Ebb Tide (Ella Wood Book 3)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “So he allowed it to go to trial in Charleston?” she asked doubtfully.

  Dr. Malone held up an index finger. “Ah, but Mr. Davis is a sly old fox. He agreed to hand the case over to the state governor, but he insisted that it be tried in a civil court and that any sentencing be carried out by the provost marshal—the military, if you catch my meaning.”

  Emily frowned. “I’m sorry. I do not.”

  Dr. Malone leaned forward in his seat. “Davis knew a civil trial would appease everyone—racial extremists, abolitionists, Englishmen. And that the court could hardly fail to find blacks taken in battle, wearing the blue uniform, in the employ of and with the full backing of the United States of America, to be true soldiers.”

  “In Charleston, that was no guarantee.”

  “No, Davis took a risk. But it was a calculated risk.” He smiled shrewdly. “Because by ordering the sentence carried out by the military, if the court decided wrongly, the defendants would actually be placed under his authority. And I believe he never would have carried out the executions. Most likely, they would have been locked away somewhere, making them de facto prisoners of war.”

  Emily pulled at her lip, mulling over the logic of his explanation. Her “miracle” now seemed nothing but a deviously preordained outcome. “So,” she asked with studied nonchalance, “what does the trial mean to other black soldiers who may be taken prisoner in the future?”

  “They will be granted full rights as prisoners of war, with one notable exception. Richmond has refused to exchange them one for one, which would grant them equal status with white soldiers. It’s brought the entire exchange system to a halt.”

  He looked at her closely, and she imagined for a moment that he could read her motive in her eyes. “The black soldier plays a dangerous game. The trial set an important precedent, but he is despised by the Southerner, who may not adhere to the law in a moment of passion. If I were a black man, I should not like to find myself forced to surrender.”

  ***

  Emily hardly recognized her own neighborhood. Grand homes stood like a row of empty cabinets. No familiar faces called out in greeting once she and Abel crossed over Broad Street. No friendly clip-clop of hooves mingled with the sound of their own passing. Not even a chicken squawked. The only sign of life they encountered was a calico cat slinking among the weeds in an abandoned vegetable garden. If not for the continual racket of cannon fire, Emily would have thought the whole world had died.

  Her stomach turned itself inside out. Not only was she putting herself in danger, she was gambling the lives of Abel and both horses. The damage attested to the range of Union guns. Here, scorch marks recorded a fire crew’s battle with Greek fire. Three homes down, a shell had punched through a roof. Doors hung askew. Windows lay shattered by concussion. Mr. Sinclair’s house had vanished altogether, leaving only a blackened foundation to footnote its memory. Southern Charleston had turned into a war zone.

  Emily directed Abel to the curving front stairs of her father’s house. Apart from a single shattered pane in the front door, it appeared undamaged.

  “Looters been here,” Abel said, indicating the broken glass.

  Emily’s heart sank. She’d been prepared for artillery damage, but she never imagined her home might have been violated by common thieves. Before they could even climb down to survey the damage, a sharp whistle sailed in from the harbor, growing to a shriek that drowned out the noise of Sumter. “Get down!” she screamed.

  Emily threw herself from the seat and rolled beneath the wagon bed, petticoats and all, waiting breathlessly for the shell to pass overhead. It exploded somewhere to the north. She clutched her arms over her head as the ground shook. The wagon rocked. The team screamed with fright. And then Sumter’s steady chorus resumed its prominence. Emily didn’t realize until the danger subsided that she was alone under the wagon.

  From between the front wheels, she could see Abel clinging to George’s bridle, struggling to hold the plunging gelding. With a surge of guilt, she scrambled out and caught the horse from the other side. Beside him, Martha stood quivering nervously.

  “I’ll hold him. You unhitch him,” Abel commanded. “Before he injure hisself and de mare.”

  Working quickly, Emily slipped between the animals and had George free of the tongue within seconds. But loosening the traces proved nearly impossible with the horse straining against them.

