The Last Heiress

by Mary Ellis

  “I have a better idea.” Nate tore off a sheet of some brown paper and grabbed his charcoal pencil. “What’s your sergeant’s name?”

  “Baker. Gavin Baker.”

  Nate drew a crude map from his market to the Simses’ house, printed Sergeant Gavin Baker at the top, and let Joshua sign the bottom in his childish scrawl. Once he nailed the notice to his front door, he grabbed a parcel for Ruth and headed toward the door. “No brother of mine sleeps on the floor on Christmas. Let’s go home.”

  Home…with the only family Nate had left in the world, other than Amanda, because that’s how he felt about her. Even though he’d had a strange way of showing it, she felt like a cherished member of his family. He hoped this would be the last Christmas they would spend apart.

  If Joshua was surprised he lived with people of color, he hid it well. During dinner everyone swapped tales of favorite Christmases gone by—a cherished new toy, a rare gift of oranges in the dead of winter, a boy’s first muzzleloader for hunting squirrels and rabbits. Ruth served the smoked ham Nate had given her, along with baked apples, yams, and plum pudding for dessert. After the meal his brother struck up a tune on Odom’s fiddle. Joshua had acquired the talent after joining the army. Nate settled back to listen and savor the pleasure of having a brother again.

  There were no heartbreaking stories of fallen comrades or grievous battle wounds, no description of loathsome rations or foul water, and blessedly none of the melancholy that defines a soldier’s life in wartime. For one magical night he and Joshua were boys again in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains. Their pa was sober; their ma healthy and robust. When their eyelids finally began to droop, Nate insisted that Joshua take his small metal bed while he curled up in a blanket against the wall. Nate watched his brother sleep for hours. His face, peaceful in repose, still looked innocent despite all he’d seen and done. While Joshua snored, Nate tried to fathom a way to keep him safe from the maelstrom surely headed to Wilmington.

  Odom had asked Joshua during dinner why he was fighting. His brother had shrugged and replied, “If I’m a Carolinian, it just seemed like something I should do.” His simple response festered in Nate’s mind until he finally drifted to sleep.

  Yet his slumber was brief in duration due to the Union army proving to be unpredictable once more. Simultaneously, Odom, Nate, and Joshua bolted toward the incessant pounding on the door. Sergeant Baker, shivering in the damp predawn air, snapped a hasty salute. “Lieutenant Cooper, sir.”

  Joshua returned the formality. “What is it, Sergeant? It’s Christmas Day.”

  “Yes, sir, but somebody forget to tell the Yankees. They opened fire on Fort Fisher in the middle of the night. We are to return to the fort at once. I’ve already sent the rest of the company on their way.”

  Within minutes, Joshua retrieved his bedroll and rucksack, thanked his hosts for supper, and delivered the fiercest hug Nate ever received.

  “I must go back. God bless you, brother. Goodbye.” Joshua disappeared into the night before Nate could utter a reply. Yet before he reached the top of the stairs, Nate already knew what course of action he would take.

  December 28, 1864

  Amanda couldn’t wait to return to Wilmington. Even though they were slave owners, at least Jackson and Abigail treated their slaves far better than the elder Henthornes. She had seen Randolph’s field hands in threadbare rags, while most of the children had no shoes despite cool winter temperatures. Although sufficiently attired in livery or maids’ uniforms, household servants appeared nervous and mistrustful, as though the master or mistress’s wrath could be easily provoked.

  Even her sister expressed concern about the deplorable condition of the slave quarters—leaky roofs, dirt floors, and missing mortar between the rough-hewn split logs. Isabelle Henthorne dismissed Abigail’s concerns with a wave of her hand and a disdainful shrug. “We have no cotton left for them to make new clothes,” she said. “And our peanut harvest this year was barely enough to provide a new gown for me for the season. Thanks to that infernal blockade, horrible shortages have taken their toll on everyone, my dear.”

  Yet you appear very well fed, Mrs. Henthorne, Amanda thought uncharitably. Always a reason, always an excuse for their lack of compassion in an atmosphere of injustice.

