The Railroad War (18 page)

None of the activities necessitated by his reduced circumstances could satisfy Pierce. And soon this lack of satisfaction
made him despondent. As her father’s spirits sank, Miranda’s fears for him grew.

Nothing that she had tried to do for him had had any effect—until she engineered the trip to the island. She hoped that the
reunion would be the medicine he needed to snap him out of his melancholy.

Pierce Kemble was a silly, extravagant, and not particularly well-meaning man who had done his best to treat Miranda badly
and he’d failed at that, too; Pierce couldn’t even succeed in cheating his daughter out of her inheritance. Miranda was well
aware of his failings, but Pierce was her father and she loved him. She was nothing if not loyal, and her loyalty waxed ever
greater as his string of failures grew.

Ariel had fared better than her sister during the war. Her marriage to Ben Edge had been a happy one that had been blessed
with a beautiful, vivacious child. She didn’t see Ben himself, of course, as often as she would have liked, but under the
circumstances, she could hardly complain. In fact, she saw him more often than most southern wives saw their husbands. Ben
was serving with the Army of Virginia, so it wasn’t hard for him to obtain leave now and again to see his wife and child.

While Ben was away, Ariel and Robbie lived with his parents, a warm and caring couple who adored her and their grandchild.
Since the Edges were Lynchburg people, they lived relatively far from the war and its dangers. Even after the defeat at Gettysburg,
everyone trusted that Robert E. Lee would keep the war distant.

Miranda’s brother, Lam, had for the past several months served with Nathan Bedford Forrest’s cavalry in western Tennessee
and northern Mississippi. As a result of a daring action during the time of the siege of Vicksburg (he had led a raid into
Memphis and burned considerable quantities of Union stores and ammunition), he had been promoted to colonel and given a squadron
of his own. His current leave was another part of the reward for the raid he had led on Memphis.

All the Kembles—with the possible exception of Pierce—had more or less successfully endured the war. But only Ashbel had prospered
from it. His shipping business was more successful than ever. Most of the ships his companies controlled he’d kept traveling
between South America, Asia, and Europe. As a consequence, he hadn’t suffered when the war disrupted the North American business.

At the same time, he recognized that enormous profits were still to be made trading with the South as well as the North, in
spite of all the disruptions of the war.

Ash had no more faith in the Great Cause than Miranda, but he had welcomed the war when it came. He recognized early that
for the right person, the blockade was not a barrier to profits—it would nourish and expand them. He was well aware that shortages
would make many goods dear: luxury fashions from Paris and London, drugs and medical supplies, percussion caps, and much more.
And he knew he could provide them.

He set up joint ventures with British partners to handle shipping to northern ports. And he set up another joint venture to
run the blockade. Even though he’d lost two of the six sleek, low-slung, fast blockade runners that had been built for him
on the Clyde, that operation still turned a profit of four times his initial investment.

Though Ashbel had been spending most of his time in London, he’d decided to come home for a time to take a firsthand look
at how things were going in the South. He wanted to find out what the Confederacy most needed so that he might provide it.
As it happened, his arrival coincided with the journey of the other Kembles to Kemble Island.

*    *    *

All the slaves on the landing wharf proved to be ancient. The younger Negroes, the ones who had not been sold at Pierce Kemble’s
great auction seven years before, had disappeared to God only knew where. Every one of those who remained to care for the
plantation had been alive at the turn of the century.

Age did not diminish the warmth and joyousness of their greeting, however, when the Kembles stepped ashore. Their love for
their masters remained, even in these harsh and trying times.

Miranda was the first off the boat, the first to embrace each of the slaves, and the first again to climb the stairs to the
top of the dike. There she beheld the tabby buildings—the plantation house and the kitchen and the outbuildings, and beyond
these the slave quarters and the rice mill. Everywhere were the old, dark, moss-shrouded trees, the oyster-shell roads, the
blaze of flowers.

“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed, ignoring for the moment the state of considerable disrepair it all was in. Neglect blossomed
into decrepitude all too quickly in this overbenign climate.

