Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (28 page)

"To your plantation?"

She nodded.

"And when you sort things out, are you comin'
back?" James asked.

"I don't know."

They stood there with soldiers milling around
them, preparing to move to Yorktown and face the enemy. James only
focused on Emma. He studied her, as if he were etching her face in
his mind and accepting that this could be the last time he would
ever see her.

He sighed. "This isn't the way I hoped things
would go."

They both resisted what they wanted to say as
they held each other with their stares. Men called for Trumball. He
waved, indicating for them to wait.

More than anything, Emma wanted to hold him
and tell him she loved him. But she didn't. He would still leave,
she knew, even if she confessed the depth of her emotions. In her
mind, she assumed her feelings for him meant nothing to him.

She swallowed hard before she said, "Good
luck, Lieutenant," and brushed past him.

Beaumont, South Carolina

May, 1862

After three trains, two closed railways, a
burned bridge, and a rerouted stagecoach, Emma returned to the
remnants of her hometown. People in town eyed her with uncertain
recognition and suspicion. Gone, she found, was the high-waving
hospitable greetings from the locals. Union soldiers also dotted
the population, a result from their takeover of Fort Walker and
Fort Beauregard after the battle at Port Royal. Even though she was
a bluecoat herself, Emma couldn't help finding their presence
insulting and demeaning.

Emma walked the four miles from town to her
home. During her travels, she had thought of little else besides
James. Whether she had done the right thing in leaving him, she
couldn't say. At the moment, though, she found the distance between
them satisfying and liberating.

She didn't focus on the emotional turmoil
that would rise upon facing her family. Correspondence from the
plantation had ceased, which worried her. However, in the nation's
current state, she wasn't sure how the mail delivery was holding
up. When her foot finally touched the path leading up to the house,
a myriad of feelings raced through her. For the most part, the home
looked the same from the outside, but Emma felt as if she had been
gone for decades rather than a year.

She thought of Alexander and the fact she
would never see his face light up at the Thanksgiving table again,
or that smugly pleased look he had whenever he brought home wild
game.

The stillness outside of the house troubled
her, but she decided to wait no longer. Like a stranger come to
call, she made her way to the massive front door and knocked. Her
plain and simple dress had not traveled well, and she knew in its
current condition, wrinkled and dust-caked, she looked more like a
vagabond than a returning Cartwright. Her shabby hair, which she
could do little with, intensified her unfortunate appearance.

Harper answered the door. "Miss Emma!"
Squeals and shouts followed as Harper announced Emma's arrival.
Tilda came next, and behind her, Stella with a baby in her arms.
Although Stella looked frightfully pale and thin, the baby, a boy
they'd named Thomas, was chubby and playful. He gave Emma a shy
smile and batted his eyes at her, eyes that reminded Emma of her
father.

As the wave of commotion subsided, Emma
noticed Knox standing ramrod straight and motionless. Astonishment,
anger, and relief washed over his face all at once, but a softening
prevailed, perhaps mixed with forgiveness, that brought tears to
his eyes.

Emma took slow, shaky steps toward him and
spoke first.

"Hello, Granddad."

Knox swallowed hard. "I thought I would never
see you again in this life." He embraced her, and they both
wobbled. After a long moment, he held her at arm's length and
glanced at her shaggy hair, while Emma noted the deep lines that
were now engraved into Knox's features. "I am eternally grateful
for this moment, Emma Louise."

"I'm sorry, Granddad."

"For leaving your family or for betraying
your heritage?" No malice laced his words.

Emma considered it. "Maybe a little of both.
I didn't do any of this to hurt you, Granddad, or to bring any
shame on the family name. I… I had to find out who I really
was."

"And did you?"

Emma wondered, what had she accomplished by
running away? She'd escaped her mother's wedding plans and left her
family, showing no more integrity than Franklin. Without thinking
it through, she'd thrust another loss upon her family. Had her
departure numbed them for the news of Alexander's death?

