Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (7 page)

"If you do this, Emma, your mother and
grandfather will disown you." He shook his head. "You might not be
able to come back here."

"I realize that. But I know I can't stay
here. I need my freedom, and I want to fight for Tilda and Harper
and the others to have theirs."

Stuart relented. "This is absolutely crazy.
You could be killed."

"Maybe, but it's my only chance to make
something good come out of Basil's death."

Although neither of them said it, they both
knew Stuart could do little to stop her. He hated that she was
taking advantage of his paralysis, mocking him almost. She was
abandoning him again, but this time to a much greater degree. But
Stuart shoved his growing anger aside, pressed his lips together,
and nodded.

Relieved that he understood, Emma knelt again
and embraced Stuart.

He breathed her in and tousled her chopped
locks. They laughed. For a moment he considered pouring his heart
out to her, telling her that he had always loved her, but this was
Emma's moment, so he was content to say nothing and savor the
fleeting minutes he had left with her.

Washington, D.C.

May, 1861

Overdressed in Quinn's old, ill-fitting
clothes
—
and with linen strips
squeezed around her breasts
—
Emma
stepped off a train that arrived in the capital city on a sunny
afternoon and never felt more awkward. Every time someone's gaze
rested on her, she feared her disguise was a failure. Eye contact
made her queasy, so she did her best to keep her head down as she
headed into the city's busy streets. But the horde of people
bustling around Emma increased her nervousness and made her
question her hasty decision.

Before Emma had left the plantation, she had
taken a handsome amount of money from the family money chest. Knox
would be furious, she knew, but Emma viewed the sum as a partial
inheritance rather than a stolen booty. She had also agreed with
Stuart that she should be the one to inform her mother and
grandfather about what she had done. She did, in a letter she
mailed from a train depot in South Carolina. However, she decided
to leave out key points, including her intention to assume a new
identity and join the Yankees. She kept it simple and said she had
to run away since Sylvia was gone and Vaughn did not suit her.

Now, armed with a satchel full of items from
home, she weaved through the streets of Washington searching for
the recruiting office. Fellow passers-by had misdirected her, so
she gave up on civilians and found a gentleman dressed in a
navy-blue coat with brass buttons and a hat that appeared to sag
above the forehead. A Union soldier.

"Pardon me, sir," Emma said with her new
voice. "Could you please direct me to the recruiting
headquarters?"

The man looked her over. "Little on the spry
side, ain't 'cha, son?"

"No, sir." Emma straightened herself, though
she felt terribly self-conscious in Quinn's trousers. "I'm old
enough to contribute to the cause."

"Meybe, but if I's you, son, I'd stick to
helpin' out your ma at home."

"Ain't got no home." The realization of the
truth in her words made her eyes watery. She quickly rubbed away
the evidence of her emotions and wanted to curse herself for
seeming weak and vulnerable in front of the first person she had
spoken to. How would she convince a camp full of soldiers that she
was a man if simple facts from her life brought tears?

But the man flashed a half-grin. "Head north
about a quarter of a mile. You'll see a sign pointin' you to the
office."

Emma thanked him and went on her way with the
man's well wishes.

****

Before entering the recruiting office, Emma
girded herself for a lot of lying. Several men passed in and out of
the building before Emma made up her mind to go in. Could she sign
away her life to the volunteer army? Could she live among Yankees?
What would be the cost if she were found out?

Emma shook her head and chided her thoughts.
She refused to listen to cowardly notions. Instead, she thought of
Stuart, who didn't have the option of being there. With a deep
breath, she righted herself and took her place inside at the end of
the line. A stench of body odor greeted her and did nothing to
settle her quivering stomach and trembling legs.

"Here," said the adjutant as he handed an
enlistee a piece of paper. "Step into the next room." Dutifully,
the young man took his paper and went into the room.

Fear gripped Emma. What if applicants were
subjected to a physical exam? She hated that she had not given the
issue more thought. If she had to undress, her secret would be
revealed. Then what? Would she be arrested? Hanged?