  Amanda already had a bellyful when both ham and leg of lamb were served for Christmas dinner, while the slaves ate thin soup and coarse brown bread. When she’d commented during dessert, she received a glare from Jackson and a patronizing, “I wouldn’t expect a foreigner to understand our ways” from the elder Mrs. Henthorne.

  Was this how Wycleft appeared to American visitors? If the description provided by Billy Conroy was accurate, then she knew the answer. Billy had no reason to lie to Nate. She had buried her head in the sand and never questioned the customs of her parents. Just like Isabelle Henthorne. Why hadn’t she walked the alleys where her father’s employees lived? Her mother always ordered the coachman to take certain lanes to and from the mansion. Amanda had no contact with the village children while growing up. Nannies, governesses, and boarding schools provided an insular world of wealth and privilege for the Dunn offspring. No wonder her sister found nothing distasteful in Jackson’s world.

  After her last visit to Nate’s store, Amanda yearned for him to visit Wycleft. Then he could see for himself that Dunn Mills provided decent employment with freedom and opportunities for advancement. Now she no longer thought that a good idea. She’d been sitting on a pile of self-righteousness. Like Nate, maybe she no longer belonged anywhere. And what did that bode for the coming New Year?

  With Jackson eager to assess the situation at his warehouses and the wharf, and Abigail needing rest after weeks with a critical mother-in-law, Amanda devised a plan. On her first day back in Wilmington, she headed to Water Street immediately after breakfast. But her hope for a tender reunion with Nate dissolved on his front stoop.

  A flurry of workmen carried sacks of grains, sides of smoked meat, and boxes of canned goods to drays parked along the street. Teamsters shouted at passing carriages as they fought to control their skittish horses. Filled with apprehension, Amanda walked into the store as a keg of molasses rolled down the aisle.

  “Watch your step, miss!” hollered a burly man.

  “Amanda! What timing. I just finished penning you a letter,” said Nate. He held up a sheet of foolscap, the ink still glistening.

  She sidestepped the runaway cask and closed the distance between them. All around her the shelves were rapidly being emptied. “I hope you wrote me an invitation to—” Her jest froze in her throat like a winter icicle with the realization Nate wore the uniform of Confederate soldier. Amanda’s vision clouded, her knees buckled, and the floor rose up to meet her.

  “Steady, dear heart.” In one smooth motion, Nate caught her, lifted her into his arms, and carried her out the back door.

  Away from the chaos, the cold breeze restored her senses better than smelling salts. “I’m fine, Nate. Put me down,” she demanded. Once her feet reached solid ground, Amanda straightened her skirt over her ankles. “Tell me you haven’t done something desperately reckless!” A piqued tone masked the terror churning in her gut.

  “I haven’t yet, but I intend to enlist once I reach the fort.” He tugged down the hem of his jacket, the many repairs attesting to hard service by its previous owner. “A militiaman supplied this so I won’t be shot as a Yankee spy along the way.”

  Amanda pressed a fist to her forehead, where a dull ache throbbed beneath the skin. “Fight for the Confederacy? But why, Nate? You abhor the institution of slavery and the rich planters who manipulate laws to benefit themselves.”

  Guiding her to the stone wall, Nate pulled her down next to him. “Yes, but most Carolinians fight for our state’s rights, not to preserve slavery. We want to be able to govern ourselves. As for me, I plan to fight for less philosophic reasons—my brother.” He gazed toward the river, obscured today by a blanket of fog.

  The wo
rd hung in the air as though she could almost touch it. “Your brother is here in Wilmington?”

  He nodded without meeting her eye. “Joshua found me on Christmas Eve. His regiment has been reassigned to Fort Fisher. Some army quartermaster remembered my store and told him where to find me.”

  “Unbelievable! I’m sure you were overjoyed to see him.”

  “I wish you two could have met. To spend Christmas with the two people I love would have been a dream come true.”

  With the two people I love? Amanda latched on his declaration like a rope thrown to a drowning man. “Nothing would have pleased me more than to be here with you instead of with the Henthornes, surrounded by dying peanut plants.”

