Ebb Tide (Ella Wood Book 3)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  ***

  Emily dedicated the remainder of that week to catching up on her studies. Graduation was a mere four weeks away, and she was determined to finish well. She maintained her hours at the studio where nothing more was said about Daniel’s proposal, spent two afternoons a week asking after Jovie, and twice boarded the train for Washington. But most of her free time was spent at the Maryland Institute, poring over her schoolwork.

  On Friday, the day after her twentieth birthday, she set aside her books and walked to Camden Station to meet Jeremiah. Mr. Heatherstone had invited them both for a late celebration, but as Emily paced the railroad terminal awaiting her brother’s arrival, she could hardly contain her anticipation. Regardless of any surprises they might have planned for her, she and Mr. Heatherstone had a huge one in store for Jeremiah!

  When he disembarked, Emily couldn’t distinguish any difference between him and the other passengers except, perhaps, for a more cautious stride. “How’d it go?” she asked. During her last visit, they’d practiced navigating the streets of Washington. His rising confidence was doing wonders for his outlook, but this had been his first time on the train.

  “I got off at the right stop, didn’t I?”

  She chuckled. “I’m glad I didn’t have to go looking for you in Pennsylvania. Any luck finding work?”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’s only been two weeks. Come on, let’s go see Mr. Heatherstone.” She grabbed his arm and began tugging him out of the station.

  He laughed. “In a hurry?”

  “Just hungry.”

  In truth, she could hardly hold herself back. She was tempted to burst out her secret then and there but knew it would be sweeter if she could restrain herself a few more minutes. It was the longest mile she’d ever endured.

  “Jeremiah, thee look well.” Mr. Heatherstone greeted them with a beaming smile. Emily could smell the delicious aromas of bread and simmering beef wafting through the open door. “Have thee recovered thy strength?”

  Jeremiah clapped the big man on the shoulder. “Almost back to normal.”

  “Come into the kitchen. It’s none too warm out here.”

  Emily went first, sharing a smile of pent-up excitement with the figure already seated at the table. She took an empty chair and watched Jeremiah enter.

  He chose his usual seat out of habit, and it wasn’t until he was sitting that he noticed the person across from him. He nodded politely. Then Emily watched him study the blurry features. Watched recognition and disbelief creep over his face.

  Sarah didn’t say a word. She just beamed a magnificent smile and let Jeremiah work out her identity for himself.

  He stood, knocking over the chair in his amazement. In three steps he was around the table, pulling her to her feet. “Sarah?” He touched her face, making sure she was real, trying to bring her into clearer focus. “But how…?”

  “Hello, Jeremi—”

  He didn’t let her finish. He kissed her, long and deeply, cradling her face as if it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

  Emily shared a grin with Mr. Heatherstone. The damage her father had done years ago when he sent Jeremiah away from Ella Wood to work in the Charleston house had finally been mended. She wished Jack could be here to witness it.

  When she began applauding, the couple pulled apart, sharing an embarrassed smile. Jeremiah could hardly look away. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “If you stop kissing her long enough, we’ll tell you the story,” Emily teased.

  “Let’s save it for dinner conversation,” Mr. Heatherstone suggested. “Emily, would thee mind helping me?”

  It took only a few minutes to lay out the meal. Jeremiah pulled a chair close beside Sarah’s and never let go of her hand as Emily arranged four place settings and Mr. Heatherstone set a pot of thick beef stew in the center of the table. Emily sliced the bread, and they sat down to eat.

  “I’m afraid the fare is simple.” Mr. Heatherstone apologized after the blessing had been given. “My cooking skills have only been learned through necessity.”

  “It smells wonderful,” Emily remarked as he ladled out hearty portions. “Wouldn’t you agree, Jeremiah?”

  “What?” he asked, tearing his eyes off Sarah.

  Emily laughed. “Just seeing if you’re listening to anything we’re saying. Apparently you’re not.”

  “He’ll listen once thee start in on Sarah’s story,” Mr. Heatherstone guessed, passing out the filled bowls.

  “He already knows the first part,” Emily said. “Sarah, why don’t you tell him what happened after I left Port Royal.”

  Sarah smiled self-consciously as she speared a chunk of carrot. “Well, Emily been gone all summer. We was harvestin’ cotton when I got her letter sayin’ you in de hospital an’ might lose yo’ sight.”

  Jeremiah swung his eyes around to Emily. “You wrote to her? When?”

  “Right after my first visit.”

  He stared at her, probably remembering his own reluctance, until Sarah started speaking again.

  “I spent de next few days followin’ Mr. Beatty around till he agree to help me fin’ a northbound steamer. Took some time, but I finally showed up on Miss Emily’s porch two days ago. It be de only address I had.”

  “Then I took her here, where we all hatched a plan to surprise you,” Emily finished.

  “I was surprised.” Jeremiah hadn’t even taken a bite of his food yet. He drank in the sight of Sarah as if she was all the sustenance he needed.

  “So the only question left,” Emily said, “is when is the wedding?”

