Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (11 page)

"Good. Take these." She gave Emma a handful
of supplies then took her by the arm. "I was told to find you.
You're needed over here."

The woman led her to a man who was seated and
shirtless. Blood oozed from a deep gash in his left arm. Sweat
speckled his heaving chest. His wavy, brown hair met his shoulders,
and his beard trimmed his jaw line. In her mind, Emma was
transported back to her younger days on the plantation,
specifically to lessons with her governess and the stories about
Greek gods that she had read. Strength and power defined them, and
as Emma stared at the man's bareness, her mind fixated on how
perfect and handsome the injured soldier looked. Even streaked with
blood.

The man's intense eyes met hers. Emma could
not breathe or blink, as something about the man paralyzed her.

"Lieutenant Trumball needs stitches on that
arm," said the woman.

"Trumball?" Emma's voice went unheard. Her
eyes danced from the woman to the lieutenant's wound and back to
his eyes. Emma swayed and her legs wavered.

"Edmonds?"

The woman grabbed Emma's arm as she spoke the
name, but Emma fell from her grip and fainted dead away.

****

Moments later, consciousness penetrated Emma,
and she found the woman over her, slapping her cheeks with more
gusto than Emma liked.

"Edmonds, there's no time for this. We need
all the hands we can get. Now get up. Tend to the lieutenant." She
prattled on about how the tent wasn't designed to accommodate so
many and that the local brick-and-mortar hospitals were overflowed
with the severely injured.

Emma made it to her feet. She did not
understand what was happening to her. The woman handed her the
supplies she had dropped and nudged her toward Lieutenant Trumball.
His countenance even more intense, Trumball offered no expression
of sympathy for Emma.

"Should I do it myself?" he asked.

"No."

Emma took a deep breath and was about to step
forward when two men walked by carrying a man on a stretcher. She
glanced down and saw Dr. Spear, his eyes rolled upward and part of
his head missing. A lack of food in her stomach was the only thing
that kept Emma from retching.

Emma forced her focus on Trumball. Equally
embarrassed from passing out and perturbed by Trumball's comment,
she straightened her posture and tried to forget the fact she had
stitched more socks than flesh
—
and never had she touched needle to skin without the criticism and
supervision of Dr. Spear.

"A might young for a soldier." The lieutenant
offered it more as an observation than a question.

Emma made no reply. She'd heard a similar
remark when she'd arrived in Washington, and it didn't sit better
with her now as the comment implied an incompetence in her. It was
true, to a degree perhaps, but Emma hated that it showed. Hiding
her identity wasn't enough. She needed to mask her shortage of
confidence and inexperience as well.

She readied the needle and coarse thread.
When she turned to Trumball, Emma didn't move her eyes from the
wound. She set her jaw and prayed he took it as a show of
confidence. Emma would have given anything at that moment to keep
her hands steady.

"Brace yourself, Lieutenant. This will
hurt."

Emma told herself that once she made the
first puncture, the first stitch, she could get through it.
Although part of her didn't mind inflicting a little pain on the
lieutenant after the sting his words had delivered. She wiped as
much blood as she could from the area and squeezed the seared edges
of skin together. Certain that her perspiration matched Trumball's
bleeding, Emma poked the needle into his arm, and wiggled it out
the other side. Not a sound came from Trumball. Not a wince or even
a grimace.

Emma worked feverishly, wiping droplets of
blood and tugging the thread to close the gash. When she finished,
she saw the stitching was not perfect, but it was the best work she
had done as a nurse. The bleeding subsided. She wrapped the arm in
a bandage and tied it off.

"I guess some of the stories I've heard about
you are true," Emma said.

"What stories?"

"Men have been telling me that you can ride
through enemy fire and come out unharmed. That you can outrun and
outwit a band of Rebels. And since you haven't been seen much
around camp, I was beginning to think you were a phantom."

Trumball suppressed a grin. "Can't believe in
such chinwaggin'."

"Guess not." Emma forgot herself and took a
cheap jab. "First battle breaks out and you end up in the hospital,
bleeding like a mortal."

"Yeah, and you faint."

