by Mary Ellis
“Because the Yankees landed on the shore and attacked the fort. Colonel Lamb doesn’t want any more midnight surprises.” Abigail dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Is a lieutenant ranked higher than a colonel? Because I believe that’s what the shopkeeper said his brother was.”
“No, it is not higher,” Jackson replied absently. He closed his eyes as his mind began to spin with the dreadful possibility her story might be true. He’d been too busy worrying about losses from Hornsby’s thievery to listen to news about the war. The Roanoke should be in Bermuda, consigning another load to bring back, but the Lady Adelaine was scheduled to leave port tomorrow once the captain completed the paperwork. He couldn’t take a chance on losing his brand-new ship if Amanda’s information was correct.
Jumping to his feet, he dropped his napkin next to his plate. “I’m going to the docks. I must inform Captain Russell that he’s not to depart under any circumstances until I get to the bottom of this.”
Abigail clamped her slender fingers around his wrist, her grip belying her petite size. “You will do no such thing. Captain Russell is probably ensconced at the Kendall House, enjoying an evening away from that boat. Please finish your dinner, my dear. Dawn will be soon enough to cancel the Lady Adelaine’s departure.”
Jackson remained in place, not because he couldn’t break free from her restraint, but because never before in their marriage had Abigail given him orders. “First your sister and now you know my business better than I?”
She looked up with her luminous dark eyes. “Certainly not, Jackson, but unsavory miscreants prowl the wharves at this hour. You are too important to me…to us…to chance being killed over your pocket watch or even the Lady Adelaine filled to the decks with gold.” Abigail folded her hands over her stomach. “Please, husband, let’s finish dinner and go to bed. Tomorrow you will rise to the challenge refreshed.”
He could not refuse a request so sweetly asked. “As you wish, my dear.” He sat down again, picked up his spoon, and began to eat.
The next morning after his usual ham and eggs, he rode down to the docks in the carriage. When his foreman, Edward Campbell, arrived a few minutes later, Jackson peppered him with questions. The man had heard nothing about water torpedoes but volunteered to inquire. Apparently, the tavern where Jackson encountered the dubious captain of the Marie Celeste entertained sailors from first light until after midnight. Within two hours, Campbell returned with news that the river had indeed been mined.
“Who told you this?” Jackson asked. “Can the informant be trusted?”
“Yes, sir. I spoke to the captain of the militia. They have been called to the fort. The captain was ordered to round up stragglers and report at once. The captain sent his men ahead, but he wasn’t in any particular hurry to join them. The port has been closed until further notice. No ships are to approach the fort for any reason. What should we do, Mr. Henthorne? Do you want us to unload the steamer?” As though already weary, Campbell leaned his shoulder against a post.
“Give me a minute to think,” Jackson said. He clenched and unclenched his hands as he walked from one end of the cotton warehouse to the other. If the port is closed, how can I sell the contents of the Lady Adelaine to the highest bidder? And how can the Roanoke return with its profits, along with a cargo of war materials? But ships blown to pieces won’t do me much good either.
By the time he walked back to Campbell, a plan had taken shape. “Complete the departure manifest. Then handpick eight or nine of your most reliable workers. Make sure they are sober men whose families can spare them for days at a time. Can you be spared at home to accept a new position for me, Mr. Campbell? I’m willing to double your salary.”
The foreman nodded eagerly. “Our daughter is married and living in Beaufort. Our son is with Joe Johnston somewhere west of here, and my wife can fend for herself. What do you have in mind, sir?”
“Yankees are getting too close. Even if our army protects Wilmington, I don’t trust the unsavory lot hanging by the docks, not after my experience with Captain Hornsby. I plan to instruct Captain Russell to sail the Lady Adelaine downriver about twelve miles. There is a hidden inlet that maintains deep enough water even at low tide. I’ll have him drop anchor there and wait this out. Everyone seems to think the Yankees are itching for a fight and our Colonel Lamb will give it to them.”
