Plantation Nation (9781621352877) Page 12

  "Name's Orson. This here's my boy, Will."

  "Good to know you both. I'm Tom Edmonds. Looks like you might have saved me from drowning." Emma held her hands over the fire, hoping to dry at least one part of her body.

  "Where you headed?"

  Emma hesitated. McClellan had been on high alert lately as recent reports claimed spies were everywhere. She checked Orson over. Orson didn't look shifty or clever, but what did a spy look like? And who was Emma to judge solely on appearances? She darted her eyes to Will and saw the youngster had a pistol sticking halfway out of his pants, for lack of a real holster. Although young boys commonly carried a weapon, it didn't sit right with Emma, especially since Orson appeared unarmed. Given these few facts, Emma decided to keep up her guard.

  "I need to get to Bedford, but I'm afraid I'm off course." Bedford was a stretch from Roanoke, but if Emma could get there, she knew she could press on.

  "You a deserter?" Will asked. His squinted eyes bored into Emma.

  "No."

  "Then how come you're out alone in the rain? I bet you're turning yella on the Union. Bet you stole that horse."

  "I'm on special assignment." Emma regretted the testiness in her voice. What good did it do to lose her patience with a child? She glanced at Orson, but the man gave no indication that he'd heard his son's blunt accusation. Perhaps he didn't care how the boy spoke to others, or perhaps Orson's hearing wasn't up to par, Emma decided. Either conclusion, though, made her uncomfortable. "You know, son, you might want to mind that pistol you've got there. You don't want it to go off in your trousers."

  The condescending tone caused Will's tense countenance to grow tighter. Orson jiggled with a chuckle, convincing Emma that he didn't mind his son's confrontational behavior. Emma didn't like Orson's at-ease attitude. Where she came from, children only addressed their elders with respect. She had never known a father who didn't exercise proper authority over his child, and she had no inclination for an understanding. She just wanted to get away from these two.

  Emma plucked the map from her pocket. "Any idea where we might be?"

  "We're about here." Orson pointed to a spot. "Headin' to Bedford, you say?"

  Emma nodded reluctantly.

  "Ain't too much out that a-ways. A feed store and a smithy, but not much else. Seems a might strange place for a special assignment, as you called it."

  "See, I told ya, Pa. He's a deserter."

  Frustrated and anxious, Emma gritted her teeth but didn't let it show. She felt the Colt resting against her leg. She'd wanted to keep the exchange of information simple. If she had to, if Will continued to bristle and if Orson continued with his suspicions, she would use the gun to break away.

  "Look, if you fellas can't help me out, I understand." Emma began folding the map, but Orson stopped her.

  "Oh, I ain't said I can't help." Orson squinted one eye shut and looked at Emma. "Just trying to figure why anyone would send out a soldier alone on an important assignment. Lots of Johnny Rebs hiding in the trees between here 'n Bedford. Seems a might foolish if you ask me."

  "I don't make the orders. I just follow them." She met Orson's gaze and didn't let her voice waiver.

  Orson surprised Emma when he chuckled. "Guess you got a point there." He looked back at the map. "So you ain't too far off. Matter of fact, we just left a Union camp that ways. Prime area for me and my boy to sell our wares." Orson patted the wagon behind him. Granger and Sons was painted along the side in big gold letters.

  "So you're a peddler?"

  "Ain't you full o'smarts?" Will snapped.

  Orson ignored the boy. "That's right," Orson said. "Matter of fact, I have something you'd be interested in." He tugged on a drawer behind Will and pulled out a small wooden case, then handed it to Emma.

  She opened it and revealed a compass. Heat raced to her cheeks. She wondered why the colonel and McClellan had not thought to equip her with one in the first place.

  "I believe I could use this," Emma said, "but I don't have any money. Best I could offer you is some cornbread."

  Orson's eyes lit up. "Cornbread is as good as gold in my book!"

  Emma gave them all she had and was thankful it wasn't soaked. She imagined how Eleanor's face would light up once she told her how her cornbread had rescued Emma. She'd appreciate the story, if Emma managed to get to Roanoke and back to camp.