She glanced below. The male slaves were wrestling with the luggage and the crates of food and drink. The work was heavier,
probably, than their strength was capable of. The two men who crewed the sloop were helping them, though, and so was Ash.
Miranda had to smile to see that, for the oldest of the slaves, Pompey, was trying to argue Ash out of performing the labor
but Ash ignored him.

Ariel and Robbie were already ascending the stairs to join Miranda, while Pierce and Lam had moved off into a corner of the
dock, where they were quietly talking.

When they saw Ariel and Robbie climb the stairs, Dorcas and her sister Lettia heaved themselves after them. They weren’t about
to let them loose by themselves.

When she reached the landing, Ariel looked around for Miranda. When she saw her, she caught Miranda’s attention and drew her
aside.

“I didn’t realize that Father was so…” Ariel said, searching unsuccessfully for the most telling word. She took Miranda’s
hands in her own, then found the words she was searching for. “He’s unreachable!” she said. “He’s impossible to touch. Your
letters never indicated that…”

“I know, darling,” Miranda said, breaking in and clutching Ariel’s hands tight. “I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry for that.
But I couldn’t.”

“I understand, Miranda, dear. Truly I do. But how can we change him? What can we do?”

“I don’t know, Ariel. Truly I don’t. Only,” she paused, “I thought to bring him—and all of you—here in the hope that the island
will work its magic.”

“Let’s hope then,” Ariel said with a glance in Robbie’s direction. Robbie was at the moment racing toward the main house with
Dorcas, hopelessly outdistanced, trying to catch him.

“Robbie! Robbie!” Ariel yelled. “You stop! You stop this second! Hear?”

“No, Mama,” Robbie called, “I don’t hear.” And he continued on his romp.

Ariel caught Miranda’s eye, and they both grinned, gave a nod, and together dashed after Robbie up the path to the house.
They were followed, panting and wheezing, by Lettia and Dorcas.

The house itself leaned a bit, and the roof sagged, and the exterior badly needed paint, and all too many windows were missing
panes. But as far as Miranda was concerned, Kemble House had never looked more inviting.

Inside, the air was dank and musty, even though Dorcas and Lettia had opened all the windows and aired it out and cleaned
everything top to bottom not three days ago.

“It’s fine,” Miranda said. “Don’t either of you worry. It’s just fine.”

While Ariel took Robbie outside to play, Miranda explored the house. Lastly, she went to her old room. She sprawled out on
her bed for a few moments just as she had as a little girl. And then she sat in the rocking chair by the window where she
used to read or just stare out at the green rice shoots and the canals and the workers bent over their labor.

“So where would you like me to drop this load?”

“What?” she said, jerking up, startled. Uncle Ash was standing in the doorway, holding bags.

“These are yours, I take it?” he said.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m sorry. I was sitting and dreaming. I didn’t expect anyone.” Then she made a shrug and an offhand
gesture. “Just drop them, Uncle Ash. Anywhere will be fine.”

Ash walked into the room and placed the two bags against one of the walls.

“You travel light,” he said. She smiled. “At least compared with your sister.”

“We will only be here for two days. We’ll have spent more time traveling than relaxing. And she has to pack for two,” she
added in Ariel’s defense.

“Are you glad you’ve made the trip, then?”

“That’s what I was sitting here dreaming about,” she said. “This is the best place in the world. The place that is most…well,
magical.”

He gave a slow, meditative nod. She wasn’t sure whether the nod was in agreement or simply in acknowledgment. “I like it here,
too,” he said, moving over to the window and staring out. He stood there silently for a time, then looked at her. “May I sit
down, Miranda?” She hadn’t realized it, but he wanted to talk with her.

“Oh, Ash, I’m sorry. I’ve been rude. Do please sit down there on the bed, if that’s all right?”

“That’s just fine,” he said. He walked over to the bed and sank down on it, placing himself just opposite where she was sitting.
“There’s a reason why I carried your bags myself,” he said. “I haven’t had time to be alone with you.”’

“You look like a man with something serious on his mind.”

“That’s right, my young girl, I do.”

She folded her hands in her lap, waiting.

