Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (17 page)

Emma made sure her injured feelings didn't
show. "Yes, sir. The papers. They were taken care of."

The colonel muttered his thanks and
appreciation as he walked away to tend to other matters. Emma
noticed her commander approaching. She righted her posture and made
certain her face didn't reveal how miserable and sore her legs and
derriere felt.

"Just heard you'd made it back," Trumball
said.

The sight of James Trumball threatened to
take Emma's breath away. Briefly, her mind had wandered to the
possibility she might not return to the Union base, and the first
thought, the first face that came before her was Trumball. Emma
still struggled with a desperate need to please her commander, and
an even stranger pull to be close to him. She hadn't helped her
situation by out maneuvering the lieutenant for the chance to play
messenger, and she feared he might still be angry. But Emma had to
rein her thoughts, focus, and forget how he made her heart
pound.

"Yes, sir. The papers were taken care of."
She could think of nothing better to say. "A long journey but
uneventful."

He nodded. "Good work."

Emma stared at her commanding officer for a
moment as a foolish longing swept over her. Emma felt starved for
affection, and she suddenly wanted more from James Trumball than a
token compliment. Nervous from the rise in her emotions, she moved
to retreat.

"Well, good night, sir."

Emma spun on her heels, but Trumball snatched
her by the arm.

"Hold on a minute." He looked startled by the
fact he'd reached for her. His tone was soft and laced with
concern. "Everything go all right out there, Edmonds?"

Being face-to-face with the lieutenant, Emma
trembled. She prayed he didn't notice or sense the awkwardness
surging through her. Emma's eyes had nowhere to focus except
directly on Trumball's handsome features.

"You seem rattled," he said. "Something
happen out there?"

Emma wanted to stop being Tom. She wanted to
abandon the lies and the persona and pull James Trumball even
closer. But the truth would mean nothing to James, just as Emma
Cartwright meant nothing to him
—
nor could she, since James was married.

"I'm fine, Lieutenant, just tired."

Trumball's hand fell but his gaze lingered.
"Look, Edmonds, I don't want there to be any gruff between us, so I
didn't mean to be too harsh back when you volunteered for the
assignment. I was worried you couldn't handle it." He lowered his
head slightly. "I don't know. Maybe I thought I had something to
prove. Fact of the matter is you were the man for the mission.
You're a fine soldier."

Emma let the words sink in but she was too
stunned to form her own.

****

Emma retrieved her personals from the
saddlebags and made sure no one saw her sneak to Eleanor's house.
Her embrace when she saw Emma almost knocked her over.

"I've been praying for you!"

Emma expected no less. Zechariah received her
with equal vigor. The trio settled in the kitchen where Eleanor
made fresh coffee and served Emma a bowl of chicken broth. Emma
appreciated the light serving after endless days on horseback.
Eleanor said the broth had been a welcome change to many of the
hospital patients who had grown leery of Grady's culinary
concoctions. Emma understood.

Feeling refreshed, she told the chaplain and
his wife about her encounter with Adam.

"You did the right thing," Zechariah said.
"No man should be left alone to die, no matter what uniform he's
wearing."

"I agree, but…"

Zechariah and Eleanor stared at Emma and
waited. "But what?"

Emma took an article from her saddlebag and
placed it on the table.

"Before I left Adam, I took his coat."

The Pratts regarded the gray-colored
Confederate coat as if it were the Holy Grail. Eleanor ran her
fingertips over it while Zechariah stared. A tribute of silence
permeated the room.

"I didn't want the others to know," Emma
said. "But the rank on the coat shows he was a captain. I just
thought maybe this could be useful somehow."

Eleanor examined the wool. "It needs cleaned
and mended."

"Was I wrong to take it?" A sense of guilt
threatened to bring Emma to tears. "I dressed him in a shirt so he
wouldn't be bare chested, but it felt like I was stealing from
him." Knowing that she couldn't return to the Union camp in
civilian clothes, Emma had changed back into her uniform before
leaving Adam in the barn.