Campbell pulled on his ear, deep in thought. “Do you want Captain Russell to stay on the ship indefinitely?”
“Of course not. That’s why I need you. I’ll send a carriage to bring the captain back to town. You and several others will stand guard for three or four days at the time. Then trade off with the other half of your men. Tell them I’ll pay their full wages for half the work as long as they keep their mouths shut regarding the inlet’s location.”
Campbell smiled. “I don’t think too many will argue ’bout that.”
“As I said, I’ll pay you twice your normal amount and give you Sundays off.”
“That’s mighty generous, Mr. Henthorne. Your wages have always been more than fair.”
“I need a man I can trust, Campbell. My entire fortune is tied up in my vessels. I am ruined if I lose those steamships.”
“Nothing will happen to the Lady Adelaine, not with me in charge.”
“I’m indebted to you, sir.” Impetuously, Jackson extended his hand.
Campbell looked at it for a moment in stunned silence before brushing his palm down his shirt and then shaking heartily. “You won’t be sorry you put your trust in me.”
Fifteen
January 1, 1865
Amanda began the New Year resolved to avoid duplicitous behavior. Tradition called for resolutions—changes—to a person’s mind-set along with the avoidance of certain habits that threatened a person’s well-being in this life and perhaps hampered their chances of obtaining the hereafter. She started down this fresh path by avoiding the Stewarts’ gala on New Year’s Eve. The last thing she wanted was to don a voluminous ball gown and cumbersome hoop and then mingle with people who found her oddly unsociable. She was oddly unsociable.
Although Jackson promised to stop foisting her on Wilmington bachelors, she had no desire to waltz with aging widowers or young men still learning to dance. And conversations with the overdressed, overly made-up female guests would be no better. Even the kindhearted matrons couldn’t resist asking: “How is your storekeeper faring these days?”
Why did people insist on identifying a person by their vocation, as though how someone made his living determined his worth as a man? Yet, back at home in England she had done the same thing. A nobleman, even a desperately poor one, was worthy of her time and attention, whereas the gardener or milk delivery man or lamplighter on the street wouldn’t warrant the briefest of hellos.
America was the land of opportunity, and Amanda yearned for a clean slate. So she remained home during the two-day affair hosted by the Stewarts. She spent a quiet evening with Helene, Salome, Amos, and the few slaves who hadn’t run off while the Henthornes were in the country.
Word of a possible invasion of Union troops had frightened both slaves and free people of color. Slaves didn’t fully understand the Yankees’ intentions. And along with the freemen, many feared the army would burn their homes and kill their chickens. Exaggerated tales of General Sherman’s exploits in South Carolina and Georgia had spread all the way to Wilmington.
Amanda ate supper at the massive trestle table in the subterranean kitchen with the others. Afterward, on a surprisingly mild evening, Amos played a lively tune on his fiddle for those inclined to dance. Even Helene lifted her skirts with one hand and tried to duplicate Salome’s footwork, while Amanda clapped her hands to keep the rhythm. Anything to keep her mind off Nate. Where was he on this breezy, cloudless night? Had he safely reached Fort Fisher, or had he been shot by sharpshooters from the same army he intended to join?
That New Year’s morning, as soon as the sun rose over the rooflines, Amanda penned a long overdue letter
to her mother and a second to Charles Pelton. Although she frequently sent details regarding cotton headed to Liverpool and Manchester, this letter contained a different type of instructions to the man in charge in her absence.
“Ah, you’re up bright and early this holiday morn.” Helene bustled into the room with a tray containing Amanda’s carafe of coffee and a plate of sweet rolls. After opening the drapes and making the bed, she headed for the door.
“Stay, Helene. Have a pastry with me so we can talk.” Amanda gestured toward the small table by the window.
Helene glanced at the doorway. “I don’t know if that’s wise, Miss Amanda…”
“It will be late afternoon at the earliest before the Henthornes return. If Abigail is feeling well, they may drive straight on to Oakdale. We may not see them until the weekend.”
