“Then don’t be sore.”
“I ain’t sore.”
“Wait a minute.” Emily stretched out the phrase and sank onto the bed. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
Lizzie laid the gowns carefully into the trunk.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Emily laughed. “There is someone else.”
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say ’bout dat.”
“Who is he?” Emily asked eagerly.
Lizzie closed the trunk and pressed her lips together just as tightly.
“Oh, come now, Lizzie,” Emily pouted. “We used to share all our secrets when we were little girls. Does he live here at Ella Wood?”
“I ain’t gunna say another word.”
After several more attempts to extract a name proved futile, Emily stood up. “You can keep your beau a secret for now,” she told her. “But if you happen to meet that fellow Ketch, you might want to advise him to remain on his best behavior.”
***
Emily watched the sun rise over the river the next morning. Her father had arrived at the polls before they opened and lost no time coming home. Charcoal water lapped gently at the hull as the sky pearled then silvered then awakened in a flush of rose and coral. Emily knelt at the bow with her watercolors, replicating the display and making every effort to stay out of the crew’s way.
“Dat be a mighty fine picture, Miss Emily.”
She looked up, past the wide brim of her hat, into the black, admiring features of the captain’s son. “Thank you, Coffey.”
He grinned, revealing even, white teeth. “You do good work, miss.”
She laughed. “So do you. I could never sail the Santa Marie.” Her father had purchased and christened the vessel, naming it after her mother in a play on Columbus’s flagship. It was Emily’s first voyage on the schooner, and she thrilled to the newness of the experience. “How long do you figure until we reach Charleston?”
“Oh, eight or ten hours. We goin’ out wid de tide, but when it change, should be plenty o’ wind.”
“And the reason for the sail?” she asked, noting that one had already been unfurled.
“Collectin’ jus’ enough breeze to steer by.”
She tapped her pile of paper into a crisp, even rectangle and regarded the young man curiously. He couldn’t be much older than Jack. “Do you like sailing, Coffey?”
“Sho’ do, miss,” he said, retying a line with lightning fast movements. “I be takin’ over as captain some day. Nobody know dis river better’n me.”
“You don’t mind if I sketch you while you work, do you?”
“Not at all, miss.” He grinned again. “Think I could have one for my mama when you done?”
“You can count on it.”
The novelty of the adventure soon wore off. She conversed with her father some, but he spent most of his time poring over a satchel full of papers he’d brought along. Lizzie stayed belowdecks, terrified of falling into the water, so Emily relied on her artwork to pass the hours. She joined her maid to snack from a hamper Josephine had provided, but soon returned to the fresh air and the company of the crew. Even so, when they arrived at West Point Mill, she was tired and cramped.
“Yoo-hoo! William!”
Emily looked up as she alighted on the dock. Aunt Margaret stood in her carriage at the base of the wharf, a handkerchief fluttering rapidly in one hand while the other steadied an outlandish, violently pink hat. William acknowledged her with a brief wave.
“Why don’t you go on ahead with my sister,” he told Emily. “I have arrangements to make and paperwork to fill out. You can have Jeremiah send someone round to fetch me when you arrive at the house. Don’t forget to issue a pass.”
Emily pressed her hands to the small of her back and rocked up on her toes as the crew carried their luggage across the dock. The municipal guards often stopped unaccompanied slaves. With more Blacks in the city than Whites, a constant fear of uprising saturated the streets like vapor off the harbor. “Do you think I could talk Aunt Margaret into letting me walk home?”
He laughed. “You can try. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Emily strolled behind the crew and waited while the heavy trunks were lifted into the carriage. “Aren’t you going to kiss your auntie?” Aunt Margaret called from her perch.
As Lizzie climbed into the front seat with the driver, Emily stepped onto a mounting block and leaned in to plant a smooch on the old woman’s cheek. “My father will be along in a while. It’s just us for now,” she said and leaped lightly to the ground.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Aunt Margaret demanded. “Get in and let’s be on our way.”
“I’m going to walk off some of these kinks first.” Emily stretched for effect. “Don’t mind me. I’ll keep up.”
The old woman’s lips clicked apart like a sprung lock. “You’ll do nothing of the kind.”
“Just for a street or two, Auntie.” She smiled sweetly and stepped in front of the horses.
“Emily Marie Preston, you get in this carriage this instant!”
Swinging her arms merrily, Emily sang out, “You’ll have to catch me first.”
The carriage squeaked in the stillness as her aunt stood up, surveyed the situation, and considered her options. “Well, help me out already, Paxton!” she burst out.
Emily spun the skirt of her riding habit in a lighthearted taunt as the old woman approached. “Are you going to throw me into the carriage, Auntie, or have you decided to join me?”
Breathing heavily, her oversized hat bobbing with every step, Aunt Margaret assumed a proud posture. “One must preserve her girlish figure, mustn’t she?”
Emily laughed with delight, and the slow clop of hooves pursued them down the street.
The mill district soon gave way to tall, narrow houses painted lemon, mango, and teal, each overlooking a slender courtyard stuffed with fall blooms. Charleston was situated on a slender peninsula where the Ashley and Cooper Rivers met just before they entered the sea. Emily could see the deep azure of water at the end of every street.
