Plantation Nation (9781621352877) Page 5

  "I sent Annabelle, Sylvia, and the twins to New Orleans. They took a train this morning to Aunt Celia's."

  Emma stopped breathing. "You sent them away?" Sylvia!

  Although it had been close to a decade since her last visit to her aunt's, Emma well remembered the summers she and her siblings had spent in New Orleans. Traveling with nine children eventually proved too taxing for Olivia, especially when it came time to leave and she had no yearning for the plantation. Aunt Celia, with no husband or children of her own, lavished her adoration on her two smelly Catahoula leopard dogs. She, too, despised plantation living and claimed Beaumont had no culture and nothing of interest. She rarely visited, but she and Olivia corresponded frequently through letters.

  "Under the circumstances," Olivia said, "with a war going on around us, I thought it was best to send them someplace where they would be safe."

  "New Orleans is perhaps the most critical port in the South!"

  Perplexity and a degree of curiosity struck Knox and Olivia's faces, but Emma continued.

  "Who's to say where anyone can go to be safe, mother? And why…" Emma fought back tears. "Why wouldn't you mention this earlier? You must have intended to send them away for quite a while. Why? Why didn't you say anything? Why would you send them away before we had a chance to say goodbye?" The last word was almost inaudible.

  "Don't question me! I did what was best for my children, young lady. I am the authority here, and I do not need to consult with my sixteen-year-old daughter on my decisions."

  "But…" Emma looked to her grandfather for help, for a sign this could not be true.

  "We must respect your mother's wishes," Knox said. "I understand you're upset, Emma, but an outburst would prove fruitless. It's done. The children are gone. You can write to Sylvia, every day if you'd like, but our focus should be on surviving this war."

  "You didn't send me away, Mother." Bitterness replaced Emma's tears. "Does that mean you're not concerned for my well-being?"

  "Well, of course not! How could you accuse me of such a thing?" Olivia's dramatic voice and exasperations were for Stuart's benefit, Emma knew. "Besides, I couldn't possibly send you away, not with Vaughn so anxious for the two of you to marry." Their eyes locked. A sly smile appeared, matching the coy expression on Olivia's face. "Now that I think on it, there really is nothing for you to do except plan your wedding. Vaughn will be right pleased, I'm sure."

  Having seen through her mother's watery excuse, Emma wanted to spew every vile word that trembled on her lips, but instead she said in an angered whisper, "I'll never forgive you for this," and fled the room.

  ****

  Stuart had made no definite plans for staying with the Cartwrights, but after Olivia and Emma's confrontation before supper, he questioned whether he should stay. He had been helpless to stop Emma from running out of the house, and he had little hope of looking for her, since his wheelchair did not maneuver well outdoors. Anger throbbed in him. Not only had Emma run from him, but she had also left him there to face Knox and Olivia alone.

  "Stuart, you must speak to her for us," Olivia said. "I declare, I have no hope of getting through to that girl anymore. Ever since the death of her father she's been difficult." She placed her hand on top of Stuart's. "You've always been a dear, though, Stuart, and certainly the brightest of my sister's children. She'll listen to you. You must convince her to marry Vaughn."

  Harper set two more bowls on the table and rolled her eyes as she faced Stuart.

  Knox excused himself from the room.

  Stuart mustered a grin for his aunt. "I'll see what I can do."

  ****

  Settled in one of the guest rooms for the night, Stuart found sleep impossible. After an awkward meal with Olivia, he saw no sign of anyone apart from the household workers. Harper told him a few of the children saw Emma by her father's grave, but no one bothered her.

  "Best to jus' let her be a spell," Harper had said. "She'll come aroun'."

  Stuart wondered. He had never known Emma to be without Sylvia, or Sylvia without Emma, and he understood the trauma of their separation. Worse, he knew his aunt was using Sylvia's departure to force Emma into a miserable marriage.

  Lying in the darkness, consumed by his thoughts, Stuart heard his name whispered. He turned his head but saw no one. A figure approached and knelt beside his bed. Then a match flared and lit an oil lamp. Yellow light poured onto a face he did not recognize.

