Ella Wood (Ella Wood, 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “She didn’t wish to accompany them?” Marie asked.

  “She gets so terribly seasick. Rather than endure a voyage for relatives she’s never met, she opted to spend Christmas with us. And we’re glad to have her, poor child,” Edna finished.

  Walter leaned against the mantel and fingered his pipe. “How’d you folks make out in the mill fire?”

  William leaned back comfortably in a carved rosewood chair and crossed one knee over another. “Insurance covered everything. I expect we’ll be up and running again by next harvest.”

  Walter clucked. “I should have bought in when I had the opportunity. You don’t suppose—”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Edna admonished. “No business on an empty stomach.”

  Walter obediently popped his pipe into his mouth and chewed on the tip.

  The adult conversation droned around Emily like one of Mr. Lindquist’s history lectures. Only the burn of her portfolio on her lap kept her vision from closing. She was eager to share her latest images with Jovie. Just as she thought to search him out, he entered the room escorting a beautiful young woman with long black tresses and porcelain skin. “Hello, Emily. Mr. and Mrs. Preston. This is my cousin, Miss Savannah Wilkinson.”

  Her parents greeted the young woman warmly as she dropped a graceful curtsy. Emily could only stare in astonishment. By the way Edna spoke, she had expected a young girl. A child. Savannah Wilkinson was no child.

  “Hello, Miss Preston,” the young woman said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Emily felt an irrational twinge of ire. She managed a smile but was saved from answering by the footman who returned to announce dinner. As they made their way to the dining room, it became apparent that the evening would not work out at all the way she had imagined. Edna placed Jovie next to Miss Wilkinson while Emily sat at the opposite end of the table beside his two younger sisters. As she took her seat, she squeezed the edge of her portfolio, turning every knuckle white.

  Dinner proved a tedious affair. The younger girls were old enough to sit at table; they were not, however, permitted to speak. Cora, at age fourteen, was closer in age to Emily than was Sophia, but Emily had always found her cold and repellant. Twelve-year-old Jennie, by contrast, usually displayed all of Sophia’s sparkle and spunk. Tonight she squirmed in her seat.

  “Is this your first dinner party?” Emily whispered.

  Jennie took a bite of mashed potatoes and nodded her head without enthusiasm.

  “Are you finding it as mind-numbingly dull as I am?”

  The girl glanced up.

  “I’d wager you and I could make a dash for the nursery to join your little brothers without any of the adults noticing our absence.” Emily leaned closer, dropping her tone to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll run if you do.”

  This was rewarded by a muffled giggle. Emily might have continued a discreet conversation if Jovie hadn’t chosen that moment to laugh delightedly at something Miss Wilkinson said. Her attention immediately diverted to the far end of the table.

  The young woman was positively striking. She moved with easy grace and spoke in rich, low tones that fell like music on the ear. As the adults rambled on about the market value of rice, the cost of upgrading levee systems, and the goings-on of their various neighbors, Emily found herself liking Jovie’s cousin less and less.

  “Have you been to visit Luella Northrup?” Marie asked. “She’s been faring so poorly lately.”

  “It’s no wonder,” Edna replied. “If I was married to Ernest, I’d have left him long ago.”

  “She’s in no condition to go anywhere, poor soul.”

  Edna wrinkled her nose in distaste. “He is such a crude man. I wish we needn’t come into such close proximity.”

  “Northrup isn’t much for etiquette,” Walter agreed, “but we need him. Especially now. I wish South Carolina had ten thousand more men just like him.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Edna waved away his comment. “He doesn’t even own a single slave.”

  “Neither does Rev. Markle, or my lawyer Mr. Tims, or John Ralph down at the brickyard,” Walter countered.

  “It’s true,” William put in. “People like Ernest Northrup protect people like us. They make our lifestyle possible.”

  Emily turned her head at his comment, a thin trickle of curiosity eroding through her black boredom.

