Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (13 page)

"I wrote down every word. Don't worry, Dewey,
I'll post that letter to your wife and kids. They'll know that you
were thinking of them, and they'll never forget how much you loved
them."

Dewey closed his eyes and relaxed at Emma's
words. "Good, good."

"Are you in much pain, Dewey? Do you need the
morphine?"

"No, it's bearable. I'll be seeing the good
Lord soon, then all things will be made right." Dewey offered a
feeble smile. "Would you pray with me, Tom?"

Deathbed letters, promises, and prayers were
as much a part of Emma's duties as changing bandages. She clasped
Dewey's hand in both of hers and bowed her head. With reverence and
a tinge of bitterness, Emma uttered a supplication that had become
second nature to her. As Dewey made his way to the Father's arms,
she asked for mercy. Prayers for peace and protection upon Dewey's
loved ones also poured out. But her heart wasn't in it.

"God bless you, Tom." The smile endured and
was paired with tear streaks down Dewey's face.

Emma whispered, "You can go home now,
Dewey."

Dewey nodded and closed his eyes. Despite her
uncertainty with religion, Emma continued her prayers silently.
Eleanor was right. Faith was all anyone had to cling to and the
only constant the men knew. Then Emma waited. Time became
irrelevant and chores were put on hold so no man would die alone.
Emma waited until Dewey's labored breathing ceased and his hand
went limp.

But was this all Emma was meant for? She
hadn't joined the army to perfect her bedside manner or to improve
her prayer life. But she immediately felt shameful for her selfish
thoughts. Men were dead all around her. To imply that any of them
had died for nothing was a disgrace. Plus, Emma knew she and a few
others had found an inexplicable favor when it came to their
service in the hospital. Some stewards, nurses, and assistants had
grown ill and died from taking care of the men. Emma had much to be
grateful for.

After Dewey's body was tended to, Emma left
the tent for the remainder of the night. A letter had arrived that
day from Stuart, and she had waited all day for the chance to savor
it's every word. Emma strayed from the camp but avoided her
secluded spot, not wanting to chance another encounter with the
mystery stalker. Armed with a tin lantern and her revolver, since
no one knew what the Rebels might try next, she found a clearing
among mature cedar trees and a fallen log. She settled on the
ground and propped herself against the log.

Dear Emma,

I hope this finds you well. We are holding
our own here. Knox endured a spell of bad health but has recovered
for the most part. Olivia experiences good days and bad days, as we
all do. I believe this is hardest on her, since the house is often
quiet. She helps with chores from time to time, and I can tell it
is because the idleness we struggle with is unbearable. Even the
worst of chores helps mold purpose to our days. Tilda and Harper
can hardly mention your name without tears. Sylvia has written you
and from the tone of her letter, I would say the atmosphere in New
Orleans is uptight, though she seems cheerful enough. Aunt Celia
has taken her shopping, and Sylvia is thunderstruck by the fine
fashions available there. I know it will disturb you to hear this,
but two major concerns plague us. First is the issue of food.
Supplies here in Beaumont and at the Hooper's store are less
bountiful in an effort to take care of the Confederate Army, plus,
with the blockade, supplies are delivered less frequently and
prices have risen. So far, the rice is doing well, and we may be
better off to harvest it for ourselves than to take it to
market.

Secondly is our concern with the laborers. We
have noticed an overall shift of attitude among them since they are
well aware of the war. Three have run off to join the Union, or so
we've heard. There was even an incident between Henry and George,
where George was about to strike Henry, presumably for working too
slow, and Henry snatched the switch from him and broke it. Although
George was probably drunk at the time, he has not been able to
exercise his cruel, rigid command over them ever since. This makes
Knox nervous, and though he hasn't mentioned it, I am sure he fears
another uprising. So do I.

Your safe return is in my prayers, though
what you may have to return to is uncertain.

Your cousin,

Stuart

Emma felt her heart drop. She had given no
thought to the consequences the war would have on her family at
home. The family enjoyed a measure of wealth, but under the
pressure of scarce supplies and increasing costs, she wondered how
far the money would stretch. Guilt nagged her for taking such a
sizeable amount from the money chest, and she planned to return a
portion, though she dared not trust the post. But, when would she
see Beaumont again, if ever?

