Ella Wood

by Michelle Isenhoff

  Marie broke in. “I’m afraid I couldn’t grant permission while William is away. Especially with hostilities as they are.”

  “I should have thought of that. Perhaps this winter instead. I did have such fun with my niece when she was here last autumn. Consider it an open invitation, my dear.” She patted Emily’s hand. “There is so much to do in the city.”

  Emily smiled but knew their list of favorite amusements would be quite misaligned. “That reminds me,” she said. “Yesterday Abigail Malone told me about the church barbeque. Do you think we could attend, Mother?”

  “Of course we’ll go if you want to, dear. It sounds like fun.” Marie seemed delighted that her daughter had finally taken an interest in something. “When is it?”

  “Next Thursday. Will Father be back by then?” she asked tentatively. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him there or not. She missed her old Papa, the one with no imperfections, but since their falling out, she breathed easier with him in Columbia.

  “Your father was uncertain when he could get here. With the government in transition and the military situation so unstable, his duties have required all his attention.”

  “Have you told him about Jeremiah?”

  Marie’s face clouded. “No. Zeke has been handling Jeremiah’s responsibilities. It’s working out. Your father need not worry about it for the time being. He can manage the situation any way he chooses once he gets here.”

  Aunt Margaret adroitly swerved the conversation. “Would you like to attend the Freemasons’ cotillion, Emily? They are raising money for a new infantry division. I’ll gladly sponsor your admission.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” Emily hedged. Or heard about it. Nor did she much care.

  “The soldiers do bring the city to life, don’t they?” Marie noted.

  “It’s been utter chaos.” Aunt Margaret clucked. “And every day a feeling that something momentous is about to happen. It’s leveled out somewhat. I suppose a person, or a city, can eventually acclimate to anything.”

  Emily suspected her aunt was right. She recalled her initial dread, the certainty that Union troops were waiting to deploy in a straight line for Ella Wood. She still wasn’t okay with Jack and Jovie putting themselves at risk, but seven months had passed since Secession and nothing happened except one confrontation in the harbor that had been resolved with only a single accidental death. She must be acclimating. She felt…safer.

  Maybe the others were right. Maybe there really was nothing to fear.

  “I miss Jackson,” Aunt Margaret said wistfully. “I’m sure he and Jovie are having the time of their lives, but I miss my nephew’s visits.”

  Emily saw her surprise reflected in her mother’s eyes. “Did he visit often?” Marie asked.

  “Every Sunday. He shared dinner with me after church every week without fail. Jovie, too. They’ve come regularly for two years.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Marie said in delight.

  “We agreed not to mention it. He thought it might destroy the tough image he works so hard to maintain.” Aunt Margaret chuckled at their joke. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. He’s on to bigger and better things.” The folds of skin around her eyes revealed the barest cloud of worry. “I made him promise he’d stay safe.”

  That was a subject Emily had no wish to dwell on, and she was pleased when it drowned beneath the bells of St. Michael’s tolling the four o’clock hour as Stella served chilled cucumber soup and tiny egg salad sandwiches. The women visited for much of the afternoon. Emily listened to their chatter with only half an ear and let her thoughts return to Jovie’s letter.

  When he lived next door, she had done all she could to avoid him. Once their friendship was established, after he’d outgrown his roguery and moved away to college, their contact became infrequent. Now that he’d left the state entirely, she was getting to know him on a much deeper level. She smiled at the irony.

  Jovie’s letters were a window to his soul, which she was growing more and more fond of. In that cramped, blocky script, he articulated his frustrations, memories, aspirations, and secrets. The thoughts flowed so easily from his pen, illuminating a steady, gentle individuality she’d been blind to. At odd moments she found herself wishing she could share with him the funny thing Betsy said, or some brilliant thought inspired by her reading, or Aunt Margaret’s preposterous hat. Instead, she saved up each one and spoke it into her letters, wishing the end of his service was not so many months away.