After several blocks, she was beginning to perspire and was feeling especially thankful for the shade her hat provided. She took pity on her laboring aunt and stepped to the side of the road so the carriage could pull up beside them. It took both her and Paxton to get the old woman back in the carriage.
“I’m sorry, Auntie,” Emily said. “I didn’t intend for you to tax your strength so.”
“It’s worth it if you’ve worked off all your mischief,” Aunt Margaret panted, adjusting her ridiculous headwear.
“I promise I’ll be good from now on.”
Her aunt skewed her eyes. “Liar.”
Emily snorted, relieved to discover the old woman had a sense of humor.
They angled down Broad Street, with its towering storefronts crammed shoulder to shoulder, and turned onto Meeting where the two-story town house soon came into view near the end of the peninsula. With matching stairways curving up to a central front door and a tiered piazza climbing the left side, its appearance was both pleasant and imposing. A welcome sight at the end of a long day.
“Jovie?” she called as they pulled up. On the rounded balcony above the front door a young man leaned on the railing and stared out over the harbor beyond White Point Garden, visible at the end of the street. “What are you doing here?”
He straightened. “I was watching for you, but it seems you’ve caught me napping. Hello, Mrs. Thornton? Are you unwell?”
“Never mind, boy,” Aunt Margaret snapped, still wheezing slightly. “I’m well enough. Paxton, help me out of this confounded contraption.”
Lizzie assisted the old woman to the door. Then Jeremiah, the light-skinned butler who oversaw her father’s Charleston property, exited the house and lent the driver a hand with the luggage.
Emily stood on the street beneath the balcony, angling her hat brim with one gloved hand to shield the glare of the sun. “Why are you here?” s
he asked again.
“Can’t a fellow meet the prettiest girl in town upon her arrival?”
She glanced down at the cobbles uncomfortably, as if she might find a script written there, then returned his gaze with determination. “Jovie, I thought I explained that I have no interest in—”
He leaned his weight on the railing with a gentle smile. “I’m just teasing you, Emily. Jack asked me to drop by with a dinner invitation.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t I come down and deliver it to you?”
“Yes, of course.”
Entering the foyer, she was hailed by the cook, Betsy, who was as sweet and plump as Josephine was dour and thin. “Good afta’noon, Miss Emily,” she exclaimed with a broad smile and an even broader hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I’ve only been gone two weeks.”
“I know. But dis house an ol’ barn when dey’s no people livin’ in it. You hungry?”
“Apparently my father and I will be dining with Jack tonight.”
“Oh, I know all about dat. Jovie Cutler here someplace. Such a nice boy. You mind yo’ manners, you hear?”
“My niece is always well-mannered,” Aunt Margaret piped up from her seat in the front parlor. “When she isn’t being cheeky and impudent.”
Emily laughed.
“Course she is.” Betsy squeezed Emily’s shoulders. “I got cold chicken and pickles in de larder if you need a snack, and Tandey aired out yo’ bedroom.”
“Thank you, Betsy.”
Jovie descended the sweeping stairway and handed her Jack’s card with an address and a time scrawled on the back. “Will you be joining us?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I can’t afford as much leisure time as your brother. Even now, I’ve been going over the points of my latest composition in my head. You caught me at it.”
They stood uncertainly, centered beneath the great crystal chandelier.
“I really should be getting back,” Jovie ventured.
“Of course.”
“It’s nice to see you.”
“And you.”
They stepped apart, both moving in the same direction and then back again in an awkward dance. Emily giggled and backed to the door. With a polite bow, Jovie strode into the street.
***
Emily and William met Jack at a dark, cramped eatery just off the campus proper. Four young men sat around a pockmarked table engrossed in a game of cards. The opposite corner housed a group of students loudly discussing a recent lecture, and a few individuals with texts open before them dotted the remainder of the room. The atmosphere was distinctly collegiate. Emily could see why Jack loved it.
Her brother hailed them heartily and insisted on introducing them to four or five of his friends before guiding them to an empty table. “How was your trip into town?”
“Uneventful,” William answered.
“The best kind, I suppose.”
Aunt Margaret had returned to her own house following William’s arrival. After a short nap, Emily had changed into evening wear feeling rested and refreshed. “This is quite an establishment,” she remarked, tucking her skirt beneath the table.
Jack sniffed the air appreciatively. “I come here nearly every day. The food is much better than what I could prepare.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t just stay at the house. It’s not that far, and Betsy is a wonderful cook.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“Do what you want,” she said with a careless shrug. “Just stay out of trouble.” It was spoken lightly enough, but she’d been observing her brother closely for signs of intoxication.
His reply held a brittle edge. “Don’t worry about me, sister dear. I can take care of myself.”
William laid his hand down flat in the center of the table in an obvious attempt to maintain the peace. “How are your studies progressing?”
“My philosophy exam received the highest marks in the class.” Jack couldn’t hold back a slight smirk thrown in his sister’s direction.