Greater was her worry over the change in the
slaves. She couldn't blame Henry for retaliating against George,
but would others overthrow and mistreat her family? Emma considered
the steps she had taken for her freedom. Should the tide of the war
change, especially under McClellan's direction, and the notion of
freedom become tangible, what man wouldn't fight for that? But what
would happen once the slaves learned the war wasn't about their
freedom? With nothing to lose, would they band together and revolt?
What would happen to her family?

Emma also felt concern for Sylvia. Was their
aunt attempting to distract Sylvia and the rest of the children
from the growing tension building in the nearby port? The Union's
naval presence, Emma knew from hearing reports, had increased in
the Gulf of Mexico as control over the Mississippi had yet to be
determined.

Or was Sylvia the one presenting a brave
front? Was she aware of the impending battle? Emma hated that she
could do nothing to protect her beloved sister. For that, she had
to rely on her own prayers and the feeble trust she placed in
them.

Union Encampment

Northern, Virginia

September, 1861

As reveille sounded, Emma was stolen from her
dream. She had been with her family, dressed in her Union uniform.
Her fingers grasped at her short hair, but everyone around her,
including her father, Franklin, and Grandmother Louise, was woozy
with joy. No one batted an eye at her masculine appearance. All of
them had gathered to celebrate the birth of Stella's baby. Stella
was about to place the fussing little bundle in Emma's arms when
she awoke.

Of course, it struck her that in fact, Stella
was a mother by now. Her boorish, proper sister, who could never
stand for her hands to be dirty or a spot on her dress. The sister
who wouldn't play with Emma when she stunk of the marsh. The sister
who'd been too clumsy to climb trees. She had a baby, and sadly,
Emma had missed it.

Emma and her fellow company gathered for
drill duty at dawn, their enthusiasm and gusto for the on-going
regiment was equal to receiving a portion of Grady's bullfrog stew.
McClellan's morale-building speeches continued, but gripes among
the troops emerged over the lack of mobilization and action against
the Confederates. In August, news of another Union loss at the
Battle of Wilson's Creek in southwestern Missouri disturbed the
encampment. Quick to blame "dotards" in Washington for his cautious
tactics, McClellan's mounting excuses gained as much fame as his
love letters to his wife.

This morning, Lieutenant Trumball addressed
his division.

"Men, I've just received word from the
colonel that a detachment is needed to transport supplies to a
train depot outside of Winchester, which is a three day haul.
Tensions are rising in Kentucky, along with troop concentrations
from both sides. Once the supplies are in Winchester, they will be
sent by railroad to General Sherman and his men stationed in
Louisville. It's our duty to make sure the shipment reaches
Winchester safely. You'll each be required to carry a loaded
knapsack and help stock the supply wagon. Have your gear ready and
be prepared to leave at dawn."

Trumball wasted no time with questions.

"That's the most I've heard him speak since
I've been here," Charles said.

"Me too," Emma said.

Emma let Eleanor and other hospital personnel
know that she had been called out for a short duty.

"Be careful," Eleanor said. "Zechariah just
returned home from a trip to western Virginia. He heard tell that
there are groups of Confederates who have abandoned Lee's army
because of recent defeats near the Cheat Mountain area. The men are
desperate to get home, and some are acting as bandits along the
roadway, attacking and robbing people."

Emma patted Eleanor's shoulder to calm the
urgency in her voice.

"Don't worry, Miss Eleanor. We'll be
careful." She doubted a band of deserters would be bold enough
—
stupid enough
—
to attack a company of well-armed soldiers. On
the other hand, the actions of men no longer surprised her.

Emma kept personal items to a minimum when
she packed her necessities, but she made room on her person for her
grandfather's Colt. It was easier to handle than the musket and
more accurate. She hoped Eleanor had been fed exaggerated tales,
but she aimed to be prepared.

When Graham helped place the loaded knapsack
on Emma's back the next morning, her knees threatened to buckle.
Graham caught her and helped Emma adjust to the heavy pack.

"What's in there?" she asked Graham, but
Trumball was the one to answer.

"Ammunition cartridges, food, medical
supplies." The lieutenant stood in front of Emma and looked her
over. "I need to know now if you can't handle it, Edmonds."