  “There’s too much tension. Back him up a pace!”

  “Jus’ unhook de whippletree!”

  She dodged the plunging hindquarters and yanked at the hook connecting the harness to the wagon. When the whippletree fell, George bolted, dragging the bar behind him. It was all Abel could do to hold on.

  Horse and groom reached the battery at the end of the street where a quick-acting lieutenant caught the bridle from the other side. The combined weight of both men finally dragged George to a halt. Emily waited with Martha as they turned the horse around and led it back up the street.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said to the officer as he and Abel reattached the horse to the wagon.

  The hard-faced soldier barely glanced at her. “What are you doing here, miss? This section of the city has been closed to civilians.”

  “I’m aware of the evacuation orders. But this is my father’s house. We’ve come to salvage anything useful.”

  “You can’t stay here. The Union is lobbing shells into these southernmost neighborhoods.”

  Emily barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “Yes, I’m aware of that, as well. But I’m not leaving until I’ve accomplished my purpose.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible. As soon as this horse is reattached to this wagon, you’ll need to hightail it up the peninsula to safety.”

  Emily planted her hands on her hips. Her voice took on the tone Mr. Turnbull sometimes used with the slaves. “Lieutenant, I appreciate your concern, but I have traveled twenty miles to reclaim my family’s possessions, and I intend to do just that.”

  The officer paused in his task and considered her long enough for a gust of wind to knock her bonnet awry. She met his eye with a stubborn tilt to her chin. He needed to realize that she was not one of his men.

  He relented with a curt nod. “Very well. I’ll give you fifteen minutes, though I doubt very much that you’ll find anything left of value.”

  Emily rewarded him with her brightest smile. “Thank you very much, sir.”

  He nodded again. Then with an efficient about-face, he strode back toward the battery.

  George had calmed considerably. Even so, the groom made certain he tied the traces securely to the hitching post. “I don’t think I care much for Charleston, Miss Emily,” he said as they strode toward the door.

  Emily gave a shaky laugh. “Yes, well, let’s not linger, shall we?”

  9

  The heavy farm wagon possessed neither the speed nor the comfort of a carriage. Emily walked alongside the horses for the last mile, and by the time Abel turned them into Ella Wood, she’d worked the stiffness from her joints. Only her head still pained her. Mercifully, the din of the bombardment had slowly receded into the distance. She didn’t know how she had ever withstood so many weeks of it during the summer.

  Marie flung herself out the front door as soon as the wagon stopped. Emily laughed as her mother embraced her. “You’ve been watching for us.”

  “Since noon. I’m so relieved you’re all right!”

  “I told you I would be. The Yankees are focusing on Sumter, not Charleston. We sold all the produce. And though we couldn’t fill your entire list, we have returned with everything we could carry away from the town house.”

  Marie paled. “Tell me you didn’t risk your neck in range of enemy guns.”

  “We were never in any danger,” she hedged. “We stopped at Aunt Margaret’s, too. Most everything has been stolen, but the looters didn’t find the attic access. You’ll be glad enough of what we were able to take away. Blankets, clothing…shoes!”
>
  By now a procession of slaves had begun trickling from the house to unload the items from the wagon bed. Abel sat unmoving, hunched over the reins in the driver’s seat. He’d bunked in the wagon last night while she slept on Dr. Malone’s sofa during his midnight shift. No doubt he’d be sleeping off the trip in the stable’s hayloft within the hour. She thanked him with a smile and a wave and followed her mother into the house.

  “Where’s Aunt Margaret?” Emily asked. “I found her daguerreotype of Uncle Phineas.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, how thoughtful of you. Wait a few minutes until you give it to her. She’s reading the last chapters of Oliver Twist to your father as we speak.”

  Marie led her to the dining room where Emily sank gratefully into a chair. Josephine set apple juice and a plate of tomato sandwiches in front of her.

