Blood Moon (Ella Wood, 2)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  Anna ducked her head again. “My father made me.”

  “He made you come?” If that wasn’t a great irony.

  Anna nodded. “I didn’t want to. I was going to get married.”

  “How old are you?” Emily asked gently.

  “I’ll be sixteen next month.”

  “I see.” She was young, but such marriages weren’t unheard of, especially if the groom was older. Her own mother had married at sixteen. “So why didn’t you?”

  “Papa found out.” Anna addressed the ground. “He doesn’t approve of Jacob.”

  “I don’t know that he can have any say in the matter if you really want to marry this man. If I were you, I’d probably hop the next train home and elope.”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why not? How’s your father to know? You could be far away before he ever learned you left Baltimore.”

  “He made sure it couldn’t happen.” Anna shook her head sadly. “My father has a lot of influence. He put pressure on the right people, and Jacob was forced to enlist in the army.”

  “Does your father have a long lost twin?” Emily mumbled grimly. “I may know him.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Has school turned out all right? Even though you didn’t want to come?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “And have you found your niche?”

  This brought a slight smile. “My grandmother always told me I have an eye for form—my father sent me here based on her opinion—but I’d always thought of my pictures as mere doodlings. It turns out I’m quite good at three-dimensional design. Sculpture and pottery and such. Mr. Gulch even told me I would have made a fine architect if I’d been born male.”

  “If you’re interested in architecture, why let that stop you?”

  “But I’m not. I don’t really care about any of it.” Anna’s face fell. “I just want Jacob to come home safely.”

  “Anna, I wish that for you with all my heart.”

  ***

  Mr. Woodward wasn’t in his office that morning. Neither did he return after the first class period nor after the second. Emily had just sat down for her final class of the morning, thinking perhaps she should go plant herself in his office for all she had gleaned of the day’s lessons, when she saw him pass in the hall in the company of a younger man. She sprang from her seat and followed them to Mr. Woodward’s office, where the principal spotted her as he opened the door.

  “Miss Preston!” He beamed. “I’d like you to meet a former student of mine, Mr. Daniel Harnish.”

  The man was young, Emily saw. He couldn’t have been many years out of school. She curtsied distractedly and turned to her instructor. “Mr. Woodward, if I could—”

  “Mr. Harnish runs a small photography studio here in Baltimore and has shown particular interest in the photographs you have on display in our upstairs classroom,” Mr. Woodward continued. “I believe he would like a word with you. The two of you may use my office.”

  “Do you have a moment, Miss Preston?” Mr. Harnish asked.

  She couldn’t have felt less inclined for a conversation, but she followed him inside. “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll leave you two here, then. Congratulations, Miss Preston.” Mr. Woodward stepped out and closed the door.

  “Thank you,” she said automatically, chafing at the delay. She didn’t want to appear rude, but now she’d have to locate Mr. Woodward all over again.

  “Miss Preston,” the photographer began. “I couldn’t help but note the poignancy in your pair of photographs—the Negro man contemplating scripture, the woman working at her enterprise with such joyful abandon. Both speak far beyond the simplicity of their subject matter. And the skill with which they’ve been enhanced with both ink and oils shows a remarkable mastery of the techniques.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at the hallway inconspicuously, in the direction the principal had taken.

  “As Mr. Woodward said, I own a small studio here in town. For some time I’ve been hoping to expand. After viewing your photographs, I believe the time may be at hand. I would like to extend you an invitation to hire in as my assistant.”

  Everything else dropped away as Emily’s eyes zeroed in on the man’s face.

  “As my nephew is currently my only other employee, you would assist me with all aspects of the business, from helping with studio sessions, to developing and mounting the images, and especially with any artistic details ordered by our customers. I am prepared to offer you exactly what I would pay a man for the same work.”

  Emily stared at the young man in astonishment. Her lifelong dream had just become reality. Here was her opportunity to use her talents to support herself financially outside the confines of the culture she had been raised in. Independence and self-fulfillment—the reasons she had applied to the art school in the first place—there for her taking. And the job was exactly the one she would choose.

  Why, then, was she hesitating?

  Mr. Harnish misread her reaction. “I would be more than happy to work around your class schedule until you have completed school.”

  Emily smiled. “Your offer is extremely generous, Mr. Harnish. I am deeply flattered. However, I must ask for a few days’ deliberation. I shouldn’t like to accept without speaking to my current employer.”

  “I understand. Here is my calling card. My address is on the back. I’ll be in the studio all weekend.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harnish. You shall have my answer at nine o’clock Saturday morning.”

  26

  “Forgive me, Mr. Heatherstone, but it was a blatant lie,” Emily confessed. “I knew full well I have no obligation to Mr. Portman that would prevent me from taking the job. Indeed, I highly anticipate my last day cleaning his house!”

  “Then why didn’t thee accept?”

  Jeremiah supplied the answer. “You want to go home, don’t you?”

  She and Jeremiah had finished their lesson and now visited in the warmth of Mr. Heatherstone’s kitchen, the plate of cookies she had made disappearing between them.

