Their efforts produced no news of Jovie. Solomon sensed Emily’s discouragement as he dropped her off on the boardinghouse porch that evening. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Preston. I know you’d hoped for a quick reunion. It looks like we’ll have to put a little more effort into it.” He smiled sympathetically. “Have you grown tired of my company, or shall I be here again tomorrow after breakfast?”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Mr. Beatty, but that would hardly give you time to return to Washington.”
He suffered a moment of disorientation. “Washington?”
“You are due back tomorrow morning. You told me so onboard ship when you first offered to accompany me. I remember it distinctly.”
He laughed lightly, but pink spots appeared high on his cheeks. “You’re right, of course. No doubt you’ve saved me a week of sentry duty.”
She eyed him skeptically. Men under orders did not simply forget them. “Mr. Beatty, you are a very poor liar.”
He assumed the guilty look of a boy caught stealing one of his father’s cigars. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
She crossed her arms, certain now. “What exactly were your orders, Mr. Beatty?”
He hung his head with a thin sigh and kicked at a pebble lodged in the corner of the porch step. “The command at Port Royal asked me to accompany you and gather any evidence of illicit activity. I carried no dispatch and I was given no return date.”
“Then I’ve been under suspicion all along?”
His head came up. “You must admit it’s uncanny the way you first appeared among Union prisoners in South Carolina, then popped up forty miles from Washington in a building recently used as a Union hospital, and then you wandered into the Department of the South’s headquarters. There were some who thought it more than chance. I was instructed to accompany you and apprehend you at the least sign of suspicious behavior.”
Emily’s eyes were hard as marbles. “And do you think I’m a spy, Mr. Beatty?”
His cheeks burned brightly now. “No, I think you’re a talented artist, the abolitionist daughter of a Southern slave holder, and the loyal friend of a missing but very lucky Confederate soldier.” He turned and pointed to a house across the street. “I’ve observed your activities from that bedroom window for five days, but it was the Negroes who convinced me, even before we left Port Royal. Three slaves who had cause and opportunity to harm you, but they carried you to safety and confirmed every detail of your story. I watched you set the last one free.” He shook his head. “You’re no more a spy than I am.”
He backed down the step and doffed his cap. “I’ll be heading back to South Carolina with my report. My most sincere apologies, Miss Preston. I hope you find your young man.”
20
“So, what are you going to do next?” Missouri asked, sprawling full-length on her bed with toes peeking out the end of her nightgown. May had merged with June, and still there’d been no sign of Jovie.
Laying her sling aside, Emily stepped out of her skirt and hung it in the wardrobe beside four serviceable dresses she had reclaimed from her trunks. “I was given the names of a few more businesses that hire drivers. After that I guess I’ll divide the city into a grid and start asking at every shop.”
“Sounds like a long, slow process.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Within a week of moving in, Emily had offered to trade rooms with Violet. The dynamics of the boardinghouse had changed dramatically from last year—for the better—but she missed Missouri’s companionship and the long talks they shared after darkness fell. Violet had agreed, provided Emily paid the difference in rates. Emily considered the benefits well worth the cost.
“You could carry his picture around dressed like that. With nothing but knickers and a corset you’d get a lot of publicity.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “I think I prefer my way.”
“Mine would be faster.”
“Jovie could visit me in jail.”
Missouri laughed. “I like your idea. It’s systematic and practical. Definitely more practical than that crinoline.” She winced as Emily collapsed the garment, gave it a twist, and stuffed it in the bottom of the wardrobe. “I couldn’t get anything done if I had to wear hoops all day. I suppose sometimes it’s advantageous just being a poor frontier girl.”
“I’m hardly wealthy, Missouri.” Emily removed her corset, drawers, and chemise and tugged a nightgown over her head. “I freed all of Aunt Margaret’s slaves, her house is currently attracting incendiary bombs, and her cash and investments were all Confederate. The few things I do own that may actually hold value are hundreds of miles from here. If I can’t find Jovie soon, I’m going to have to rejoin the working class.” The pearls had fetched a decent sum, but not enough to live on. She hadn’t planned to stay long term.
Emily folded back the covers of her bed and slipped between them. The linens felt cool and wonderful against her skin. Rest, however, made her more keenly aware of the tired ache in her shoulder. She was learning how much exertion the wound could tolerate in a day. “What about you? Have you saved enough for your boardinghouse?”
Missouri snorted. “Sure, if I want to renovate a garden shed.”
“What about the money from your farm?”
“Frontier land isn’t worth much. But I’m adding to it. Slowly.” She rolled to her stomach. “I ought to have enough by the time I’m Mrs. Calkins’ age.”
“By then you’ll have lived here so long she might forget you’re not kin and leave it to you in her will.”
Missouri grinned. “If we could both get so lucky.”
Emily watched the light of a passing lantern play across the ceiling. “I promised Aunt Margaret I’d use her money to finish school.”
“Are you enrolling?”
“I don’t know. The next term doesn’t start until September. I hope by that time Jovie will be here to give an opinion on the matter.”
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, I keep looking.” The solid logic of her idea helped to prop up her flagging hopes.
