Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (5 page)

After a pulse of flabbergasted silence,
Montgomery said, "Why, Knox Cartwright, you talk like our boys
wouldn't stand a chance against a northern army."

"Dear friend, I don't know that they do,
that's why our secession was necessary, to preserve our way of life
—
and our men. The North wants
this war, and there will be no peaceful resolution of the matter.
One might say that war has been a long time in coming. Perhaps the
North's been strategic, preparing for this all these years now.
Slavery, as you know, almost kept the nation from being founded.
Most politicians might even admit that unity between the states has
been hopeless on account of this here matter since day one."

Olivia forced a lighthearted laugh. "Oh, Knox
here spends a great deal of his time reading and discussing
politics in town. Perhaps too much time."

Montgomery's eyes didn't move from Knox.
"That manner of talk could get you branded a Unionist."

Silverware silenced. All eyes turned to
Knox.

He grinned.

"It is doubtful, I'm sure, that my patriotism
or my love for the South would ever come into question, Monty. Now,
let's not confuse the youngsters here." Knox shot a reassuring
glance to his grandsons. "I'm simply stating that there's reason
for concern. War is never easy, Monty, for either the winning or
losing side."

"There will be no such thing as loss for the
South. We'll not welcome or tolerate defeat."

"Gentlemen, please," Olivia said. "We're
forgetting that this evening is supposed to be a celebration of our
young people here getting married and upholding our family
traditions." She placed a hand on Montgomery's arm. "Enough of this
discussion on war. Why, the best we can do is have faith that our
men are perfectly capable of defending our fine lands, and our
God-given property."

"A toast then." Knox raised his glass, an
emptiness registered in his glance at Emma. "To the new couple. May
your days of happiness be everlasting."

The crowd cheered and drank to Emma's future
while she fought the urge to run from the room, screaming.

There was one thing
—
and perhaps only one thing
—
Emma and her mother shared adoration for, and that was
the plantation's garden. Situated off the veranda, the garden had
been a peaceful area for as long as any Cartwright could remember.
Knox often complained of upkeep and wasted hours of slave labor
required to maintain the garden's plants, but since it cost him
nothing outright, and since the camellia blooms reminded him of his
beloved, yet departed Louise, he allowed it. Years ago a pond and
bench seating had been added. Though the flies and bees were
unbearable at times, Emma loved the scent of the purple
coneflowers, the colors of the horse mint, and the beauty of the
Spanish moss at sunset or after rain. Palmetto trees thrived and
bowed graciously to the narrow leafed, blue-eyed grass at their
base, and though the slaves often mistook the daises for weeds,
they bounced back every season.

There, at her favorite place, as Sylvia ran
off to play with cousins, Emma told Stuart of recent tragic
events.

Stuart offered no criticisms. Sympathy
radiated from him. Emma held her composure. Too many gossiping
tongues were adrift for her to behave otherwise.

"Emma, you already helped two slaves escape
to the North," he reminded her. "You've more than done your share,
and now with war," he shook his head, "tensions are too high.
You're risking your life
—
and the
lives of others
—
too
carelessly."

Considering Stuart had been the one to
educate Emma about the likes of fiery abolitionists, such as
William Lloyd Garrison and Elijah Lovejoy, Emma felt irritated.
Stuart enjoyed sharing tales about such men and the way they stood
up for freedom in spite of the threats and dangers from their
countrymen. Until slavery was outlawed, Emma determined to exhaust
her efforts. She thought Stuart had felt the same.

"I need to feel useful, Stuart. I need to do
something."

He placed his hand atop hers. "We'll think on
it." He sighed. "It's best not to be rash, and you can't keep
putting yourself in harm's way. I wish I could be of more
help."

Stuart's family owned a modest farm that
required work from every member. Aside from the crops they grew for
food, they also grew and harvested indigo, which paid
generously.

"Well, isn't this a pretty scene?" said
Vaughn. He stood for a moment, erect and imposing, before forcing
Emma to slide to the opposite end of the bench, so he could sit
between her and Stuart's wheelchair. "I wondered where you'd run
off to. Should have known I'd find you two old maids chinwagging
and swapping recipes for catfish stew." He laughed alone at his
remark.

