Ella Wood (Ella Wood, 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “Mrs. Thornton’s in de next room,” Lizzie reminded her, crossing her arms.

  “She’s sleeping.” Emily pushed back inside to collect her shoes. “What use is a trip to the city if I’m to be cooped in the house just as I was at age fifteen?”

  “You been out plenty.”

  “On the piazza. In stuffy old parlors. I haven’t visited a single shop.” She pulled on a pair of gloves, snatched a hat from her trunk, and hastened to the mirror. “Help me pin this on.”

  “You think dis be wise, Miss Emily, after you almost stolen right off Ella Wood two weeks ago?”

  That raised goose bumps on Emily’s arms.

  “Dose fellas were never caught, and it be a sight easier to snatch you off a city street.”

  Emily pushed aside her concerns. “I’m sure there’s no danger, Lizzie. Jack has certainly dealt with that situation by now, and no one else even knows I’m here. Help me with my hat.”

  Lizzie scowled from the bedroom doorway, arms still folded. “Why not wait till Mrs. Thornton wake up an’ ask her to take you?”

  “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” Emily pushed the hatpin through her hair with an impatient jerk. The headpiece wobbled as she turned to face her maid. “Are you coming?”

  Lizzie stalled a moment longer before throwing up her hands in vexation. “Let me fix dat before all o’ Charleston think you as sloppy as you are ill-bred.”

  Emily smiled in triumph. She tiptoed down the stairs and out the front door, spinning once when they reached the street. “I don’t think anyone saw us. The day is ours. Where should we go first? The market? The waterfront?”

  “Miss Emily, you know ain’t s’posed to walk de streets alone,” Lizzie grumbled. “It ain’t fittin’.”

  “Oh Lizzie, when did you become such a puritan? You’ll be with me. Come, let’s walk toward the water. If we’re spotted, people will just think we’re out for a stroll in the gardens.” Three doors away, White Point Garden was the one liberty she’d been granted since childhood.

  “Yo’ father be some displeased if he find out.”

  “I don’t care.” Emily took a deep breath of the salt air and let it out slowly. “I’d like a new sheaf of stationery, and I’m out of yellow ochre pigment.”

  “Then it’s fortunate you’ve run into someone who knows the city well.”

  Emily whirled at the sound of the new voice. Thaddeus Black was striding up the walk, lanky and cocksure. “Mr. Black!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Jack told me you were in town. He also told me of your father’s preoccupation. I figured by now you’d be heartily sick of your own company.” A touch of mockery glinted in his eye. “You weren’t thinking of wandering Charleston unescorted, were you?”

  Emily’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “I have the afternoon off.”

  “A meeting then?”

  “I’m from Savannah, remember? Your hothead South Carolina politics don’t concern me.” He stepped nearer, and she admired his straight nose and wide mouth with the hint of a challenge at its edges. “So, may I have the honor of accompanying you about town?”

  “Miss Emily,” Lizzie hissed. “Dis be worse’n goin’ alone!”

  Emily shouldered her maid aside. “The last time I saw you, sir, you made yourself quite reprehensible. What makes you think I would desire your company now?”

  He dipped his head contritely. “I’m afraid my behavior at your party was unpardonable.”

  “It certainly was.” She crossed her arms, her back as straight as a mast.

  “Entirely inappropriate. Please accept my most sincere apology.”

  “Why should I?” His confidence, she noted, hadn’t frayed one bit. She wasn’t sure if she found that admirable or infuriating.

  He tipped his head. “Because the next time I see your father, I could accidentally let it slip that I’d seen you about town without a proper chaperone.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t!”

  He laughed, and his teasing turned into a full, easy smile that crinkled his eyes and poked a dimple into his left cheek. “Of course I wouldn’t.” He spread his hands. “My reasons for wanting to spend time with you are purely selfish. The same attraction that prompted me to so boldly request a dance is acting on me once again.” His eyes—they were blue, definitely blue—took on a hint of pleading.

  The sea breeze tousled his sandy hair and those eyes tugged at her heart. He looked woebegone and just a little roguish. Her determination wavered, but she wasn’t quite ready to let the matter rest. “You didn’t request that dance, Mr. Black. You coerced me into it.”