  "Who are you?" Startled, he sat up and reached for his glasses.

  "Stuart, it's me, Emma."

  He fumbled his spectacles. "Emma?" Stuart squinted. "What happened to your hair?"

  Emma ran her fingertips along the side of her shortened locks.

  "Tilda cut it for me. I did a lot of thinking, and I made up my mind about something. I'm gonna do it, Stuart. I'm really gonna do it."

  "Do what?"

  She handed him the newspaper Stuart had shown her at the dinner party, the section highlighting President Lincoln's call for seventy-five-thousand volunteers.

  "I'm going to join the Union army."

  Silence pulsed.

  "Emma, are you out of your mind? You can't join the army. It's too dangerous. You don't know anything about being a soldier."

  "Neither does Alexander — or Quinn. I expect the army will train me in all I need to know."

  "But you're a girl. You can't just cut your hair and expect to pass for a man. People will notice."

  "You didn't." Emma smiled as she stood. Wearing a thread-bare, over-sized shirt that belonged to Alexander and a pair of Quinn's trousers, Emma turned for Stuart to admire her ensemble.

  "What am I missing?"

  Stuart looked her over for flaws but found none. In the dim light, with traces of dirt smeared on her face, Emma looked convincing, but Stuart could only guess as to how other men would perceive her. Despite the transformation, the sight of her passionate eyes and pouty lips made his heart ache. He hated the idea of her running away to an encampment full of men — and more so, the possibility that she could end up killed.

  "This will never work," he said. "What if you're found out? The army isn't likely to treat a female kindly. It's too dangerous."

  "You mentioned that already. It's no more dangerous than staying here and ending up as Mrs. Vaughn Jackson, far as I'm concerned."

  She had a point, he knew. The notion of her being Vaughn's bride stirred his fury. He would do anything to keep that from happening. He doubted her running away and joining the army was a better alternative, but he could think of nothing convincing to say, nothing that would change her stubborn mind and make her stay.

  "If you do this, Emma, your mother and grandfather will disown you." He shook his head. "You might not be able to come back here."

  "I realize that. But I know I can't stay here. I need my freedom, and I want to fight for Tilda and Harper and the others to have theirs."

  Stuart relented. "This is absolutely crazy. You could be killed."

  "Maybe, but it's my only chance to make something good come out of Basil's death."

  Although neither of them said it, they both knew Stuart could do little to stop her. He hated that she was taking advantage of his paralysis, mocking him almost. She was abandoning him again, but this time to a much greater degree. But Stuart shoved his growing anger aside, pressed his lips together, and nodded.

  Relieved that he understood, Emma knelt again and embraced Stuart.

  He breathed her in and tousled her chopped locks. They laughed. For a moment he considered pouring his heart out to her, telling her that he had always loved her, but this was Emma's moment, so he was content to say nothing and savor the fleeting minutes he had left with her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Washington, D.C.

  May, 1861

  Overdressed in Quinn's old, ill-fitting clothes — and with linen strips squeezed around her breasts — Emma stepped off a train that arrived in the capital city on a sunny afternoon and never felt more awk
ward. Every time someone's gaze rested on her, she feared her disguise was a failure. Eye contact made her queasy, so she did her best to keep her head down as she headed into the city's busy streets. But the horde of people bustling around Emma increased her nervousness and made her question her hasty decision.

  Before Emma had left the plantation, she had taken a handsome amount of money from the family money chest. Knox would be furious, she knew, but Emma viewed the sum as a partial inheritance rather than a stolen booty. She had also agreed with Stuart that she should be the one to inform her mother and grandfather about what she had done. She did, in a letter she mailed from a train depot in South Carolina. However, she decided to leave out key points, including her intention to assume a new identity and join the Yankees. She kept it simple and said she had to run away since Sylvia was gone and Vaughn did not suit her.