Emma reddened with self-consciousness. She
gathered her supplies to make for another hasty retreat but heard
soft chuckles from her commander.

"What's your name, son?"

"Edmonds, sir. Private Edmonds."

"Hang in there, Edmonds." He lifted his arm
and checked the bandage. "You do good work."

Emma nodded. "I'll see if I can find you some
morphine."

"Save it for the men who need it."

****

The last of the water from Emma's canteen
drizzled into her mouth, but the warm water gave her no relief. She
lost track of how many hours she had spent digging Minie bullets
out of men's skin, spreading ointment sparingly on burns, stitching
and bandaging wounds. A few hours in and exposed bone and hanging
fingers no longer bothered her. Had it only been a matter of weeks
since she'd left the plantation?

"You need to eat something."

Emma looked and saw the woman who had helped
her through her fainting spell. She held a steaming bowl. Though
Emma had wondered if she would have an appetite again after the
sights she had seen that day, she gratefully accepted the food and
realized how hollow she felt after one bite. Plus, the vegetable
and beef stew was a welcome deviation from hardtack and beans.

Emma used a barrel for a seat.

"I kept an eye on you today," the woman said
while Emma ate.

She hesitated as she chewed, and wondered if
she had done something that gave away her disguise. She had
forgotten, at least since the battle at Manassas, that she was a
woman, hiding in a sea of soldiers. Perhaps this woman had noticed
a mannerism in Emma that betrayed her. Or maybe the fainting spell
was enough to cause suspicion.

"I've rarely seen someone who is able to work
that hard for so long." She smiled. "And you were good with the
men."

"As long as I wasn't fainting."

"That just shows you're human and that you
care."

Emma appreciated her point of view on the
matter. "I don't mean to sound rude, ma'am, but how did you end up
here?"

The older woman laughed. "Oh, pardon me and
my poor manners. I'm Eleanor Pratt. My husband Zechariah was
recently assigned as the chaplain for this division. Our home is
close by so it seems only natural that we would help out as much as
we could. Lord knows there's so much need here. Men hurting and
dying." She shook her head. "There just aren't enough of us
able-bodied to go around."

"Yeah, but I didn't think they allowed women
in the army."

"Well, I didn't ask if they needed my help,
but no one has shooed me away."

Emma considered that and wondered how she
would've been received, had she shown up wearing a frock instead of
her brothers' clothes.

"It's been hard, watching so many die." Emma
choked back tears. She rarely allowed herself moments to dwell on
the faces she had seen, but she carried them with her now. Xavier
was one of those faces. Emma wondered who else might have been
injured, and who would be permanently missing from their evening
gatherings around a campfire. "I guess I hadn't counted on the toll
this conflict would take."

Eleanor placed her hand on Emma's shoulder.
"Put your trust in the Lord. Lean on Him more than ever. I believe
it's the only thing that will see us through."

Keeping her eyes averted, Emma said, "I don't
understand God." She felt ashamed to admit it, especially
considering her recent dependency on prayer and the Bible.

"Don't seek understanding in these
times."

Emma looked at her and forced herself not to
cry. She couldn't risk another weak episode in front of this woman.
For an instant, Emma considered insulting Eleanor, so the
chaplain's wife would let her be, but Emma couldn't do it. Eleanor
radiated peace and kindness, qualities that ramped up Emma's
craving for a genuine friend. Not the charade she had with Graham
and the others, but someone she could confide in completely.
However, Emma feared she might easily trust Eleanor too much. Not
having a release for her emotions had been a trial, and Emma
worried that longing for a confidant could make her careless. But
sharing her secret, she knew, would endanger that person. Emma
couldn't heap that risk, that burden, on another.

"I'm glad you're here, ma'am."

"Please, you may call me Eleanor."

"As long as you call me Tom."

They both agreed.

"You know," Emma said, "this could get me in
trouble if you repeat it, but I think you're a much better cook
than Grady."

Eleanor enjoyed the compliment. "Don't worry,
Tom, I'm very good at keeping secrets."