  “Now you’re ganging up on me,” Edna pouted.

  “My apologies, ma’am.” William laughed. “I must say, this roast duck is wonderful. Moist and tender. And these biscuits are absolutely heavenly.”

  Edna brightened immediately, thanking him as though she’d prepared the meal herself. Emily had a vision of Sophia in twenty years. They were as alike as a matching pair of shoes. How had Jovie turned out so…different?

  She glanced in his direction, but he and Miss Wilkinson remained in a world of their own.

  “Are you in love with my brother?”

  Emily laughed at the absurdity of Jennie’s whispered question. “What?”

  “You keep staring at him.”

  Emily waited until a servant removed her dirty plate and replaced it with a bowl of lemon ice. “Of course not,” she replied. “I have something important to discuss with him, but now it looks as though I won’t have an opportunity. He’s quite taken with your cousin.”

  “Savannah’s really nice. You’d like her.”

  “She’s a lout, and I can’t wait for her to go home,” Cora stated, nearly loud enough to be overheard.

  “Cora, hush!” Emily scolded, but she smiled at the sentiment. Miss Wilkinson was a perfectly lovely lout.

  “Cora doesn’t like her because she had to give up her bed,” Jennie explained.

  Her sister frowned. “I think I can voice my own opinion without qualifications from you.”

  “Girls,” Edna admonished with a severe look. Both children fell silent.

  Emily sneaked another glance at the far end of the table. She was glad when the meal ended and they retired to the parlor. Stepping in front of the absorbed couple, she carried her portfolio prominently, hoping it might catch Jovie’s eye. But when he and Miss Wilkinson settled cozily before the fire, she gave up and joined Cora and Jennie in a game of dominoes, stuffing her portfolio beneath her seat with more force than necessary.

  The same footman who had called them to dinner now entered with coffee for the grownups and mugs of hot chocolate for the children. Emily opted for the sweeter drink. “Are you still wishing you could return to the nursery?” she asked Jennie.

  “Not anymore. Sarah’s putting the boys to bed, and they only get warm milk. Mama says chocolate keeps them awake.”

  “If they have trouble sleeping, we could send the adults upstairs to carry on a conversation in their room. I almost fell asleep listening to them during that meal.”

  Jennie giggled again, but Cora listened to their whispers with disdain. Humor, apparently, was quite beneath her.

  Jennie laid the first game tile, and soon the formation resembled the fireworks that burst over Charleston harbor on the Fourth of July. After a few rounds, Miss Wilkinson rose from the fireplace and Jovie escorted her—quite solicitously, Emily thought—to the game table. “Would you mind if we joined you?” she asked.

  Cora scowled. “We’ve already started.”

  But Jennie slid to one side of her chair. “We’re almost done with this round. You can sit by me.”

  “Perhaps Miss Wilkinson would like her own chair,” Jovie observed and set one in place for her.

  The young woman sat down with gentle grace. “You don’t mind, do you, Miss Preston?”

  “Of course not.” Masking her repugnance required a valiant effort.

  Jovie pulled up another chair and sat between them. “I’m glad the two of you have a chance to meet. Emily is an amazing artist,” he said, his green eyes fastening on her. “She painted the set for the Christmas pageant. I must have overheard a dozen compliments during the program.”

>   “Thank you, Jovie.” His words blunted the edge of her irritation.

  “And she’s the best horsewoman in the county. Heaven knows I tried enough times to outride her when we were younger.”

  His gaze lingered. She thought she knew his expressions well after all the years they’d lived next door, but something new played in the lines of his face. Was it affection she thought she saw there?

  He turned back to his cousin. “Savannah’s father races thoroughbreds. He had an animal at the Washington course in Charleston last year. She helps train them.”

  Of course she does.

  “I thought the two of you might become friends while she’s here. I know how lonely it can be in the countryside. Our houses sit so close together. You could be good company for one another.” Jovie flicked his gaze between them looking quite pleased with himself.

