Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (12 page)

Half a mile from camp, and still within the
Union perimeter, Emma savored the special place where she could be
alone. Finding a secluded spot was a skill she had perfected. With
a small pond and a willow tree beside it, she had an area to rest,
bathe and let her frustrations subside. She had stashed a few
personal items in the nook of the twisted tree trunk so she didn't
need to waste time retrieving them from her tent and possibly have
to mention to Graham where she was going.

When she was sure she was alone, Emma removed
her uniform. She stood naked, soaked in the moonlight and took
several deep breaths. Never had she been so reckless. But her
inability to perform like a soldier at Bull Run, coupled with the
dying men, the stints at the hospital, and now her encounter with
McClellan, had made Emma question her value in the war. If she
wasn't able to shoot Confederates or accept the fact that many
Northerners found slavery tolerable, then what good was she to the
Union army?

She hushed the onslaught in her head and
refused to let her girlish emotions surface. She quickly bent next
to the pond and went to work, scrubbing and flaking off bits of mud
from her uniform. She wrung the jacket with all her might, and then
slapped it against a rock for good measure.

Crying, Emma plunged into the pond. Balmy
days and warm nights had made the water tepid. Emma let her body
float as she stared at the moon. Numbness infected her, and she
wondered how much longer she could keep her ruse alive
—
and if it was still worth the risk.

Her Southern nature caused her to question
the Yankees and what she considered to be a lack of action. She had
hoped the confrontation between North and South would be settled in
minor skirmishes, and that the North would grasp victory easily.
Now, the two sides were at a standstill, each waiting for the other
to move and both submerged in indecision and partnered with
inexperienced men.

Emma had no easy solutions. If she deserted,
she'd be branded a coward, she'd be like Charles, who was a coward
in Emma's mind, even though he had yet to follow through on his
flimsy plan. If she remained, she ran the risk of getting killed or
exposed, neither of which she had given proper consideration to
before enlisting.

She climbed out of the pond and was about to
reach for her blanket to wrap and dry herself with, when she heard
a noise. She froze. A shadow dashed about ten yards in front of
her. Emma ducked behind the tree's swinging branches and full
leaves and then draped herself with the blanket and fumbled for her
clothing, but she feared it was too late.

Someone was there, and that someone had just
seen that Private Tom Edmonds was a woman.

As the sun crested over the peaks and valleys
of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Emma, ramrod straight and in her
still-damp uniform, pulled her cap tight over her head. She wished
there was something more she could do to her disguise. Anything
that might enhance her masculinity. She contemplated dusting her
jawline to make it appear fresh with stubble. But she knew someone
like Nash was bound to tease her or sample those budding whiskers.
That would draw attention Emma didn't want, perhaps even ridicule.
But what good would whiskers or a confident posture do her now?
Someone in the camp had seen her nude. There was nothing her
outward appearance could do to erase the image someone now
possessed.

Emma glanced at every face she passed on her
way to the hospital tent. She checked for a sign or a glint or a
raised eyebrow that said he knew, but no one regarded her any
differently, or noticed that her attention was on high alert. A
sigh of relief escaped as she ducked into the hospital tent.

"Look! There's Edmonds!"

Emma paused as several sets of eyes now
rested on her. Colonel Reed was present, along with Dr. Spear's
former assistants. Emma was convinced they knew. She scanned the
area for Eleanor. If anyone could help her through this, she
thought, it was her, but the older woman was nowhere to be found.
Emma moved toward the company of men but felt as if her feet were
strapped to anvils. Her eyes darted to the side, and for a split
second she considered running. But no. She would face whatever came
next. Would they shackle her, here in front of the patients? Would
there be a trial
—
or a hasty
execution?

"Quick, Edmonds, you're needed!"

The group of men walked to an area that had
been partitioned off and provided privacy from the main section of
the hospital. Emma followed, confused and uncertain. Then she saw
Glanville. The oldest-known soldier in the camp, Glanville had
refused to give his age for fear of being dismissed. Sixty to
sixty-five, Glanville had a sharp wit and had made himself
indispensable around the camp with his ability to repair faulty
muskets. Tufts of white hair rimmed the back of his head and deep
wrinkles marked his leathery skin.