  Thad, at least, would soon return—if he had not already. She smiled lightly at the thought and wondered if she might not find him for herself. As quickly as the idea surfaced, she determined to try. She spent the remainder of their visit thinking up a plan that filled her with anticipation.

  “I’d like to walk about the gardens, if I may,” Emily told her mother that evening. “I ate far too many of Stella’s chocolate finger cakes while you and Aunt Margaret were talking.”

  Marie gave her assent. “Take Lizzie with you.”

  “It’s only three houses away,” Emily protested. “You could see me from the upstairs balcony.” Lizzie would only fret when she found out her true purpose.

  “Take her with you,” Marie repeated. “I’ll feel better.”

  So much for simplicity.

  Her prediction proved entirely accurate. “Miss Emily, where you goin’?” the maid asked with a suspicious squint as soon as Emily stepped beyond the borders of the garden.

  “To the market.”

  “It be long closed, miss.”

  “I know that, Lizzie.”

  They walked in silence for half a minute. “Den why we goin’? De market be six blocks away. Marse Preston beat me sure if he find out.”

  “Lizzie,” Emily said, clenching her jaw to hold in her patience, “Ketch was beaten. You have never been beaten. I will not let you be beaten.” She walked a few more steps. “And how in heaven’s name is my father going to find out where we’re going unless you write to him and inform him?”

  “What if someone sees you and tells yo’ mama?”

  “They will not recognize me, because I brought this.” She unfastened a silk scarf that had been twisted around her waist and fastened it over her hair. “The light is already starting to fade. Would you know me?”

  Lizzie answered grudgingly. “No, miss.”

  “Here is one for you. Now, shall we enjoy an evening constitutional?”

  The maid gave a tight nod.

  Emily set a course straight up Church Street, her rapid footfalls strongly suggesting designs beyond a casual stroll. She didn’t tell Lizzie her objective. It was a fool’s errand and she knew it. If Thad was indeed in the city, however, it was worth a walk through the area in which he might have been spotted. She didn’t waste too much thought analyzing her motive. Was it merely her wish for a familiar face at the social functions her mother pushed her to attend? Or was it him—his fire, his energy, his abandon—that she desired?

  She kept up a marching pace, slowing only when they crossed the city market. Long and low and open to the weather, the covered sheds stretched four blocks, from Meeting Street all the way to the harbor where the day’s catch was sold. The stalls stood empty now and Emily paid them no mind. Instead, she scanned any passing pedestrians and the buildings to either side. But her vigilance turned up no trace of Thaddeus Black. Mostly likely Abigail had been mistaken.

  Upon reaching the fish market, empty save for the buzzards that cleaned up any discarded remnants, she realized Lizzie hadn’t uttered a single complaint since wrapping her head in the scarf. She glanced back to see her maid totally absorbed in the vacant market stalls. “What on earth has you so captivated?” Emily asked.

  Lizzie jerked, guiltily almost, and shuffled her feet. “I’s just thinkin’ how outrageous it be to know what all de stalls be sellin’ even when dey’s empty.”

  Of course. Lizzie could read the advertisements left hanging on the walls. “Shall we have our reading lesson on
the walk home?”

  Lizzie smiled conspiratorially.

  Emily quizzed her quietly all the way down East Bay Street, affirming or correcting Lizzie each time she read a sign and guessed at the nature of a business or warehouse. “You have made amazing progress in such a short period of time,” Emily marveled. “And I can’t believe how adept you are at applying it to real life.”

  Lizzie laughed. “It feel a bit like conjurin’, knowin’ what be inside a building widout lookin’.”

  “I believe I could drop you anywhere in the state and you could find your way home just fine.”

  As soon as she said it, Emily realized the opposite was also true. Now that she was literate, Lizzie could find her way out of the state just as easily. She hadn’t contemplated such a possibility until that very moment. The thought sobered her.

  Lizzie seemed to read her mind. The lesson fizzled, and an ungainly silence walked between them all the way home.

  Marie greeted them inside the front door. “I was about to send Zeke out looking for you. How was your walk?”