  Her jovial inquiry stiffened into an awkward silence that divided the room into compartments, and the longer it lasted, the further each individual retreated within his or her own safe square. Mr. Heatherstone ventured out first. He set down his fork and looked Jeremiah straight in the eye. “Surely thee intend to marry her after all the miracles it took to get her here.”

  Jeremiah dropped Sarah’s hand. “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?” Emily asked, her words sharpened by the heartbreak on Sarah’s face. “She’s all you wrote to me about last year. All you’ve talked about since the hospital.”

  “That’s why I can’t marry her. I’m two weeks out of the hospital, with no job and no prospects. How can I possibly propose marriage?”

  Sarah pushed aside her half-eaten stew and left the room without saying a word.

  Silence resumed. Emily took a bite of the now-tasteless stew just to have something to occupy her hands. “Jeremiah, I’m sorry. It was a foolish question. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He shook his head before plunging his face into the center of his open palms.

  Sarah returned with a bulging stocking and dumped its contents unceremoniously onto the table. Her summer earnings clattered into a pile, a few coins rolling lazily to the edge and dropping onto the floor. “I didn’t wait four years an’ come halfway aroun’ de world to wait on yo’ pride. We can live in a tent fo’ all I care. But if you don’ marry me, I be goin’ back to Port Royal.”

  Jeremiah stared at her for a dozen heartbeats before a sheepish smile spread across his face. He turned to Emily and Mr. Heatherstone. “Looks like you’re invited to a wedding.”

  ***

  The ceremony was a quiet affair, held two days later in Mr. Heatherstone’s parlor and officiated by the minister of the colored church Jeremiah had attended during his year in Baltimore. Only Emily and Mr. Heatherstone were in attendance. Afterward, Emily accompanied them to the train that would carry them to their new life in Washington.

  She took her time coming home, making several turns around the city. As always, her joy was bittersweet, mingled with envy and frustration. She’d been in Baltimore six months and was no closer to locating Jovie than the day she stepped off the train. How long would she go on living for a hope that was all but extinguished? Perhaps it was time she acknowledge that the future she longed for simply wasn�
��t meant to be.

  It was late by the time she arrived home. But instead of finding the house dark and her friends asleep, the front windows glowed with lamplight. Cora and Clara tackled her the moment she opened the door.

  “Emily, I saw him! I saw him! I know where he is!”

  “What are you talking about? Why aren’t you in bed?” Her eyes roved to the parlor where Grace smiled demurely. Missouri, sitting next to her, grinned as if she’d robbed the Federal treasury and gotten clean away with it.

  Cora yanked the picture of Jovie from its place by the door and thrust it in Emily’s face. “Him! Mr. Cutler! I saw him today in front of Mr. Goodrich’s mercantile.” She flipped the page over. “Here’s the address that was written on the side of his cart.”

  25

  Emily didn’t sleep a wink all night. Happiness filled her until she couldn’t contain it. The extra joy translated into energy that surged through her muscles and roused her from slumber. Jovie was in the city after all! She would see him in the morning!

  An hour before the sun even started to blink itself awake, Emily was dressed in her best gown, with hair perfectly in place, searching for the address Cora had given her. She found it easily enough—a dray company on the backside of the train yard—and tucked herself into the doorway to wait for daylight. There was no way she was going to risk missing Jovie to an early shift and suffer through another day of waiting.

  The street soon lightened to silver and then to the full spectrum of sunrise. She was pacing the sidewalk anxiously when a clerk arrived to unlock the front door. “Excuse me. Can you tell me if a man named George Avery works here?” she asked, supplying the pseudonym Jovie had used at the mercantile.

  “George? Sure, he works here.”

  “Is he on the schedule for this morning?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Every day at seven o’clock.”

  Her heart gave a leap. Twenty minutes. Jovie would be here in twenty minutes!

  “Thank you.” She returned to the sidewalk. Seven minutes passed. Eight. She paced another few turns. “You’re sure he’ll be here today?” she asked, calling into the dusty office.

  The clerk grabbed a ledger from his desktop and held it up, even though she couldn’t read it from that distance. “Ten minutes, miss.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry. I won’t bother you again.” She closed the door and took a deep breath. At the same moment, a man swung around the corner of the alcove, blocking out the daylight and nearly slamming into her. Her breath escaped in a startled cry. Her pulse began to surge, every beat screaming in her ears, “It’s him! It’s him! It’s him!”

  “Jovie?” she whispered, scarcely able to take him in. His hair had grown long and an unkempt beard covered half his face, but her heart recognized him instantly, even if her eyes had not. Gale-force joy swept her spirit skyward. With reckless abandon, she flung her arms around his neck. “Jovie!”

  His body grew rigid. She felt him pull away.

  “Emily, what are you doing here?”

  His voice was as cold as the day he’d walked away from her in Charleston. It knocked her from her heights, gouging away her newfound joy. “Jovie?”

  Emerald eyes that once danced with life now bored into hers, as green and cold as seawater. “Come with me.”

  He wheeled abruptly, swinging away with long, awkward strides. Crutches. Of course. Her eyes dropped to the empty pant leg pinned up at his knee.

  He led her to a cramped alley where he spun to face her. “How did you find me?”