"What's going on?" she asked, though she had
trouble forming the words.

Glanville lay strapped to a make-shift
table.

"Supply wagon arrived this morning," Colonel
Reed said. "One of the axles busted. The load landed on his
foot."

"We need to amputate," said one of the
medical assistants.

"That's it? That's what you needed me for?"
Emma nearly squealed with relief, but she resisted as she checked
the puzzled faces of those around her. She cleared her throat and
turned her thoughts toward Glanville. "Are you sure we should
amputate?"

A sheet that rested over Glanville's foot was
raised and revealed a mangled, black and purple mass. Tom looked at
the assistant and nodded. She knew too well that the limb would
blacken and decay. If it remained, the deadened foot would cause
Glanville to become septic and die.

"No!" Glanville screamed. "Don't do it! Shoot
me, but don't cut off my foot!" He struggled against the ropes.

"We need every man we can get," Colonel Reed
said to Emma.

Suddenly, Lieutenant Trumball walked around
the partition. "I can help."

"Good," the colonel said, ignoring the fact
that Trumball's arm was bandaged. "Let's hold him down while they
do the cutting."

"Wait!" Emma insisted.

All eyes turned to her.

"Dr. Spear never made an amputation without
the patient's consent." Emma couldn't believe she was making Dr.
Spear sound thoughtful and sincere. "Let me talk to him."

"This can't wait," the assistant said,
holding the amputation saw, blackened with dried blood.

"Two minutes," Emma said. She bent down to
Glanville while the company of men grumbled. Trumball, on the other
side of Glanville, also bent down. Emma hesitated, but Trumball
gave her a subtle nod. "You've got to hear me out, Glanville."

"Can't trust a man who don't cheat at cards,"
Glanville said in his rustic-sounding voice.

"I don't play cards," Emma said.

"I know! So how can I trust a word you
say?"

Trumball looked slightly pleased by
Glanville's wit but said nothing.

"Glanville, this is serious," Emma said. "You
have to let them remove your foot. Otherwise, you'll be dead inside
a week."

"Fine." Glanville crossed his arms. "Start
diggin' my grave then."

"That's how you want to go, Glanville? You
want to lay here and rot in bed like a helpless old fool? Pft!
That's not the man I know." Emma avoided the unpleasant truth that
an amputation could still lead to an infection
—
and death.

Glanville's eyes widened. Like Grady, he had
prided himself on his outlandish stories and tall-tales of
adventures. Dying from infection would be an inglorious departure
from life.

"Now I know you're about as tender as an old
goat," Emma said, "but we'll put you out with some chloroform. You
won't feel a thing."

"There is no chloroform, Private," Colonel
Reed said.

"How can that be? You just said the supply
wagon arrived today. There must be
—
"

The colonel closed his eyes and slowly shook
his head.

"Any ether?"

"We'll have to make do without it." Colonel
Reed kept his eyes on Emma, though his tone radiated sympathy.

Glanville slid an arm from the ropes and
grabbed Emma's arm. "Gimme a bottle of whiskey first."

Emma was speechless and made no promises. She
looked at Trumball, who gave a nod and disappeared around the side
of the partition. He returned moments later with a bottle halfway
filled. Glanville depleted what was left, then shook his head and
laid back.

Emma, the colonel, and Trumball positioned
themselves over Glanville as he slid his arm back under the
binding. The assistant began sawing, and the men threw themselves
over Glanville as his bawls and curses vibrated throughout the
tent.

The blood-curling screams reminded Emma of a
similar situation that had occurred on the plantation. Years ago
during harvest season, a slave named Hank had saved two small
children from being attacked by a gator lurking in the swamp. It
had cost him an arm and part of his thigh. Strips of flesh hung
from Hank's shoulder and leg. Blood oozed. Hank retaliated with a
sickle he'd been using in the field. The children escaped unharmed
and the gator met his end, but the blood loss cost Hank his life.
Compared to what Hank endured, Emma believed Glanville's situation
was far more humane.