  “While we slept, Yankees fired on the fort, cutting short our reunion. Joshua’s commander called him back and canceled his furlough.” Nate wrapped his hand around hers. “Amanda, I-I can’t bear the thought of losing him after finding him again.”

  “Joshua is the reason you enlisted?”

  “He is the only family I have, other than you. The army brevetted him to a lieutenant. That particular rank leads men into battle instead of giving orders from the rear like generals.” Nate tightened his grip. “I plan to fight at his side and, if it be God’s will, keep him safe. I can shoot even straighter than he can.” His lips pulled into a wry grin.

  “Please, Nate, don’t go. You will both be killed, and it will be all for naught.” Panic changed the sound of her voice. “I came to say I don’t belong in the Henthorne world any more than you do. But I don’t want to live under Mama’s thumb either. Why don’t we return to Manchester only long enough to sell Dunn Mills? As Papa’s heir I have every right. We could set my mother up on a monthly income in London and use the rest to travel the continent, or begin anew in the western territories. Your brother could join us and start fresh.” As her enthusiasm escalated, his expression changed to one of sorrow.

  Nate lifted her chin with one finger. “Nothing would please me more than a future with you, my love, but Joshua won’t desert the army, and so my fate is sealed as well. Life becomes complicated when family is involved. You said so yourself. I was wrong that afternoon in your sister’s garden. I judged you for things beyond your control. Everyone is trapped by the circumstances of their birth. I’m a North Carolinian, even though we were too poor for a tombstone on my mother’s grave. I cannot abandon either Joshua or Wilmington in its final hour.” He offered her a smile filled with sorrow. “Forgive me, but I must finish packing.”

  Helplessly, she burst into tears as she followed him back inside. “What will happen to your store?”

  As Nate packed ledgers and documents into a leather pouch, workmen carried out everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor or walls.

  “I sent word to Mr. Baxter about my intention to enlist. I offered him my merchandise at no charge as long as he donated whatever he didn’t want to charity. No sense letting good food molder.” Nate peered around the room dispassionately as though it was no longer part of his life.

  “Do these men work for Mr. Baxter?” she asked as two carried out a pickle barrel.

  “They do, but Mr. Baxter wouldn’t hear of a gift. He insisted on paying a fair price for everything—shelves, worktables, even my empty burlap bags. He intends to expand his market into the space next door.” Nate donned his cap and slung two bags over his shoulder as though their reunion was over. “I want to reach the fort before dark.” He pushed the leather pouch across the counter.

  “What is that?” she asked with her face awash in tears.

  “It contains the money Mr. Baxter paid me, along with a bill of sale for land I purchased on the Cape Fear River.”

  She stared at it suspiciously. “Land?”

  “Remember the spot of our first picnic on the peninsula? You waded up to your knees, hoping no one would catch you showing your lacy petticoats.”

  “I remember.” She delicately pressed a handkerchief to her nose.

  “I took money I’d saved and made an offer to the owner. He signed over twenty acres free and clear. I planned to build us a cabin with a dock, and then buy a fishing trawler. If you get a hankering to be a fisherman’s wife, you could still travel to Wilmington to order cotton for Dunn Mills.”

  “I love fresh fish,” she murmured.

  “Then what better reason would you need to marry me?”

  “Let’s build your cabin on the river. That’s a better idea than sailing back to England.”

  Nate draped the pouch’s strap over her shoulder. “We will, someday. In the meantime, take this back to Manchester with you. I need to know you’re safe during the upcoming battle. You could take a train north into Virginia. If you show English documents, you will be allowed to cross into the city of Washington. There will be no blockade to prevent your passage.”

  “But this is my home now!” She flailed her arms to encompass the room.

  “I understand, but with you gone I’ll have only Joshua to worry about.” In front of several shocked Baxter employees, Nate leaned over and kissed her lingeringly on the lips. “When this American nightmare is over, I will find you in Wycleft. I love you, Amanda Dunn.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, to demand he listen to reason, but she managed only choking sobs.

  Nate strode toward the door with her trailing like a pet. Suddenly, he pivoted on his heel. “I nearly forgot. Tell your brother-in-law not to send his steamers downriver. Water mines have been planted to waylay the Yankee navy. Henthorne will lose his ships along with the cargo they carry.”