"No, you weren't wrong," Zechariah said. "In
fact, it's probably best you took the coat. There's no telling what
the Federals might do to the body of a Rebel soldier. This way,
maybe no one will know for sure."

"Then I'd like to keep it here, if that's all
right."

"Of course. I'll take good care of it, even
though what you intend to do with it worries me." Eleanor raised an
eyebrow.

"For now, it's just a reminder of someone
I'll never forget."

Union Encampment

Late November, 1861

Aches roused Emma the next morning, but she
fulfilled a brief morning shift at the hospital and completed drill
duty in the afternoon. A new dose of confidence in her abilities
helped subdue her soreness, until news arrived late in the
afternoon — Grant and his troops had suffered defeat at Belmont.
The relay of the maps and information had not reached the Union
troops in time. No blame fell on Emma. In fact, McClellan shared
that the bluecoats had encountered the Rebels earlier than expected
on their march, contributing to the defeat.

During supper, Emma's fellow soldiers,
including Trumball, gathered to hear of her adventures as a
courier. Despite the news of another Union loss, interest in her
trek had not subsided. Although she spoke of the difficulty she had
riding in the hard rain and meeting Earl and Betsy at the inn in
Roanoke, she again skipped any mention of Adam Hall. Perhaps some
would commend her for the kindness she had bestowed on a dying man.
Others, though, she knew, would lessen their opinion of her,
hearing that she had tended an enemy.

"No Injuns? No Rebels hiding out there
waiting to ambush you for them papers?" Eli Nash's strength and
spunk had returned in full measure since the Indian attack. Of
course, nothing could defeat his appetite. He ate Grady's latest
cuisine, beaver stew, with vigor.

Emma shook her head. "Nothing. Making it
through the rain was the hardest part." She wondered if the
encounter with the Cherokee tribe had improperly labeled her as one
who attracted trouble and danger. Similar circumstances, she
thought, had built the lieutenant's early-on mythological
reputation. Aside from Trumball's stone cold guise, Emma had not
seen anything exceptional from him, but nothing could tarnish her
awe of the man.

"Well, soldier, it's good to see you made it
back." Orson Granger slapped Emma on the back.

Emma turned and saw Will, who stood by their
hand-pulled wagon. Will's somber face had taken on a pleasant
expression, one that, Emma suspected, improved his success as a
salesman. Interestingly, she saw no signs of Will's pistol. Emma
hid her dismay. She'd left Orson and Will out of her tale on
purpose, never expecting them to end up at the encampment, but she
greeted the two properly while the other men looked on.
Introductions followed.

"Did he tell you I near saved his life?"
Orson said. "Ain't that right, Edmonds?"

Emma reddened and hesitated as her comrades
perked up. "I suppose that's fair to say."

"He was lost! Aimlessly riding through the
countryside, helpless as a newborn chick."

"I don't know I would say
helpless
."

Orson ignored Emma. "Why if it wasn't for me,
he'd still be out there rambling about."

"Well, probably not rambling
—
"

"Lucky for him, I had a compass I sold him.
Darn well saved his life, since I'suppose he didn't leave here too
prepared." He flashed Emma a smile and threw his arm around the
front of Emma's neck and pretended to choke her. "So I'm downright
proud of this one here. Now remember, if you boys need anything I
probably got it right here." He released Emma and patted his wagon.
"Combs, soap, thread, knives, buttons," he lowered his voice, "even
a couple bottles of elixir, in case anyone's battling the vapors.
Price is always negotiable."

"I didn't realize you were heading in this
direction," Emma said.

"Spent a day in Washington restocking my
supplies, but makin' rounds and supportin' our fellas in blue is
what I do best." Orson patted Graham and Nash on their backs, then
leaned in to the men. "In fact, if any of you fellas come see me, I
could set you up right nice with a shot of whiskey. Who couldn't
use a little refreshment after a long hard day, eh?"

Trumball aimed a disapproving glare at Emma,
possibly blaming Emma for the peddler's arrival. Curiosity infected
the men as they gathered around Orson's wagon to examine his loot.
The lieutenant said nothing and slipped from the fray. Emma stared
after him, desperately wanting to follow.