She thought of James and their night
together. Those unexpected feelings that swooped in and struck her
heart like a cottonmouth snake luring in the swamps. The bite
unexpected, the venom consuming. Yet being there at her homestead,
on the soil where she was born and raised, Emma felt a tinge of
guilt. She had abandoned James and her comrades at a critical
moment. Had she given in to her emotions irrationally, the way a
man would suspect that any woman might?

Was this who she wanted to be?

"I'm not sure," Emma finally said. "I think
I'm still finding out."

****

At the sight of Stuart, Emma caught her
breath. She knew he would be there, as he and much of his family
had moved to the Cartwright plantation, but she was not expecting
the sight before her.

"Stuart, you're walking!"

He smiled slightly as his glasses dipped down
his nose. "Not exactly, but it's progress." Propped on two
crutches, Stuart made his way into the kitchen, where the family
had gathered for refreshments.

"How did you…?"

"They could still use some improvement, and I
can't wear them for long periods of time, but it's simple, really.
The crutches belonged to my brother. I made leg braces for support.
I basically tied my legs to iron rods, then used leather straps I
made from tack…" Stuart paused and looked at Knox.

"Yes," Knox said, "we, uh, had to sell most
of the horses. Just couldn't be helped." His voice sounded
matter-of-fact and detached.

Emma knew how her grandfather prized his
horses. She didn't want to let the impact of his words sink in, or
the implication that the family might be enduring financial woes.
She attempted to save the happy mood.

"They're amazing, Stuart."

Stuart beamed. "I can't believe you're back."
A restrained elation danced in his eyes. "After the news about
Alexander, I thought…"

Emma nodded. "I know. These aren't easy
times." Emma thought of the men who had died while she sat
helplessly by their sides. She recalled the letters she had written
to their loved ones and felt badly that Knox and her mother would
have no such token from Alexander.

She turned to Knox. "Where's mother?" Emma
was surprised to hear such enthusiasm in her voice, and even more
flabbergasted to find that her sentiment was genuine. Having proved
to herself that she was capable of taking care of herself, and
having discovered a newfound appreciation for lady-like decorum,
Emma believed she could relate better with her mother now. She
finally understood why Olivia valued poise and manners.

The expression on Knox's face, though,
dissolved Emma's zeal.

"What is it?"

"Your mother…" Knox could not finish his
sentence.

Silence infected the other family members.
Eyes were averted. Smiles deserted the scene. Knox looked to
Stuart.

"Emma, there's an awful lot you need to
know," Stuart said.

"This will take some time," Knox added. "And
I'm afraid much of it will be difficult for you to hear."

Emma searched both their faces for a trace of
reassurance, but she found none, and a feeling of dread enveloped
her and rested on her like a wet wool blanket.

****

Emma passed on a light helping of Harper's
red rice, too anxious to learn what had befallen the Cartwrights in
her absence. Her insides trembled as Knox and Stuart led her to the
rear of the house. As they approached the northwest wing of the
estate, a swampy, damp smell greeted Emma. A stretch of canvas hung
from floor to ceiling, and furniture sat in front of the cloth,
positioned like a barricade. Knox moved a few pieces of furniture
and held open a slit in the canvas that allowed them to step
through to the other side.

Fresh air slapped her face, and the sight
before Emma made her stomach drop. She stood where the dining room
had been. Charred edges and ash surrounded her. Two chairs,
blackened from soot, lay overturned. The massive table that had
hosted numerous celebrations and holidays had been reduced to
scorched remains, and Grandma Louise's handmade tablecloth was only
a memory.

"What happened?" Emma barely had breath to
speak.

Knox walked across the room as though he were
walking in a cemetery and remarked solemnly, "Union rebels."

The remark made Emma's head reel.

"After the conflict at Port Royal," Knox
said, "Yankees invaded nearby homes."

