Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (32 page)

She sighed, feeling unworthy of his devotion.
"I thought about you, too. The whole time. You're the reason I came
back. I'm never leaving you again."

"Good thing, I'd have an awful time chasin'
you."

Emma would've given anything to kiss him at
that very moment. But a gloomy thought disturbed her inner bliss.
"I suppose they'll be sending you home soon."

"Now don't go gettin' down on me. After I
heal up a bit I could be useful around here. Get me a wheelchair
and I can help out the docs." He winked at her. "Nurses, too."

She wondered how he could think of staying,
but any thought of being without him proved too painful. She held
his hand to her chest and silently prayed. Thankfulness poured from
her heart, and she vowed she would spend the rest of her life
loving and caring for James.

****

Emma spent much of the afternoon at James'
side after finding Dr. Hillman and officially reporting back for
duty. Unlike their former encampment, the current hospital unit had
more staff, including two more doctors. Emma's services were no
less needed, though, as injuries from the clashes at Williamsburg
and Fair Oaks had left the Union with nearly four thousand wounded.
Emma assumed McClellan had been unaware of James' injury, due in
part to his own illness and the staggering amount of men in
need.

Despite such conditions, Emma felt
invigorated. Knowing how James felt about her and being near him
renewed her spirit. She even set up a cot and insisted on sleeping
beside him, in case he needed anything during the night. Some,
including Dr. Hillman, found her devotion extreme. Others, such as
Nash and Evans, admired her tirelessness.

After assisting other nurses and patients for
a while, Emma was about to return and change James' bandage when
Dr. Hillman approached her in the supply area.

"Edmonds, I didn't have a chance to talk with
you in private earlier, but there's something you should know about
Lieutenant Trumball."

"Will he need another operation?" The thought
paled Emma.

"I'm afraid that won't help, not at this
point. Infection has set in."

The world around Emma collapsed as the
meaning of those words sunk in.

"How long?" were the only words she
managed.

Dr. Hillman shook his head. "A few days but
no more than a week."

She searched his eyes, knowing too well that
there was no escape from the honesty of the situation. Emma wanted
to turn frantic and demand that Dr. Hillman do something or invent
a cure to save the man she loved. Yet she knew there was nothing,
nothing that could rescue him from certain death.

"Does he know?" Emma asked.

"I haven't told him, but I'm sure he
suspects. I'd been hoping… hoping for a miracle."

"I'd like to tend to him and stay with him as
much as possible."

"I thought you might." Dr. Hillman gave a
compassionate grin. "It's probably for the best. He'll need the
support."

Emma was angry. She'd just been reunited with
James. Their feelings for each other solidified. She'd never felt
so full and happy. She had no hesitation about loving and caring
for him. Legs or no legs. She wanted to build a life with him,
watch him grow old, and raise children together. Why was he being
ripped from her life?

After Dr. Hillman walked away, Emma did her
best to keep her composure. She had to stir her courage and make
sure her facial expression didn't betray her devastation. She
tightened her grip on the fresh bandages and prayed for strength as
she returned to James.

****

When the last of the bandage had been
unwrapped, Emma stared blankly. The state of the wound confirmed
Dr. Hillman's revelation. Emma guarded her expression and struggled
with what she should say.

"Bad, ain't it?" James panted softly as the
flesh remained sore and tender.

"I've seen worse." Emma put little conviction
in her voice.

"You don't have to lie to me. It's gangrene,
ain't it?"

Emma looked up at him, her eyes unable to
resist conveying the truth. James closed his eyes for a moment and
breathed deep.

"I knew somethin' wasn't right."

"I'm not letting you give up, James
Trumball." Emma struggled to talk over the lump in her throat. She
moved quickly to wrap and cover the green-seeping wound. "I'll
search for some herbs. Maybe a mustard plaster would help. I can
make you this tea as well. One time, when my brother was
sick
—
"

James reached over and touched her arm.

"It's all right, Emma. I ain't afraid."

"Well, I am, and I don't want to lose you."
She began to break down. "And your boys. My God, James, how could
this be?"

"Best thing we can do now is prepare."