  Now, armed with a satchel full of items from home, she weaved through the streets of Washington searching for the recruiting office. Fellow passers-by had misdirected her, so she gave up on civilians and found a gentleman dressed in a navy-blue coat with brass buttons and a hat that appeared to sag above the forehead. A Union soldier.

  "Pardon me, sir," Emma said with her new voice. "Could you please direct me to the recruiting headquarters?"

  The man looked her over. "Little on the spry side, ain't 'cha, son?"

  "No, sir." Emma straightened herself, though she felt terribly self-conscious in Quinn's trousers. "I'm old enough to contribute to the cause."

  "Meybe, but if I's you, son, I'd stick to helpin' out your ma at home."

  "Ain't got no home." The realization of the truth in her words made her eyes watery. She quickly rubbed away the evidence of her emotions and wanted to curse herself for seeming weak and vulnerable in front of the first person she had spoken to. How would she convince a camp full of soldiers that she was a man if simple facts from her life brought tears?

  But the man flashed a half-grin. "Head north about a quarter of a mile. You'll see a sign pointin' you to the office."

  Emma thanked him and went on her way with the man's well wishes.

  ****

  Before entering the recruiting office, Emma girded herself for a lot of lying. Several men passed in and out of the building before Emma made up her mind to go in. Could she sign away her life to the volunteer army? Could she live among Yankees? What would be the cost if she were found out?

  Emma shook her head and chided her thoughts. She refused to listen to cowardly notions. Instead, she thought of Stuart, who didn't have the option of being there. With a deep breath, she righted herself and took her place inside at the end of the line. A stench of body odor greeted her and did nothing to settle her quivering stomach and trembling legs.

  "Here," said the adjutant as he handed an enlistee a piece of paper. "Step into the next room." Dutifully, the young man took his paper and went into the room.

  Fear gripped Emma. What if applicants were subjected to a physical exam? She hated that she had not given the issue more thought. If she had to undress, her secret would be revealed. Then what? Would she be arrested? Hanged?

  "Next," said the adjutant.

  The same procedure followed with the man in front of her. Then came her turn. Emma felt certain her voice would fail.

  "Name."

  She choked.

  The adjutant looked up at her. "Name."

  "Tom Edmonds, sir." She had chosen the name to honor her father, but speaking it made Emma feel as though she had just breathed life into a new person. Now, she would have to remind herself that Tom was no longer just a name, that she was now Tom — if she made it past the adjutant's desk.

  "Are you over eighteen, Edmonds?"

  "Yes, sir." She squirmed in Alexander's old shoes that were too tight for her. Before stepping into them, she had inserted a slip of paper with 18 written on it. In quite a literal sense then, she was over eighteen.

  "Any special areas of interest, Edmonds?"

  "Uh…Not that I can think of, sir."

  "I'm going to assign you to hospital duty." His brow wrinkled as he peered at her over his spectacles. "Any objection?"

  "Um, no. I guess not—"

  "Good." He handed her the piece of paper. "Step into the next room and pick up your supplies."

  "Supplies, sir?"

  "You can't represent the Union dressed like a vagabond."

  "Oh, no, sir. Thank you."

  He nodded, and Emma stepped into the supply area with several other men. They were each issued a blanket, tin canteen, knapsack, blue jacket with a column of brass buttons, and a forage cap, just like the man Emma had encountered on the street. With her arms overflowing, Emma dropped the load when a pair of brogans were lastly added to the pile. Recruits and officers alike helped her gather the spilled items. Hot and reddened from embarrassment, Emma apologized repeatedly.

  "Guess they just let any li'l tadpole sign up to play soldier," said a young man who remained standing. He stared down at Emma as he sloppily chewed bites from the apple he held and made no attempt to help with the clean-up.

  "Button up, Nash," said a soldier wearing a sergeant's rank. He bent to finish helping Emma collect her supplies. "What's your name, son?"

  "Edmonds, sir." Emma stuffed as much as she could into the knapsack and tightened her hold on the rest to mask her shaking hands. She shot a sideways glance at Nash, who continued chewing and doing nothing.