“First of all, I’ve brought a letter for you from your mother,” he said. “From London.” As he spoke, he withdrew an envelope
from a pocket of his trousers.

Miranda brightened. “Oh, my, how lovely!” she said. “There’ve been so few letters because of the war. I so want to learn all
about what she is doing.” She took the envelope from Ash and tore it open. It contained a single brief sheet. Miranda’s face
fell—she’d wanted pages and pages.

“I’m afraid I gave her little time to compose her words,” Ash said, seeing his niece’s disappointment. “I left London rather
suddenly, on a whim.”

“Yes, I see,” Miranda said, frowning. She didn’t believe Ash’s excuses. It was just like Fanny not to take the time or the
effort to write.

“Read it,” Ash said.

Miranda nodded, then unfolded the page and looked down at her mother’s well-remembered large, open scrawl, undivided by separate
paragraphs:

My Dearest Darling Miranda,

It has been so long and lonely here in London without you. I miss you SO VERY MUCH. Even though I am extraordinarily busy
of late—had your uncle Ashbel told you what I’m doing? LADY MACBETH! —you are constantly in my thoughts and feelings. I scarcely
go an hour without recalling my dearest darling daughter. The city is at its loveliest at this time of year. But without you
it is a domain of gloom. And then Ashbel paid me a visit and told me he planned to voyage to America and to visit YOU! And
that he was leaving the following day! Oh how I envied him! So I fetched my pen—on the INSTANT!—and began to write this, knowing
how little time I had to tell you all I
MUST
tell you. And as I composed my thoughts, I came to realize that I
MUST
tell you the thought that is
most
pressing on my mind of late: I
MUST
have you here with me. I can’t have you there—suffering, deprived, famished—while I languish here in the lap of luxury. Come
to me! Leave with Ashbel! He will carry you with him on his ship! Join me! And meanwhile send my deepest love to Ariel and
your brother when you write to them. Your most loving and lonely Mother,

Frances Shaw

Miranda glanced up at her uncle when she’d finished reading. “You’ve read this?” she asked, her face showing clearly the pain
her mother’s words had caused.

“Yes,” Ash said. “Fanny showed it to me before she sealed it.”

“Should I go?” she asked.

“You’d surely be happier with your mother than you are here,” Ash said.

“You know how much I want to do as she likes, don’t you?”

“I can see that in your eyes.”

“But you know that I can’t go.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “I can see that in your eyes, too.”

“I love her, and I miss her, and I want to be with her. I have no love for the South, and I could run away from the place
in an instant, but I love my property too. Raven’s Wing would collapse without me. And of course there’s Father. At the moment,
he has first call on my love.”

“The war has not treated your father well,” he said after a time, “has it?”

“No,” she said, taking a deep, long breath, “it hasn’t.”

“And you’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“Well, so am I,” he said. “He has always tended to melancholy. That’s why I’ve accepted the way he’s lived his life—the spending,
the women, the gambling. All of them are ways to make the darkness bearable.”

She looked down at her hands. “Yes, I know,” she said.

“I haven’t seen Pierce since the start of the war,” Ash said. “But I’ve never seen him so despondent.” He looked up sharply.
“What do you make of that?”

“I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “I’ve simply watched his mood grow darker, ever since he was released from prison.” She
looked puzzled. “You know, Ash, he’d never admit it, but he liked prison. He bloomed there. He could be indignant and angry,
righteous and brave. It gave him something to hold on to. But after he was let go, he just crumbled.” She looked up at him.
“Does all that make sense?”

“It makes very much sense, my dear.”

“You know how he loves this place.”

“Yes,” he slowly drawled, “that he does.”

“So I had the idea that as long as we could all be together for a brief time, then we should all come together here.”

“Something like taking a cure?”

“Much more than that,” she said. “A home place where his heart could breathe and heal.”

“Let’s hope that it helps,” Ash said, starting to rise. And then he added, “I want someone with him all the time.”

“Are you that worried about him?” Miranda said, more than a little alarmed. “You don’t think he would…do himself damage?”
She blurted out the last words in a rush.