  “Then let me make this a genuine request.” His heels snapped together and he bowed low. “Will you allow me to escort you about Charleston?”

  His charm dragged at her resolve, slow and steady, like the pull of the tide.

  “We was jus’ headin’ back inside after takin’ a bit of fresh air, ain’t dat so, Miss Emily?” Lizzie tugged her toward the house. “Mrs. Thornton be awake any minute.”

  Emily slapped her hand away. “My aunt will sleep all afternoon. You can stay here if you wish, Lizzie, but I’m going to take Mr. Black up on his offer.”

  The girl muttered sullenly, “Marse Preston beat me sure if I leave you alone.”

  “Then come with us, but keep your bellyaching to yourself.” Emily turned a beaming smile on Thaddeus. “Mr. Black, it would be my pleasure.”

  “We’ll make a day of it,” he announced with satisfaction.

  An exhilarating sense of freedom, as cool and wild as the salt spray, washed over Emily as she fell into step beside Thaddeus. He chatted amicably, remarking on the weather or on the landmarks they passed. She knew the city better than he did, but she let him ramble on, keenly aware of the admiring glances other women cast their way.

  “The shopping district lies just ahead,” Thaddeus said, turning onto Broad Street. “What store shall we conquer first, parchment or pigment?”

  Emily laughed at his word choices. “Why limit ourselves? Let’s explore them all!”

  He pulled open the door of the first business they came to—a general mercantile. As they browsed the aisles, Emily ventured, “So, Mr. Black, tell me about your home in Georgia.”

  “There isn’t much to tell. My father manages the cotton exchange in Savannah. We lived in town, but I spent much of my childhood at my grandfather’s plantation, especially the summers. He grew rice on a tributary of the Ogeechee River. Nothing so large as Ella Wood, but it’s big enough.”

  “Is your grandfather still alive?”

  Thaddeus shook his head. “He passed on a few years back. My father’s older brother inherited the estate.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “About my grandfather or the land?”

  “Why, your grandfather, of course.” She scrunched her nose. “And…maybe the land too.”

  He shrugged. “Grandfather didn’t leave us penniless. Besides, my mother hates the solitude of the plantation. She never would have been happy there.”

  “Which do you prefer, the city or the countryside?”

  “What does it matter? My situation won’t change.”

  They strolled between shelves laden with dry goods. “Your attitude is admirable,” she admitted.

  He looked pleased. “Is that so?”

  “I’m sure I’d be envious and spiteful.”

  “I try not to let it bother me. My father taught me long ago to watch for the most promising opportunities and seize them. I intend to learn all I can here in Charleston, then put my education to good use.”

  They soon made a circuit of the entire store. The next shop specialized in ladies’ fashions: parasols, gloves, handbags, stockings, and capes as well as crinolines, corsets, petticoats, and a variety of other undergarments. Lizzie frowned as Thaddeus followed them into the building. “Marse Black, it ain’t proper, you comin’ in here.”

&
nbsp; He chuckled. “Do you think I’ve never seen lace before, Lizzie?” But he recanted at the sight of Emily’s burning cheeks. “On second thought, I believe I’ll wait outside while you girls do your shopping.”

  Lizzie scowled fiercely when he was gone. “He a no-account scallywag, Miss Emily.”

  “Oh, he is not. He’s a friend of Jack’s.” She meant for her brother’s good standing to settle the matter, but then Jack had been something of a reprobate himself lately.

  “He brazen, Miss Emily, and you fawnin’ all over him.”

  “I am not fawning.”

  “You all goggle-eyed. What about yo’ talk of independence and never marryin’? First gen’leman looks yo’ way and you make a fool of yo’self.”

  “Lizzie, I am not scheming for a husband!” Several customers cast their eyes in her direction. Emily drew her maid aside. “I’m not interested in Thaddeus Black,” she hissed. “I’m simply enjoying a day away from that stuffy house. You should be glad I didn’t leave you home to clean rooms and wash clothes!”