  “Why did you hide?” she challenged. “Jovie, you have people who love you. Family. Why didn’t you come home? Why didn’t you write?”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  There it was. The devastating answer to the questions that plagued her. Jovie had his memory. He had his speech. He had chosen exile. She couldn’t begin to disguise the anguish his words provoked. “Why?”

  He looked over her shoulder—out the alley, away from her—and gave no explanation.

  “Jovie, your parents held a memorial service for you. They sold Fairview because it held too many painful memories. They think you’re dead.”

  Something flashed across his face, some emotion that vanished before she could identify it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  That was it? He had left them all to the terrible whim of imagination. He’d let them grieve, and that was all he could say for himself? “You have seven minutes,” she said coolly. “Try to explain.”

  His nostrils flared with impatience. “Everything’s different now, Emily. Everything’s changed.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “Everything. Life. The world.”

  “Because you lost a leg?”

  A muscle in his jaw clenched. “I saw no reason to go home. I’ve made a place for myself here. I have a job. I’ve moved on.”

  “Have you given any thought to me?”

  He let the silence grow long and heavy. He was so tight. So closed. She had to get him talking.

  “Will you at least tell me what happened? By all logic, you should be rotting in a prison right now.”

  He glanced up and down the alley before answering. “I posed as a Yankee.”

  “How?”

  “I switched uniforms.”

  She shook her head, her brow a patchwork of question marks.

  His voice dropped a notch, though his face betrayed no hint of emotion. “I took a bullet the second day at Gettysburg and spent the night too near the enemy for my own men to recover me. I knew I’d be as good as dead come morning, so I switched with the Yankee next to me—uniform, weapons, pack—and ended up in a hospital here in Baltimore.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You stole a dead man’s clothes? With metal in your leg?”

  “I didn’t say it was easy. But I had my knife, and I had all night.”

  “Then that explains your letter and…my picture.” Some gravedigger had likely found them on the dead Yankee and mailed them.

  He looked away again, a distant, unreadable gaze.

  “What if your own men had come back?”

  “They weren’t coming back.”

  “But how could you know?”

  “You get a feel for these things after two years.” His answer held a bitter edge.

  “How did you keep your identity hidden from the Yankees?”

  “I kept my mouth shut. Everyone thought I’d lost my hearing. Maybe my mind.”

  “You’ve been feigning deafness for a year?” How sad. How lonely. She touched his hand.

  He jerked it away.

  She chewed at her lip, desperate to reach him. To elicit some kind of response. “Jovie, you once wanted to study science and make some kind of difference in the world.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Dreams like that don’t leave a person.”

  “Dreams can die as easily as a man.”

  She slowed, discouraged by his cold cynicism. “The Maryland Institute has an exceptional chemistry program.”

  “No, Emily.”

  “Would you at least attend a lecture with me?”

  “I said no.”

  Her caution morphed into anger. “Jovie, why are you shutting me out?”

  Nothing about this reunion had gone according to her plan. He’d hardly looked at her since their first meeting. Now their eyes locked, and again she thought she saw something alive and warm deep within them—some inkling of the boy she used to know, the man she’d come to love. She reached for it. “Jovie, the last time we spoke, you delivered the terms of your friendship. All of me or none of me. That’s what you said. Then you walked away, and I knew immediately that I’d been a fool. I can’t say when you claimed my heart, but you had it then. If you still want me, every last cell belongs to you.”

  He broke contact, his eyes wandering to the rubbish strewn across the alleyway. His voice came softer. Less harsh. “I’m not the same person you knew, Emily.”

  “Of course you’re n
ot. And I’m not the same person you left in the street.”

  He shook his head, still looking at the ground.

  “We change. We grow. It’s to be expected,” she said.

  “No, Emily.” His face lifted with that horrible, hard demeanor back in place. “I mean I’m not the same man who loved you.”

  The admission stopped her. Choked her. Turned her chest to ice. Her bones, her veins, her muscles—they froze solid. She probed deep, trying to find him again behind that solid green wall. She knocked against stone. “That does change things.”

  He pivoted slightly, turning away again.

  She studied his profile, her arms aching to claim what could never be hers. He was so close yet so utterly out of reach. “Is there someone else?” She had to know.

  He was quiet for several seconds. “There’s no one else. Please, just go.”

  Blinking away the agony of her crushed spirit, she stepped back. She would go. She had to escape before her last support gave way. But at the mouth of the alley she turned back. Her whisper bounced off the bricks. “I will always regret loving you too late.”

  ***

  All of Maryland couldn’t contain Emily’s heartache. She had to leave. She had to get as far from Baltimore, from Charleston, from any memory of Jovie as she could go. Somehow she would have to face the future that had loomed so bleak when she thought he was dead. Facing it while he was alive was far, far worse. But before she left, she had to give Daniel her answer. She knew now what it must be.

  She arrived at the studio early the next morning and found him lighting a fire in the workroom stove. He looked up. “What happened yesterday? Why didn’t you show up?”

  She had spent the entire day walking. She’d skipped class and, for the first time ever, work. “I found Jovie.”

  He straightened immediately and pulled out a chair. “Sit. Tell me.”

  She sank into it, letting her valise slide to the floor. “He doesn’t want me, Daniel.”