Tears spilled onto her cheeks. "No! We're not
giving up. It… it can't end like this. I just got you back in my
life."

James gave her that intense look of his, and
with no thought to the men around them, he pulled Emma close and
held her as she wept on his shoulder.

****

Over the next two days, Emma found no signs
of poke weed or horehound herbs to make an ointment. Worse, James
began running a fever. He faded in and out of consciousness, giving
Emma an inner panic each time.

Word arrived that Robert E. Lee had launched
an attack on Union forces at Mechanicsville and dealt them a
stunning blow. A retreat had been ordered, but scouts reported that
Lee intended to pursue the Federals. Recent reports indicated that
Great Britain was giving serious consideration to supporting the
South in its efforts to break from the North. Should that occur,
the nation would have to face the possibility of the North-South
separation becoming permanent.

In preparation for a further retreat, the
hospital unit had been ordered to be dismantled, and patients were
to be moved to brick-and-mortar hospitals in D.C. Emma had thirteen
patients in her charge, and she made sure each one was carefully
loaded onto the boat for transport.

As the voyage started down the James River,
Emma battled hopelessness. Union victories had been few and
relatively meaningless, while the Confederates slowly gained more
ground. Was it all that long ago they had believed the Union would
immediately squash the Southern rebellion? More than a year into
the conflict, and it appeared the hope of abolishing slavery might
fizzle like a broken musket.

Added to Emma's misery was James' condition.
She sat beside him as they sailed and applied a cool cloth over his
head. Sweat dampened him. The warm afternoon sun, glorious as it
was, only served to intensify the rotting smell that emitted from
James' blackening wound. Emma offered him a drink from his canteen
when he woke, but he only took a sip.

When they reached Washington, Emma helped
settle in her patients. They were housed inside a building, which
meant fewer flies and bugs to contend with, but a stench hung heavy
in the air with no ventilation. Cots filled a wide open area, and
Emma, fatigued to a new depth brought James a bowl of broth.

"I thought I saw Lily," he whispered.

It pained Emma, even though she knew it
shouldn't. He was entitled to long for his dead wife, a woman he'd
loved and committed himself to, but Emma felt a tinge of jealousy,
not being his immediate thought. She pushed the notion aside.
Hallucinations, she knew, meant that her patient was slipping
further away.

"What was she like?" Emma asked.

"Nothin' like you." He smiled as he
spoke.

Emma appreciated that James' humor was still
intact.

"She's a fine woman. Good Christian. Good
mother. Real gentle. Soft. Always had a weak constitution, though.
'Bout lost her ev'r winter when she'd catch cold."

"I guess you two will be reunited." Emma bit
her lips after the words had escaped. She knew it was an odd,
insensitive remark.

James held up his hand as Emma attempted to
serve him another spoonful.

"I want you to know that whatever it is we
have between us means somethin' to me. You. You mean somethin' to
me."

They sat with their eyes locked on each
other. James, his breathing labored and intense, and Emma, her eyes
puffy and drooped from the mixture of weeping and no sleep.

"I'll never feel this way again," she
said.

"I love you, Emma."

"I love you, James."

Shortly before dawn and holding Emma's hand,
Lieutenant James Trumball took his last breath.

Washington, D.C. area

June, 1862

Emma helped bury James' body in a nearby plot
designated for Union soldiers. Over the next few days, she immersed
herself in the care of the other patients but found no relief from
the emotional numbness that encompassed her. She replayed in her
mind the final moments she'd shared with James, the things they'd
said, the promises she'd made, the last kiss they'd shared. She
re-read the letters he'd dictated to his sons, hearing his voice in
her head.

She visited with Eleanor and Zechariah and
told them the news. Together they recounted memories and cried
fitfully. Emma especially. Though she told no one of her love for
James, Emma sensed they knew. Their hearts were heavy.

Eleanor had no success to share in her search
to find Sylvia. Furthermore, Zechariah informed her Lee had chased
the bluecoats back across the Chickahominy and put them in full
retreat. Temporarily stationed with his men at Harrison's Landing,
McClellan had sent word that he intended to reestablish his
headquarters outside of Washington, and craft a new counter-attack
against Lee.

