Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (15 page)

Emma kept her head down and stuck to what she
now knew best, hospital work and drills. She had no choice. Daily
she hoped and checked for a letter from Stuart, but nothing came. A
cloud of loneliness engulfed her, as she couldn't express her
concerns among the others. Emma had grown closer with her fellow
soldiers, but like Trumball, she restricted talk of her family and
home life, finding it easier to cope with the absence the less she
shared. The opposite proved true for Emma's comrades, who found
solace in telling stories and sharing memories.

Alone and stretching on her cot inside her
tent one afternoon, she heard her name called.

"Tom? Tom, are you in there?"

She perked up at the sound of Eleanor's voice
then poked her head outside the tent.

"I hoped I'd find you." Eleanor's features
looked distressed. "Please, come quick."

"What's wrong?" Emma grabbed her hat and
darted out.

"A courier arrived moments ago, slumped on
his horse and bleeding." Eleanor rubbed her hands on her apron,
more from nervousness than need.

Emma asked, "What happened?"

"He's been shot by a Rebel sniper."

A brisk wind slapped the hospital tent's
flaps back and forth. Emma checked the sky and didn't like the
sight of an approaching storm. Heavy rain made camp life miserable.
Water accumulated on the soft soil, creating thick puddles that
crept inside each tent. Mud and dirty water invaded footwear and
soaked their woolen socks, but Emma had no time to dwell on such
unpleasantries.

She and Eleanor walked back to the operating
area Dr. Hillman had set up. The courier lay face down and
shirtless on the table. Two bloody holes marked his back.

"How is he, doc?" Emma asked.

Dr. Hillman held a pair of bloodied bone
forceps and shook his head. Bits of bone lay at the patient's side
but the round, flattened shape of a discharged lead bullet wasn't
present. An assistant stuffed the holes with bandage wrap to plug
the bleeding, then wiped away smears of blood on the man's
skin.

"The bullets are in too deep," Dr. Hillman
said, "and he's lost a great deal of blood."

News of a wounded courier spread through camp
like a fresh canteen of whiskey. Colonel Reed, Trumball, and
McClellan made their way to the hospital. All were updated on the
man's condition. He started to rouse from the ether.

Emma knelt beside the table so she could be
eye level with the courier. "What's your name?"

"Perry." His voice was weak, his eyes glassy.
Chevron stripes on his torn, discarded jacket indicated his rank as
a sergeant.

"Hang in there, Perry. Dr. Hillman is one of
the best. We're going to get you mended." Emma squeezed Perry's
hand as she often did to patients before she eased them to sleep
with chloroform.

"My boot." His words came slow and distorted
as his lips lay limp against the table. He tried to move his hand
to his leg, but the action proved too painful. "Must get to Grant.
Urgent."

Emma removed the boots and found folded
papers within. The papers detailed troop movement and artillery
near Belmont, Kentucky, a hotbed area both the North and South
wanted to control in order to tip Kentucky's neutrality in the war.
Several divisions under the commands of Brigadier General Grant and
Major General John Fremont had been stationed in the town of
Columbus since the summer, strengthening their position with men
and supplies. The papers from Perry's boot would benefit Grant's
army, which was set to attack. Such info could clinch a Union
victory and enable the North to gain control of the upper
Mississippi.

Perry tried to raise himself up. "It must get
through. Has to be tonight," he said to Emma. "Messenger's waiting
at Roanoke."

Emma glanced at his commanders. Roanoke sat
two hundred miles away, and not far from Lynchburg, where Colonel
Lee and a concentration of Confederate troops were supposedly
located. They assumed Perry had gone wildly off course to end up
here. Emma speculated that Perry must have encountered the snipers
somewhere outside of Richmond. Perhaps he knew the only way the
papers would get delivered was to get them into the hands of the
Union officials.

"We'll take care of it, Perry," Emma assured
him, although every man present knew the distance would take days
to cover. "Don't worry."

"Good," Perry sighed. "That's good."

"Let's have a look at those." Colonel Reed
reached for the papers. McClellan joined him, and the two scanned
the maps and notes of the Rebels position. "He's right. This
information is critical, and to accomplish such a journey," Colonel
Reed raised his eyebrows, "we'll need a man who doesn't scare
easily, and one who can leave immediately."

Perry's sudden groans punctuated the
conversation. Pain cramped his entire body. Seconds later, he fell
unconscious. The tension in his body deflated.

"Perry! Perry!" Dr. Hillman put his ear to
Perry's back, listening for a heartbeat and breathing, but a grim
expression marked his face. "We've lost him."

"It's a shame." Colonel Reed looked at Perry
sympathetically. "We need to do our part, men. We need a
volunteer
—
"

"I'll go, sir." Emma stood, though she'd
given no genuine thought to what the mission might entail.

"That's brave of you, son, but there's a bad
storm about to roll in, and I don't think you know what you're
getting into."

"The colonel's right," McClellan said. "It
means passing through enemy-held territory. It's likely the
wilderness and such is thick with the enemy. You could end up like
Perry here."

Emma looked at Perry.

"I'm willing to take that chance, sir." Was
she? Or was this part of her desire to prove her worth to
Lieutenant Trumball, even in such reckless circumstances? Or was it
pure devotion shining through? Men like Perry, Emma knew, had given
all they could. Who was she to offer any less? Emma put her motives
in check. She wanted this chance, and she convinced herself that
taking such a risk was better than the constant wading in
McClellan's swamp of idleness.

Thunder cracked and ominous clouds crawled
near.