  "I hate to leave you fellas, but you'll have to excuse me. I've got a far ride tonight, so now that I know where I'm at, I'd better be heading off. I'm indebted to you, Orson, and so is the Union army."

  "Think nothin' of it."

  As she and Flash dashed into the rainy night, Emma welcomed the downpour. Being with Orson and Will made her feel mired in a swamp full of crocodiles. But even with the cover of night and the rain obscuring her from their view, Emma still felt Will's glare weighing on her like a dead-eyed Rebel sniper.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Emma rode on through the night. As the rain tapered off, the sounds and shadows of the Virginia countryside at night kept her reaching for her revolver. Gradually, she relaxed and focused on conquering the distance. Two days lapsed, as best as she could make out, with no sleep and bites of food instead of meals. Raw coffee grounds, from McClellan's own stash, fueled her, along with the determination to prove her doubters wrong.

  Evening closed in, and Emma and Flash lethargically crossed into Roanoke. She found the Boar's Head Inn and Tavern, her rendezvous point, and delivered the papers to the next courier. A tall drink was served to her at the bar, but Emma's legs gave out. The innkeeper and his wife carried Emma to her room, where she slept the longest stretch of her life.

  Late the next morning, food and clean, dry clothes were lavished upon her. Earl and Betsy, the owners, took the news of Perry's fate hard. They heaped gratitude and steaming hot biscuits upon Emma, who silently vowed she'd never eat another piece of hardtack again after tasting Betsy's handiwork. With her haversack replenished with food, and her legs achy and sore, Emma climbed back into the saddle atop Flash. She tipped her cap and set off to rejoin the Army of the Potomac.

  In the daylight, and despite the brisk air, the Virginia hillside looked glorious. Feeling adept and at ease, Emma enjoyed the scenery and felt a pang of yearning for her own homeland. Harvesting the rice was long over by now, if there had been any rice to harvest. She wished she knew how her family had fared after the battle at Port Royal. Frilly dresses and parties were probably dusty memories. How had they all changed, and who remained?

  An aching for Sylvia and news of her well-being also invaded Emma's thoughts. Months had passed, and Emma knew not how she and the people of New Orleans were weathering the heavy presence of the Union's fleet. A hostile takeover of the city and its ports was imminent. Emma had last visited the city in 1853. Her family had been whole then, her father vibrant, Franklin quiet but trustworthy, and the Uprising had yet to intrude and scar the Cartwrights.

  Emma snapped from her melancholy when she heard a distinct groan. She halted Flash and scanned the horizon. Nothing caught her eye. She reached for her revolver anyway.

  "Hello?"

  Silence beat, then came, "Help me."

  Emma searched for the owner of the feeble voice but saw no one on the landscape. "Where are you?"

  "Down here."

  Several yards ahead, a bridge stretched across a small ravine. Emma approached but eyed every tree and bush, expecting a band of Rebels to pop out with readied muskets.

  "Help."

  No Rebels came. Emma slid from her horse and peeked over the ravine. Lying near the brook that cut through the empty gorge was a Confederate soldier. Emma straightened and checked her surroundings again. She was convinced she'd fallen into a trap. Ironically, Emma felt grateful she'd worn a plain gray cap and a gray overcoat instead of her Union jacket. If Rebels converged on her, Emma could claim to be a southern kinsman, especially since both the Union and Confederate sides found a distinct pleasure in taking prisoners. Emma wouldn't be shack
led without a fight.

  "Who are you?" Emma's eyes darted all around as she kept the Colt steady.

  "Adam Hall. Please, I need help."

  Emma looked over the embankment again. Bruises and scrapes marked Adam's face and a wheezing sound accompanied his breathing. Emma had to rethink the situation and consider that Adam was alone and desperately in need of help. Emma holstered her gun and slid down the ravine.

  "What happened to you?"

  "Marauders. They stole my horse and provisions. Threw me over the bridge." Adam coughed. Blood accompanied. His bloodstained hands and face indicated it wasn't the first time.

  "Are you shot?"

  "No, but the rocks…"

  Emma guessed Adam had plunged fifteen feet. Large, coarse rocks lined the ravine and the brook. She suspected internal injuries.

  "Where are you hurt?"