****

Union Encampment

Northern, Virginia

Late July, 1861

Fallout from the Union's performance at Bull
Run concluded with the dismissal of McDowell and the appointment of
General George B. McClellan as commander of the newly branded Army
of the Potomac. Although another West Point graduate, McClellan
differed from McDowell in that McClellan's reputation for
strategizing and training men preceded him. More importantly,
McClellan already had demonstrated his military prowess. In early
June, he had sent a division of his troops into western Virginia to
put a stop to Confederate forces that were burning bridges and
disrupting the Union's use of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad.
Even though it was a minor victory, and McClellan never left his
then-headquarters in Cincinnati, Ohio, President Lincoln showed no
qualms about catapulting McClellan to the head of the North's
largest army. Reportedly, Lincoln made an appearance at the camp,
showing his support for McClellan, but Emma didn't see him.

McClellan's confidence and bloated ego
charmed most of his men. Respect and admiration for the general
were instantaneous. Somberness from the defeat at Bull Run was
replaced with enthusiasm for future victories. McClellan's new
regiment of daily drills was met with unbridled zest by the
100,000-strong unit. Drills included improving accuracy and firing
time with muskets, advancing a unit by elbow-to-knee crawling
across dirt, and more men learning the necessary skills to use and
fire a variety of artillery, safely.

McClellan appeared frequently among the men
and oversaw drills. Emma enjoyed the sight of him, as she felt a
new hope had dawned with him as their leader.

"Excellent work, men," McClellan said to Emma
and Graham one morning after they completed an elbow-to-knee crawl
across a muddy field. Whatever George McClellan lacked in stature,
he made up for in presence and self-esteem. Nicknames for the
general became plentiful, but McClellan did not air a disapproval,
though no one personally addressed him as Little Mac and Little
Napoleon.

"Thank you, sir." Emma tried to forget the
fact she was caked in mud. "And may I say, sir, what an honor it is
to serve under you." She resisted the urge to curtsey.

Always one to relish a compliment,
McClellan's handsome features brightened. "Why, thank you,
son."

"I know my fellow comrades and I are looking
forward to many victories." Emma motioned slightly toward Graham,
who seemed set on saying nothing.

"What's your name, soldier?" McClellan seemed
content ignoring Graham.

"Private Tom Edmonds, sir." Emma hoped the
mud covered his flushed cheeks.

"Well, Edmonds, should I have my way, I
intend to subdue the Rebels in one battle. This matter of secession
has gone too far, and I aim to put an end to it, reunify the
states."

"Yes, sir, and it will be a glorious day when
our nation is no longer marred by slavery."

McClellan chuckled. "On that matter, Edmonds,
the president and I are of one mind. Emancipation is not the
primary goal in this situation, you must understand."

Emma hesitated. "I'm afraid I don't,
sir."

"Well, you may be unaware, soldier, that
legislation has recently been passed, the Crittenden Resolution, I
believe, which carefully states that this war is meant to reunify
the states and not to overthrow slavery."

"No, sir. I wasn't aware."

Emma would later read in a newspaper that the
resolution stated the war meant to preserve the Union, and that the
Union government would take no actions against slavery.

"I thought as much," McClellan said. "Now
understand, Edmonds, that I harbor no particular fondness for the
black man." He swiped dirt from the shoulder of his uniform. "After
all, how are we to incorporate such creatures into our society?
What would become of our cities if we simply set them loose like
wild beasts?"

Use of the words creatures and beasts hit
Emma like a millstone to the gut. Beside her, Emma could feel a
devilish pleasure emit from Graham.

"However, that matter is presently none of my
concern." McClellan grinned, but Emma found no delight. "So, once
again, I thank you for your hard work and dedication to the
Union."

The general touched his cap and left Emma
standing there with crushed infatuation and a foul taste in her
mouth that wasn't from the mud.

****

The last thing Emma wanted to do later that
night was crawl into a tent with Graham and listen to him gloat
about McClellan's aversion to colored people. She wanted to wash
the remaining mud from her body and the conversation from her mind.
She decided to escape to her secluded spot. Unlike Fort Madison,
the Union encampment was not defined by stone walls, which made it
easier for Emma to stray from the others and find privacy when she
needed it.