The Last Heiress (34 page)

“Do these men work for Mr. Baxter?” she asked as two carried out a pickle barrel.

“They do, but Mr. Baxter wouldn't hear of a gift. He insisted
on paying a fair price for everything—shelves, worktables, even my empty burlap bags. He intends to expand his market into the space next door.” Nate donned his cap and slung two bags over his shoulder as though their reunion was over. “I want to reach the fort before dark.” He pushed the leather pouch across the counter.

“What is that?” she asked with her face awash in tears.

“It contains the money Mr. Baxter paid me, along with a bill of sale for land I purchased on the Cape Fear River.”

She stared at it suspiciously. “Land?”

“Remember the spot of our first picnic on the peninsula? You waded up to your knees, hoping no one would catch you showing your lacy petticoats.”

“I remember.” She delicately pressed a handkerchief to her nose.

“I took money I'd saved and made an offer to the owner. He signed over twenty acres free and clear. I planned to build us a cabin with a dock, and then buy a fishing trawler. If you get a hankering to be a fisherman's wife, you could still travel to Wilmington to order cotton for Dunn Mills.”

“I love fresh fish,” she murmured.

“Then what better reason would you need to marry me?”

“Let's build your cabin on the river. That's a better idea than sailing back to England.”

Nate draped the pouch's strap over her shoulder. “We will, someday. In the meantime, take this back to Manchester with you. I need to know you're safe during the upcoming battle. You could take a train north into Virginia. If you show English documents, you will be allowed to cross into the city of Washington. There will be no blockade to prevent your passage.”

“But this is my home now!” She flailed her arms to encompass the room.

“I understand, but with you gone I'll have only Joshua to worry about.” In front of several shocked Baxter employees, Nate leaned
over and kissed her lingeringly on the lips. “When this American nightmare is over, I will find you in Wycleft. I love you, Amanda Dunn.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to demand he listen to reason, but she managed only choking sobs.

Nate strode toward the door with her trailing like a pet. Suddenly, he pivoted on his heel. “I nearly forgot. Tell your brother-in-law not to send his steamers downriver. Water mines have been planted to waylay the Yankee navy. Henthorne will lose his ships along with the cargo they carry.”

“Why would you warn Jackson?” Amanda crossed her arms and clutched her elbows.

Nate tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “For no other reason than he is your twin sister's husband. Family does have a way of complicating a person's life.” He ran his fingertips down her face and then he was gone, leaving her in an empty market with a heart about to break.

Fourteen

W
hen Nate thought he could conclude his business at the store and arrive at Fort Fisher by nightfall, he hadn't taken into account the Sims family. He found them all waiting for him at home. Although he had explained his decision to Ruth and Odom after the Christmas church services, he still had to field an inordinate number of questions during dinner—all variations of the same conundrum.

“Why would someone feeling as you do about slavery fight for the Confederacy?” Odom asked.

“I hadn't planned to take a stand on either side, but I would die to save my brother or Amanda. And now that she will soon be on her way back to England, I only have Joshua to worry about.”

“But the artillery shelling has stopped, and the Union troops that landed on shore have retreated back to their ships. Maybe both sides have had enough,” Odom said, waving his hands through the air.

Nate shook his head. “Ulysses S. Grant is chief commander of the Union army. He's a bulldog of a fighter. He won't give up until the Union is restored, no matter how many attempts it takes or how many men die as a result. Wilmington is too important to ignore. It's the last open port on the East Coast. Grant knows
exactly
how Lee and Johnson receive munitions and supplies for their armies. It's only a matter of time before he directs all of his energies here.”

Odom launched his best salvo in the argument. “If the situation is as hopeless as it sounds, then you need to think about Miss Dunn. Both you and your brother may end up dead.”

Nate laid his hand on the older man's shoulder. “You're always telling me to do the right thing and leave the outcome to God, my friend. I'm about to take your advice.”

“Well, you picked a fine day to start listening to me!” Odom walked to the mantel where he kept his well-worn Bible.

There would be no more war talk between them that day or for many to come. Ruth had cooked and baked more than Nate could carry on horseback. Odom presented him with a small, leather-bound testament, and Rufus loaned him his compass.

“It's what I bought with the message-carrying money from you and Miss Dunn,” the little boy said, peering up through wet eyelashes.

When Nate tried to refuse the compass, Rufus started to cry in earnest. “How else will you find the fort or your way back to us?” he wailed. “Especially if we move to my aunt's house in the country?”

In the end Nate took the compass. Later that day, miles from the fort on a rutted road in the pitch-dark, he was mighty glad he had. If he kept the horse headed due south, eventually they would either find the fort or land in the Atlantic Ocean—that is, if Rebel pickets didn't shoot him before he could state his intentions.

Just as the first pink of dawn appeared in the east, Nate caught a whiff of salty air. The breeze had shifted direction and increased in intensity with each furlong he advanced. He dismounted from his gelding before the two of them fell into a bog. When he lifted the feedbag from his saddle horn, he heard the unmistakable click of a revolver.

“Raise your hands, boy, real slow-like. Then state your business or prepare to meet your Maker.”

Despite having attended church for the first time in years, Nate wasn't ready for the alternate offer. He dropped the grain sack onto the ground and lifted his palms skyward, grateful that a militiaman had provided the badly used uniform. “My name is Nathaniel Cooper. I've come to enlist in the Confederate army.”