Missouri turned down the lamp. Emily heard the rustle of bedsheets as she made herself comfortable. Missouri’s optimism cut through the dark. “You’ll find him, Emily. I’m certain of it.”
Emily gently rubbed her shoulder. She couldn’t afford not to.
***
Emily enjoyed her first taste of success eight days later. Entering a mercantile on Eastern and Washington, she handed the proprietor a sketch of Jovie. “Pardon me, do you by chance recognize this man?”
The man peered closely at the image. “I should. He ran deliveries for me for six months.”
Emily’s heart leaped so hard she was certain its outline showed beneath her bodice. Her response came out in a breathless rush. “Can you tell me where I can find him?”
He shook his head and handed back the paper. “No, ma’am. He lit out some weeks ago. Not a word to anyone. Just didn’t show up for work one day.”
Emily’s brief euphoria melted away, and she was afraid the rest of her might, too. “You’ve no idea where he went?” she pleaded.
“Sorry, ma’am.” He began dusting the service counter with a grimy rag. She’d been dismissed.
Emily hoped the clerk’s thoughts might materialize if she stared at him hard enough. After nearly three weeks of searching, this store was her first link to Jovie. It must hold some clue to his whereabouts. She couldn’t leave until she’d found it.
“Do you know where he lived? Who his friends are?”
He seemed surprised to find her still in the store. “No idea.”
“Please, can you think of anyone at all who might have information?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “You his sister? You sound Secesh.”
The response wasn’t uncommon. She’d been turned out of businesses more than once because of her accent. “We’re from Virginia and moved North when war broke out. Driven out, actually. Back h
ome, no one cares much for anyone outspoken against the rebellion.”
His anger softened to a gruff growl. “I don’t serve Secesh.”
She played on whatever sympathy her lies may have aroused. Jovie felt so close. “Did my brother seem well, in your opinion?”
“As well as can be expected for a fellow who can’t hear a thing.”
Her breath whistled through her too-tight airway. “He’s deaf?”
“As a doorpost. And missing a leg to boot.”
“I—I didn’t know.” She gripped the counter desperately. “He’s been missing for some time. We’re worried sick about him.”
“Lady, I wish I could help, but you know as much about his whereabouts as I do.”
“Just one more question.” She hesitated. “Could you tell me what name my brother was going by?”
His heavy-browed suspicions returned. “George Avery.”
“His middle name. He’s never cared much for Leonard.” She nodded as though she had expected it. “Thank you for employing George and for your helpful information. I appreciate it very much.”
He went back to wiping down his shelves without another word.
Emily maintained her poise as she exited, but once she reached the street she had to stop and steady herself against the bricks. Jovie had worked in this building only weeks before! His hand had opened that door. He’d driven on this street. Her blood pounded with her success even as a dozen new worries flooded her brain.
Jovie had lost a leg.
And he’d lost his hearing.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. It would be foolish to expect anyone to return from war unaltered. She had acknowledged the fact her in head, but she’d never stopped to consider what those changes might look like. Now that she’d confronted the actual damages, she needed a moment to adjust.
What would one leg mean for Jovie’s future? Would they be able to communicate? Could he earn a living? Would his income be enough to support a family? He no longer had Fairview to fall back on. Would she be willing to live with fewer material possessions and pitch in and work if need be?
She paused her thoughts with a rueful smile. She’d been living a Spartan lifestyle for some time now in pursuit of a career that she loved, and they could learn to speak without speech. Of course she still wanted this. She’d make any sacrifice to be with Jovie.
At least she finally had some solid information, though his condition didn’t explain how he had come to settle in the North. Gettysburg wasn’t that far away, but why hadn’t he returned with the army? The wounded who could be collected were always brought back in carts. Jovie had written as much to her himself. If he’d been unlucky enough to be among those left behind, he should be in a prisoner of war camp right now.
What was he doing in Baltimore?
She began walking home, rubbing absently at the ache growing in her shoulder. Her mind was in no condition to continue inquiring at the shops remaining in the day’s grid. Instead it spun round and round the mystery, arriving at no solutions by the time she reached the boardinghouse. As it was only early afternoon and deliciously balmy, she settled into a porch chair and let the mystery play through her head.
Jovie had obviously received medical care. He’d survived an amputation. One didn’t just wander off the battlefield with an injury of that severity. If he was treated in a Northern hospital, how had he escaped? If he’d been carried back across the Mason-Dixon Line and treated by his own doctors, how on earth had he returned?
But what she really wanted to know, what all her speculation ultimately led up to, was why he was in Baltimore. Why hadn’t he come home? A severe blow, perhaps the concussion of an explosion, might account for his deafness. Could it also have caused memory loss? Was that why he had changed his name? Why he’d deserted his family? Why he’d abandoned her? It was all too much to figure out alone.
Missouri wasn’t home yet, so she went up to her room and began a letter to Jeremiah. Her concern for his safety had heightened tenfold since the news of Fort Pillow, but she’d been too busy to write to him since her arrival three weeks ago. He’d want to know about Jovie. And she hoped writing down her thoughts might help make sense of them.