  “Sticky,” Emily answered. “I could wring enough water from the air to wash with. It’s left me quite fatigued.”

  “Should I turn down yo’ bed, Miss Emily?”

  “I’d appreciate it, Lizzie. I believe I’ll retire early.”

  Marie watched the black woman climb the steps, her scrutiny growing more and more intense. “Emily,” she whispered, “I believe Lizzie could be…in the family way.”

  “She’s four and a half months pregnant, Mother.”

  Marie gasped, so softly it was nearly inaudible. “It is shocking, the loose morals of the coloreds, even when we spoon-feed them Christianity.” She clucked in dismay. “Perhaps we should replace her with one of the other maids. I’m not sure I want you in such—”

  “Mother,” Emily broke in, “Lizzie was raped.”

  Marie’s face paled. “You’re certain?”

  Emily recalled the horrible evening in Josephine’s cabin. “Positive.”

  Marie licked her lips. “Who did it?”

  “She won’t say. But if he was black, I don’t think she’d be nearly so frightened to name him.”

  Marie put out a hand to steady herself against the wall, and Emily could see how it trembled. “I believe I’ll retire for the evening as well.” Her smile appeared thin. “Goodnight, daughter.”

  “Goodnight.” Emily watched her mother ascend the stairs more slowly and carefully than usual. The announcement had clearly unsettled her, but she seemed far more concerned with who may have done it than with Lizzie’s condition.

  Emily narrowed her eyes. Just who did she suspect?

  24

  A cool front tiptoed in overnight. Emily lounged on the piazza, enjoying the momentary lift of summer’s woolen blanket and sketching Tandey as the housekeeper hung bed linens out to dry. She thought nothing of the flat drop of horse hooves that approached from town, grew muted behind the bulk of the house, and failed to continue on to the battery. Nor did Zeke’s summons alarm her.

  “Miss Emily,” he said, “yo’ mama callin’ fo’ you.”

  She waved a hand to acknowledge him. “I’ll be there as soon as I get the movement in Tandey’s skirt correct.”

  “You bes’ come right away, miss.”

  She looked up but his face revealed no emotion. “All right.”

  He led her to the room that contained her father’s rolltop desk and extensive collection of law books. It doubled as a men’s smoking room when her parents entertained guests. Dr. Malone sat in one of several horsehair chairs, his spine rigid against the back, crushing a rolled-up newspaper in his hands. Marie gazed out the window, her cool composure called into question by the thumbnail in her mouth.

  “Ah, Emily,” said Dr. Malone, rising. “I hoped to find you both at home. Your father sent me a telegram this morning and asked me to stop by before a newspaper reached you. There’s been a battle.”

  Marie rose, the blood draining from her face. “Jack,” she whispered.

  Emily felt the floor of her heart drop open. “When? Where?”

  “A small town called Manassas, Virginia, not many miles from Washington. General McDowell thought he could attack Richmond and bring a swift end to the Confederacy. He didn’t plan on our boys putting up much of a fight.”

  Marie gripped his arm. “Is Jack alive?”

  Dr. Malone took her hand gently in one of his own. “We don’t know. Your husband said the Second was involved and there were casualties. We just don’t know anything for certain yet.”

  Emily sank onto one of the matching chairs, her limbs too weak to support her weight.

  “There’s bound to be a good bit of celebration in town once word spreads. Our army stood like a mountain while Union troops panicked and fled. It was a clear Southern victory.” He shook his head. “Seems to me, though, that if our commanders had a lick of organization, they could have ordered a pursuit and taken the North’s capital. Washington put itself on a silver platter and we chose not to take it.”

  He dropped the morning edition of the Charleston Mercury onto the desk. “There’s plenty of room dedicated to the battle, but it’s as much fiction and speculation as fact. The only things we know for sure are that the altercation was bloody and we’re in for a good deal more than we bargained for.” He laid a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Marie. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  She nodded, and the doctor quietly let himself out.