“That’s good to hear. Tell me what has you so industrious this morning.” Helene sat down and took the smallest pastry from the tray.
“I have written a list of changes to be implemented at Dunn Mills.”
Helene arched one delicate eyebrow. “Regarding how garments are to be made?”
Amanda snickered. “Goodness, no. I have no knowledge of manufacturing. These are changes within the village of Wycleft.” Picking up the letter, she blew lightly on the damp ink. “I want a local school for the mill children so they won’t have to travel to the next town. Mr. Pelton is to advertise and then hire a headmaster. We’ll use the church hall until a facility can be built. Attending school should be encouraged until age sixteen but mandatory until children are fourteen. A father’s wages will be adjusted to prevent hardship from the loss of income if his children are absent from the mill due to obtaining an education.” She picked up her coffee cup and sipped daintily.
“A bonnie idea, especially about the new school. ’Tis a tragedy for lads and lasses to be illiterate in this day and age.”
“That’s not all. Mr. Pelton is to hire a doctor, perhaps a young man fresh from university, who wishes to establish a new practice. The doctor’s fees will be paid by Dunn Mills and not borne by the workers. A generous yearly stipend will be agreed upon when the doctor is hired.”
“My, these are bold changes, Miss Amanda. Don’t you want to wait until you discuss them with your mother?”
“No, I do not.” Amanda bit into a cream-filled pastry. “Mama knows nothing about living conditions in Wycleft, and I doubt she would care if she did. According to papers sent me by Papa’s solicitor, I am in charge.”
“I commend your progressive thinking, ma’am.”
“At least it’s a start. When I see for myself how much of Nate’s assertions are true, I will institute additional improvements.”
“I suspected your Mr. Cooper might somehow be involved with this. The citizens of Wycleft will owe their improved lot to a shopkeeper in North Carolina—one they will never meet.”
Amanda smiled at the idea of her Mr. Cooper. Then the image of him dressed in a faded butternut uniform caused her chest to constrict. “Perhaps Nate will visit my home one day and offer suggestions, but this will get Pelton moving in the meantime.” She inserted the letter in an envelope and sealed it with a drop of wax. “I have written to my mother as well. You will deliver both upon your arrival in England.”
Helene set down her sweet roll in surprise. “Upon my arrival? Where will you be?”
“Right here in Wilmington, waiting for Nate to come home.” Amanda swallowed hard, forcing herself not to cry.
“But you told Mrs. Henthorne that he left to fight for the Confederacy. The war could last months or even years more—”
“I can’t be in England while he may lie wounded and languishing in some hospital without someone to care for him.”
“What could you do, Miss Amanda? You’re not a trained nurse, and you cannot search the battlefield for him.” Helene shivered visibly before refilling Amanda’s cup. “Wait to hear from him in the comfort of your home.”
“I have made up my mind to stay, but you will not. Thomas will take us to the train station tomorrow. I’ve made inquiries regarding which rail lines are still functional. We shall travel to Richmond together, where I’ll see you safely into territory controlled by the Yankees. I won’t leave your side until you’re safely on a train to Washington.”
“Washington? What will I do there by myself?”
“You will book passage on the next steamer to England. No gunboats will prevent ships from leaving the nation’s capital. With proper English documents, no one will deny you passage.”
“What should I tell your mother? Mrs. Dunn will be incensed if you don’t return with me.”
“I explained everything in my letter to her, at least as much as I know now. She won’t like it, but I’m a grown woman with plans to follow my heart.”
“Like Miss Abigail,” murmured Helene.
“Yes, I suppose so, but I never thought I would admit it.” She placed a third envelope next to Helene’s plate. “This contains traveling money along with your next six months’ wages.”
The maid shook her head. “I can’t take money I haven’t earned.”
“You have earned it by accompanying me to a strange land. This will support you until you find another position.”
