Plantation Nation (9781621352877) Read online

  "I's makin' ma rounds." She glanced to the ground where the tin coffee pot and cups now lay scattered.

  "Who said fo' you to work kitchen duty?" Anger burned in Big Sam's eyes.

  "I's traded with someone." Emma knew mentioning a name would only cause further trouble.

  Big Sam grasped the front of Emma's shirt, one she had received to replace the torn shirt. "You don' do nothin' wid out askin' me furst, you hear? I'm your massa now."

  Emma tried to shrug and pull away, but Big Sam's hold was relentless.

  "Easy there, coon!"

  Both Emma and Big Sam whipped their heads in the direction of a Confederate colonel approaching on horseback. Big Sam released Emma's shirt, and the officer dismounted from his horse. Though smaller than Big Sam, the soldier got in his face.

  "Just what do you think you're doing, boy? Shouldn't you be at the parapet working or shoveling manure in the stable?" He slapped Big Sam's cheek with his riding crop. "Answer me, boy."

  Big Sam clamped his jaw and cast the officer a loathsome expression.

  "Yessah," he said. "Wez headin' dere now."

  "Doesn't look to me like you've got your mind on working." He looked sideways at Emma. "Neither of you."

  Both of them stood motionless.

  "There's no time to be wasted here, boy." Spittle from the officer hit the side of Big Sam's nose, but he didn't flinch. The officer kept his face close to Big Sam's, as if waiting for Big Sam to retaliate, but the slave kept his eyes forward, fists clenched at his sides. The officer stepped back and tapped the side of his pants with the riding crop. "Seems to me you no-accounts could use a firm reminder not to be fiddling your time away in my camp. Sergeant!" Said sergeant ran to his commander. "Take these two worthless vermin to the prison quarters. I want them both whipped twenty times."

  The sergeant nodded and pointed the way to the prison.

  "Oh, and sergeant," the officer added, "make sure they're shirtless."

  ****

  Panic pulsed inside Emma. Prison quarters and twenty lashes sounded unbearable, but being exposed as a female in a Rebel camp could possibly prove deadly. She didn't want to imagine the fatal possibilities but couldn't help it. Emma had to escape. Dozens of thoughts raced through her mind, too many, in fact, for her to focus on any one thing. Terror suffocated her, and it was all she could do to keep up with the sergeant's pace as he led them closer to doom.

  An old stable served as the prison. Officers' horses shared space with the fortification's meager prison population, and a tangled odor of stale hay and feces emitted from the building. Two corporals stood out front, swords at their sides. They flicked away their cigarettes at the sight of the approaching sergeant.

  "Corporal, these contraband are to be thrashed twenty-five times."

  Emma and Big Sam exchanged looks at the discrepancy. Both knew a protest would worsen the situation, but Emma didn't detect a hint of fear on Big Sam's face.

  "Just a minute."

  All heads turned and took in the sight of a Confederate general.

  "One of our men on picket duty has taken ill. We need a replacement immediately." The general quickly surveyed Big Sam and Emma and produced a disapproving grimace. "I need these two." He pointed to Emma and Big Sam.

  "What?" the corporals asked.

  "Surely, General Briggs, you can't be serious. You can't post two coloreds on guard duty."

  He faced the sergeant and held up his chin. "Who says I can't?"

  The sergeant offered no rebuttal to the general's question but employed another tactic. "Sir, these two have been sentenced to twenty lashes. That alone should speak of their unworthy caliber."

  General Briggs raised an eyebrow. "The coloreds will do until a suitable replacement is found. Their sentence may be carried out later." He glanced over Emma and Big Sam with disdain. "Come with me."

  The general led them to a post on the edge of the camp. He thrust carbine rifles at each of them.

  "I realize you do not know how to utilize this weapon with any accuracy," Briggs said, "so your duty is to fire this in the air should anything go afoul. Do you understand my instruction?"

  "Yes, sir!" both Emma and Big Sam replied.

  "I'm warning you." His eyes narrowed. "If you fall asleep or neglect this post, you'll receive twenty more lashes in addition that what you're due — and in no uncertain terms does this assignment nullify your previous sentence." He stood straight. "Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes, sir." Fervent nods accompanied their reply, and the general took his leave.