"Next," said the adjutant.

The same procedure followed with the man in
front of her. Then came her turn. Emma felt certain her voice would
fail.

"Name."

She choked.

The adjutant looked up at her. "Name."

"Tom Edmonds, sir." She had chosen the name
to honor her father, but speaking it made Emma feel as though she
had just breathed life into a new person. Now, she would have to
remind herself that Tom was no longer just a name, that she was now
Tom
—
if she made it past the
adjutant's desk.

"Are you over eighteen, Edmonds?"

"Yes, sir." She squirmed in Alexander's old
shoes that were too tight for her. Before stepping into them, she
had inserted a slip of paper with
18
written on it. In quite
a literal sense then, she was over eighteen.

"Any special areas of interest, Edmonds?"

"Uh…Not that I can think of, sir."

"I'm going to assign you to hospital duty."
His brow wrinkled as he peered at her over his spectacles. "Any
objection?"

"Um, no. I guess not
—
"

"Good." He handed her the piece of paper.
"Step into the next room and pick up your supplies."

"Supplies, sir?"

"You can't represent the Union dressed like a
vagabond."

"Oh, no, sir. Thank you."

He nodded, and Emma stepped into the supply
area with several other men. They were each issued a blanket, tin
canteen, knapsack, blue jacket with a column of brass buttons, and
a forage cap, just like the man Emma had encountered on the street.
With her arms overflowing, Emma dropped the load when a pair of
brogans were lastly added to the pile. Recruits and officers alike
helped her gather the spilled items. Hot and reddened from
embarrassment, Emma apologized repeatedly.

"Guess they just let any li'l tadpole sign up
to play soldier," said a young man who remained standing. He stared
down at Emma as he sloppily chewed bites from the apple he held and
made no attempt to help with the clean-up.

"Button up, Nash," said a soldier wearing a
sergeant's rank. He bent to finish helping Emma collect her
supplies. "What's your name, son?"

"Edmonds, sir." Emma stuffed as much as she
could into the knapsack and tightened her hold on the rest to mask
her shaking hands. She shot a sideways glance at Nash, who
continued chewing and doing nothing.

"Ignore Nash. He may be built like an ox, but
the only things he'll ever be good for are hauling artillery and
shoveling manure." He gave Nash a smirk. "Looks like you're all set
now, Edmonds. Your company moves out in the morning. Remember to be
on time."

"Morning, sir?"

"Didn't read your orders yet?" The sergeant
arched an eyebrow. "You can read, Edmonds?"

"Yes, sir." Emma dug in her pocket to check
the paper. "Says to report to Fort Madison at first light." Emma
looked up.

"That's correct, Edmonds. Your company
reports to Fort Madison tomorrow, one of our fortifications just
outside Washington. Remember your supplies, and give yourself
plenty of time for the three mile walk." He slapped Emma on the
shoulder. "Welcome to the volunteer army, son."

Emma stood and took a deep breath. She had
enlisted. Her identity had been believable, and she'd made it
through the first step. A bit shaky, perhaps, but she'd managed.
She just didn't want to think about the challenges that lay ahead.
Not now, not with a sense of victory pulsing inside her.

She dared a glance at Nash. He stared at her,
unimpressed and with a haughty air about him. Finished with his
snack, Nash tossed his apple core at Emma. But being wise to the
tactics and tricks of older brothers, Emma dodged the incoming nub.
The side of the sergeant's head, though, did not prove so
lucky.

****

Activity and throngs of people defined
Washington, along with a carefree atmosphere as if the nation was
not under siege over an issue that men had argued and debated since
the birth of the Constitution. Storefronts bragged about their
wares and Paris fashions for sale. Theatre companies advertised
their latest productions on signs at every corner. Ladies pranced
the street with their puppies. Men littered establishments with
idle talk of the Union's strategy and impending victory.
Anxiousness had no hold. Neither did fear.

But both emotions churned inside Emma.