"Lovely of you to join us," Emma noted
sardonically. "What's the matter, Vaughn, couldn't get one of the
Merriweather girls to join you in the shed?"

His eyebrows jumped, and he moved to say
something but refrained. Vaughn had no defense. Emma had walked in
on him last summer, during Stella's wedding reception, and found
Vaughn's face in the bosom of a Merriweather girl, whose plump
features attracted her men but not a husband. Giggles had attacked
Emma at the time, since Vaughn meant nothing to her, but shortly
after the festivities, Olivia announced Vaughn as Emma's suitor and
betrothed.

"Was there something you wanted?" Emma
understood Vaughn's character, or lack thereof. Faithfulness was
not in him, or the ability of loving someone more than himself.
Attention to another's happiness would never disturb his mind.

"Indeed, my love. I want you to set our
wedding date. I'm anxious for us to get on with our blissful life
together, and I'm even more anxious to see you in the same
condition as your sister."

Emma and Stuart traded disgusted glances, but
not so that Vaughn would have noticed in the fading daylight. Her
spine stiffened as Vaughn reached to put his arm around her. She
stood and faced him.

"Now that I think on it, sometime in the year
1900 would be marvelous. Dearest." Emma smiled and Stuart
snickered.

He looked at her askance. "There's no need to
be so stubborn. Both of our families want this marriage."

"I have no intention of marrying you, Vaughn,
now or ever."

Perturbed, Vaughn stood.

"Fine. Darling. I'll leave you with the
cripple while I go and discuss the matter with your mother."

Emma's stomach sank to her feet at Vaughn's
insult
—
and at the thought of him
approaching her mother. Olivia would love nothing more than to
solidify Emma's discontent. Vaughn stood straighter and turned to
strut his way back to the house. But with a swift and sudden half
turn of the wheels of his chair, the said cripple bumped into
Vaughn, causing him to lose his balance and stumble into the
pond.

****

Olivia made more of a fuss over a soaked and
dripping Vaughn Jackson than Vaughn made himself. He quickly
claimed to have fallen into the pond on his own clumsiness, which
almost encouraged Emma to like him for a moment.

Many of the family's guests stayed overnight
at the Cartwright estate. Fortunately for Emma, Vaughn decided to
ride home, after changing into a dry set of clothes. Only Olivia
was there for his send off.

Emma, Stuart, and Sylvia escaped to the den.
Emma had exchanged her dress for looser-fitting clothes, causing
her back to throb with relief. Sylvia lighted the room's oil lamps
as Stuart reached for the maps the family kept stored there.

"Monty is right about that blockade," Stuart
said. "It could lead to plenty of trouble for the South. The North
will want to cut off supplies to all major ports. If that happens,
it might not take long for the South to surrender."

A loud, slurred rendition of
Dixie
burst forth from party guests who were still awake, and presumably,
straggling up to bed.

As the merriment faded, Emma asked, "So
what's Jeff Davis going to do next?"

"He's got to build an army. Seven states have
left the Union now. If Davis truly intends to be leader of the
Confederate States of America, he's got to show Lincoln and the
Union that he's going to stick by his words of no compromise."

Back in February, as Jefferson Davis traveled
from his home in Vicksburg, Mississippi, to the Confederate capital
of Montgomery, Alabama, he gave rousing speeches along the way,
declaring the South's separation from the Union was permanent
—
and talk of reunification would
not be tolerated.

"Isn't this war a good thing?" Sylvia
quipped. "Doesn't it mean all the slaves will be free?"

"Not quite," Stuart said. "Right now a war is
about bringing seceded states back into the Union. Lincoln hasn't
taken much of a stand against slavery yet. He's more in favor of
colonization."

Sylvia's brow wrinkled. "What's that?"

"Lincoln and lots of other folks don't think
we can live peaceably with colored people, so he aims to send all
the slaves back to Africa, their native land, and let them start
over. They'd have nothing. No homes and probably only the food
they'd take with them, but they'd be free to build their own lives
and government." Stuart shook his head. "It doesn't seem right
though."

She turned to Emma. "Harper and Tilda and
everyone would be sent away?"