  Seeing this as her lone opportunity for escape — and to avoid further humiliation and torture — Emma turned to Big Sam.

  "Sam, I need you to hear me out." Emma spoke in a new voice, confident and firm. "I am not who you think I am, and I apologize for deceiving you, but I need your help." Emma fished into the bottom of her shoe and came up with a five dollar note. She'd stashed it there for such an emergency. "I'm going to give you this, and all you have to do in return is not fire that gun when I take off for those trees over there." Emma nodded her head toward the wooded patch thirty yards away. Big Sam gave it a blink but seemed struck by disbelief. Emma wrestled with whether or not to risk a confession. Big Sam's favor could be a boon — or he could choose to shoot Emma right there.

  Emma gambled.

  "I know this will sound incredible, but I'm really a Union soldier. I came here as a spy, and I must get back to camp. I'm on your side, Sam, and I want to do all I can to end slavery. I've got to get my information into Union hands."

  Big Sam stood stock-still.

  "Will you help me?" Emma wiggled the note.

  Big Sam reached out and took the note.

  Emma sighed. "Thank you."

  She checked the area and found no other Confederates were nearby. Setting her sights on the woods, Emma darted off. She put all she had into her sprint, certain that if she could reach the cover of the trees, she would be home free the rest of the way.

  But gunfire cracked the air.

  Emma pumped her legs as hard as she could go, ignored her need for oxygen, and didn't dare look back.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Train-hopping wasn't an option for Emma on the return trip back. She hid among the cargo of a ship bound for Washington. When the ship docked, Emma still had ground to cover. Steady rain returned, and with it, she crossed into Union-occupied territory late one night. Her skin darkening solution smudged down her face. She had removed the wig and stuffed it into her shirt. She knew she would be an alarming sight to the picket, whom she found dozing at his post.

  "I have to get word to General McClellan!" Emma snapped.

  The soldier, unaware of Emma's mission or the disguise she had assumed, led her, at gunpoint, to the general's tent. Along the way, Emma shouted to men she knew and instructed them to alert Colonel Reed and Lieutenant Trumball. Emma had a difficult time walking and clenched her side.

  Despite the assault of chills and escalating pain, Emma relayed the main points of her find, including the information about the painted logs, potential ambush, and the vulnerable state the Rebel camp was in. Colonel Reed and Trumball had assembled, and even Eleanor left her post at the hospital and joined them.

  "Edmonds, you've done this unit proud," McClellan said.

  "Thank you, sir."

  Emma reached out to shake McClellan's extended hand but collapsed.

  ****

  Trumball bent and searched Tom for signs of trauma. Men scrambled to Tom's aide. The lieutenant, noticing a bulge in Tom's shirt, reached in and removed a wig. Blood dripped to the ground. Two holes in Tom's side revealed the source.

  "He's been shot!" Trumball declared. "Let's get him to the hospital." He effortlessly scooped Tom into his arms and carried him to the hospital tent.

  Colonel Reed and McClellan followed. Eleanor, struck with panic, ran ahead of Trumball and cleared an examining table behind a screen. She told the colonel and McClellan to stand back and allow her roo
m to work, since Dr. Hillman was currently off duty.

  Tenderly, Trumball lay Tom down. In the throes of pain, Tom's body constricted and bunched together. Eleanor administered a shot of morphine, and Tom settled. Wasting no time, Eleanor ripped open Tom's shirt — and gasped.

  She looked at Trumball, who stood wide-eyed and slack jawed at the sight of female attributes. Eleanor pulled a sheet to cover Tom's nudity. She glanced to see if the other commanders had caught sight of the revelation, but no one else had looked beyond the screen.

  "We have to move…her," Eleanor said. "My house is close."

  Trumball nodded and tucked the blanket up to Tom's chin and snug around the sides. This time, he lifted the female soldier more carefully. Eleanor swiped several bottles and an armload of supplies before stepping around the curtain and facing the commanders. Others had gathered, Graham and Nash included, as the news of Tom's return had circulated.