  Lizzie snorted.

  “Next time I’ll take Lottie with me.” Emily turned her back on Lizzie and browsed through a selection of handbags. At length, she purchased a pair of new gloves and strode out the door without another word.

  Thaddeus met them with a look of chagrin. “I hope you don’t think me too bold, Miss Preston. I did not mean any offense. It’s just that I grew up with four sisters.”

  Emily shot Lizzie an I-told-you-so look. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Black,” she assured him. “Let’s move on and we’ll forget the entire episode.”

  They came to a candy shop where Thaddeus made further amends by purchasing a paper cone of candied almonds. She popped one in her mouth, the sugar melting on her tongue. “Do you know if there’s a print shop nearby?” she asked, already aware of its exact location.

  “Stationery and burnt umber?”

  “Yellow ochre.”

  “Ah, yes. Yellow ochre. I know just the place.” He led her farther up Broad. They strolled down the sidewalk, sharing the serving of nuts. “You are an artist?” he asked.

  “My parents have called me one. It remains to be seen if anyone outside my family would agree.”

  “I’ve seen your father’s collection of paintings. He has an eye for art. What medium do you prefer?”

  “I’m most comfortable with watercolor, but I do some charcoal and pastels. I’d like to try oils.”

  Thaddeus stopped at a crossroad. “May I see your work sometime?”

  She smiled shyly and began to answer when she was interrupted by the sharp staccato of shouting. Craning her neck to gawk down the side street, she found that a small crowd had gathered, pressing into the front yard of a modest dwelling halfway up the street. “What’s going on?”

  They watched the crowd, perhaps a dozen men, force their way into the home. Furnishings began erupting from the front door, landing with a crash in the middle of the lawn. Agitated voices rose and fell, but Emily could make no sense of the words.

  Thaddeus’s lips formed a hard line. “I don’t think you want to see this.”

  He took her elbow and urged her down the main street, but she balked, holding her ground. “What are they doing?” She shaded her eyes, curious to see the demonstrators more clearly. “Why, that’s Widow Harris’s house!”

  A horse and cart were led from the backyard and a few items tossed inside. Thaddeus tried again to force her away from the intersection. “Come on. We’re nearly to the print shop.”

  She shook off his hand and started toward the commotion. “I want to see what’s happening.”

  “Miss Emily, dis ain’t so wise,” Lizzie warned from behind.

  “I have to agree with her, Miss Preston.” Thaddeus fell into step beside her. “This could prove quite unpleasant.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Don’t treat me like a child.” She strode confidently down the sidewalk until a rock shattered the front window and spurred her into a run. “Mrs. Harris!” she called to her old art tutor who was jostled out onto the step with her hat askew and a suitcase in hand.

  The old woman caught sight of her. “Emily! Go home, child!”

  The command brought Emily up short at the edge of the yard where an heavy, frayed-looking man stepped in front of her and blocked the sidewalk. “What do you think you’re doing to this woman?” Emily demanded, jamming her hands on her hips and throwing her anger into his face.

  “Tossing trash out of our town,” he replied. “Go on home, miss. This ain’t no place for a fine lady like yourself.”

  Emily felt Thaddeus’s hand at her elbow and promptly shook it off. “Mrs. Harris is no less a fine lady,” she insisted. “Unhand her at once.”

  “She’s an abolitionist,” said a second man, fanning a pile of pamphlets in her face. He was taller, thinner. A lawyer or some other professional by the look of him. “We found these in her son’s shop and uncovered half a dozen more in her house.”

  Emily had time to read only the first title—Appeal to Christian Women of the Southern States—in the brief moment it flashed before her eyes. “So what if they are hers? I’ve known Mrs. Harris my entire life. She’s an upstanding Christian woman.”

  “They verify the claims made by Mr. Tyler’s wife.” He indicated the aproned shopkeeper forcing Mrs. Harris down her front walk. “Mrs. Harris has made her thoughts on slavery known on many occasions. This evidence is the final word.” He tossed the pamphlets into the mud at her feet. “She and her son are no longer welcome in Charleston.”