  Marie settled across from her. “While you were gone, we’ve had an adventure of a different sort. Two more field hands ran away.”

  Emily bit into the sandwich to mask her dismay. Was freedom such a driving force that their people would risk leaving the security of Ella Wood with winter approaching? Even in this protected area of the country, people were starving to death.

  She set down her sandwich. “Mother, this isn’t working anymore. We must make some changes. If you’d speak with Father’s lawyer—”

  Marie held up her hand. “I’ve already met with Mr. Vitler.”

  Emily gaped. “You have? When?”

  “He stopped by yesterday with an interesting proposal. Someone wants to purchase Ella Wood.”

  “Oh, Mother, you can’t sell!” Emily’s response was reflexive, like a gasp of pain after a blow to the stomach. “This is our home. Four generations of Prestons have lived on this land. We belong here.”

  There it was. She hadn’t wanted the responsibility of inheriting Ella Wood, yet the estate claimed too much of her heart to let it go.

  “I’m not even considering it. But the offer has started me thinking about the feasibility of selling our other properties.” Marie sighed. “I do wish I could discuss it with your father.”

  Emily hadn’t foreseen this possibility. She wanted to scoop up every single one of her father’s slaves and release them, even while recognizing how very, very small her hand was. “Who made the offer?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Surely it couldn’t have been any of our acquaintances. They know we’d never take it seriously.”

  “Unless they thought they were being helpful. The sum was quite generous.”

  More likely someone was trying to take advantage of William’s illness. “Mother, you must consider giving the slaves a wage. Speak to Mr. Vitler about it.”

  Marie hesitated. “Emily, I just can’t agree with you on this matter. We’ve invested heavily in our workforce, and your plan would cut too heavily into Ella Wood’s profitability.”

  Emily would not be dissuaded. “Promise me you will at least investigate the idea. Please?”

  Marie sighed. “All right. I’ll ask Mr. Vitler’s opinion.”

  Emily bit into her sandwich with satisfaction.

  Ida entered the room. “Oh, Emily. You’re back!”

  “Hello, Mrs. Malone. You didn’t hear the wagon?”

  “I was walking in the back fields. How is my husband? Did you deliver my letter?”

  “Yes, and he’s just fine. He didn’t have time to write a reply, but he sent his love.”

  “He’s not in any danger?”

  “Only of overwork. Everything you hear is directed at the harbor. The few shells that fall in the city barely reach the tip of the peninsula.”

  “Then that settles it. I’m moving back tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Ida, you can’t!” Marie protested.

  “You’ll miss Abigail’s visit,” Emily added. “She’s coming in January. It’s all arranged.”

  Ida smiled. “I’m pleased that she can make the trip. But I’ll see her over Christmas.”

  Marie took her friend’s arm. “Ida, is this wise? Consider your safety if the situation should change suddenly. You may not be able to get out of town again so swiftly.”

  Ida’s smile turned bittersweet. “Thank you, Marie, for your kindness, but it’s time I returned. Margaret is improving by the day, and you have plenty of help. I’m sure you’ll carry on just fine without me.”

  Marie tried once more, but Ida was adamant. “Marie, I belong in Charleston beside my husband. If it was William, wouldn’t you go to him?”

  Marie closed her mouth in resignation. “I’ll help you pack.”

  ***

  “Emily, I’d like a word with you, if I may.”

  Emily looked up from her desk in surprise. Aunt Margaret had never sought her out before. “Can it wait until after dinner? I promised Mother I’d send this note off to that shoe factory. And I’d like to finish my letter to Abigail before Ben leaves for the post office.”

  “No, I don’t think it can wait. It’s been nagging at me for some time. Last night I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. Wheel me inside, Trudy.”

  Emily set down her pen and gave the woman her full attention. “What is it?”

  “It’s this matter between you and your father. Don’t you think it’s gone on long enough?”