Dear Jeremiah,
After a daunting and unforeseen detour, I have arrived in Baltimore in good health. However, Jack is no longer the only Preston sibling who has suffered a bullet in this war. Since Thaddeus Black came into possession of Fairview, I have feared for Sarah’s safety. The danger escalated to such a degree that I removed her from his house. I intended to bring her North with me, but Thad caught wind of our departure. I am overjoyed to tell you that she has been safely deposited in Port Royal, however, not before Thad fired a bullet into my shoulder. It is healing nicely, though it will be some time before I recover full use of my arm.
I am staying at Mrs. Calkins’ once again and have been diligently searching for Jovie since my arrival. This afternoon I came so close! I located the man he had been working for. Unfortunately, he has moved on, but I can feel him nearby. He must be here! God would not orchestrate such a random meeting between the two of you only to snatch it away, would he? It cannot be coincidence that…
She paused, grappling with a sudden wonderful realization. Jovie could not be deaf! He had turned to look when Jeremiah called his name! And if he knew his name, he must also have his memory! A surge of joy half-lifted her from the desk chair.
But that would mean he had intentionally stayed away.
She dropped into her seat.
Sighing, she folded the letter and tucked it into a drawer to finish later. Her brain was folding itself inside out, and the room could not contain the outpouring of thoughts. With two hours left before dinner, she disregarded the warning in her shoulder and took to the streets once again.
Her footsteps automatically carried her down roads she knew by rote. Even after a year, habits were hard to break. She considered stopping in to see Mr. Heatherstone, but he would only ask how her search was progressing. Instead, she turned to take in the waterfront on the off chance that God might take pity on her and orchestrate another chance meeting.
He did not.
Her festering thoughts drove her deeper into the city. After tramping past theater, the post office, and the library, the twinges in her wound had turned to thick fingers of pain. She reproved herself for her own stupidity. How many times had Solomon cautioned her not to overexert herself?
She turned for home at the next corner.
The pain mimicked the cramps that used to stab at her when she’d race a full lap around the Thoroughbred pasture. But unlike those brief spasms, these didn’t ease with further motion. After another half mile, they grew so intense that she clutched her arm within its sling.
She considered slipping into a restaurant to rest, but she had no money. Instead, she veered toward the steeple rising over the rooftops two blocks away. She would rest in a pew until the pain eased. But as she crossed Clay Street, she realized her trajectory would carry her right past Daniel Harnish’s photography studio. On a whim, she decided to go inside. Certainly he wouldn’t mind if she sat for a spell in his waiting room.
The little brass bell dinged overhead as she opened the door. The last time she’d climbed this stairway, her heart had been breaking in two. Out of a sense of duty to Aunt Margaret, she had declined the job she’d wanted more than anything in the world. Now, as she opened the door to the reception area and caught a whiff of silver nitrate, that sense of rightness, of belonging, returned.
Daniel emerged through the curtain separating the waiting area from the rest of the studio and began a well-rehearsed greeting that cut off in mid-sentence. “Miss Preston?”
She laughed. “Hello, Mr. Harnish. Your memory serves you well.”
“You are the last person I expected to find in my waiting room. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you, as well.”
“Are you in town visiting, or have you returned to the school
?”
“That is a very long story.” She fidgeted with her sling and couldn’t quite contain a grimace of pain.
His eyes took in the white triangle of cloth. “Are you unwell?”
“Just tired. I was out walking and my shoulder began causing me some discomfort. I wonder if I might rest a few minutes before continuing home.”
“Only if you do so in my back room where I can hear your opinion on some of the improvements I’ve made.” He checked his pocket watch. “I have exactly fifty-three minutes before my next appointment.”
“I’d be honored.”
He pushed the curtain aside and escorted her to a chair at the same battered worktable she remembered. Two portraits awaited frames. Another was half inked. He pushed them aside then went to the little stove set in the chimney alcove. “You prefer tea, correct?”
She laughed in surprise. “You, sir, have the memory of an elephant!”
“Not at all. Your work left quite an impression on me. I have replayed your interview in my mind a thousand times, and each time I wish you had taken that job.”
“You still haven’t hired anyone?” She held her breath.
“Oh, the position has been filled by another student.”
Her lungs lost their air.
“He comes and goes around his class schedule, but he doesn’t have your fine hand or attention to detail.”
The offhand compliment pleased her, and she admitted that Aunt Margaret had been right. Her dreams had been banked, but they’d never really gone out.
She had to remind herself that she hadn’t come seeking a job.
In fact, she hoped she wouldn’t be here enough to need one.
“So, may I ask why you’re in Baltimore?” He placed a cup and a teapot in front of her and kept a mug of coffee for himself.
“I’m looking for…a friend…who was last seen in this city.”
“A friend?” he prompted, watching her intently.
She realized that no one traveled halfway across the country for a casual friendship, but what else could she call Jovie? Nothing bound them together. He might not even return her affection. “A young man. My childhood neighbor. He’s been missing since Gettysburg. In early April I received word that he’d been spotted in Baltimore, but as yet I’ve failed to track him down.”
Ebb Tide (Ella Wood Book 3) Page 22