Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (31 page)

"I hope I'm not disturbing you." He wheeled
in and parked in the center of the room.

"No." Emma, who hadn't changed yet into bed
clothes, looked around the room. "I'm just wondering if this is the
last night I'll spend in this room."

"Is there anything I can say to make you
change your mind?" He gave her a half-smile.

Emma sat on her bed and didn't look at him.
She hoped he didn't intend to spoil their last evening with more
talk of marriage. She already felt emotional exhaustion setting
in.

"Stuart, I know you must be angry with me,
but I have to go."

"That's what I thought you'd say." He wheeled
over to where she sat. "This house hasn't been the same since
you've gone. None of us have. But before you go, I have something
for you."

He handed her a modest stack of letters, tied
with a string.

"What's this?" Emma noticed her name scripted
across the front.

Stuart hesitated. "They're from Sylvia." Emma
looked up at him, and Stuart continued. "She sent them last year,
not long after she arrived at Aunt Celia's."

Breathlessly, Emma stared at them. Months ago
Stuart had mentioned Sylvia's letters home. With everything she'd
been struck with since returning to the Cartwright home, Emma had
forgotten about them.

"Before you read them," Stuart said, "there's
something you should know."

Emma hugged the letters, uncertain if she
wanted to hear what he would say next.

"A few months after you left, Olivia wrote a
letter to Aunt Celia and the children. She told them you were gone.
Not long after, Sylvia sent her last letter. She claimed she was
going to find you in Washington."

Emma closed her eyes and prayed for it not to
be true.

"I was in town one day with Granddad when a
letter came from Aunt Celia. She confirmed that Sylvia ran
away."

"Dear God, what was she thinking? Why didn't
you tell me sooner?" Emma moved to open the first letter, but
Stuart put his hand on her arm.

"Granddad and the rest of the family don't
know. I never showed them Aunt Celia's letter."

"How could you not tell them?"

"There's nothing they could do. Besides, news
like this might kill Granddad. He's not as strong as he's
pretending to be. He tries to hide the fact he's dealing with chest
pains, but I've seen him, his hand over his heart, he can hardly
breathe, but he blames it on something he ate or the heat. Who
knows what this could do to him."

Emma wondered the same thing, and she
wondered how much stress her leaving would cause him. She hated the
position Stuart had put her in. He wanted her to feel guilty for
leaving and probably hoped she'd recant her decision. She glared at
him, knowing this was his way of getting back at her for refusing
to marry him.

"You know I have no choice now." Emma yanked
her arm from Stuart's touch. "I have to return to Washington and
look for her."

Angry, Stuart rolled his chair back, then
turned and headed for the door.

"Do what pleases you, Emma. That's what
you've always done, no matter what the cost is for other people
—
people you say you love."

Outskirts of Washington, D.C.

June, 1862

Emma's journey back to northern Virginia was
robust with complications and delays, but most of it was a blur for
her as she re-read Sylvia's letters. Sylvia wrote that her mother
had been unfair in sending them all away, and that she had begged
and cried at the train station not to go. Even so, Sylvia said Aunt
Celia's home was more beautiful than she remembered and her dogs
larger. She promised to write Emma every week until she could
return home. Then, there was the letter from Aunt Celia,
sorrowfully detailing Sylvia's departure and blind hope to find
Emma in the capital city. Considering Sylvia's age and inexperience
of being on her own and navigating a city filled Emma with
immeasurable dread. What hope did Emma have that Sylvia could in
fact make her way to Washington and somehow find her?

Plus, if she did make it all the way from New
Orleans, Sylvia was looking for Emma Cartwright, not Private Tom
Edmonds.

Emma had to accept that there was little she
could do, and little she could hope for.

With their former Union encampment now a
skeletal operation, Emma went to Eleanor and Zechariah's house.
They greeted her with the same fanfare as her family. Eleanor was
quick to whip up bacon and biscuits as they settled at the table.
Zechariah said that his stint away had been uneventful. Emma shared
about her trip home and her sister's attempt to make it to
Washington. The concerned looks Eleanor and Zechariah traded
deepened Emma's unease. Aware of the dismal mood setting in,
Eleanor intervened.