Emma returned her commander's stone-cold
stare. "I'll manage, Lieutenant."

He didn't look convinced but walked off to
help others. In his place came Nash, strapped with two sacks.

"Problem there, tadpole? What's a matter,
can't carry anything heavier than a dead cat?"

Emma let him have the barb and put her
strength into making headway with the pack. The morning's haze
promised a steamy day, and she worried this challenge might do her
in. If the pack became too much, Emma would have to think of
something. Since joining the Union army she was a new person in
more ways than one. Not only had she found and built muscles she
didn't know existed, she had also exercised her resourcefulness and
overcame each task she faced. Aside from her performance on the
battlefield at Bull Run, which she didn't view as a failure, Emma
considered herself dependable. She couldn't let this new trial
unravel the reputation she had sacrificed much to create.

Displaying weakness among the men
—
especially in front of Trumball and Nash
—
was not an option for her. Even
if it meant removing some of the items from the sack and kicking
them along the forty mile trip, Emma determined to make it
work.

****

Eight miles into the trek, Emma fell to the
ground, for the third time. Rocks and terrain could be blamed the
first two falls, since other men had stumbled, but this time, Emma
landed face first and wanted to sink into the ground. Bringing up
the rear of the company, she worried she would be left there in the
dirt. Then she felt a kick in the sole of her dusty brogan.

"No time for a nap, Edmonds," Trumball said.
"We've got another two miles before we make camp for the
night."

Emma's body ached and throbbed. She feared
she could no longer will herself to go on.

"I'm not sure I can move, sir."

Trumball rolled Emma over. "Come on. You're
no different than the rest of us." He held out his hand to help her
up.

Emma wanted to protest, to prove she was
different and incapable for the task, but she reached for the
lieutenant's hand and worked herself to her knees. He handed Emma
his canteen.

"Another stop, tadpole?" Nash and the others
had drifted back to find Emma and Trumball. "At this rate a new
century is gonna come 'round before we get to Winchester." As
usual, Nash chuckled alone at his humor, until a whizzing arrow
thumped into his chest.

Nash moaned and crashed to the ground. A
swarm of hollering Indians, riding on horses, surrounded them.
Arrows zipped through the air. The soldiers hit the ground belly
first. Arrows pierced their packs. Trumball grabbed his musket and
began loading it. Emma shed her pack and reached for the Colt while
Indians closed in on them.

On bended knee, Emma pointed her gun, but the
mob of Indians moved too quickly for her to take aim. One climbed
the supply wagon and threw Graham from the seat. Dark, flowing hair
and bronzed skin dashed through the scene as arrows continued to
slice the air.

Trumball struggled with a paper cartridge
until it ripped open and spilled the gunpowder on the ground. From
what Emma could see, the Indians were a modest band, but their
ambush put Emma and fellow soldiers at a disadvantage. Apart from
Emma, no one else had a ready weapon. They fumbled their muskets or
threw rocks.

A screeching war-cry sounded. Emma and
Trumball saw an Indian running at them with a raised tomahawk. Emma
held her breath, took aim and fired at the Indian's hand. The shot
sent the tomahawk flying and the Indian collapsing to the
ground.

Emma fired another shot at an Indian on
horseback. The Indian rolled backward off the horse as the stallion
reared and screeched. The Indian writhed on the ground, clutching
his shoulder. Another Indian jumped down from a tree and landed on
Trumball. Emma pointed the gun at the Indian and yelled at him in
perfect Cherokee.

Confused, the Indian paused. Emma was also
confused, but she continued speaking in a language foreign to
Trumball's ears. The Indian looked from Emma to his two tribesmen
on the ground. He mumbled something to Emma, then produced an
earsplitting noise that stunted the attacking mob. The chaotic stir
created by the Indians settled. Slowly, the Indian leader lowered
his tomahawk. Emma kept the gun aimed at the Indian as he got off
Trumball and yelled at his fellow tribesmen. The other Indians held
back, and the soldiers stayed down while Emma and the Indian,
presumably the tribe's leader, conversed, keeping a fair distance
between them. Emma spoke loud enough for all the Indians to hear.
Both Indians she had shot were on their feet but injured.