  “Miss Preston, I would truly covet your companionship when Jovie goes back to school,” Savannah said in that rich, melodic voice.

  “Yes, I’m sure that would be lovely,” Emily answered. She had few enough friends to pick from, but Savannah Wilkinson? Thank goodness she left for Sophia’s in two weeks.

  After a few more rounds of dominoes, Jovie suggested a game of charades. Jennie squealed her approval, which earned a gentle scolding from her mother, but her enthusiasm drew even the adults into the game. Walter’s antics as he mimed General Washington crossing the Delaware soon had them all in stitches, and to her surprise, Emily found she was enjoying herself.

  Walter was followed by an equally hilarious performance by Savannah, who galloped about the room impersonating a Pony Express rider. She even fired over her shoulder at a few Indians. Jovie pretended to get hit by the crossfire, acting out a dramatic death scene of his own.

  “I can’t wait until she lives here always,” Jennie confided to Emily in a giggling whisper.

  “I thought she was going home when her parents return from Europe,” Emily whispered back.

  “She is. I mean later.”

  “Is she coming back next year?”

  “No, when she becomes my sister. She and Jovie are getting married.”

  13

  Emily knocked hesitantly at her father’s door. Now might not be the best time to begin a discussion. He’d only just returned home, but he left at such odd times and stayed away so long, she was afraid if she didn’t catch him now she never would. “May I come in?”

  “Of course, Emily,” he called.

  She opened the door to find him tapping a pile of papers into a neat pile. He regarded her evenly. “I wanted to speak with you, too. I don’t want you or your mother going into Charleston for any reason, do you hear?”

  “Yes, Papa. You’ve told me twice already.”

  “I just don’t want you to forget and let Sophia talk you into any excursions that might prove unsafe. You’re to wait until the hubbub in the harbor dies down.”

  Three weeks had passed since the state convention voted unanimously in favor of Secession. The delegates promptly declared that all federal property within the borders of the new commonwealth would revert to South Carolinian control. Already the militia had quietly gained Fort Moultrie and several of the batteries surrounding the harbor mouth, as well as the Charleston Arsenal. According to a recent edition of the Charleston Mercury, Fort Sumter, the fortified rock in the center of the harbor, remained under federal control, but attempts to resupply it had been thwarted when several batteries opened fire on the Union supply ship.

  As Emily had feared, war paced just beyond the border of her backyard.

  “I suppose we’ll miss Race Week,” she complained. She couldn’t recall a year when her family hadn’t spent the week in Charleston for the excitement—dinners, auctions, parades, and horse races. At least she would avoid the matchmaking that accompanied the week’s balls.

  “There will be others. I’ll not risk my family for the sake of any social engagements. But this is not the reason you wanted to see me,” William reminded her.

  She faced him apprehensively. Even though the timing felt all wrong, she did need to speak with him. They were leaving that afternoon, she for an extended visit to Sophia’s and he to Columbia as part of Governor Pickens’ new Executive Council. Five states—Georgia, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana—had followed South Carolina out of the Union, and her father had been asked to help fit the loose pieces into a brand-new puzzle. Apparently she was the only person in the entire South who thought blood was too heavy a price to pay for pride.

  She shored up her shoulders. “Papa, I wanted to speak with you again about attending school in Maryland.”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. It was a gesture of authority that made her feel small and insignificant. “We’ve already had this discussion.”

  “I know, but circumstances have changed.”

  “How?”

  She orbited her hand. “All of this—Lincoln, Secession, the unrest. We’re facing uncertain times. Don’t you agree that it would be valuable for a woman to gain skills so she can achieve a measure of independence if it became necessary?”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed. “The North allows their women societies, clubs, and all manner of silliness. They even put them to work in factories. South Carolina did not secede to become more like the North.”