"It may not be much, but there's plenty we
could try," she said.

"Such as?" Zechariah asked.

"Well, we could check with hotels and
boarding houses in the area. If she's here, maybe she's staying
nearby."

Emma lit up. "You know you're right. I hadn't
thought of that. We could start now." Emma began to stand, but
Zechariah stopped her.

"Hold on a minute. At this hour of night
you're likely to rouse tempers as much as sleeping folk. Best to
wait till morning, catch folks at their best."

Emma saw his point and eased back down onto
her chair.

"When I said we, I meant that Zechariah and I
could do it."

Both Emma and Zechariah shot Eleanor a
confused look.

"You plan to report back for duty, don't
you?" she asked Emma.

"Yes."

The Pratts sat quietly for a moment. They
respected Emma and her intention to serve the Union, but it was
still difficult for them, knowing she would be in harm's way.

"Then you'll be heading south," Zechariah
said. "A fair chunk of Little Mac's troops are stationed just south
of the Chickahominy River. Been having a terrible time down there
with all the rain. The river's flooded the area, made most of the
bridges useless, and the mud means moving the artillery takes ten
times as long. Despite all that, Little Mac is fixing to attack
Richmond, and believe you me, he needs that victory, especially
since the siege at Yorktown was a failure and the showdown at Fair
Oaks another disappointment."

"Fair Oaks?" Emma asked. "I haven't kept up
with developments as well as I should have during my travels."

"General Johnston and his troops attacked our
boys, but the Rebs were having just as many difficulties as our
troops. Their maps were inaccurate, and the quagmire of mud from
the rains complicated everything. After three days, the
Confederates didn't retreat and the Union didn't advance."

"Has there been any word from Lieutenant
Trumball?" Emma reddened, though she was sure Eleanor knew how she
felt about him.

"I was wondering when you might ask," Eleanor
said. "No, dear, we haven't had any news from him. As far as we
know he's with McClellan and the soldiers near the river."

"Then that's where I'll head in the morning."
Emma reached into her pocket and slipped out one of her most prized
possessions. "I guess I should leave these with you then." Emma
handed Eleanor her picture of Sylvia and slid the letters over to
her. "Anything you can find out… even if it's… well, anything would
mean a great deal to me."

Eleanor squeezed Emma's hand. "Try not to
worry, dear. Keep your head about you and focused on what you're
doing. This war is heating up, and the Union needs all the
able-bodied it can get."

****

Southeast Virginia

June, 1862

Days later, sheathed in a new shoddy and with
hair newly trimmed, Emma resumed her identity as Tom Edmonds and
made her way to the Union encampment on the Chickahominy River. As
far as Emma was concerned, Zechariah had under exaggerated the
area's conditions. Mud caked everything. The river had begun to
calm, but troop morale seemed non-existent. McClellan, recently
recovered from a bout with the Shakes, welcomed Private Edmonds'
return.

"Edmonds," he said, his speech slow but
deliberate. "I hope that your furlough was sufficient, and that
you're prepared to resume your duties in full measure."

"Yes, sir, to both counts. Thank you for
granting me leave. Sir, do you know where I might find Lieutenant
Trumball? I'd like to make myself useful immediately."

McClellan grinned and instructed Emma to
Trumball's general location.

Emma's heart raced with each sluggish step.
She regretted leaving him and wanted to tell him, though she had no
idea how he would receive her now. She decided she would make no
demands on James, that she would not ask for or expect anything
from him, and if fighting next to him to help end the war was all
she had with him, then she resolved to find contentment in those
moments. James had children to go home to. He had a life waiting
for him. Emma's future lingered as uncertain as when the war might
end, and she knew contemplating it now was impractical. All she
really wanted was to be with James.

As Emma neared her company's location, Eli
Nash and Joel Evans spotted her and greeted her loudly.

"We done heard you and the Lieutenant blowed
up them Rebs at Williamsburg," Nash said.

