The adults turned to her expectantly. She pulled her gaze away from her brother just long enough to spit out an explanation. “It’s no great secret. She makes them with brown sugar and cinnamon.”
“Emily,” her father warned.
Mr. Northrup smacked his lips, undeterred. “Whatever she does, they’re more agreeable than a full-figured woman.”
Every eye whisked to Mr. Northrup, who continued shoveling food into his mouth with rapt pleasure. Jack made a soft choking sound and Thad looked like he’d swallowed a handful of feathers. Emily chastised them both with a fierce glare.
William cleared his throat. “Ernest, did I, perhaps, hear your dogs last night?”
“That’d be them. Got called out to the Hampton place yesterday,” he said, naming a neighbor four miles distant. “Tracked ’em to the river but only caught a polecat. I whipped the daylights outta the darn hound. The stink in the kennel’s enough to make yer eyes water.”
Marie shot her husband a look bordering on desperation.
William tried a new tactic. “What’s the atmosphere like in the city, Jackson? Have things settled down?”
“Every day is a party.” Jack tossed a crust of bread onto his plate then brushed the crumbs from his hands. “Men flood in to swell the ranks. Others come just to participate in the excitement. I can hardly study for all the distraction.”
“Remember what we discussed,” William reminded him sternly. “Finish your schooling. There will be time enough to muster in at the end of the term.”
Jack peered at his father keenly. “The entire senior class was excused to fight.”
“You are a junior,” William emphasized. “How about you, Thaddeus? Will you join a company?”
“Not here.”
“In Georgia, then?”
“In time. I have a few things on my plate to take care of first.”
William nodded. “It is a wise time to set one’s affairs in order.”
“Pa, you make it sound like he’s about to die,” Emily objected.
“That’s not at all what I meant.”
She set down her fork. The meal was quickly moving from bad to worse. “I’m not very hungry. May I be excused?”
William pursed his lips then nodded.
She fled the room only to run smack into Lizzie who carried a beautiful arrangement of violet tulips. The peevishness on the slave’s face matched her own. “The obnoxious admirer struck again?”
“One day we been back,” Lizzie fumed. “One day. I jus’ sent word with Lottie again to ask him to stop.”
“That’s done nothing to discourage him. It’s time you confront him yourself.” Emily grabbed her arm. “I’ll go with you.”
The mill lay beyond the thoroughbred pastures next to a briny pond. Twice a day, a canal carried the river tides to swell the reservoir like a great watery bellows. The power of the flowing water once drove the machinery, but her father had converted the whole system to steam fifteen years before. Now a smokestack marked the site like a giant index finger that beckoned them forward.
A pair of alligators sunned themselves on the grassy bank and regarded the two girls with lazy nonchalance. Lizzie marched into the mill with the vase of tulips held before her like a weapon. Her face held the grim determination of a crusading warrior on a quest to the Holy Land. Emily felt momentary pity for the unsuspecting boy.
He wasn’t difficult to locate. Lottie’s high-pitched scolding created an audible trail of breadcrumbs. They found Herod sprawled out on the floor tinkering with the mill’s ironworks, his naked back glistening with sweat. Lottie perched on the machinery above him where she could best funnel her reprimands down into his ear.
“Herod, I’d like a word with you,” Lizzie announced. “Outside, please.” He grinned obligingly and crawled from under the equipment. Emily followed silently as her maid led him out of the building and back into the watchful presence of the reptiles. Lottie tagged behind, watching Lizzie through adoring eyes.
Herod beamed at them, his eyes bouncing first to Lizzie then to Emily. “What dis be about?”
Emily flicked her head at her maid. “You first.”
Lizzie said nothing. She just emptied the entire contents of the vase over the young man’s head. He gasped as the cold water ran down his chest, leaving streaks across his filthy skin. The tulips tumbled in a mournful pile at his feet.
“She doesn’t want your attentions,” Emily translated. “She’s tried to be discreet, but you’ve never responded well to subtlety.”