  “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Woodward. He said that under the circumstances, I can sit my examinations early.”

  “Why?” Jeremiah asked, his dark eyes studying her soberly.

  Emily planted her elbows and caught her head in her hands. She had lain awake half the night weighing the arguments on either side. They strongly favored staying in Baltimore. “I suppose I’ve been suffering from a sense of obligation ever since the Union attacked the harbor.”

  “Thee do realize thy presence will have no effect upon the outcome of the war. Thee cannot help thy friends or thy family, and thy mouth will simply be one more wanting food.”

  “But I can help my aunt,” she countered. “She has no one else. Her daughter lives in England. Her brother—my father—isn’t well-known for compassion. And her health is in question.”

  “Mrs. Thornton will be downright disgusted if you leave school for her sake,” Jeremiah put in.

  Emily stared at her hands folded on the table before her. “Aunt Margaret took me in when I was alone. She gave me shelter and support when my own father would not, when the rest of Charleston discarded me. I cannot abandon her with the Union navy threatening the harbor mouth.” That was the crux of it, reduced to simplest form.

  “You don’t even know if there will be another invasion.”

  “It’s only a question of time. Jeremiah, I can’t stay here not knowing what’s happening, wondering if Aunt Margaret is safe or if the assault has resumed. It takes days for news to travel this far. Weeks sometimes. I should be there with her.”

  But Emily knew her choice involved much more than loyalty. She’d discussed enough with Jeremiah that he knew it too. “There will be no work in the city. So this, in effect, is your choice: stay and earn money for a second year at the school, or go home to stay for the remainder of the war.”

  “The remainder of the war,” she repeated. How long w
ould that be?

  “Miss Preston, there comes a point in a young person’s life where they must make their own decisions,” Mr. Heatherstone told her. “I have three sons who have scattered to three different cities. Do I wish they lived here? Of course I do. But they made the decisions they felt they needed to make, and I respect that. Thee must do the same. Take thy time and think this through. There is nothing selfish about remaining.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Heatherstone.” Hearing the words took some of the pressure off her. But she already knew what she was going to do.

  Jeremiah knew it too. On their walk home, he asked her outright, “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He continued several paces in silence. “After the effort Jack undertook to put us together, it sure seems a shame to undo it all so soon.”

  “It’s not forever. I’ll be back.”

  “Emily,” he said, catching her gaze. “Have you thought about how you’re going to get home?”

  “On the train, of course. Though it may take an age.” She hadn’t missed Southern travel.

  “The railroads are closed. There are two huge armies sitting across the Rappahannock from each other. Hostilities could break out again any moment.”

  Emily bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of this. “Then I suppose I ride around them on horseback and catch the train in Virginia.”

  Jeremiah shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re sure this is what you want to do? This job is what you’ve always wanted. What you’ve worked so hard for.”

  “I have to, Jeremiah.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. Aunt Margaret is my family.”

  The words hung between them for several paces before she realized what she’d said. “Jeremiah, I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “It’s okay.”

  She stopped him. “No, it isn’t. These past four months, you’ve become every bit as much a brother to me as Jack was. Probably more so. If things were different, I’d ask you to come home with me. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re family. I don’t know what surname you’ve been using, but I’d be mighty pleased if you’d call yourself Jeremiah Preston.”

  His smile started slow and worked its way up to his eyes. “I’d be mighty proud to take the same name as you and Jack. And if you’re serious about riding around the armies, I’m going with you. No sister of mine is making that trip alone.”

  ***

  The photography studio was located above a mercantile in a section of town that was neither upscale nor seedy. A bell dinged as Emily entered the brightly painted reception area. It had most likely been converted from former living quarters and wasn’t nearly as showy as Mr. Brady’s studio in Washington, but it was neat and cheerful, with a coat tree, several mismatched chairs, a desk, and a few examples of Daniel Harnish’s work hanging on the walls. Two propped-open windows overlooked the street and let springtime into the room.

  Daniel appeared from behind a curtain. “Ah, Miss Preston. Welcome to the Harnish Studio. It is rather small, but it earns me an honest living.”

  “It’s perfect,” she said, a little wistfully. She could easily picture herself owning and working in such a place someday.

  “I’m glad you think so. I presume you have come with an answer for me?”

  “Yes.” Emily snapped out of her reverie and cleared her throat. “Mr. Harnish, I appreciate your offer. I truly do. And at any other time I would snatch at it eagerly. But I’m afraid I have to miss the final quarter of the school year.”

  “I see.” His disappointment was quite evident. “Is there any chance that you will be returning in the fall?”

  She hesitated. “It’s doubtful.”

  “Then I am twice sorry.”

  They stood facing each other, with the street noises clanking in through the window and the slightest breeze stirring the air around them. There really was nothing else to say. “I should go.”

  “Wait.” He gestured to the back wall. “May I show you around the studio first?”

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  Emily had been too distracted to study Daniel Harnish on their first meeting. She saw now that he was quite handsome. Not tall, but he was strongly built, with a boyish face and an overlong nose. His brown hair curled just a little too low on his brow, as if he couldn’t be bothered to fuss with such things as haircuts. He pushed it aside impatiently as he escorted her through the curtained doorway and down a short hall.