A round of sneers and guffaws erupted from the trees.

The speaker stepped forward into the thin light of dawn. The gaunt and sallow-faced officer wasn't smiling. “Is that right? Seems to me if a man wanted to do his duty, he wouldn't wait around almost four years.”

“I say he's a Yankee spy. Let me run him through, Sergeant. That way we won't make any noise and tell the Yanks where we're at.” Another soldier stepped forward with a bayonet protruding from the barrel of his gun.

“I'm no spy,” said Nate. “I'm from Wilmington. The reason I didn't sign up sooner was because my services were essential on the waterfront. The rations you enjoy came off a blockade runner tied up in front of my store. You can verify with Judge Miles Stewart in town.” Nate knew the judge's name would mean nothing to these men, but he hoped it would preserve his life until they could reach the fort.

“The rations I ate last night weren't fit for a hog.” The officer's mood soured another notch.

The skinny private poked Nate's coat with the bayonet. “You
pull that coat off a dead man? Look at them bullet holes.” He poked the tip of his bayonet far enough through the hole to tear his shirt.

Nate mustered an imperious tone he hoped would drown out the sound of his knocking knees. “I insist you take me to Lt. Joshua Cooper of General Hoke's Division. My brother will verify I'm telling the truth.”

After a moment's pause, the sergeant stuck the pistol that had been aimed at Nate's chest into his belt. “That's what we'll do. There will be plenty of time for bayonet and target practice if you're not telling the truth, Nathaniel Cooper.”

Within twenty minutes, Nate got his first look at Fort Fisher. It was not at all what he'd expected. He'd heard his father talk of seeing Fort Sumter once, sitting tall and impressive in the Charleston harbor. Instead of sturdy brick and stone, Fort Fisher was a long series of earthen mounds, like a native burial ground in the desert. At least an imposing palisade of sharpened timbers surrounded the land and sea faces on the narrow peninsula of land. This was the fortress that had effectively guarded the entrance of the Cape Fear River, the only water approach to Wilmington? It was hard to imagine it provided any protection for the blockade runners headed for Nassau, Bermuda, or England.

When the gate of the palisade swung wide, the skinny private prodded Nate inside. At least he used the butt end of his gun instead of the razor-sharp blade. As they crossed the open parade ground, few soldiers gave him more than a cursory glance. Most likely they assumed he was just another deserter, caught and dragged back to be either locked in the brig or shot. Not many men would wait this long to answer the call to serve the Glorious Cause—which didn't seem very glorious, judging by the atmosphere inside the fort.

Once they reached a low-slung building against the western wall, the pistol-packing sergeant barked orders over his shoulder. “You
wait here, Cooper, while I ask 'bout your brother among General Hoke's officers. Don't know all them boys yet.” To his emaciated companion, he said, “Don't let him out of your sight. No telling what he's got in mind. Shoot him in the back if he tries to run.”

“It would be my pleasure.” The private flashed Nate a malicious grin.

For several hours Nate remained crouched on his haunches, cramped, hungry, and utterly exhausted. His plea for a drink of water had been ignored. He'd been stripped of his canteen, bag of food from Ruth, and his knapsack. Thank goodness he had given Amanda his money, the deed to his land and store, and every memento he possessed from home. Even his Bible had been confiscated. He would probably never lay eyes on his horse again. Replacement mounts had become rarer than blooming roses in January. Finally, the clatter of hooves awakened him from an uncomfortable doze.

“Nathaniel!” Joshua reined in his horse and swung down only a few feet away.

“This man insists he's your brother, sir,” the sergeant sneered.

“That's because he is.” Joshua shot the officer a murderous glare while pulling Nate to his feet. “What have you done here, Sergeant?”

“I ain't sure if—”

“This man is my responsibility. You are dismissed.”

A shiver ran up Nate's spine, as much from relief as from the cold settling in his bones. “Right happy to see you, little brother,” Nate spoke in a whisper.

“Let's warm you up in my quarters. When was the last time you ate?”

“Can't recall. If you put a thick venison steak in front of me, I won't turn it down.”

Joshua laughed from the belly. “These aren't the mountains…
no deer here. But I'll get you something edible.” He guided his brother into a low-ceilinged room with two cots, two chairs, a table fashioned from wood slats, and a coal stove. While Joshua went to the common room, Nate dropped onto one of the beds, his back against the wall.

Before long Joshua carried in a bowl of stew, a plate of corn mush, a canteen of water, and a homespun blanket. “Eat, and then tell me what in tarnation you're doing here.” He wrapped the blanket snuggly around his older brother.

Nate peered at the bowl of carrots, potatoes, turnips, parsley root, and some unidentifiable meat. Seasoned with onions, peppers, and salt, the thick stew was surprisingly delicious. Or perhaps he'd just never been this hungry before.

Joshua sat on a ladderback chair and patiently watched him eat.

Nate devoured the crumbly cornbread with a spoon, drew in a deep breath, and set the crockery on the floor. “I can't remember anything tasting so fine. Thank you.”

Joshua bobbed his head. “Now, why have you come?”

“Isn't it obvious? I'm here to enlist. Better late than never as Ma used to say.”

“Feeling the way you do about—”