myself, my vocabulary and mannerisms, they all influenced how others perceived me. He taught me to read people, to become what they expected, to earn their trust and be what they needed. I learned to create opportunities and seize them.
“My mother died the day I turned fourteen. I traveled with the troupe for another year, but when this man left, I went with him. I played along with his acts, posing as his son, or his servant, or a patient cured of some disease. Whatever he needed me to be. We made a prosperous living.
“He also taught me cards, as well as sleight of hand. He taught me how to manipulate a game and win. When he died, I took his money and enrolled in school. One of my more expensive ventures, but I was doing fine on my own. And I was sure it would pay off. You see, I’d met a few dandies around the poker table and thought I spotted another opportunity. These college boys were bound to have sisters, and with a war looming…well, I just had to find the right situation.”
He sighed miserably. “You know the rest of the story. Only it didn’t work out like I’d planned. I met you. And what I had been before was no longer good enough. You made me want to be the honest, hard-working student I pretended to be. So I gave up the games, found employment, and grew to hate this web of deceit. I wanted to tell you, but I feared losing you.”
Emily steered them toward the waterfront, in a circle that would eventually loop back to the boardinghouse. She couldn’t answer. Her heart was full to the brim with pity, scorn, disgust, distrust, and yes, maybe even the barest hope. His story lined up exactly with what Jeremiah had told her. Thad was telling the truth, revealing a side of himself she’d never witnessed before. A vulnerable side very capable of human emotion.
He dared to look at her then. “My mother was an incredibly strong woman. You remind me so much of her.”
She bristled with offense.
“She was not a prostitute,” he said sharply. “I’ve told you before, some of the girls in the companies are simply seeking independence, creating an opportunity for themselves. Not so very different from you. My mother met and married my father, another member of the company, who died of tuberculosis before I was born. Any blame for the way I turned out is mine alone. Not hers.”
The passion in his voice left no room for disbelief, and the story deepened her sympathy. But even if everything he said was true, even if he was head-over-tail in love with her, even if he had turned his life around, there was still the matter of Lizzie.
The harbor opened up before them with its familiar feeling of home. “Thad, I appreciate your telling me this. It would have given you more credence if you’d done it before I found out, but I forgive you, totally and completely.”
Hope sprang to his eyes, and she held up a hand. “But I’m not going to give you any false expectations. There’s still…” She drifted off, not sure how to convey her utter revulsion for his vicious assault.
“Your maid?” he guessed.
“You forced yourself on her, Thad. You traumatized her and left her in the woods half dead. What if someone did that to me?”
“You’re white. I’d kill him.”
“Her color did nothing to insulate her. She cried for weeks. She became pregnant. You have a son.”
“Then your father will thank me for giving him another slave. Emily,” he said impatiently. “I don’t understand why this is such a contentious point with you. Half the Negroes in South Carolina have white blood.”
“And how does that make it right?”
His eyes narrowed. “I think I’m beginning to understand.” He backed her into a doorway, pressing her body against the wall, and kissed her. Hard.
The move caught her completely off guard. She struggled to break free but he held her fast, pinning her arms, trapping her against his chest. The kiss was forceful but familiar. For the briefest moment, she gave in to the familiar taste of his lips, wishing against hope for what she once thought they shared. Her weakness lasted only a moment. Longing turned to fear. Hope morphed into outrage. Was this how he’d forced himself on Lizzie? With a violent twist, she wrenched out of his grasp and slapped him with all the strength in her body. The impact resounded loudly in the narrow doorway.
He drew back with savage triumph gleaming in his eye. “You do still love me,” he rasped. “I can feel it. We were meant to be together, but you won’t have me…because of a slave woman.”
Emily’s whole body trembled. She could see it all so clearly now. Thad was the dashing robber whose gallantry had made it so easy to discount his crimes. But she knew she could never overlook this one. She lifted her chin firmly, her resolve steady and strong. “Thad, we will never be together. Do you honestly believe I could marry someone with so little regard for human life?”
His eyes grew icy as he backed away. “Then you’d best stay in the North to find yourself a husband.”
She felt only pity for him as he strode away. The incident had set her free. Never again would Thaddeus Black hold any kind of sway over her.
