Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (26 page)

Now, Emma found no amusement in Quinn's
humiliation. She just wanted away from him and out of the Rebel
camp. Alive.

Blood oozed from Quinn's nose. Despite his
injury, he rolled Emma over and stayed on top of her. He chopped
his hand across her cheek.

He leaned down into her face. "You ain't
gettin' away. I finally get to put you in your place
—
and be rid of you for good."

Quinn stood and pulled Emma to her feet. He
slapped her again. Emma fought through the sting and retaliated
with a slug to Quinn's nose. He yelped and lost his grip on her.
Emma attempted another dash to escape. Quinn grabbed her at the
waist, causing them both to topple over one of the map tables.
Their scuffle continued on the sod, and they collided with a tent
post. Like a soldier losing his leg, the tent knelt to the ground,
shrouding a wrestling pair of siblings, and calling attention to
nearly every soldier in the camp.

With bloodshot eyes and black and blue marks
blotching his face, Quinn commanded the center of the crowd of his
gathered comrades. Blood stained his torn uniform. A saber in one
hand and the Colt in the other, he riled his listeners like a
barbaric warrior.

On her knees, with her hands bound behind
her, Emma rested her rear on her heels. A million emotions swept
through her. Primarily, distaste for Quinn. She refused to let her
head hang in defeat or to show any signs of fear, though she
quivered with anxiety. Even with her stint as a courier and spy,
Emma never believed death would have its say. Ultimately, she knew
she was a fighter, a survivor, and that she found strength battling
back from shaky odds. Now, however, she felt hollowness in her
stomach and dread she could not suppress.

Once she and Quinn were pulled from
underneath the mangled tent, Quinn announced that he had seized a
Union spy. The news passed and spread through the camp like a
plague of lice. Quinn's dramatics roused and attracted the entire
camp. Emma knew he would use this moment for all it was worth, and
she knew
—
sister or not
—
Quinn would have no qualms about
torturing her for all to see.

There was no sign of James or Major Carter.
She could only assume the worst had happened to James. Hope fled
from Emma that either she or the lieutenant would return to the
Union camp. A sense of dishonor blazed in her chest at the thought
of letting down General McClellan, and President Lincoln as well.
She was glad none of them could see her now.

To an even greater degree, she was thankful
Knox couldn't see this scene unfold.

"Men," Quinn said. "We are in a vulnerable
position. The enemy sits just across the York River. Those filthy
Yanks think they can plow us over and push ahead to Richmond, that
we're no match, but we'll stop them!"

Shouts burst forth.

"In stopping the enemy, we must also beware
of their presence among our ranks. Moments ago, I discovered this
retch, who attempted to steal information about our
strategies."

Quinn pointed the sword under Emma's chin.
She gave him a dead stare and nothing else.

"But we must also realize," Quinn continued,
"that the enemy comes in many forms and disguises." He whipped the
saber and sliced a button off Emma's Confederate coat. "We will no
longer be fooled." He smirked while satisfaction danced in his
eyes. "And you will all see how low the Yankees are willing to go."
Quinn cut off the remaining buttons. The coat hung open, revealing
a white muslin shirt underneath. The crowd grew quiet, riveted and
prickling with expectation.

Quinn stepped closer, intending to cut off
the rest of Emma's coat and undershirt, but an explosion thundered
in a nearby tent, rocking the ground and sending debris in all
directions. Flames engulfed the tent as black smoke billowed and
stretched toward the sky. Men ducked and uselessly hunted for cover
as a fierce series of blasts filled the camp with chaos.

In the confusion, Emma jumped to a squatting
position. She kicked Quinn's hand and sent the saber flying. Then
she yanked her wrists and broke free from the bindings. The remains
of Adam Hall's coat slipped off her.

Enraged, Quinn yelled and dove at her. He
landed on her, but Emma rolled out from under him and struck him in
the side of his head with her elbow.

"Emma!"

She turned and saw James fast approaching on
a horse. He held out his arm. Emma positioned herself and grabbed
his arm as he swept by. Awkwardly, she swung onto the back of the
horse.

Quinn gave chase.

"Faster!" Emma shouted at James.

He weaved the frightened animal through
scurrying soldiers as the explosions continued.