  “This is it, for the most part.” He stopped just inside an open, well-lit room that took up the back two-thirds of the apartment. It swelled with cabinets and equipment, as orderly as the reception area, with everything in its place. “I really like the way the skylight brightens the whole space, so I decided not to close off my workroom. Everything I need is here within reach. I built these cupboards myself.” He opened one to show her racks of glass plates.

  Daniel’s face grew animated as he spoke, and Emily didn’t need to feign interest as he took her around to each area. Several cameras stood in readiness, aimed directly beneath the glass ceiling where the actual photography session would take place. Emily recognized a boxy Lewis camera as the same type she had used at school. One corner was curtained off for use as a guest dressing room. And a worktable took up much of the middle space, with a half-inked portrait sitting on top, waiting to be finished.

  “Where is your darkroom?”

  He indicated a walled-off square that separated the studio from the front room and formed the hallway between them. “Would you like to go in?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Daniel opened the door, and Emily sniffed the distinctive odors of ether, sulfuric acid, and silver nitrate. Like the rest of the studio, it was organized and invited use.

  Daniel chuckled. “This room always reminds me of playing hide-and-seek as a child. My grandmother had a room off her cellar about this size where she kept her preserves. We weren’t allowed to play in it for all the glass jars. I suppose that’s why no one ever found me.”

  “Did you grow up in Baltimore?”

  “Just a few streets away. The farm was several miles outside town. My father sold it about five years ago.” Daniel checked his timepiece. “I have an hour before my first morning appointment. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  “Do you have tea?” Everyone in the North except Mrs. Calkins seemed to prefer the bitter drink.

  “I don’t.” He looked truly apologetic.

  “Then coffee’s fine.”

  He produced two cups and filled them at a small wood-burning stove set in the recess of an old fireplace. The room was packed so full that she hadn’t even noticed it.

  They settled on either side of the worktable. “You are open Saturdays, then?” Emily asked after taking a sip from her cup.

  “Only when the weather doesn’t cooperate.” He indicated the glass ceiling. “Tuesday’s shower set me back. If the sun takes time off, I have to reschedule appointments, and Saturday is often the only day I can make them up. But there’s usually something in the studio that requires my attention anyway.” He gestured to the half-inked portrait as if considering it regretfully. “Would I be prying if I asked why you can’t take this job? You’re intelligent, personable, far prettier than my nephew—” He glanced ruefully at his pocket watch again. “—and more punctual, as well.”

  Emily smiled, pleased with his offhand compliment. “I’m from Charleston,” she told him. “South Carolina. My family is there, and given the current situation in the harbor, I feel very strongly that I need to be with them.”

  “I see,” he said, growing quiet.

  “And that’s where I lose everyone.” She set her cup down with an impatient sigh. “Half the people I’ve met in this town would like to throw me back over the Mason-Dixon line.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.” He was still staring plaintively into his cup.

  “No?” she asked, a little sharp
ly.

  He glanced up. “Actually, I was cursing Washington for losing me the best candidate I’ve found for this position.”

  She bit her lip. He said it so matter-of-factly. Not like a man complimenting a woman, but like a man complimenting a colleague. “Thank you.”

  They heard the outer door open and footsteps thump up the steps. “That would be my nephew.”

  “I should go,” Emily said again. Before she changed her mind and abandoned Aunt Margaret altogether.

  He stood and escorted her to the reception area just as the bell over the door dinged with the entrance of a teenage boy. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Preston,” Daniel said. “I wish your family well.”

  Emily left the studio with an overwhelming sense of disappointment.

  27

  “Thank you for all your help this year, sir,” Emily said, bidding Mr. Woodward goodbye after she’d sat her exams. “Your support has been greatly appreciated. I promise, I’ll return the first I’m able.”

  “I don’t at all agree with your decision to leave, Miss Preston. You won’t be crossing over a border. You’ll be passing through a front. It’s no place for a young woman alone.”

  “I won’t be alone, sir. My brother will be going with me.”

  “That only makes me feel incrementally better.” He thrust a page at her. “I’ve written out a signed statement swearing that you are a student at my school and that you’ve been called home for a family emergency. It won’t guarantee your safety, but perhaps it will help if you find yourself in a pinch.”

  Emily took the note gratefully. “Thank you, sir.”

  He studied her intently, his lips set in a firm line. “Skirt Washington and cross the Potomac where it narrows north of the city to avoid the road closures. Once you get over the river, you’ll be entering a corridor in heavy use by Union troops. Cross the Fredericksburg road, hug the Potomac, and stay out of sight. When the river veers due east, you’ll be very close to Falmouth, where the Union army hasn’t yet broken their winter camp. Follow the river east and give them a wide berth. If by some stroke of fortune you manage to avoid their picket lines, the Rappahannock flows parallel to the Potomac about seven miles to the south. Your horse can swim it easily. That will put you in Confederate territory.”