"There's no telling what may happen," Stuart
said, "not yet anyway."

"Do you think we'll see any soldiers? Any
fighting?" Sylvia asked.

Stuart gave a solemn nod.

"That's probably enough for tonight." Emma
raised her eyebrows at Stuart. He relented.

Emma rolled up the maps and tucked them away,
not wanting to think of soldiers at her front door. But what would
it take, she wondered, for her grandfather to acquiesce and let go
of the only way of life he'd known? If armed Yankees stormed the
front door and demanded the release of the slaves, would Knox allow
it, or would his stance on violence make a sudden transformation?
Emma didn't know.

****

As was the tradition whenever the Cartwrights
entertained cousins overnight, Emma gathered a slew of young girls
into her bedroom and told them tales before bed. Her favorite was a
retelling of
Uncle Tom's Cabin
, though she changed elements,
since the youngsters would find a story of brave and heroic slaves
incredulous. Afterward, the girls settled in the room for the
night. Most didn't mind sleeping on a bedroll on the hardwood
floor, but Emma, despite the long evening and her aches, couldn't
sleep.

As a rhythm of soft, steady breathing filled
the room, a rumbling stomach forced Emma out of bed. Vaughn and his
mannerisms had ruined her appetite earlier. She tiptoed over the
web of cousins and crept down to the kitchen, anxious for a wedge
of stale bread or a bowl of cold oyster soup leftover from the
night's feast.

She paused in
the hallway when she heard Knox's voice. She peeked around the
corner and into the library. Knox, standing beside a fledgling
fire, read from the family Bible. Alexander and Quinn stood close
by. Emma's throat tightened when she heard the words from her
father's favorite verse.

"Love the Lord thy God with all your heart,
all your mind, all your strength, and all your understanding."

When Knox finished reading, he closed the
Bible and cradled it in his arm. Then he looked at Alexander and
placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to do this, son?"

Stern and rigid, Alexander nodded. "Whatever
it takes to protect our rights and property."

Knox said nothing, but gave his grandson a
firm pat on the back before facing Quinn. Although he was eighteen
and blooming into manhood, Quinn looked puny next to Knox. Of all
the Cartwright children, Quinn endured the brunt of every illness
that visited and had a propensity for injury. Emma recalled a time
when she and her father had been racing Knox and Quinn on their new
steeds. Quinn's horse made a clumsy gallop across the meadow while
the others waited. Knox chided Quinn for his poor horsemanship.
Frustrated, Quinn attempted to dash the stallion back to the barn,
but instead, the horse threw him. Quinn broke his leg from the fall
and spent months in bed healing, and sulking.

"I'm not certain this would be a proper
undertaking for you, Quinn. War is a terrible thing, even for the
best, strongest of men. You might be of better service here on the
plantation."

"No, Granddad! I'm as strong as anyone. I can
handle it, and I want to be a Confederate soldier more than
anything."

Pain and doubt melted over Knox's
countenance, but he gave no argument.

"I fear what this news may do to your mother,
boys, but we'll deal with that in the morning. This is a time that
requires great sacrifices from us all. I admire you both. Remember
to honor the Lord in all you do, and remember that you are
representing the Cartwright name. I will pray for you both every
day, and I will have only restless sleep until you've
returned."

He shook their hands.

"Get some rest. Tomorrow dawns a new era for
this family."

Emma slipped back to her room, forgetting her
stomach, and having no inkling about how true her grandfather's
words would prove to be.

****

The morning proved chaotic under the
Cartwright roof for many reasons. The household slaves scrambled to
feed the bounty of people. Extra hands in the kitchen got in the
way of experienced hands. Plates slipped and glasses fumbled.
Harper, head of the household slaves, regarded the kitchen as her
kingdom. Whether she was feeding an abundance of slaves, when
laborers were often grouped together from neighboring plantations
during planting and harvesting seasons, or preparing dishes for a
Cartwright feast, she was tireless. She sassed the slaves
accustomed to field work and extinguished mumbles about the sudden
news of war. Few things ruffled Harper's ire like waste and
inefficiency, but her tolerance for gossiping registered just as
low.