She made her way to the Capital building,
where new volunteers were welcome to stay. Although President
Lincoln had called for an emergency session, Congress wouldn't be
held until July as the president wanted to give every member ample
travel time to Washington. For now, the building served as a
makeshift camp for recent enlistees.

Emma, however, didn't stay long. Nearly every
soldier who enlisted, she believed, received the same notice and
had ended up there. Conditions were cramped at best and further
strained with the construction of the Capital's dome underway.
Scaffold and building materials demanded space, and the sparse
furnishings provided for soldiers' use were occupied. Ladies and
various visitors added to the population, but when Emma noticed
several men urinating in corners, due to a lack of adequate water
closets, her disgust drove her to the streets in search of
alternative lodging.

Exhausted from the day's events, she settled
on a saloon and paid for a room. Perfumed with whiskey and smoke,
the establishment buzzed from conversation and gambling, grumbling
men. Emma escorted her belongings to the top of the stairs and
maneuvered around a patron who hung limp and drunk over a
scantily-clad woman. The pair paid no attention to Emma as she
squeezed by them. She felt thankful to be invisible and craved a
decent bed.

"All alone there, handsome?"

About to open the door to her room, Emma
turned to the silky voice and saw a young woman standing in the
open doorway of another room. She was wearing a red dress that
hugged and exposed her bosom and a headband adorned with red
feathers. One hand rested on her hip and the other against the
doorpost.

"Yes. I need to be turning in. Early day
tomorrow." Emma could not keep from sounding skittish. Although she
had seen such women during trips to Port Royal and Charleston, Emma
had never spoken to someone Olivia would label a harlot.

"Last night in town?" The woman sashayed
over.

Words would not form for Emma, who did not
want to encourage the woman, but the lady didn't wait for a
response. She stepped near and was about to slide her hand over
Emma's chest. Emma backed away before the stranger touched her. She
could only imagine the reaction
—
or screams
—
if the woman happened
to detect breasts.

"No thank you, ma'am." Emma whipped into her
room and shut the door. Her heart raced as she waited for the woman
to slink away.

When no knock sounded, she tossed her sacks
on the bed and splashed her face with water from the basin. She
removed her cap and stared intensely at her reflection. A wave of
repulsion hit.

"I can't do this," Emma said to the mirror.
"Stuart was right. I can't just change my hair and clothes and
become a man. I
—
"

She turned away, unable to bear the sight.
She wanted to throw herself onto the bed and cry, but she already
felt too ashamed. How could she get away? Should she simply leave
the saloon and Washington and travel back to the plantation and
hope her family would forgive her? But what was there to go back
to? The beauty of her life had ended, bit by bit, first with the
death of her father, and lastly with Basil's death and Sylvia being
shipped away. Nothing awaited her there anymore. Nothing except a
different kind of slavery.

No, she decided. There would be no going
back. Even if it meant never seeing her home again
—
even if it meant death
—
Emma would not go backward. She did not want to accept
that there was nothing she could do, no valuable part she could
play. She had created her own role in this war by taking charge of
her life.

Of the many things her father had taught her,
keeping her word and sticking to a promise were attributes Thomas
Cartwright held in high esteem. He often explained that a man had
nothing if he had no honor, and if his name was soiled and his
reputation dashed, then he had nothing of real value.

"I'll do it for you, Pa," she whispered. "And
for you, Basil. I'll do whatever it takes to make you both
proud."

****

In the morning, with the brass buttons
gleaming on her chest, Emma fell in with a scattered swarm of newly
sworn-in soldiers as they all made their way on foot to Fort
Madison, but her optimism for the day switched to disgruntlement
when she noticed apple-chomping Nash a few paces in front of her.
She hoped Nash's presence was an administrative formality and that
Nash worked back in the recruiting office. Watching him from a
distance, Emma observed a malicious nature in Nash, much like she'd
seen in Quinn as Nash flicked off the cap of another recruit and
sent it flying into the roadway. Laughter and foul words sputtered
from him, and Emma felt grateful to be hidden among a sea of blue
Union jackets. Avoiding the likes of Nash, she decided, would be a
wise strategy.