Herod’s suave smile disintegrated.
“So let me make this very clear,” Emily said. “The next time purple flowers appear in my house unsolicited, I’m going to tip off Mr. Turnbull to the theft. Do you understand?”
His answer was a single, taut nod.
“Very good. You’re dismissed.”
He returned to the mill with his shoulders held unnaturally stiff. He glanced back once, just before he slipped through the door, and Emily saw the undisguised rancor in his eyes. As a child, she recalled, he’d never been a gracious loser.
“Do you think he’ll listen?” Emily asked.
Lizzie still watched the door through which Herod disappeared. “I might get a knife in de back, but I don’ think I’ll get no mo’ flowers.”
Lottie flung herself into Lizzie’s arms, her braids flipping up at the ends like tiny waving flags. Even before she left for Sophia’s, Emily had noticed how the little girl gravitated toward Lizzie with something like hero worship. “Hello, Lottie,” she said. “I haven’t seen much of you lately. I missed waving to you after my ride this morning.”
Instead of her usual shy smile, Lottie regarded her with silent reserve.
“Lottie! You answer Miss Emily when she talkin’ to you,” Lizzie admonished.
“Hi, Miss Emily,” she murmured.
Emily tugged sadly at one of her braids. It was bound to happen sooner or later, she figured. The child was figuring out how the world worked. And there was nothing either of them could do to change it.
***
An hour later, Emily carried a sheaf of paper and two pencils into Chantilly’s paddock where she was met at the gate by a cheerful nicker. The mare had been confined to a small grassy area behind the stable where she could be monitored around the clock. Emily scratched between her eyes and around her ears. “Just how much longer are you going to keep us waiting?”
The horse accepted a piece of turnip, snorted, and strolled a few paces away to graze. Emily eyed her round belly then eased into a grassy corner and began filling her paper with sketches. Before long, the thunderous retorts of Jack’s firearms rolled from the back pasture.
Chantilly jerked her head up and stared toward the sounds, her ears swiveling nervously.
“It’s okay,” Emily soothed. “It’s just the boys playing with their toys.” But the sound set her teeth on edge, as well.
She was shading a quarter-page detail of a hoof and wondering exactly when her brother might return to Charleston when a stone slipped on the drive behind her. “I thought I might find you here.”
She shielded her eyes from the lowering sun to find Jovie leaning against the gate with both arms folded comfortably across its top. “I thought you weren’t home.”
“I just arrived. Sarah told me you came to see me this morning. She said you seemed rather urgent.”
Emily scowled. “She wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
“Well, she did. So I walked over to see if you still needed anything.”
“Actually, Thad took care of it for me.”
“Thad.” His face held all the expression of an empty page. “I see.”
“He’s here with Jack. The two of them are frightening every bird for miles. Can’t you hear them?”
“I hear them.”
The air grew thicker. Emily dipped her head toward her work. She didn’t need to explain anything to Jovie.
He tossed a flat package on the ground beside
her. “This is for you. Matthew dropped it by our house just as I was leaving and asked me to bring it by. Who’s Thomas Wilson?”
“Um, just a friend of my father’s.” She snatched it up and tucked it beneath her sketches.
“But why…?” he began. Then he shook his head. “Never mind.”
Another awkward silence. Why wasn’t he leaving?
“Can I see what you’re working on?” he asked.
Without looking up, she laid a long, heavy line across her paper, coaxing it into the shape of a spine. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Why would I ask if I didn’t want to see it?”
“I just mean that you don’t have to pretend to be interested in my artwork anymore.”
He frowned and shifted his weight deliberately to his other foot. “When did I pretend to be interested?”
“At the church. But it’s okay. Really. I’m sure Miss Wilkinson has provided you with plenty of other amusements.” She pressed too hard and her lead snapped.
He raised a foot to the gate, his frown growing heavier. “Miss Wilkinson?”
“Your cousin?” she prompted.