Drunken men would put the camp in upheaval
and disturb training regiments, Emma knew. But how could Trumball
seemingly blame her for Orson's arrival? Emma refused to endure
responsibility for the ruckus that might follow. She slinked from
the group, passing Will and despising the smirk plastered on the
young boy's face.

****

Later that afternoon, Emma received a letter.
She had been anticipating a response from Stuart, but the
handwriting did not belong to Stuart. Alone back in her tent, she
opened the letter and was grateful to be sitting.

My Dearest Emma Louise,

It has taken me quite some time to come to
terms with the unfortunate knowledge that you have seen fit to join
the North in efforts that threaten our heritage and indeed our very
existence. We can only fathom what this means and what actions you
are truly involved in. Regardless of these circumstances, however,
I have found that the heartache I suffer from because of your
absence is far greater than any anger I have tried to live with.
Stuart has only shared portions of your letters with your mother
and me, but he has tried to help us find understanding in your
actions. It may please you greatly to learn that Vaughn Jackson has
moved on in his pursuit of a wife, as he is now engaged to the
Merriweather girl, Nancy or Nellie, though I am unsure which. I
myself confess that I find relief in this arrangement, for I did
not feel that a Jackson was a suitable match for you. Your mother
has vowed never to forgive you for your abandonment, however, she
has been bedridden of late with a different form of sorrow that has
affected us all. The events at Port Royal have cut this family
deeply. Most of the slaves discarded the plantation when the Union
took control of the area, and a dreadful incursion of Yankees
continues. Even more dreadful, news arrived in recent days that
your brother Alexander had been killed while in service at Fort
Walker. He died with honor, defending the great state of South
Carolina and as a result of the confrontation. In light of this
calamity, and in consideration of the tribulations already endured
by this family, I implore you Emma, I beseech you, to please return
to Beaumont and our loving home. We will not speak of the treachery
committed, but instead, we will seek to carve out a meaningful
future together.

Your ever loving grandfather,

Arthur Knox B. Cartwright

A reel of memories flashed through Emma's
mind. She pictured Alexander as a young boy, recounted the times
they had waded in the salt marshes for turtles for their father's
favorite soup, and she saw him as a young, eager man leaving for
war. How could he be gone so easily? His life over. His fate
sealed. Another brother gone. Like Adam Hall, Alexander would never
build a future, and Emma would never know if the two of them could
have found a common ground and known each other as adults.

And what about Quinn? Surely he had partaken
in the battle as well. Quinn had escaped injury, perhaps cheated
death? She searched her feelings, wondering if news of Quinn's
death would be less distressing. Perhaps, and she hated that she'd
thought of such a thing.

Draped in a Union uniform and suddenly
missing her home and family more than she thought possible, Emma
had no idea what to do or where to turn. Her grandfather's words
penetrated her heart like a tent stake to the ground. Had she been
selfish, leaving her home with so much change on the horizon? Had
she underestimated her family's true value to her? She dug the
picture of Sylvia from her pocket. She held both the letter and the
photograph to her face as a heavy grief descended and tears
flowed.

****

Emma did not report for hospital duty or
drill duty for several days, claiming an illness had hold of her.
She did not leave her tent or her cot for two days before Eleanor
came and insisted she be moved to the hospital so she could care
for Emma, but Emma refused. Instead, Eleanor made private
arrangements with Colonel Reed and Trumball so that she could tend
to Emma at Eleanor's home. Trumball attempted a visit, but Emma
refused to see anyone.

Huddled on the guest bed in Eleanor's home,
Emma slept most days. Eleanor checked on her frequently but found
no signs of fever or sickness. Suspicions nagged Eleanor about
Emma's condition, but whenever she approached with questions and
concerns, Emma shut her out.

Zechariah also fretted. He lost several
nights' sleep as he sat in Emma's room with his head in his hands,
praying silently. When Emma stirred, he went to her, anxious to
serve her and reel her back from the strange condition that had
consumed her, but Emma kept her faced buried in a pillow or turned
away. She only answered Zechariah with short answers.