  "There's no time to explain," Eleanor said to them. "But he must be taken to my home immediately. I'll care for him there and do the best I can. You must trust me."

  "What?" McClellan scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, woman! The man needs help. He needs a hospital! Moving him is not an option!" He turned and slapped the chest of a soldier standing next to him with the back of his hand. "Fetch Dr. Hillman at once!"

  The private nodded and dashed away.

  Trumball felt his heart race as precious minutes escaped.

  "Sir, you must trust me, please," Eleanor said. "This is a delicate situation. He needs to be in isolation."

  "She's right, General," Trumball said. "Keeping Edmonds exposed like this might worsen his condition. Plus, there's also a chance whoever shot him might not be far behind."

  Dismayed, McClellan arched an eyebrow and studied them both.

  He was about to speak when they all heard, "General! General!" coming from Grady, the one-eyed cook. "General, you've got to come quick! Looks like they might be some Rebel soldiers just over the northwest ridge of camp."

  With that, McClellan and several others ran for their weapons. Grady paused before joining the men — and winked at Eleanor and Trumball.

  Trumball traded glances with Eleanor, but they ignored their puzzlement and escaped to Eleanor's house, where they began an emotional, painful battle for the life of Tom Edmonds.

  ****

  Eleanor's hands trembled, even though she'd examined dozens of wounds. She found no traces of the bullets and proceeded to sew the holes left behind. Rosemary and Lieutenant Trumball assisted. Little was said. Eleanor cut off Tom's — the girl's — remaining clothing and folded it in a pile. Thick bloodstains told her the young woman had defied the odds by making it back to the Union camp. Eleanor and Trumball had both seen men die from lesser injuries.

  Eleanor had to focus. She put her energies into silent prayers instead of giving in to tears. Her heart ached for Zechariah. She was sure he would know better than she how to handle the situation. What stressed Eleanor most was the thought of the young girl dying and never knowing her real name.

  With news of Rebel troops near, the summons for Dr. Hillman had fallen to the wayside. Eleanor was thankful she didn't have to explain anything to Dr. Hillman — or come up with enough lies and excuses to send him away.

  She and Trumball stayed by the girl's side all night, though her shallow breathing gave them little hope.

  Eleanor had Rosemary serve coffee in the morning to soldiers waiting outside for an update. McClellan had left instructions that he was to be notified of any changes. Rosemary only told the men they had done all they could to save Tom, and that the rest was in the Lord's hands.

  Eleanor brought coffee and biscuits to Trumball, though only the coffee interested him. Sorrow consumed Eleanor as she stared at the young girl. She relived the loss of her daughters all over again. How could she bury another who had become so dear to her? Though she felt grateful for Trumball's company and support, she longed even more for Zechariah.

  "If she dies, we can't let the others know the truth." Eleanor squeezed the girl's hand. "I think that's what she would want."

  ****

  Trumball seemed not to hear Eleanor. He studied the girl's features with subdued awe. Her gender seemed so obvious. Delicate hands made rough from army life. Such beautiful lips… How could he have missed it? When he recalled the way she had regarded him that first time in the hospital tent, after Bull Run, it confused him how he hadn't realized then that she was a woman. She'd fainted. She'd often stared at him like a school girl, and more than once he'd detected her nervousness, but he'd ignored his suspicions. Shame seared him like a saber through flesh.

  "I knew it," he said. "I knew all along something was off with this one, but I just couldn't imagine something like this. Who does this sort of thing? I kept an eye on… her. I felt like I had to look out for her, even though she liked proving how tough she could be." He thought back on the night they had spent watch together after the Indian attack, and how Tom Edmonds always struggled with nervousness around him.

  "I knew it, too."

  Trumball turned his gaze on Eleanor.

  "Well, I suspected." Eleanor nodded toward the pile of clothing. "Yesterday confirmed my suspicions."

  "If she lives, I ain't got a notion on how to sort this mess out."

  "She must live! For her family. If, if she dies," Eleanor lowered her head as tears invaded, "we may never know how to find them."

