The Last Heiress (23 page)

Nate pulled his stool closer. “I trust this gathering won't be on the Square or in the mayor's front yard.”

“We're meeting out near Greenfield Lake 'round nine o'clock. There's an old peanut barn there.”

“Greenfield Lake? That's three or four miles from town. How did you hear about this?”

“Word travels fast on the docks. Most of them boys ain't too fond
of Jeff Davis. All his fancy ideas are for the rich planters. They're not willing to fight a war they can't win. The South is done for.”

“Who will be at this gathering? Immigrants just off the boat not eager to die for their new country?”

“Sure, but also plenty of farm boys run off their spreads by one army or the other. Others will be farmers tired of scratching a livin' from worn-out dirt.”

Nate slicked a hand through his hair. “Is that why you're going, because you think the Confederacy is licked?”

Mason's expression turned malevolent as though remembering something he would rather forget. “I'm going 'cause of how those brass-buttoned majors treated us privates, just like we were their slaves back home. They didn't care how much of our blood got spilt long as it wasn't theirs. If you know anybody that would rather not have Joe Johnson victorious, bring them along.”

“What about free blacks? Would they be welcome?”

“ 'Course they are. I would say Negroes have the best reasons to see Billy Sherman march his troops into North Carolina too.”

Nate pulled down the shade and turned his window sign to “Closed.” “I'd better lock up and head home. Greenfield Lake is a long ride.”

Mason's eyes rounded. “So you'll come? I took you for a lover of flowery words, not a man of action. I won't lie to you. This could get bloody if those Reb provost marshals get wind of it.”

“I'm showing up to listen. Any flowery words that come to mind I plan to keep to myself.”

Mason pulled a crude map from his breast pocket and set it on the counter. “Take the beach road south. Watch for the big marsh on your right. Then count the farm lanes on your left. Turn down the fifth one.” He tapped the map with his finger. “ 'Bout another mile, watch for a clearing with one lone oak sittin' by its lonesome. Cut a beeline across the field. Once you find that tree you'll see
the barn roof.” Mason allowed him to study the sketch for another minute. “Wear dark clothes and carry no lantern. They don't want no uninvited visitors, but you and your friend will be welcome.”

“Providing I don't fall into the bog, I'll be there.”

Nate had heard about these meetings in the hills—Carolinians supportive of the Union who didn't want their state to secede. He never imagined the hotheads would eventually migrate through the vast plantation land to the coast. The local militia, those not already reassigned to Fort Fisher, wouldn't like a pack of traitors in their midst.

That evening he arrived home so early he was able to eat supper with the Simses. Throughout the meal of rabbit stew and biscuits, he half listened to Rufus's adventures in the woods outside of town even as his mind churned with ideas. Once Ruth took the boy to the porch to practice arithmetic, Nate told his landlord about his afternoon visitor.

Odom stared into his tea leaves as though their arrangement offered insight into the future. “Are you certain Negroes would be allowed in?”

“According to my friend, several free men from the docks plan to attend.”

“This ain't no group of rabble fixing to do their own mischief, is it? I want no part of thievery or mayhem.”

“Nor do I. If you would rather not go, I take no exception. I cannot vouch that everything Mason said is the truth.”

“I understand, but this is one meeting I want to see for myself.”

Without further discussion, they scrambled to their feet, provided an ambiguous explanation to Ruth, and saddled their horses. To reach the obscure barn by the appointed hour they would have to ride hard. They would also have to keep their heads down and concentrate on staying astride. But the less time they spent pondering what awaited them at Greenfield Lake the better.

The former peanut barn sat in a moonlit clearing surrounded by swamp willows and sycamores. Despite Mason's request for no lanterns, two burly men held blazing torches near the barn's entrance. Several more brandished weapons, everything from squirrel muskets to old muzzleloaders to the new repeating Spencer rifles. More torches burned inside the barn, the yellow light spilling through cracks and missing slats. Nate and Odom tied their reins to a low branch and approached the entrance warily.

“Stop! Who goes there?” A bearded giant of a man stepped from the shadows, his pistol trained on the center of Nate's chest.

“Nathaniel Cooper and Odom Sims, friends of Mason Hooks.” Nate offered this bit of information uncertain if it bettered his prospects or sealed his fate.

“Hooks is mighty quick to make friends,” said the giant. “Where you from, Cooper?”

“Balsam, in the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

Tilting his torch briefly at Sims, the guard nodded toward the doorway. “Go on in. They're just about to start.” He didn't, however, lower his sidearm.

Within the cavernous barn, Nate's eyes smarted from tar smoke. On the far side of the room, Mason waved his arm at them, but he and Odom found seats in the back row. Nate scanned the assemblage curiously. A strange assortment of humankind filled the rows of crude benches. Young and old, black and white—all talked with great animation. Judging by their attire, the men represented every variety of vocation and financial circumstance except for the rich planter. They were united by a common desire to see the war end and the Union restored without slavery, as mandated by Lincoln's edict. But as Nate scrutinized more closely, he saw that most wore rough, cast-off clothing. They appeared to live a hand-to-mouth existence on the docks, or perhaps survived by pilferage, robbery, or worse.
These weren't seasoned debaters eager to sway public opinion with logic and reason.