  “Miss Preston, let’s go,” Thaddeus said with a tug on her elbow.

  “I will not leave these thugs to drive an old woman out of her home.” She struggled to push past the men, kicking one in the shins, but they held her firmly. “Mrs. Harris!” she cried again.

  Two of the men had the old woman on the cart seat now. “Go home, Emily. I don’t want to see you get hurt,” the woman answered.

  “Tell them they’re wrong! Tell them there’s a mistake.”

  “But they’re my pamphlets, dear. Sarah Grimké and I were debutantes together. At first I was only curious to read what she had to say, but her words won me over.”

  The admission agitated the rabble. They were a mixed lot of gentlemen, workingmen, and a few thugs. Emily cringed as one of them sent another rock sailed through an upstairs window, tinkling glass onto the front walk.

  “Then recant!” Emily pleaded. “Tell them you’re sorry. Tell them you’ve changed your mind.”

  Mrs. Harris smiled sadly. “And let them coerce me into something I disagree with?”

  “But they’re going to send you away!”

  A younger man, perhaps fifty years old, was then dragged out of the house with his hands bound behind his back. Swollen purple bruises distorted his face, but Emily recognized him as Mrs. Harris’s son, the cobbler who had fashioned new shoes for her every summer for sixteen years.

  “Stop!” Emily cried. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She renewed the fight to free herself, but Thaddeus gripped her arm more tightly, and the two men still obstructed her way.

  Her pleas had no effect. Two more men tumbled Mr. Harris into the back of the cart alongside a suitcase, a basket, and a few personal effects. He appeared dazed, as though he’d had one too many shots of whiskey. But Mr. Harris didn’t drink.

  Emily felt no less bewildered. “Where will you go?” she called up to Mrs. Harris. “What will you do?” Why didn’t the woman just lie?

  “We have family in Boston,” Mrs. Harris assured her. “We’ll be all right, child.”

  “The North is welcome to you,” growled the shopkeeper. Someone handed Mrs. Harris the reins and slapped the horse on the flank. The animal plunged down the cobblestones, dragging the complaining cart behind it.

  “Go home, Emily,” Mrs. Harris called back in a thin, reedy voice. “Put your voice into your paintings.”

  Emily watched in disbelief as horse and cart disap
peared around a corner and out of sight.

  With renewed vigor, the men turned their attention to the house, venting their fury in an storm of shattered glass. Thaddeus tightened his grip on her arm and dragged her from the scene. “We’re leaving, Miss Preston. Now.”

  9

  Thaddeus marched Emily down to the end of the peninsula, around two corners, and to her own front yard. Then he planted himself out of sight of the windows. “I am going to stand here and watch you enter. Don’t even think about continuing back toward town.”

  Emily yanked her elbow free but was too shaken to protest. Meekly, she went inside and climbed the stairs to her room, meeting only Betsy, who asked no questions. She sank onto her bed with a mixture of horror and relief, the exhilaration she had felt upon leaving the house wholly evaporated.

  Lizzie stood in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. “I hope you happy, Miss Emily, now you seen Charleston.”

  Emily brooded over the crime she’d just witnessed, reenacting it in her memory again and again. She was amazed at the sheer audacity of the men who committed it in broad daylight. But then, even a coward could act brave with the backing of an entire city. “What is Mrs. Harris going to do?”

  “You heard her same as I did. She got family and friends. She be all right.”

  “But her house, her son’s shop, everything they’ve worked for,” Emily protested.

  “Things ain’t everything. They both alive, and she’s still got her honor.”

  “Honor won’t fill her belly.” Emily wished she could discuss the incident with her father, but any mention of it would acknowledge her jailbreak.

  A rumbling snore penetrated the wall, and Emily allowed herself half a smirk. “At least my aunt slept through it.”

  “At least Mr. Black had sense enough to bring you back when he did.”

  Emily cocked her head to one side. “Why don’t you like him, Lizzie?”

  “I don’ trust him.” The maid began straightening the few items Emily had disturbed in their hasty departure. “Any man who work so hard on his polish prob’ly got somethin’ to hide.”