24
Dear Emily,
Darius has asked me to marry him! We are planning a May wedding here in Charleston, and I cannot think of anyone whose presence I would treasure on our special day more than yours. I understand if you can’t manage the long trip home, but I want to ask if you’ll serve as my maid of honor. After all, we owe our happiness in great part to your introduction…
Abigail’s letter arrived only days after Thad’s departure, a poignant exclamation mark on a tragic conclusion. But that didn’t bother her nearly as much as the sharp disappointment she felt when she saw the envelope addressed in Abigail’s hand, not Jovie’s. She had written him four letters and received not so much as a postcard in return. Even so, she was thrilled for Abigail’s good fortune. She longed to say yes, but she knew how impossible it would be to return to Charleston before school ended in July. As difficult as travel had become between North and South, she wasn’t sure it even made sense to go home then if she was just going to return by September. And she did very much want to return. She answered Abigail with deep regret.
***
“Got enough to buy a boardinghouse?” Missouri asked, entering their room to flop on her bed. “Because working isn’t working for me, if you know what I mean. There’s got to be an easier way.”
Emily looked up from her finances, which were spread across her desktop. “If you find one, let me know. I’ve barely started saving for next fall.”
“Har
per’s hasn’t picked up any of the pictures you’ve been sending them?” Missouri asked, rolling to one side so she could unbutton her shoes.
“Just a few.”
“Have you tried Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly?”
“Yes.”
“No luck?”
“No.”
“Well, don’t give up. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Emily pulled out her portfolio and handed it to her roommate. It was thick with a collection of new works, primarily assignments, but most of them wouldn’t be appropriate for a woodcut illustration. She hadn’t had much time for sketching lately. “There’s nothing in there.”
“I think you should send in this one.” Missouri smirked and held up a portrait Emily had to paint of herself peering into a mirror.
“I hate that one. Throw it in the cook fire.”
Missouri laughed and thumbed through several more pages. “What about this one?”
It was an image of Union troops marching from one Baltimore railroad station to another on their way to somewhere. Emily had sketched it on one of her afternoon walks.
“It’s boring. The magazine wants landscapes of battlefields, portraits of generals, news…and I can’t be on-site. I’ve got to admit failure, Missouri. I have nothing they’d be interested in.”
“I still like this one,” Missouri said, staring intently at the open portfolio. “And it’s still relevant.” She held up the picture of Jovie leaving Maple Ridge.
“No.”
“Why not? It makes me weepy just looking at it.”
It stirred Emily deeply, as well. “I won’t part with it.” She took it from her roommate’s hand and slipped it back into the drawer. The image was too personal. Too private.
“Okay, then you’ve got nothing.” Missouri handed back the folder. “So what are you going to do?”
“Look for employment that pays real money.”
“I could get you in at Mr. Portman’s. He might even let you work just Saturdays until the school year ends.”
Emily tapped her fingers on the edge of her bed. “Let me check at school first. They might know of something in the fine arts. But if nothing works out, I’ll accept the offer. Thank you.”
“Sure. And good luck. I hope you find something better.”
***
Emily lost no time in asking.
“Ah, Miss Preston,” Mr. Woodward exclaimed when she knocked on his office door the next morning. “You’ve saved me the trouble of seeking you out. I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to display two of the works you finished in my photography class in our ladies’ exhibition room. As you know, we reserve the west classroom on the third floor for examples of our students’ progress. It’s rather a grand portfolio we can show off when we’re approached by prospective students and employers. I believe I took you to see it when you inquired about enrollment last year.”
“I remember,” she said. “Which two did you have in mind?”
“You inked a lovely photograph of Mrs. Calkins smiling broadly as she paused from sweeping her boardinghouse. You remember the one?”
Emily nodded. Abigail, who’d once told her to take cheerful pictures, would have appreciated it.
“It’s a lovely piece. It not only celebrates the entrepreneurship of women, it captures their grace and their naturally sweet spirit. The other one was rather more controversial but relevant to our times. You finished it in oils, as I recall. A portrait of a black man reading from the Holy Scriptures. Quite striking, really.”
“Thank you, sir.” She had photographed Jeremiah sitting on a pew in a beam of sunlight that poured through one of the meetinghouse windows and painted it during consecutive reading lessons. What an ordeal it had been to carry the bulky camera to the location. “I’d be happy to display them.”
“Very good.” He smiled. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”
“I, uh, was wondering if you know of anyone looking to hire students.” She tapped her fingers against her skirt. “I’d like to come back next year.”
His heavy eyelids drooped with sympathy. “I’m pleased that you wish to return. Unfortunately, I don’t have any employment requests pending at the moment.”
“I understand.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“I’ll let you know immediately if an opportunity arises. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Actually, there is one more thing.” She took advantage of the moment alone with the principal to raise an issue she’d been wrestling with for some time. “Sir, I believe my artwork would benefit tremendously from an understanding of how joints, muscles, and bones work together to give the human form its underlying structure. I was wondering if I might apply for a course in anatomy.”