“Yes, I know who she is.” He pushed a hand through his dark hair. “Emily, the church looked beautiful. What makes you think I was feigning interest?”
She spoke slowly, as if it should be obvious. “Because you made no effort to look at my portfolio the day I brought it to Fairview.”
Jovie scratched at the back of his neck and regarded her in silence. Then, with quick, decisive movements, he vaulted the paddock fence and settled cross-legged in front of her. “When did you bring your portfolio?”
She glanced up at him through the tendrils of hair spilling in her face. “During the Christmas dinner at Fairview.”
He wiped the fingers of one hand over the stubble on his cheeks and shook his head. “I had no idea you brought anything with you that evening.”
“I carried it with me half the night, but you hardly looked my way. You only had eyes for your fiancée.” The words had barbs. Just small ones, but they snagged in the heavy air.
His eyebrows lifted. “My fiancée?”
“Miss Wilkinson. You didn’t think I wouldn’t find out, did you?” Emily pulled up a handful of grass and sifted it between her fingers.
“Who told you we’re getting married?”
“Jennie. If you had just let me know yourself, it would have saved me the embarrassment of having my artwork rejected.”
“Ah…I think I’m beginning to see the whole picture.” He leaned back, his mouth curving into a smile. “Emily, Savannah Wilkinson is a lovely girl, but I’m not engaged to her.”
Her eyes flicked to his face. “You’re not?”
“Does that please you?”
“Why would it?” She casually spread the grass over her knees. “You may marry whomever you wish. Is she still staying with you?”
“No, she left shortly after the turn of the year. My parents asked me to make her comfortable and entertain her during her stay. Jennie, I’m afraid, quite mistook my attentions.”
Emily regarded him carefully. “You’re really not getting married?”
“Upon my honor.”
“You could, you know. I—” She ducked her head. “I may not have judged her fairly.”
“As much as I appreciate your permission,” he said with mock sincerity, “I believe I’ll choose my own wife.”
She looked up to find him laughing at her. Her cheeks burned when she realized how pettily she’d behaved, how absurd her last comment had been.
“And if you agree,” he continued, “I’d really like to see that portfolio now.”
He was in earnest. He wasn’t getting married, and he really had attributed value to her artwork. Pleasure built a cozy nest between her ribs, and she wrinkled her nose self-consciously. “No frogs?”
He chuckled. “No frogs.”
She smiled. “Help me up and I’ll show you.”
She scampered into her room with a light heart and carried the folder down to the parlor, handing it over like a child awaiting praise for her very first essay. The collection had been thinned recently to contain only her best work. She stood by anxiously, rocking up on her toes as Jovie thumbed through the pages.
He commented on several images that caught his interest, but when he found the pastel of Josephine, he paused, holding it up to the window to observe it more carefully. “This likeness is extraordinary, Emily. I knew her immediately.”
She beamed. “I like it too. In fact, I’ve begun a series of portraits from the plantation. Here’s one of Lottie and one of Zeke. Can you tell who they are?”
“They’re nearly daguerreotypes.” He looked up in amazement. “You have some lovely landscapes, but these portraits, they breathe. Have you done any others?”
“Just one of Deena, but it’s—” She gasped. Yanking the package out from beneath her pile of sketches, she ripped off the paper. “Here it is!”
“Wait just a minute. You’re Thomas Wilson?” His eyes narrowed. “What are you and my sister up to?”
She felt her face grow warm. Why hadn’t Sophia rewrapped the package? “I might as well tell you. I enrolled in a correspondence class from the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. As a man. This was my first assignment.”
“You what?” His mouth gaped like a puncture in a sack of grain, spilling astonishment onto the ground. Slowly his expression changed to incredulous delight, and his laughter poured out. “That unpredictability is what I love about you.”
His eyes scanned the charcoal drawing. She watched his face anxiously, afraid his mirth might shift into ridicule. Finally, he looked up. “Well, what are you waiting for? What marks did you get?”