  Although James had entered the war simply to serve his patriotic duty, he felt no particular attachment to the cause of ending slavery, but Private Tom Edmonds was an entirely different matter. Earnest prayers poured from his heart to the Almighty, and though Eleanor didn't notice, more than one tear left his eyes.

  ****

  Emma Cartwright fought her way through a groggy fog and into the realm of consciousness. She expected Heaven, and, at first, couldn't decide if the sight of Eleanor and James was a relief or a disappointment. Either way, she could have done without the thundering sensation of pain.

  "Where am I?" Her throat dry, her words sounded cracked and shaky.

  Eleanor and Trumball startled to attention.

  "You're safe, dear." Eleanor began stroking Emma's hair. "We brought you to my house."

  "We?"

  Eleanor looked over at Trumball, who leaned in so Emma could see him better.

  "I carried you over." Trumball gave a half-grin, though it did little to hide his discomfort and uncertainty.

  Under her cover, Emma moved her hand over her wounds. She winced — and realized her linen wrap was gone. Her eyes widened, and she tried to sit up.

  "No, no!" Eleanor eased Emma back down. "Don't upset yourself, dear."

  "But—"

  "We know." Eleanor's voice was reassuring, and the compassionate expression on her face let Emma absorb the shock.

  "You both know?" Emma darted her eyes between the two. "What?"

  "We know you're not exactly Tom Edmonds." Trumball put a particular emphasis on Tom.

  "Oh." Heat filled her cheeks. Questions flooded her mind, and she was sure her commander and Eleanor felt the same. She worried what they might be thinking of her and what their intentions might be. Would Trumball turn her in?

  "What's your name, dear?" Eleanor asked.

  "Emma. Emma Cartwright." A rush of relief hit her as she spoke her name aloud. Part of her had lost touch with being female after hiding it for so long.

  "Emma." James said her name as though it would take getting used to.

  Emma looked at him as if her name hung on his lips. A degree of elation hit her, as did trepidation.

  "How many people know?" she asked.

  "Just us," Eleanor said.

  "And me," Grady said from the bedroom's doorway. He flashed his toothless smile when heads turned his way. "Beg a pardon. Your girl let me in." He hooked his thumb in Rosemary's direction.

  "Grady?" Emma asked.

  "Well, I, uh…Saw you one night." He cast his eyes to the floorboar
ds and rubbed the back of his neck. He flushed. "Out by the pond, real late one night, 'bout a half mile outside the camp. You was, uh…"

  "We understand, Grady." Eleanor smiled sweetly, attempting to save them all from further embarrassment. "That's why you helped us the other night."

  "Oh, yes'um. I knowed you had to get her outta there, 'fore them officers had a chance to figure out what was a-goin' on. So I made a division."

  "A diversion?" Trumball asked.

  Grady nodded.

  "That was right smart." Trumball looked at Emma. "You mighta saved her."

  "Thank you, Grady." An equal mix of embarrassment and relief surged in Emma.

  Grady beamed and nodded. "You're right welcome. Oh, I almost forgot! Colonel Reed and a bunch of others is on their way over."

  Rosemary appeared beside Grady. "Missus, they's a group of men here fo' him." She nodded toward Emma, not having overhead the discussion about Emma's true identity and gender.

  Eleanor glanced from Emma to Trumball. "What for?" Concern was apparent in her tone.

  Rosemary shrugged a shoulder. "Didn' say, ma'am, but they's waitin' at the door."

  "We best greet them." Trumball shot a firm look at Eleanor.

  She nodded, and Trumball and Grady followed her to the door.

  Emma's heart raced. Had someone else learned her secret? Were the men there to arrest her? Her eyes dashed around the room, looking for a place to hide or escape. She considered crawling under the bed, but her wound made her cringe with agony at the slightest move.

  A tap sounded on the bedroom door.

  "There's someone here to see you!" Eleanor entered the room alone. Her eyes were wide and glassy but revealed nothing. She fluffed Emma's pillows and helped her sit up straight. "Come in, gentlemen."

  Several unfamiliar faces filtered into the tiny bedroom. Colonel Reed, Trumball, and Grady joined the gathering, but when Emma noticed General McClellan and the man behind him, every hair on her body stood as the two came to her bedside.