Now, while Glanville bucked, Trumball held
Emma in his gaze. She didn't flinch, neither did Trumball. Emma
shut out Glanville's screaming by focusing on the lieutenant's
eyes. She didn't know if he was looking for weakness in her, or if
he expected her to faint again, but Emma emitted an intensity that
matched his.

Glanville passed out. The saw slices
continued until Glanville's foot thumped into an awaiting bucket.
Trumball, Tom, and the other men released their hold and stood.

"Good work, men." Colonel Reed, who appeared
on the verge of vomiting, wiped the sweat from his brow and excused
himself.

"Looks like you can take it from here,"
Trumball said to the assistant. He turned to Emma and seemed to
consider saying something.

Emma felt redeemed in front of her commander.
She expected a compliment, since even Colonel Reed had displayed
poor composure. However, the lieutenant gave her a curt nod and
left the tent.

Dumbfounded, Emma stood with her jaw slack.
Was there no pleasing this man? Then, a disturbing thought seared
her. What if Trumball had been the one out by the pond last night,
lurking in the shadows?

****

Emma remained on edge throughout the day, but
nothing surfaced from her late-night peeper. Naturally, she feared
the moment she let her guard down again the prowler would rat her
out. She could think of no reason why someone would protect her
secret, but dwelling on the matter distracted her from her duties
and quickly drained her energies. She resolved to let it be. No one
around Emma indicated that he knew, so she pacified her concerns by
thinking that the culprit hadn't figured out that the naked woman
in the moonlight was posing as Tom Edmonds.

During Emma's afternoon rounds, she
discovered the lieutenant's cot vacant. Concern pierced her. She
thought back to Glanville's amputation and recalled that blood had
seeped through Trumball's bandage. The wound had responded
positively to treatment thus far, but she wondered if the
lieutenant had overexerted himself, or even ripped Emma's
stitches.

Secretly, Emma had been looking forward to
seeing Trumball on rounds. She still felt she deserved some sort of
recognition for the way she'd handled Glanville. If the lieutenant
had branded her as weak or even unreliable, Emma believed her
current actions over-rode her earlier misstep of fainting. Soothing
Glanville and obtaining his consent had been a feat worthy of
erasing Trumball's first impression of her. Or so Emma thought.

"Has something happened to Lieutenant
Trumball?" Emma asked Eleanor, who unofficially ran the hospital
now.

"Not that I know of. He seemed in good
spirits yesterday."

Emma wondered on what basis Eleanor made that
determination since her commander didn't come across as the
cheerful kind.

"He may have discharged himself. He does like
to do things his own way."

"His dressing needed changed today. That gash
of his still needs looked after." Emma scanned the cots from where
she stood but saw no sign of the lieutenant.

Eleanor watched until Emma's gaze returned to
her. "I doubt that you'll need to spend much time worrying about
him. He'll come back if he needs us."

Emma suspected that a man like Trumball
needed no one.

****

Days and nights meshed into one, as Emma's
shifts at the hospital continued. From changing bandages to
administering medicine, from scrubbing blood-stained sheets to
digging graves, her duties knew no boundaries, especially since Dr.
Spear had yet to be replaced. More time at the hospital meant less
time for drill duty. She considered that a good thing, since her
desire to engage with her comrades, and General McClellan, had
diminished.

Emma kept close to Eleanor when she could.
The other woman's strength of spirit and energy amazed her. Emma
found Zechariah equally remarkable, though the chaplain's presence
was not as ubiquitous as Eleanor's in the hospital tent.

Late one night, Emma sat at the bedside of
Dewey Calvert. Dewey had survived the unimaginable from the Bull
Run confrontation. A Minie ball had blasted through his side, but
Dewey held on through the blood loss and primitive surgery to
repair the wound. Infection had set in, though, and Dewey was
helpless against an unseen enemy.

"You got all that, Tom?"