Mr. Woodward’s eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. “Certainly not. Anatomy isn’t offered to young ladies.”
“But why not, sir? It leaves us at a distinct disadvantage. You’ve seen my freehand work. You know I could—”
“Miss Preston, I am sorry,” he said with finality. “The board of directors of this school—and I am in full agreement with them—has deemed the study of the unclothed human body improper for the delicate nature of our female students.”
Emily bit back her disappointment. If she could not attend the class, she would find another way to learn.
She confided the results of the conversation to Missouri on their way down to dinner that evening. “So I guess a job polishing silverware is better than no job at all,” she said without much enthusiasm. “Would you speak to Mr. Portman for me?”
“I already did,” Missouri answered. “When I mentioned you’d worked in a boardinghouse, he told me to bring you with me tomorrow. You should be able to get all the hours you need.”
“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Lucy drawled from behind them. “The little Southern belle will be performing menial labor just like one of her slaves. It is funny how fickle fortune can be. I, on the other hand, have never needed to seek employment,” she added, with a pert lift to her chin. “My father pays for my education.”
“You’ve never been asked by Mr. Woodward to submit two photographs for display, either,” Missouri pointed out.
Lucy’s face transformed, and she stalked past them into the dining room.
“She hates that you’ve taken to her private domain of photography.” Missouri smirked. “She hates it more that you’re good at it.”
“Well, thanks to you and Mr. Portman, I’ll still be here next July. And she’ll be graduated.”
“Amen to that.”
***
“‘James, it is now morning. The sun is just peeping over the hills in the east. Get up, my boy! For the sun has just risen.’” Jeremiah’s deep voice rumbled over the childish words of the McGuffey’s Reader, carefully articulating each sound. “‘I hope you have said your prayers, and thanked your Father in Heaven for all His goodness. I hope you have thanked Him for your good health, and the blessing of a home, for kind parents, for tender friends, for pleasant books, and all your other enjoyments.’”
“Very good, Jeremiah!” Emily praised. The text couldn’t be a more ironic choice to teach a former slave to read, but Grace had been most gracious in lending it to her. And Jeremiah was improving with every lesson. “Your inflection is excellent, and you remembered that ‘ea’ occasionally makes a short vowel sound. With such effort, you’ll master this level in no time.”
Jeremiah grinned and stretched his legs under the pew in front of him. An April shower pounded the meetinghouse roof and chilled the interior, but neither had wanted to cancel. The twice-weekly lessons had grown too important to both of them.
“You look tired, Miss Emily. You been getting enough rest?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Jeremiah.”
He grinned sheepishly. “It’s hard to break old habits.”
“Formality may be safer in some company, but here it makes me feel like a schoolmarm. You didn’t c
all my brother Mister Jack, did you?”
“Only when someone else was listening. He didn’t allow it.”
“There, you see? I won’t either.”
“Very well.” He tried again. “Have you been taking care of yourself, Emily?”
She shifted a little guiltily. The second school term had rolled into the third, and she’d packed her days with every course she could enroll in, both evening and morning. Saturdays she spent cleaning Mr. Portman’s already pristine house. The arrangement left little time for rest. But neither did it leave time for thoughts she’d prefer not to dwell on. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, Jeremiah.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “Have you heard from home lately?”
“Yes. Aunt Margaret and Abigail write often.” She sighed and reclined against the pew back. “It sounds bad, Jeremiah. Food shortages, a lack of manpower, no economy. I know there is a great deal broken in the South, but I hate seeing Charleston reduced to such a state.”
“Is everyone well?”
“Aunt Margaret’s health isn’t good, but Zeke, Betsy, Tandey, and the others are doing fine. So are the Malones.”
He nodded in acknowledgment, but he looked so pensive that she wondered what other faces were impressed on his memory. “You’re doing all right, aren’t you, Jeremiah? You like your job? You’ve made friends?”
“I’m free,” he answered with a small smile. “And unloading ships will do for now.”
Emily had the sneaky suspicion that they were both holding back in their answers. “If you learn to read,” she said, nudging him back to his task, “you can teach yourself anything.”
Jeremiah returned to the primer and rattled off the lesson’s remaining paragraphs. Emily had just bent over the book to read the first comprehension question when the door burst open, and a figure clad in a black greatcoat surged through. Emily nearly lost her seat.
“I thought I saw someone come in here,” the man stormed, catching sight of them together on the pew. “This is a house of God, not a destination for an uncouth liaison.” The man unbound himself from his muffler. He was elderly, but broad and strong, with iron hair and an iron visage.
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