  Adam indicated his side and left leg. Emma examined Adam as best she could. She assessed that Adam had a broken rib that had punctured his lung.

  "I'd say that leg is broken." Emma held little hope that Adam would recover, especially with no medical facility nearby. She knew Adam wouldn't be able to endure the ride back to the Union camp, more than a day's ride away. And how would a Confederate soldier be received, injured or not?

  Adam coughed up more blood.

  "Hold on," Emma said.

  She scrambled back to her horse and grabbed her canteen. Hastily, she filled it with water from the brook and poured some into Adam's mouth.

  "I'll see if I can find some shelter." Emma gripped Adam's shoulder. "Hang in there. I'm going to get you out of here." I won't let you die here.

  Adam nodded, but Emma knew Adam didn't have much time.

  ****

  Half a mile off sat a run-down barn. It appeared the main house had been lost to a fire, and the owners had fled. Aside from weeds, the dilapidated structure had nothing to offer. Cupboards were empty, but the barn gave slight protection from the crisp wind. Although it was crude and probably unwise, Emma roped Adam to Flash and made the horse pull the injured man out of the ravine. With Adam's broken leg, there had been no other way. Then, awkwardly slumped part way over Flash, Adam held on as Emma led them to the barn.

  With her still-damp bed roll and haversack, Emma made a place for Adam to lie down. Adam's coughing had increased, and the strain of moving had intensified his pain. Emma knew her actions had aggravated Adam's injuries, but she wouldn't let the man die in that ravine. Every groan Adam sputtered pained her as well.

  "I'm afraid there isn't much I can do." Emma took Adam's hand. "But I'll stay with you."

  Emma's compassion for the soldier surprised her. She looked at Adam's uniform and expected a disdain for the Confederacy to rise up. Nothing did. Of course, Emma could only imagine what Adam's opinions might be of the North, and again Emma felt relieved she had not worn her Union jacket. But she removed her overcoat and covered Adam, who shook from a mounting combination of pain, chills and blood loss.

  "I can write a letter home to your family, if you like."

  "They don't want to hear from me."

  Emma wondered if Adam realized he was dying.

  "Yes, Adam, they do."

  "My pa told me not to join the Confederate Army. He said it was wrong, all wrong."

  "What was?"

  "The whole war. Pa always said making slaves out of men was wrong. He had a friend, Ruby, who worked with him on the railroad in Tennessee." Adam took his time speaking, rested between sentences, and spoke with his eyes closed. "Pa said Ruby worked harder than any of them, but others hated him because he was colored. Pa stood up for Ruby, but one day, the foreman said money was missing from the till. He blamed Ruby. Shot him right there in front of everyone. Pa said they buried him along the line. Nothing happened to the foreman, not even when the money turned up later in another man's bunk."

  Emma felt her throat run dry. How could such evil and injustice prosper in a country founded on principles of freedom? Of the men she knew personally, Emma trusted few. However, Henry and Basil were among those she felt solidarity with. Except for her father, men had let her down. Franklin had left her. Vaughn disgusted her. Quinn hated her. Alexander cared nothing for her. Knox's love had failed her.

  "I wasn't around any coloreds till I joined the army," Adam said. "My family's always worked the railroad. Never had slaves. Some officers brought their slaves. Made them do the wash and cooking. I didn't think nothing of it really. They just looked so different. But I saw how the officers treated them. Yelled at them. Hit them. All for no reason. It got me thinking Pa was right. Treating another man like that seems wrong."

  Adam clutched his side and arched his back as a wave of pain overtook him.

  Emma took a muslin shirt from her sack and ripped it into rags. She soaked a strip with cold water from the brook and patted Adam's face. There was nothing else she could do. Nothing but wait. Adam slowly relaxed, but Emma could tell the end was near.

  "Pa didn't want me part of the fighting," Adam said with shallow breaths, "not for their side." He feigned a smile. "Guess he might say I got what I deserved."

  Emma squeezed Adam's hand. "I'm sure that's not true."

  Adam turned his head toward her. A hopefulness crossed his face.

  "I'll send word for you. I'll tell your Pa what you're telling me, and remind him what a fine man you are. It will ease his loss."