“You’re not going to tell me I’m foolish or—or sinful?”
He held up the portrait. “Emily, look at this perfectly amazing likeness. In my opinion, you’d be downright foolish to waste such a gift.”
“Thank you, Jovie.” She bit her lip. His words caused the back of her eyes to prickle. “That is the highest compliment you could have paid me. I just wish my father saw things that way.”
“Is he the reason for all this subterfuge?”
She nodded. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
“Not a word.” He shot her a keen glance. “Emily, would you be interested in attending a lecture with me? My fine arts instructor will be giving a special presentation covering the artists of the Renaissance and their most significant contributions in sculpture and canvas.”
“Would I!” Emily burst out. “When is it?”
“It’s still a few weeks away. I’ll find out the details and let you know.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she warned.
His face reflected his pleasure. “I won’t forget. Now, are you going to tell me what marks you received, or do I have to rip that letter out of your hands?”
***
Emily floated to her room that evening on spirits made buoyant with expectation. Her instructor had provided some criticism, but his response was overwhelmingly positive. She had to choose a new medium for her next assignment. Perhaps a pencil sketch of a hand. Hands were so mobile, so expressive. Her mother had aristocratic hands. Maybe she could be persuaded to sit for an hour tomorrow after church.
She pulled the pins from her hair and let the strands cascade over her shoulders. Lizzie would be upstairs soon to wash it for Sunday services. While she waited, she’d brush up on some Renaissance art history. Unbuttoning her shoes, she kicked them off and selected a few books from her shelf to carry to bed with her.
A college lecture! She could hardly wait. Of course, she’d have to invent some sort of deception to get herself to Charleston. She’d write to Sophia and enlist her help. Sophia would know exactly what to do.
The evening darkened outside her window. Emily read through several chapters by the light of her lamp and still Lizzie did not appear. After an hour, she slid off the bed and padded u
pstairs to the third story where several of the house slaves slept. The tiny rooms were empty.
“Deena!” she called as she descended the stairs. The old woman appeared in the hallway. “Have you seen Lizzie?”
“Not since dinner. Would you like me to check with Josephine?”
“No, I’ll go.” Emily muttered to herself as she traipsed outside, growing more impatient by the minute. It wasn’t like Lizzie to shirk her duties. She’d better have a good excuse. It took a long time for her hair to dry, and she was already tired.
The kitchen was dark, so she veered toward Josephine and Lewis’s cabin. “Josephine, is Lizzie in there?” she asked, rapping on the door.
The door opened and the cook peered out. “Lan’ sakes, chil’. What dis be about?”
“I can’t find Lizzie. Is she with you?”
“No, miss. We closed de kitchen an hour ago. She come to collect some scraps for dat mare of yours, den she gunna tend yo’ bath.”
“She never showed up.”
“Dat ain’t like her. You check with Deena?”
“She sent me to you.”
Josephine’s face grew concerned. “Lewis?” she called into the room.
“I heard.” He stepped around her, pulling on a tattered coat. “I’ll help you look. You take de big house; I’ll check de grounds.”
“Thank you.” Emily felt the first shiver of alarm. Lizzie hadn’t taken it into her head to run away, had she? Certainly she had more sense than that.
She’d nearly reached the house when a confusion of low voices merged behind her and Lewis called out, “Miss Emily, we found her!”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She turned around and marched back toward the cabin. “Lizzie, when I get my hands on you—”
A tall figure reared up in front of her. “Ketch!” Then she gasped at the sight of the figure in his arms. “Lizzie!”
Her maid shivered uncontrollably. Dirt and bruises spoiled her face. One sleeve had torn free of her shoulder, and a litter of leaf mold clung to her hair and clothing.
“What happened?” Emily asked.
“She resisted,” Ketch answered.
Josephine hustled them inside. “Lay her on Lottie’s bunk.” The child scrambled out of the way, watching through innocent, frightened eyes.
Ella Wood (Ella Wood, 1) Page 16