Someone fired a musket into the rafters, curtailing the din of chatter. “Silence!” a voice demanded. “We haven't come here to socialize like women at a county fair.” A tall, wild-haired man climbed onto a wooden dais. His suit, though not in the current style, was clean and pressed. “We've come tonight to take action!” He paused for a thunder of applause.

“As we struggle to earn a living in Wilmington, endless bales of cotton and hogsheads of tobacco flow from the interior counties to the coast. The same goods we load onto steamers bound for Europe. Then we unload food and guns for Bobby Lee's army in Virginia or Joe Johnson's out west. We cannot end this war until we cut off the flow of supplies.”

A second roar of approval bolstered the white-haired leader's bravado. Nate felt a dull ache in the pit of his stomach as he glanced around the room.

“Who's with me?” shouted the leader. “It's the tracks of the Wilmington and Weldon railroad that need to be dealt with swiftly and decisively. I say we ride out the next full moon.” Men began shouting and talking all at once. Several began thumping their chests and stomping on the plank floor. Nate saw more than one whiskey bottle passed around to fuel their courage. One glance at Odom, and Nate knew his landlord shared his apprehension. “Real slow-like move toward the door as though you're looking for somebody.” Nate uttered the words through gritted teeth.

Nodding almost imperceptivity, Odom meandered through the crowd as though in no particular hurry. Outside, the guards paid them no mind, having caught the fever of rebellion. Silently, Nate and Odom mounted their horses and picked their way through the woods to open pasture. Once they spotted the
lone oak, bathed in moonlight and standing sentinel, both men released a sigh of relief.

“Don't think I'll be attendin' anymore meetings with you, Nate,” Odom said, reining his horse to an easy gait. “Those boys will likely end up dead soon enough.”

“I'm sorry, Odem. I didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't a mob bent on destruction.”

The men kept their own council as they rode home. What had Nate expected? He should have known it wouldn't be gentlemen seeking a peaceful solution. Despite the fact he wouldn't fight to preserve slavery, he couldn't wage war
against
North Carolina either.

So where did that leave him? Alone in a country gone mad.

Late September

“Please, Helene, just fix a simple chignon for the day.” Amanda smiled into the mirror at her maid. “It's too warm for curls against my neck and shoulders.”

“Do you realize, Miss Amanda, if we were home the days—and especially the nights—would be getting cooler by now?”

“You're right. Lately I've been longing for one of those misty, damp days I used to complain about.”

Helene secured the bun with a few well-placed hairpins. “How goes your late papa's business affairs? I noticed several recent letters from Mr. Pelton.”

“Our chief foreman is rather shocked by my success as a negotiator. Large amounts of cotton arrive at Dunn Mills from the port on a regular basis. Garment production has not only resumed but surpassed prior quotas for the month. Now Mama won't have to sell family heirlooms to pay tax obligations to the Queen.”

Helene blanched slightly, distressed by the American penchant to make light of important matters—a habit Amanda had acquired since her arrival in North Carolina.

“You are to be commended then, Miss Amanda, for proving the naysayers wrong.”

“Thank you, but my brother-in-law expedited the shipments on my behalf. I'm not sure why they had lapsed in the first place.” Amanda touched a bit of powder to her shiny nose.

“Will we leave for England soon? I hope we can make the voyage before the seas turn rough.”

Helene couldn't possibly sound more eager, but Amanda wasn't ready to leave Wilmington, or Nathaniel, yet. Turning on her dressing table stool, she met Helene's eye. “Not quite. I haven't secured long-term contracts with Henthorne and Sons. Jackson doesn't like discussing business at the dinner table, but he makes excuses when I request an appointment. He is always too busy at the docks and warehouses. If I must, I will show up unannounced at his office and stay until he admits me. Eventually, Miss Todd will tire of my face and show me in.” She smiled, but Helene didn't appreciate her humor.

“Aren't you anxious to see your mother and pay your respects at your father's grave?”

Amanda frowned at her maid, but Josie's interruption precluded a response.

“Should I put this tray on your gallery, Miz Dunn? Or you gonna eat downstairs? I brung nuff for her too.” Josie angled her head in Helene's direction.

“On the balcony, Josie. Thank you.”

“Forgive me, Miss Amanda,” said Helene softly. “I spoke out of turn.”

“I understand why you're not comfortable here, but I must remain until my duties are complete. Who knows when I will
come back to America?” She strode through the French doors and plopped into a chair. Just the thought of never again seeing Nate had turned her knees to mush. “Sit and have some toast and jam.”

Helene glanced around to make sure the other maid had left. “Are you certain Mrs. Henthorne won't be angry?”

Amanda snorted. “I'm not allowed to eat in the kitchen and you're not permitted in the dining room. No one said anything about my balcony.” She sipped the strong, hot coffee.

“The slaves don't like me. They might tell Mrs. Henthorne if they spot me.”

“You have nothing to fear because you work for
me
,” she said emphatically as she spread peach preserves across her toast.

Helene didn't seem convinced, but the appearance of a small boy on the steps distracted their attention.

“Rufus, how are you, child? Would you like a pear?” Amanda held the fruit in the palm of her hand.

The child nodded. “Thank you, Miz Dunn.” Slipping it into his pocket, he stepped closer. “I have a message from Mr. Cooper. My ma said to give it to you straightaway.” Rufus peered at Helene dubiously before pulling out a note. It had been folded many times.