"Four soldiers barged into the house," Stuart
added. "They had weapons, held pistols in our faces and threatened
us. They said they were authorized by the government to take
control of the house and the property. Everything, they claimed,
now belonged to the Union and could be used however they saw fit.
They claimed we were all traitors." He looked at Knox. "And if we
showed any resistance, they swore they'd shoot us."

Emma looked to Knox. His eyes were downcast,
his face somber.

"We were essentially captives, Emma, for
three days."

Emma dared to imagine the scene. Men,
euphoric from victory, berating civilians and taking advantage of
their sudden power. Worse, she knew some of her fellow soldiers
could have behaved the same way. She found it easy to picture Nash,
even Graham, looting and belittling Southerners and their
homes.

"But how?" she asked softly. "You outnumbered
them, easily. With George and Henry and the others
—
"

"George Napier is dead." No emotion came from
Knox as he spoke. "News of the war spooked him. Shortly after you
left, Emma, he attempted to steal two of my horses and Harper's
daughter, Pearl. He did not make it far. Word spread quickly about
his treachery. Our neighbor, Jeb Fisher, spotted him in Charleston,
trying to get a passage to Boston. The sheriff shot George when he
refused to cooperate. Fortunately, Pearl returned to us
unharmed."

Like Knox, Emma felt no sense of loss at the
mention of George's death. Part of her thought he probably died too
conveniently, without much pain or suffering, and part of her felt
a release, knowing his drunken steps would no longer be seen on the
plantation.

"As for the slaves," Knox continued, "they've
gone. Departed after the battle at Port Royal. I'll have you know I
did nothing to stop them. I stood at the edge of the property as
they left, sent a prayer with each of them. Tilda, Harper, and
Pearl are the lone remnants and say they can't leave us."

Emma ran the image through her mind. Knox,
proud and straight, as the laborers migrated from the property.
Selfishly, she was grateful she'd missed it.

"The Yankees were not here long before their
evil natures grew hostile toward each other," Knox said. "They
drank themselves into a stupor, then argued over what they would
take. They shouted at one another, began breaking things around the
house. I tried to stop them, but they knocked me unconscious once.
And your mother…" Knox reacted as though the words caught in his
throat. "Well, throughout it all your mother acted in the only
manner she knew how. She served them tea, kept a hospitable spirit
about her, but…" Knox closed his eyes and shook his head.

Dread tightened Emma's chest as she waited
for him to finish.

"It's best she knows," Stuart said
quietly.

"I am not entirely convinced of that. It does
her no good to know!" Knox began to tremble. Tears escaped him.

"She must, Granddad. When she sees
Olivia
—
"

Fearing her grandfather was near collapse,
Emma went to his side and draped his arm around her shoulder. Knox
took a moment to recover.

"The cost of war, Emma Louise, is a price no
man can afford," he said with a renewed strength. "The sinful
nature of man is revealed, and what a horrid beast it proves to
be."

Anticipation gnawed at Emma. She wanted to
ask, wanted to see her mother, but there had been so much for her
to accept, she waited. In truth, she feared knowing what toll the
war had taken on her mother.

Knox calmed and straightened himself. With a
deep sorrow in his eyes, he looked at Emma. "They violated your
mother."

As the meaning of those words permeated, Emma
felt weak all over. Having known the fear from being stalked by
George Napier, when his drunken lust would rage, Emma thought of
those moments in the stable and the barn, moments when she had
feared George would have his way with her, that he would penetrate
her and possess a sacred part of her. Knowing her mother had not
been rescued as she had made Emma cringe with nausea.

"Henry?" Emma asked. It was the only word,
the only thought she could manage.

"He tried to save your mother, when he heard
her screams, but they shot him three times."

Emma gasped. Her thoughts swept to Tilda. How
had she endured the loss of another child? How had Emma not noticed
or detected such an emotional scar at the first sight of her?

"I fear you will never forgive me for what
has happened," Knox said. "Since the death of Thomas, I have been
entrusted with the safe keeping of this family, and I fear I have
failed you all."

"Oh, Granddad, I could never blame you for
such a thing," Emma said.