  "Ignore Nash. He may be built like an ox, but the only things he'll ever be good for are hauling artillery and shoveling manure." He gave Nash a smirk. "Looks like you're all set now, Edmonds. Your company moves out in the morning. Remember to be on time."

  "Morning, sir?"

  "Didn't read your orders yet?" The sergeant arched an eyebrow. "You can read, Edmonds?"

  "Yes, sir." Emma dug in her pocket to check the paper. "Says to report to Fort Madison at first light." Emma looked up.

  "That's correct, Edmonds. Your company reports to Fort Madison tomorrow, one of our fortifications just outside Washington. Remember your supplies, and give yourself plenty of time for the three mile walk." He slapped Emma on the shoulder. "Welcome to the volunteer army, son."

  Emma stood and took a deep breath. She had enlisted. Her identity had been believable, and she'd made it through the first step. A bit shaky, perhaps, but she'd managed. She just didn't want to think about the challenges that lay ahead. Not now, not with a sense of victory pulsing inside her.

  She dared a glance at Nash. He stared at her, unimpressed and with a haughty air about him. Finished with his snack, Nash tossed his apple core at Emma. But being wise to the tactics and tricks of older brothers, Emma dodged the incoming nub. The side of the sergeant's head, though, did not prove so lucky.

  ****

  Activity and throngs of people defined Washington, along with a carefree atmosphere as if the nation was not under siege over an issue that men had argued and debated since the birth of the Constitution. Storefronts bragged about their wares and Paris fashions for sale. Theatre companies advertised their latest productions on signs at every corner. Ladies pranced the street with their puppies. Men littered establishments with idle talk of the Union's strategy and impending victory. Anxiousness had no hold. Neither did fear.

  But both emotions churned inside Emma.

  She made her way to the Capital building, where new volunteers were welcome to stay. Although President Lincoln had called for an emergency session, Congress wouldn't be held until July as the president wanted to give every member ample travel time to Washington. For now, the building served as a makeshift camp for recent enlistees.

  Emma, however, didn't stay long. Nearly every soldier who enlisted, she believed, received the same notice and had ended up there. Conditions were cramped at best and further strained with the construction of the Capital's dome underway. Scaffold and building materials demanded space, and the sparse furnishings provided for soldiers' use were occupied. Ladies and various visitors added to the
population, but when Emma noticed several men urinating in corners, due to a lack of adequate water closets, her disgust drove her to the streets in search of alternative lodging.

  Exhausted from the day's events, she settled on a saloon and paid for a room. Perfumed with whiskey and smoke, the establishment buzzed from conversation and gambling, grumbling men. Emma escorted her belongings to the top of the stairs and maneuvered around a patron who hung limp and drunk over a scantily-clad woman. The pair paid no attention to Emma as she squeezed by them. She felt thankful to be invisible and craved a decent bed.

  "All alone there, handsome?"

  About to open the door to her room, Emma turned to the silky voice and saw a young woman standing in the open doorway of another room. She was wearing a red dress that hugged and exposed her bosom and a headband adorned with red feathers. One hand rested on her hip and the other against the doorpost.

  "Yes. I need to be turning in. Early day tomorrow." Emma could not keep from sounding skittish. Although she had seen such women during trips to Port Royal and Charleston, Emma had never spoken to someone Olivia would label a harlot.

  "Last night in town?" The woman sashayed over.

  Words would not form for Emma, who did not want to encourage the woman, but the lady didn't wait for a response. She stepped near and was about to slide her hand over Emma's chest. Emma backed away before the stranger touched her. She could only imagine the reaction — or screams — if the woman happened to detect breasts.

  "No thank you, ma'am." Emma whipped into her room and shut the door. Her heart raced as she waited for the woman to slink away.

  When no knock sounded, she tossed her sacks on the bed and splashed her face with water from the basin. She removed her cap and stared intensely at her reflection. A wave of repulsion hit.

  "I can't do this," Emma said to the mirror. "Stuart was right. I can't just change my hair and clothes and become a man. I—"