"Just hold on!"

Quinn, fueled by vile fortitude, closed the
gap. The horse resisted galloping. Quinn grabbed the horse by the
tail, making it whinny and toss its head. Emma fell from its
backside. Quinn took a hold of her with both hands.

James struggled to stop the horse and get it
turned around.

"I'm not letting you get away!" Quinn said.
"I'll kill you with my bare hands if I have to!" He thrust his
hands around Emma's throat and squeezed.

Unable to pull him off, she fell to her
knees.

"Quinn, no," was all she could say.

Though her vision began to blur, Emma saw a
boot thrust into Quinn's forehead. He toppled backward as James
zipped past on the horse. The Colt, stuffed into the waist of his
pants, fell free. Still kneeling, Emma rubbed her neck and worked
to regulate her breathing. She scrambled to reach the gun, but
looked up when she suddenly heard a click.

"I knew you were no good." Will stood looking
down on her with an angry glare. His pistol was aimed at Emma's
head. "Shoulda shot you that night in the rain."

As Will put all his angst into pulling the
trigger, Emma rolled as hard and as fast as she could to the side,
just as the gun discharged. She sprang to her feet and charged
Will. She went for the gun. She grabbed his hand and tried to
muscle it from him, but the gun fired again. The bullet zipped past
them, but a man suddenly yelped. Emma and Will saw Quinn grab the
side of his neck and sink to his knees. Will stood paralyzed with
disbelief. Emma snatched the pistol from him and tossed it with all
her might toward the burning tents.

She looked at Will. "Hatred never
prospers."

James called out to her again and galloped
the horse up beside her. She picked up the Colt, then mounted the
horse, and sat in front of James.

"Put some pressure on his wound," she pointed
at Quinn as she shouted to Will, "and find him a doctor!"

Emma stole one last look at her brother,
bleeding and writhing on the ground, before James thumped the
horse's flanks and led them out of Rebel territory.

****

James and Emma dashed across the countryside
on their steed, putting as much distance as possible between them
and the Rebel camp, but complications slowly developed. For one,
darkness began to settle. Continuing their trek back to Union
headquarters in the ink-black night could prove unwise. Further was
the issue of their horse. Supporting two persons at full speed, he
grew tired sooner than they wanted.

"Probably best if we make camp for the
night," James said. "Don't want to risk gettin' lost out here."

Emma agreed, though they lacked necessities
for making a campfire and any supper. Weariness enveloped her, but
she found strength being close to James. His arms had been around
her while they rode and sent a feeling of security through her she
didn't want to trust.

James slowed the horse as they both
considered exactly what to do.

"So what happened back there?" Emma asked.
She and James had spoken little during their sprint to escape.

"Well, that Major wasn't interested in
interrogatin' me. Musta figured it was a waste of his time. He took
me out in the woods, not far from where we met them other soldiers.
I knew he was plannin' on shootin' me, so I had to knock him
out."

A warm thrill pulsed through Emma. She
enjoyed the mental picture of James slugging Major Carter into
oblivion.

"I snuck back to check on you," James
continued, "and heard you arguin' with that fella. I knew you were
in trouble, and I figured we didn't have much time. So I found the
ammunition tent and created what you might call a di-vision."

They traded smiles at James' reference to
Grady's word choice.

"You saved my life," Emma said somberly. She
thought back to Quinn cutting off the buttons on her coat. He had
been moments away from revealing her as a woman. How long would he
have drug it on before he executed her in front of his comrades?
Recalling the wicked pleasure on his face, she shuddered.

"That fella," Emma said, "as you called him,
he wasn't just a Confederate. He was my brother."

James looked startled and let the notion sink
in. "But he hit you. Wrestled you to the ground. You mean to tell
me your own kin would treat you like that?"

Embarrassed, Emma nodded. "We're not what you
might call a close family. Not anymore." Her father, and even her
grandfather, had been the ones who held the family together, even
if it was only loosely at times. Though Quinn, and sometimes
Alexander, had always displayed a mean streak, Emma never would
have imagined a day where her own brother would lift a hand to kill
her. Part of her blamed the death of her father for many of the
Cartwright's recent troubles. Though another part of her wondered
if the family's disintegration was inevitable with the outbreak of
the war. None of it mattered now, she knew.