  "There's so much I wanted to do," Adam said. "Wanted to farm my own piece of land. Sit in church with a pretty wife beside me. Have a mess of young'uns running around me on Christmas morning…" Tears slid from his eyes. "Would you pray with me?"

  Emma nodded and bowed her head as her own tears blazed a trail down her warm cheeks.

  ****

  Emma had no shovel, no tools to dig a grave. Unable to bear the thought of Adam's body being eaten by wolves or coyotes, she rolled the body in her blanket and covered him with planks she tore from the barn. Her efforts were futile, she knew, but Emma believed respect and dignity for the dead were just as important as for the living.

  When she returned to the Army of the Potomac two days later, Emma was met by an elated Colonel Reed. Questions flew from him before she could dismount Flash.

  "What on earth kept you so long, Edmonds? We've been worried, and we had no idea what to do in the event you didn't return. Why, Lieutenant Trumball organized a reconnaissance band to search for your whereabouts."

  "He was probably hoping I was dead," Emma mumbled.

  "Say again, Edmonds."

  "Oh, nothing, sir. Just surprised to hear that Lieutenant Trumball was… concerned about me."

  "Of course he was. We all were." Colonel Reed ran his hand over his silver-gray hair and replaced his hat. "What would we have done if those papers had been lost?"

  Emma made sure her injured feelings didn't show. "Yes, sir. The papers. They were taken care of."

  The colonel muttered his thanks and appreciation as he walked away to tend to other matters. Emma noticed her commander approaching. She righted her posture and made certain her face didn't reveal how miserable and sore her legs and derriere felt.

  "Just heard you'd made it back," Trumball said.

  The sight of James Trumball threatened to take Emma's breath away. Briefly, her mind had wandered to the possibility she might not return to the Union base, and the first thought, the first face that came before her was Trumball. Emma still struggled with a desperate need to please her commander, and an even stranger pull to be close to him. She hadn't helped her situation by out maneuvering the lieutenant for the chance to play messenger, and she feared he might still be angry. But Emma had to rein her thoughts, focus, and forget how he made her heart pound.

  "Yes, sir. The papers were taken care of." She could think of nothing better to say. "A long journey but uneventful."

  He nodded. "Good work."

  Emma stared at her commanding officer for a moment as a foolish longing swept over her. Emma felt starved for affection, and s
he suddenly wanted more from James Trumball than a token compliment. Nervous from the rise in her emotions, she moved to retreat.

  "Well, good night, sir."

  Emma spun on her heels, but Trumball snatched her by the arm.

  "Hold on a minute." He looked startled by the fact he'd reached for her. His tone was soft and laced with concern. "Everything go all right out there, Edmonds?"

  Being face-to-face with the lieutenant, Emma trembled. She prayed he didn't notice or sense the awkwardness surging through her. Emma's eyes had nowhere to focus except directly on Trumball's handsome features.

  "You seem rattled," he said. "Something happen out there?"

  Emma wanted to stop being Tom. She wanted to abandon the lies and the persona and pull James Trumball even closer. But the truth would mean nothing to James, just as Emma Cartwright meant nothing to him — nor could she, since James was married.

  "I'm fine, Lieutenant, just tired."

  Trumball's hand fell but his gaze lingered. "Look, Edmonds, I don't want there to be any gruff between us, so I didn't mean to be too harsh back when you volunteered for the assignment. I was worried you couldn't handle it." He lowered his head slightly. "I don't know. Maybe I thought I had something to prove. Fact of the matter is you were the man for the mission. You're a fine soldier."

  Emma let the words sink in but she was too stunned to form her own.

  ****

  Emma retrieved her personals from the saddlebags and made sure no one saw her sneak to Eleanor's house. Her embrace when she saw Emma almost knocked her over.

  "I've been praying for you!"

  Emma expected no less. Zechariah received her with equal vigor. The trio settled in the kitchen where Eleanor made fresh coffee and served Emma a bowl of chicken broth. Emma appreciated the light serving after endless days on horseback. Eleanor said the broth had been a welcome change to many of the hospital patients who had grown leery of Grady's culinary concoctions. Emma understood.