  “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”

  “Frankly, I’m too old to care. I love you both; therefore, I’m making it my business.”

  Emily dismissed the maid who stood uncomfortably behind the chair. “Thank you, Trudy. I’ll take it from here.” She waited for the door to close. “What can I possibly do, Aunt Margaret? You saw the fireworks when I came home. My father wants nothing to do with me.”

  “Go to him. You might be surprised how calamity changes a man.”

  “My mother would never allow it.”

  “You’re using that as an excuse.”

  Emily gave an incredulous laugh. “Do you really think we can just embrace and move on? Too much has been spoken. Too much has been done.”

  “That is the nature of a disagreement,” Aunt Margaret stated. “But every barn gets cleaned one shovelful at a time. At the very least, encourage your mother to let him help himself.”

  Emily tapped an agitated tattoo on the desktop with her fingernails. She’d been quite content with the current arrangement, but her conscience had already taken a direct hit from Dr. Malone. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Don’t play for time, Emily. Do it before it’s too late.”

  “He’s not dying, Aunt Margaret.” Emily jumped up and paced to the wardrobe. “You act as though I have to make some snap decision. We’ve lived with dissention for two years. We’ll survive a little longer.”

  “Don’t be a fool, child.”

  “This is ludicrous.” Emily stopped halfway across the room. “You can’t tell my father anything. He’s a balky old mule who won’t consider any opinion but his own.”

  Aunt Margaret’s eyes twinkled. “And you and I don’t know anyone else like that, do we?”

  Emily’s back grew rigid. “I tried, Aunt Margaret, but my father cut me to pieces before the entire household. I will not subject myself to that again.”

  “Emily, child, if you—”

  “No.” Emily crossed her arms and turned to face out the window. “This conversation is over.”

  To her surprise, the old lady conceded without further argument. “As you wish, my dear.” Aunt Margaret wheeled herself to the door. “Trudy! Take me back to my room.”

  The maid returned promptly. As the chair was wheeled away, Emily noticed the sly smile playing about the corner of her aunt’s mouth, almost as if she had accomplished some secret purpose.

  ***

  “Very good, Wilson!” Emily extracted a page from the Daily Courier and handed it to the man. She wished for her old copies of Harper’s Weekly, but she’d been unable to carry them home from Baltimore, so she made do with Mr. Cutler’s hand-me-downs. “I expect you may want to work out more o
f this article before we meet again.”

  Word of the reading lessons had torn through the plantation like gunfire. For three weeks, attendance had steadily increased until she had to break the session into smaller groups for fear of discovery. She had taken to riding Chantilly each evening to a clearing near the river where they met in secret. Stories still held the attention of the children, but she had begun incorporating more relevant materials into the adult classes. It would take only a few months to become functionally literate, but if these men and women had any hope of someday navigating the world as freemen, they also needed an accurate picture of the events and issues that shaped their nation.

  A rising wind agitated the leaves of the cypress trees, carrying the smell of the sea. Her students bent over scattered sections of newspaper, working individually or in small groups. Some merely located the letters they had learned so far. Others laboriously pieced together words and phrases. Emily was proud of the progress they had made in such a short span of time. She clapped to attract their attention, glancing upward at the thickening cloud cover. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed the weather, just as I have.”

  “A storm be comin’, miss,” Abraham confirmed from his seat beside a bayberry tree. “My knee been achin’ all day.”

  “Let’s dismiss and give ourselves time to take any necessary precautions.” Hurricanes seldom struck after November, but there was no talking them out of it when they did. “If you’d like to tear out a section to practice, you are welcome to.”

  The class scurried to collect the materials and disguise all evidence of their meeting. As they scattered into the forest, Herod hung back. Each meeting, he had lingered at the edge of the clearing without participating. His presence was like a bad odor, invisible but obtrusive. “I didn’t think you’d do it.”

  Emily began stacking the relinquished newspapers. “I told you I would.”