  Emily’s insides twisted when she thought of her brother fighting, shooting, dying, but it was Jovie’s vivid green eyes she pictured in her mind. Were they alive? Injured? Dead upon some field? She left the newspaper on the desk. She already had enough speculation filling her head. “I’m going to go lie down.”

  Her mother stared vacantly out the window and seemed not to hear.

  Emily climbed the stairs on trembling knees and sank to the edge of her bed where Lizzie found her twenty minutes later. “Miss Emily, what happened?” she asked in alarm, coming to kneel at her side. “You look like you been chewed up and spit out.”

  “There’s been a battle,” Emily said dully.

  “Oh, Miss Emily. Is it Marse Jack?”

  “We don’t know anything, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie rubbed one of Emily’s hands between her own. “Den dis ain’t bad news, jus’ half news. You can’t fret about made-up worries.”

  “But what if they’re true? What if Jack and Jovie are dead?” Her voice was flat and lifeless, as if she’d dug a hole, thrown the words in, and patted earth over the top.

  “What if they ain’t? You agitatin’ yo’self fo’ nothin’.” She rose. “I gunna bring you some tea, Miss Emily, wid a splash of Marse Preston’s spirits, and I want you to drink it all and climb back into dat bed. You hear me?”

  Emily nodded. “Lizzie?”

  The maid spun in the doorway. “Yes?”

  She couldn’t quite manage a smile. “You sound like Deena.”

  ***

  “Any word from your brother?” Dr. Malone asked when he arrived to pick her up for the picnic three days later.

  Emily slid in beside Abigail. “Nothing yet.”

  He grunted. “Well, it’s early.”

  “I wish your mother had chosen to come with us,” Mrs. Malone fretted. “It isn’t healthy for her to lock herself indoors and dwell on uncertainties. The picnic would do her a world of good.”

  “My aunt is there. She’s come every day this week.”

  Mrs. Malone nodded in satisfaction. “I’m sure you’ll hear something soon.”

  Dr. Malone’s celebration prediction had proven accurate. Blue palmetto flags blanketed the city. Pedestrians wore flowers and waved handkerchiefs at one another, untouched by battle. But the victory came at a cost. “How many dead were there?” Emily asked.

  The doctor shook his head. “Numbers haven’t been sorted with any accuracy, but thousands were killed, wounded, and
missing. No one disagrees it was the single deadliest day in American history.”

  That was a fact Emily had a difficult time celebrating.

  “The battle created another problem nobody expected. When the Union army fled, more than a thousand of their soldiers were taken captive. Now we don’t know what to do with them. They’re penned up in Richmond waiting to be parceled and shipped south. Word is we’ve got a shipment coming here. I’ve been asked to help locate a temporary holding tank.”

  Emily thought the picnic would take her mind off the big black question filling so many of her thoughts. If she could have slipped away into a quiet corner with Abigail, the outing might have taken her mind off it. But people pressed in from all sides. Her mother had probably guessed that every conversation, no matter how innocent its start, would shift to include the war in some form. Emily was unprepared for their singular focus. The strain must have shown on her face, because dinner was hardly eaten and games barely begun when Dr. Malone asked if she’d like him to drive her home. She agreed gratefully.

  Twice a day, Marie sent Zeke to the post office, hoping for any mention of Jack, but another full week passed before word finally arrived. The letter wasn’t Jack’s, but Emily recognized the handwriting immediately. “It’s from Jovie!” she screamed.

  Ripping it open, she quickly scanned the lines and threw her arms around her mother who had abandoned her reserve and flown into the room. “Jack’s alive!” Her exclamation broke down into sobs of relief. “They’re both alive!” They hugged and rocked, making enough joyous commotion to draw the entire household. Several minutes passed before Emily’s eyes cleared enough to read:

  “Dear Emily,

  “I am writing from Centerville, Virginia, where our regiment has paused to lick its wounds. You’ve certain heard of Manassas by now. We lost five men with two score wounded. I will spare you the details. Indeed, I have no desire to recount them during my waking hours as they revisit me so frequently in the night. Jack and I are both aware of how lucky we are to be well.”