"No," Trumball said. "General, Colonel, this
should be my responsibility. I'm Edmonds' commander, and with a
storm like that brewing, I should be the one to go."

"Colonel, I
—
"

"Besides," Trumball interjected, "I'm more
experienced."

Unoffended, Emma raised her voice. "Pardon
me, sirs, but I disagree. I'm more than capable of handling this
assignment. In fact, I recently saved my detachment from death and
dismemberment by a band of rogue Indians."

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. She
recalled how she had tried to civilize her comrades' opinions of
the Cherokee, and how put-off she had been, listening to their
rants about wild savages that had no experience behind them. Here,
she knew that pointing out the dangers and exaggerating the
incident worked to her advantage.

"Yes, I've heard of this extraordinary
encounter," Colonel Reed said. "Most impressive work, Edmonds."

"Thank you, sir." Emma darted her eyes in
Trumball's direction. "And might I add, sirs, that Lieutenant
Trumball has just recovered from an injury he received during the
fighting at Bull Run
—
and a
near-death experience with the Indians."

"How dare you!" Trumball exploded.

Eleanor gasped.

Colonel Reed slapped a hand on Trumball's
chest. "Simmer down, Lieutenant. We could stand here and argue all
day but that won't get the job done." He turned to McClellan.
"General, as long as you're in agreement, I believe Edmonds is most
qualified to carry out the duty."

McClellan folded the papers and handed them
over to Emma. "Agreed."

"Lieutenant, you'll better serve your men
here, by remaining in your position."

Aggravation stewed in Trumball's eyes as he
looked at Emma, but he gave his commander a respectful "yes, sir"
before he ducked out of the tent, and the rain began to fall.

****

"I don't know about this, Tom." Eleanor wrung
her hands. "Seems awfully dangerous to me. Are you sure you're
suited for this?"

Her question stunned Emma almost as much as
Trumball's lack of support.

"Of course he is!" Zechariah gave Emma a firm
slap on the shoulder. Shorter than Eleanor with only a half-ring of
hair around his head, but with eyes as warm as Eleanor's, the stout
preacher could comfort anyone. Like Emma, he had sat at many a
soldiers' bedside and held their hands as they groaned through pain
or entered into death. He led funeral services and church services
for the Army of the Potomac every Sunday morning he wasn't on
assignment or tending to the sick and wounded, and his fishing
skills were unrivaled among the men.

The three of them stood in Eleanor and
Zechariah's house, which sat only a block from the Union
encampment. A fresh horse and supplies were being readied for Emma.
Eleanor had insisted on loading Emma's pockets with apple fritters
and cornbread she had just baked. She offered more than there was
room for.

"I'm not worried," Emma lied. She forced an
awkward smile that fooled no one. Knowing the risks before setting
out, gnawed at her while too many what-ifs raced through her
mind.

"If you can handle an ambush of Indians,
you'll do fine on this mission." Zechariah shook Emma's hand
firmly. "May the good Lord continue to be with you and guide you,
Tom."

Although she appreciated the sentiment and
Zechariah's sincerity, Emma didn't know what to think. Was God with
her? Emma wondered if God was with anyone, or if a man carved out
his own destiny while the Creator watched like a detached
spectator, deaf to the prayers of simple man. But she ignored the
weakness of her musings. This was no time for her to question the
ways of the Almighty.

Eleanor looked her over for a moment then
embraced her. Emma found it difficult to breathe and even more
laborious to hold back the truth about her identity. She thought
about confessing, right there, telling both Eleanor and Zechariah
that she was a woman. She wanted them to know, wanted them to tell
her family, if anything should happen to her. But her courage fell
short — or her senses prevailed. She wasn't sure which.

"Please bring him back safely, Lord," Eleanor
prayed, though none of them said anything about the tremor in her
voice.

****

Seated in the saddle and atop Flash, one of
the army's prized horses, Emma received her final instructions and
was sent off by her commanders with a map and Godspeed. Steady rain
beat the ground. Graham, Nash, and several others nodded their
farewell. Trumball was nowhere to be found. Emma pretended it
didn't bother her.

The pounding rain complicated Emma's journey
immediately. Dirt roads became difficult to distinguish. With the
sky awash and no moonlight present, she got lost within miles of
leaving the camp. Rain soaked her clothes and misery set in. She
kept on but worried she was only making her situation worse.

She wanted to cry out, turn to someone for
help. What would happen if she failed to deliver the papers? Should
she return to camp and admit she couldn't do it? How could she ever
face Trumball again? She'd been wrong, arguing with the lieutenant
and mentioning his injury to get what she thought she wanted.

Emma let the horse canter. Was there even a
chance she could find her way back? She prayed, earnestly, for
direction, for help. Her anxiousness building, she strained her
eyes, looking for a sign in the darkness. A farmhouse or even a
cabin. And then, she saw it. A speck of light swayed in the
pitch-black night. Emma approached it, and slowly, an odd scene
came into focus.

A gray-haired man and young boy sat huddled
under a canvas with their backs against a small wagon. A modest
fire sputtered between them. The light Emma had seen was a lantern,
hooked to a stick and swaying in the wind.

"Evenin'," the man said good-naturedly. The
boy did not share the man's cheerfulness and glared at Emma with
misgivings. Emma guessed him to be about ten.

"You fellas mind if I join you?" Emma
asked.

"Help yourself."

She dismounted Flash and secured him to a
tree. Then she scrunched herself in an attempt to find a dry spot
under the canvas. She felt embarrassed and as though she was
imposing on the man. The boy's unwelcoming expression worsened
Emma's feeling of inadequacy.

"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."