"I guess you could say we didn't make a quiet
exit."

The men laughed and Emma, disguised as Tom,
took stock of the thinned group. Graham and Daniel Procter
came.

"Where's Simon and Grady?" she asked.

"Oh, Grady, he's here someplace," Nash said.
"Probably rustlin' up skunk or somethin' for stew." Mild laughs and
groans from the men intermingled, and Nash rubbed the back of his
neck. "Simon, though, he, uh, he didn't fare too good at Fair Oaks.
Took a bullet to the chest. Died pretty quick."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that." The grim reality
that the war had churned on in her absence made Emma hang her head
in guilt and reverence. Simon had four children who would grow up
without him, a fact that hit Emma hard. She thought of baby Thomas
back home and how awful it would be for him to grow up without his
father. Purging slavery from the United States meant creating a
fatherless generation. A steep, tragic price.

"We didn't think you were a-comin' back,"
Nash said.

"Why not?"

"Well, you done up 'n left when we shipped
out, 'n Trumball didn't say much on why you left." Nash shrugged a
shoulder. "You know how he is."

"You're right." Emma couldn't explain that
she'd needed to escape, that she would've been worthless as a
soldier during the conflicts at Fair Oaks and Williamsburg.
Mentioning the condition of her home and family, no matter how
unfortunate, seemed unfair, considering the men before her hadn't
seen their families in over a year, and some men, like Simon, never
would.

"But I'm here now," Emma said with a faint
smile. "Speaking of Trumball, where is he?"

"No one's told you?" Graham asked. Though
he'd been silent until now, he'd regarded Emma with wide,
unblinking eyes.

"What?"

Nash put his hand on Graham's chest to stop
his response. "Might be best if he sees him."

Graham looked at Nash and nodded. Emma's eyes
darted between them, desperate for a sign of what had happened.

"C'mon," Nash said.

Emma followed Nash and Graham to the hospital
tent. Nausea attacked her. She scanned every bed they passed, took
note of every agonized face. They came to where Trumball lay,
unattended and asleep. Sweat stained his clothes and beaded his
face. Emma had no control over the gasp that escaped her when she
noticed the crude, blood-soaked bandages and realized that James
Trumball was missing one of his legs.

****

The presence of company roused James, and he
did his best to restrain his jubilation at the sight of a disguised
Emma Cartwright.

"Em
—
Edmonds! You came back."

"Of course I did." Emma knelt next to the
bed. "This war isn't over yet. Looks like you might still need me
around." By now, Emma had assisted in dozens of amputations.
Beneath her façade, she played the familiar scenario in her head.
James, intoxicated with morphine, lay limp as men stood by, ready
to assist, and the doctor's saw worked its way through James' flesh
and bone. Such memories were branded on Emma's mind, and inwardly
she ached, knowing James had endured such a fate without her by his
side.

Trumball looked at his bandaged stump. "Yeah,
about that…"

"We'd best be gittin' back to our duties,"
Nash said as he slapped Graham on the back.

"Right." Graham shot Emma a strange look
before the two left.

Emma glanced after them, and when she was
certain she and James were relatively alone, she edged closer and
touched his shoulder. With the bustling of stewards and nurses, and
the sounds of patients in need, Emma knew they could speak without
being overheard.

"James, I'm sorry. I never should've
left."

He looked at her with a drunken enchantment.
A thin beard covered his face, which appeared strained and worn.
Even so, the intensity in his eyes remained, and it still sent that
shudder of excitement through Emma's body.

"Wasn't sure if I'd see you again," James
said.

"You sure go to extremes for attention."

"Might not be proper for me to say, but I'd
give just about anythin' to be alone with you right now."

His coy expression made Emma blush deeply.
She averted her eyes as a warm sensation washed over her.

"What happened?" Emma asked.

"Shell fragment hit me above the knee." He
swallowed hard. "This was the only way to get it out."

Emma felt her eyes water. "I wish I'd been
there for you."

He smiled at her. "What do you think got me
through?"