  “Why would you warn Jackson?” Amanda crossed her arms and clutched her elbows.

  Nate tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “For no other reason than he is your twin sister’s husband. Family does have a way of complicating a person’s life.” He ran his fingertips down her face and then he was gone, leaving her in an empty market with a heart about to break.

  Fourteen

  When Nate thought he could conclude his business at the store and arrive at Fort Fisher by nightfall, he hadn’t taken into account the Sims family. He found them all waiting for him at home. Although he had explained his decision to Ruth and Odom after the Christmas church services, he still had to field an inordinate number of questions during dinner—all variations of the same conundrum.

  “Why would someone feeling as you do about slavery fight for the Confederacy?” Odom asked.

  “I hadn’t planned to take a stand on either side, but I would die to save my brother or Amanda. And now that she will soon be on her way back to England, I only have Joshua to worry about.”

  “But the artillery shelling has stopped, and the Union troops that landed on shore have retreated back to their ships. Maybe both sides have had enough,” Odom said, waving his hands through the air.

  Nate shook his head. “Ulysses S. Grant is chief commander of the Union army. He’s a bulldog of a fighter. He won’t give up until the Union is restored, no matter how many attempts it takes or how many men die as a result. Wilmington is too important to ignore. It’s the last open port on the East Coast. Grant knows exactly how Lee and Johnson receive munitions and supplies for their armies. It’s only a matter of time before he directs all of his energies here.”

  Odom launched his best salvo in the argument. “If the situation is as hopeless as it sounds, then you need to think about Miss Dunn. Both you and your brother may end up dead.”

  Nate laid his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “You’re always telling me to do the right thing and leave the outcome to God, my friend. I’m about to take your advice.”

  “Well, you picked a fine day to start listening to me!” Odom walked to the mantel where he kept his well-worn Bible.

  There would be no more war talk between them that day or for many to come. Ruth had cooked and baked more than Nate could carry on horseback. Odom presented him with a small, leather-bound testament, and Rufus loaned him his compass.

  “It’s what I bought with the message-ca
rrying money from you and Miss Dunn,” the little boy said, peering up through wet eyelashes.

  When Nate tried to refuse the compass, Rufus started to cry in earnest. “How else will you find the fort or your way back to us?” he wailed. “Especially if we move to my aunt’s house in the country?”

  In the end Nate took the compass. Later that day, miles from the fort on a rutted road in the pitch-dark, he was mighty glad he had. If he kept the horse headed due south, eventually they would either find the fort or land in the Atlantic Ocean—that is, if Rebel pickets didn’t shoot him before he could state his intentions.

  Just as the first pink of dawn appeared in the east, Nate caught a whiff of salty air. The breeze had shifted direction and increased in intensity with each furlong he advanced. He dismounted from his gelding before the two of them fell into a bog. When he lifted the feedbag from his saddle horn, he heard the unmistakable click of a revolver.

  “Raise your hands, boy, real slow-like. Then state your business or prepare to meet your Maker.”

  Despite having attended church for the first time in years, Nate wasn’t ready for the alternate offer. He dropped the grain sack onto the ground and lifted his palms skyward, grateful that a militiaman had provided the badly used uniform. “My name is Nathaniel Cooper. I’ve come to enlist in the Confederate army.”

  A round of sneers and guffaws erupted from the trees.

  The speaker stepped forward into the thin light of dawn. The gaunt and sallow-faced officer wasn’t smiling. “Is that right? Seems to me if a man wanted to do his duty, he wouldn’t wait around almost four years.”

  “I say he’s a Yankee spy. Let me run him through, Sergeant. That way we won’t make any noise and tell the Yanks where we’re at.” Another soldier stepped forward with a bayonet protruding from the barrel of his gun.

  “I’m no spy,” said Nate. “I’m from Wilmington. The reason I didn’t sign up sooner was because my services were essential on the waterfront. The rations you enjoy came off a blockade runner tied up in front of my store. You can verify with Judge Miles Stewart in town.” Nate knew the judge’s name would mean nothing to these men, but he hoped it would preserve his life until they could reach the fort.