  “But the school adheres to strict guidelines for their female students. We could find a proper boardinghouse where I’d be chaperoned the entire time.”

  He folded his fingers into a tent and placed them on his desktop. “I will not consent to have my daughter roaming a foreign state.”

  “With all the conflict in the harbor, it’s safer in Maryland than here.”

  “I said no.”

  “You’d have no trouble out of me.” She was gushing now, desperate for him to listen to her, to sense her sincerity. “My purpose would be to learn, not to cause mischief.”

  “That may be your intention, but temptation has a way of finding a woman alone.”

  Emily’s mouth cracked open like an overwatered melon. “You’re saying you don’t trust my judgment just because I’m a woman?”

  “I’m saying you belong in my house or in the household of a husband.”

  With a supreme effort, she kept her voice steady. “Father, please, I just want the opportunity to become a better artist.”

  He drew a newspaper from the pile on his desk in a dismissal that lacerated her spirit. “I’m sorry, Emily. My answer is still no.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Maybe instead of doubting my character you should investigate the choices your son has been making.”

  He flicked open the paper, folding it around the article he sought, and eyed her carefully. “Lambasting your brother will not help your cause. My mind is made up. This matter is settled.”

  Emily’s jaw jutted forward as her eyes shot dragon fire through the paper. It certainly was settled. He had made the decision for her. She would complete her correspondence course. After that, she’d take whatever steps she deemed necessary to procure the education she desired. She would prove that men were not the only residents of the South with a claim to stubbornness.

  ***

  Matthew Buchanan met her at the train station with a horse and carriage. “I apologize for coming without my wife,” he said as a footman handed her into the compartment. “I was in town taking care of a few things. Sophia is positively beside herself with anticipation of your coming.”

  Emily waved good-bye to her father and settled into the seat beside Matthew. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing her, too.”

  “She has a whole itinerary of social functions lined up for your entertainment.”

  “I’m sure she does.” She knew her friend would put forth every effort to marry her off in the few weeks of her stay, but she had chosen to come regardless.

  “Not the least of which is next Saturday’s surprise retirement party for Judge Falmouth. I hope you don’t mind that I wil
l leaving on business shortly thereafter?”

  “We’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I don’t panic quickly.”

  “I recall your cool head at your birthday ball,” he said with admiration. “I assure you, your safety will never be in question. My overseer has things well in hand.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll have a wonderful visit.”

  Within twenty minutes, they had pulled up before a two-story plantation house with dormers on the upper level and three evenly spaced entryways below. A porch supported by concrete blocks ran across the entire face, giving it a long, low appearance, while chimneys stood like sentinels at either end. The entire structure badly needed of a coat of paint.

  Sophia darted onto the porch, a bright splash of color against the dullness. Despite the complaints of a few cramped muscles, Emily leaped from the carriage without assistance. “Sophia, it’s so good to see you!”

  “I’ve been bursting with impatience all afternoon,” Sophia bubbled, throwing her arms around Emily in an impulsive hug.

  Matthew kissed his wife lightly on the cheek. “Please excuse me, ladies. I have some work I need to return to. I’ll catch dinner in town.”

  “You’ll be home tomorrow?” Sophia pleaded.

  “Late this evening.”

  She beamed.

  “Thank you, Matthew,” Emily called as he climbed back into the carriage. He inclined his head politely and the carriage growled down the drive.

  Sophia spread her hands enthusiastically. “So, what do you think of Maple Ridge?”

  Emily eyed the peeling paint and mustered up some enthusiasm. “It’s wonderful, Sophia!”

  “I know it needs repairs. Matthew has been so busy lately that he hasn’t had time to oversee the work. But it’s all mine.” She grinned at Emily and urged her in the nearest door. “Come inside!”

  The interior was much more welcoming. They stepped directly into a parlor where Sophia had taken obvious pains with her decorating. The furniture and floral rugs looked fairly new, and the walls displayed several examples of her fine needlework.