"He was gonna kill you back there."

"Yeah." It shocked her to hear James echo her
own thoughts, and it grieved her, realizing how much Quinn despised
her. He'd become a man who thrived on hatred and blamed others for
his shortcomings. Thomas Cartwright would've been hurt and
devastated, knowing his son was such a monster.

Emma's mind flashed to Quinn on the ground,
writhing from his injury. She didn't know, of course, if the bullet
had grazed him or penetrated his neck. Plus, she didn't know if
Will would bother to get Quinn any help. "I wonder if he'll
live."

James said nothing.

At last, they came upon a house. Relief and a
sense of caution settled in them. The house looked as dark as the
evening.

"C'mon," James said, "let's check it out. If
everyone's down for the night, maybe we can hole up in the
barn."

They dismounted the horse and approached the
modest dwelling. James peeked in a window and saw the back of the
house had a gaping hole. That, along with a broken window in the
back, suggested that the house might have been damaged during a
skirmish between the blues and grays, a growing side effect from
the war's efforts. Families often left their homes if they became
caught in the cross fire.

"Nothin'. Could be abandoned, but we gotta
make sure." He stepped inside and called out. Only an echo replied.
He motioned for Emma to join him. "Maybe we can get a fire
goin'."

"I'll check the cupboards."

A bin in the kitchen held cornmeal. Traces of
salt and sugar remained, but not enough to use. Emma knew a family
leaving their home would take everything, especially if they didn't
plan to return. Every staple would be sacred.

James managed to get a fire started, though
Emma wasn't sure how. She checked the meal, making sure it wasn't
infested with fleas or other bugs, then found a small pot she could
boil water in. She'd watched and sometimes helped Harper make
Johnny cakes at home. Harper added sugar and bacon drippings to her
recipe, and Emma's mouth watered at the mere thought of such
luxuries. She did her best with what she had, and both she and
James were grateful for the scanty, bland supper, and they both
agreed that one of Grady's wild concoctions didn't sound bad at the
moment.

"We failed," Emma said after they ate. "We
don't have anything we can report back to McClellan."

"Not so." James snickered. "We know they
don't have any ammunition, and after all that ruckus, whatever
strategies they were plannin' to incorporate will probably get
scrapped."

"Maybe so." Emma ran her hands along her
arms. Shivers set in as the meager fire struggled to provide
warmth. She doubted, though, little could keep her from
sleeping.

"Might help if we keep close by the fire,"
James said. He put his arm around Emma and pulled her in close.
"That better?"

She detected a tremor in his voice.

"Yes."

Except for the crackle of the fire, the cabin
fell silent. Emma felt her heart race, and fighting a chill was no
longer an issue for her. Though she hesitated, Emma felt she owed
James an apology.

"I'm sorry about your wife," she whispered.
"And I'm sorry for bringing it up earlier and suggesting that it
would make you reckless. I shouldn't have read the letter."

James stared at the fire.

Emma knew that feeling of piercing grief.
Since her enlistment, she'd grown to know sorrow as if it were her
own shadow, and now, most everyone she knew had been dealt a dose
of devastation. But all of her bedside experience with the dying
didn't help her now; she didn't know quite how to comfort
James.

"I do best when I keep things to myself," he
said.

Emma nodded in understanding. "But you loved
her so much."

"I did. Finest woman I ever knew."

A strange sense of jealousy stung Emma.
"What's it like to be in love?"

"Well, it's good, I suppose. Real good. Ain't
you never had a suitor?"

Emma shook her head as she slowly looked at
him. Of course, she didn't consider Vaughn a suitor. More like a
predator. She had paid little attention to the young men around
her, as none of them had ever sparked an emotion inside her. Aside
from forcing her cousin Willie to kiss her on the lips when she was
eight, Emma had no experience with intimacy and genuine affection.
Her sister Stella had married and found happiness, and even
Annabelle, young as she was, enjoyed flirting with the boys at
parties and gatherings. Emma had long wondered if something was
wrong with her, since she found most boys her age disgusting or
uninteresting. That had changed the first moment she saw James.