A serving girl came to take their order. Jack chose a sandwich made with thick cuts of pork. William asked for fried chicken, and Emily opted for fried oysters. All three meals came with boiled potatoes and black-eyed peas. Thick, doughy apple dumplings rounded out their orders.
“So, have you seen any more of Abigail Malone?” Emily asked after the girl retired to the kitchen.
“Abigail Malone?” Jack quizzed. “The doctor’s daughter?”
“Do you know another Abigail Malone?”
Irritation flickered across his face. “What about her?”
“I’m just wondering if you’ve seen her since the ball. She had her eye on you all evening and perked up every time someone mentioned your name.”
“She did?”
“You looked quite comfortable in her company, too.”
Jack shrugged noncommittally. “She’s pretty.”
“You don’t like her?”
“I don’t have time for her right now.”
“Too many extracurricular activities?” she asked, too innocently.
He threw her another icy glare before twisting in his seat to face their father. “There was a fight at school today, about whether Lincoln would honor his promise to keep his hands off slavery within Southern states.”
“Oh?” William asked. “Were you in it?”
“No, but it seems he’s the subject of every conversation. Just this week, three lectures turned into heated discussions—one in government, one in ethics, and one in Latin.”
“In Latin?” Emily exclaimed. What did one possibly have to do with the other?
“So, how did the fight come out?” William prompted.
“Oh, the fellow wanted to give Lincoln the benefit of the doubt. Said if he’s elected, we shouldn’t sever economic ties with the North. He came across just a little too sympathetic. After class, some of my classmates trounced him pretty thoroughly.”
Emily traced her fingernail over a name carved into the table. “Was he okay?”
Jack shrugged. “He lived. Most likely he’ll be switching schools.” At Emily’s cluck of dismay, he continued. “He had it coming.”
“A disagreement is no cause to beat a man!”
“Don’t yell at me. I didn’t do it.”
Emily put four fingers to her forehead, two on each side. It was yet another story of violence. “I hope Lincoln loses this election just so everything will return to normal.”
“Normal?” Jack repeated. “You mean vilified by the abolitionists? Our post offices flooded with their literature? Our people forced to pay unconstitutional tariffs? Our interests stomped on in Washington?” His nostrils flare. “It’s been going on for decades. I almost hope Lincoln wins just to force us to action once and for all.”
Emily slid back in her seat. Her father occasionally grew animated over political issues, but never Jack. Now he was complaining about events she’d never separated from her history texts.
The waitress delivered their meals. William spoke thoughtfully into the lull that followed. “I admire your conviction, Jack, but I hope those in a position to make crucial decisions emphasize caution over rhetoric. Lincoln is still a big unknown.”
“Lincoln’s already stated that he wouldn’t allow slavery to expand farther into the Western territories,” Jack countered. “And he’s intent on relegating our interests to minority status.”
“Is that enough provocation to dissolve the Union?” Emily asked.
“It should be. Especially when you consider how quickly Virginia, Maryland, and Kentucky are selling their Negroes down South. They won’t even be slave states in ten years. If we’re outnumbered by a large enough majority, you can be sure they’ll amend the Constitution to outlaw slavery.”
“All speculation,” William pointed out.
“All valid concerns,” Jack shot back.
“And so you’re prepared to leap out of
the Union, are you?” William asked.
“Someone has to take the plunge.”
“And if no one follows?”
Silence amplified the nervous drumming of Emily’s fingernails. She felt overwhelmed by the rush of information and oppressed with a sense of foreboding. “I feel as though this is a betrayal of Great-Grandfather Preston,” she protested. “He fought to create the Union you’re so quick to throw away.”
“He’d be proud of me for standing against the same tyranny he resisted.”
“So when you bring another war down on our heads, what then? What will your friends say when they’re called on to fight?”
“They’re itching to sign up.” Jack scowled impatiently. “What’s wrong with you?”
William reached out to squeeze his daughter’s hand. “The lawmakers I know will not fling us into a position of isolation and danger. But we cannot tarry so long that hasty men initiate some desperate, lawless act. We must take scrupulous steps in cooperation with our Southern neighbors and begin a rebellion in accordance with law and order. However,” he added, pausing to look both of his children in the eye, “every course of action is subject to today’s election results. So I propose we agree to wait for them and finish our meal before firing any more shots in our personal war. Agreed?”
Emily and Jack exchanged sullen glances and nodded their heads. As far as Emily was concerned, the results couldn’t come too soon.
8
Forgetting propriety, Emily leaned both elbows on the balcony railing and smashed her face into her fists. “I’m tired of watching people pass on the street while I sit here doing nothing at all.”
Her Charleston adventure had not followed the script in her imagination. Aside from Sunday morning services and an excursion to the theater on Saturday evening, Emily had been confined to the company of her aunt for an entire week. With the announcement of Lincoln’s victory, her father had been sucked into a political otherworld of drawing rooms and public forums that culminated in a grand celebration of the new Charleston and Savannah Railroad. Emily thought very strongly that she should have been invited to the gala, too. Instead, she drank tea with old ladies and played cribbage until her fingers calloused. Emily had reached the end of her patience. “I can’t sit here another moment,” she declared. “I’m going out.”
Ella Wood (Ella Wood, 1) Page 7