"So McClellan's attempt to invade and capture
Richmond is a complete failure," Emma said. "All those men. All for
nothing."

Zechariah nodded somberly.

"What will you do now?" Eleanor asked.

"The only thing I can do, make myself useful
at the hospital. I imagine it's best that I stay in the city, just
in case…" Emma didn't want to finish her thought about Sylvia.
Considering that Aunt Celia's letter was dated almost a year ago,
Emma wondered if it was irrational to hold out hope. Nowhere seemed
safe. How could a thirteen year old girl traverse through hostile,
war-ravaged territories and survive?

"I understand," Eleanor said. "We must
cherish the time we had, even though it was much too short. We must
keep on, painful as it is. You're welcome here as long as we have a
home." She traded smiles with Emma. "What will you do with the
letters for James' children?"

Emma didn't want to admit that she found
comfort holding on to them. They were the only physical reminder
she had of him.

"When my enlistment is up," Emma said, "I
plan on delivering them personally."

"All the way to Kentucky?" Zechariah
asked.

Emma nodded. "It's something to look forward
to, I suppose. The army will send word to James' family, Lily's
parents, about his passing. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I wanted
to contribute in some small way." She wanted to see how much his
sons resembled him, if at all, and she wanted to make sure they
knew what a great man their father had been. Already, she missed
him terribly, though she was thankful for the short time they'd
had, and she told herself James could've been killed outright, like
Simon and countless others. Had that happened, she never would've
had the chance to tell him how much she loved him.

****

Northern Virginia

Summer, 1862

For the next few weeks, as summer beat down
an oppressive heat, Emma continued her service in the army and
looked for Sylvia. President Lincoln's most recent call for
three-hundred-thousand volunteers increased Emma's workload, as new
recruits were funneled into Washington and replenished the Union
camp. In mid-August, McClellan began sending troops back to the
base in Northern Virginia. Public outcry against the Union's
fledgling efforts showed up regularly in newspapers. Even President
Lincoln's disgruntlement with the general was widely known.

In a positive light, strides were being made
against slavery. After outlawing the practice in the D.C. area,
Lincoln expanded his measures by signing a law that prohibited
slavery in U. S. territories.

Familiar faces trickled into the camp as
soldiers returned, and Emma felt as if family members were coming
home. By now, she cared enough about these men to consider them
family. Even Nash. The remaining men from Emma's company took the
news about Trumball hard. Emma still didn't want to accept that she
wouldn't see him in camp, striding tall and straight, handsome and
confident in his uniform. But being here was where she felt his
presence most, and that gave her strength. As experienced soldiers,
Emma, Nash, Graham, and others had the responsibility of
assimilating and training new recruits.

"Ain't no way we were ever this green," Nash
said late one afternoon. He took a drink from his canteen then
poured water over his head to fight the August heat and
humidity.

Emma thought of her first night in the Union
encampment, when Nash had made a scene about her size. She'd
thought her cover would be blown then, but here she was, well over
a year later and still posing as Tom Edmonds.

"Are the pickets established?" Emma asked.
She was due to report the camp's progress to McClellan.

"They're there, but I don't know what good
it'll do. They're likely to jump outta their skin if a cat walks
by."

Emma grinned. "I'll let the general
know."

On her way to McClellan's tent, she stopped
in her tracks. Standing several yards away and attracting a crowd
was Orson, the peddler, with his wagon of wares. Will, who'd grown
in the months since their encounter at Yorktown, stood by his
father's side. Though he'd helped her in the rain during her
mission as a courier, Emma had a disturbing feeling about the two.
Will had wanted her dead. He'd had his pistol pointed in her face
and had been an instant away from pulling the trigger. That was
enough to unsettle her, but the fact that she'd seen Orson friendly
and jovial with Confederate officers also bothered her, especially
at a time when spies were rampant on both sides of the war. Plus,
under Lincoln's new Ironclad Test Oath, the president wanted to
weed out government workers who sympathized with Southerners and
others not dedicated wholly to the Union's cause.