Helene glanced around the lavish suite. “I suppose America has much to recommend it. If only circumstances were different here…”
“It is splendid to hear you say so! Perhaps one day you’ll return for a visit, if and when Nate and I marry and make our home here. But rest assured, Helene. Our circumstances will be vastly different than the Henthornes.” Just uttering those words gave Amanda a jolt of courage.
Impulsively, Helene hugged her for a brief moment. “I shall miss you.” A tear slipped beneath her lashes.
“And I, you. Now go collect your things while I will pack a bag for a few nights. There’s no telling how long it will take to get you back to the United States instead of the Confederate States of America. I’m hoping January will be mild this year.”
Helene bobbed her head and went into the alcove to pack. Suddenly the prospect of returning to Red Rose County banished her worries over rough water or seasickness.
Amanda wished she could feel so optimistically about the future. She had no doubts regarding Nate’s integrity. It was the mind-set of the Union army that kept her pacing until the wee hours of morning. When sleep refused to come, Amanda penned a note, brief and to the point, to her sister.
Abby, I’ve gone to Washington to see Helene safely past the Union blockade. She will sail for England but I will return to Wilmington. My fate is irrevocably tied to the outcome of this war, the same as yours.
With fond regards, Amanda
“Frankly, I don’t understand you, Abigail,” Jackson said as he thumped on the ceiling of the carriage to signal the coachman. When the carriage started to roll, he turned toward her on the seat. “You insisted on remaining another day after the New Year’s brunch because you felt better than you had all winter.”
“Rosalyn graciously asked us to stay, and it had been ever so long since we visited…”
“Yes, I understand that. But when I suggested we go straight to the plantation to extend the holiday with my parents, your stomach suddenly felt queasy.” He tried not to sound as peevish as he felt.
Abigail remained quiet for half a minute before responding. “I believe your mother upsets my constitution.” She giggled behind her fan.
Jackson fought the urge to laugh. “I’m not sure I like your new forthright manner of speech. Is this your twin’s influence after the last nine months?”
“Perhaps so. We can’t help but affect each other, even though we attempt to remain autonomous.”
“How do you affect Amanda?”
“I’ve observed that she’s less judgmental of those not sharing her opinions.”
“I don’t see much improvement in that regard, but I appreciated her news about the river channel. That could have been ruination for me.”<
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“My point exactly. If she stays in Wilmington long enough, I predict you two shall become fast friends.” Abigail lifted her fan to cover her face.
“Pigs will fly first.” Jackson thumped again on the ceiling as they turned onto Third Street.
The footman stuck his head in the window. “Yes, Master Henthorne?”
“Tell Thomas to stop at the front hitching block. I’m going to town after I see Mrs. Henthorne inside.”
When the footman had withdrawn his head, Abigail said, “Must you, Jackson? I so yearned for us to have a quiet evening by the fire.”
He kissed the back of her gloved fingers. “I won’t be long, my dear. Then we’ll have our evening together. I need to talk to Mr. Peterson while he’s in town. He should be informed of the situation with the Lady Adelaine and the Roanoke.”
Abigail issued an unladylike snort. “Business, business. I’ll be glad when this war is over and life returns to normal. I liked you better the way you were before—mildly slothful.”
He looked twice to make sure the right Dunn sister was sitting beside him. Once they were inside the house, Jackson helped Abigail to her favorite settee under the window. After tucking her up in a quilt and summoning a pot of tea, he returned to the carriage for the ride to Wilmington’s best hotel. If truth be told, he was as eager for a quiet evening at home as she was.
“Why have you provided a bell if no one intends to respond?” Jackson chastised the Kendall House clerk. It had taken three rings before the man emerged from the back room.
“Begging your pardon, sir. How can I help you tonight?” The clerk sounded appropriately contrite.
“Kindly let Mr. Peterson know Mr. Henthorne is here and wishes to speak with him. I’ll wait in the gentlemen’s parlor.” Jackson hooked his thumb toward a masculine lounge, thick with blue cigar smoke even at this early hour.