Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (18 page)

Eleanor soon flustered, but Zechariah
encouraged his wife to be patient. Duty called, and he left for a
stint on the
USS Zouave
, a newly acquired ship set to join
the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron on the James River. With
Zechariah out of the house, Emma developed an irritable attitude
with Eleanor and Rosemary, a colored girl the Pratts had hired to
assist with chores at home and duties around the Union camp.

One afternoon, with her back aching from
helping with the camp's laundry, Eleanor entered Emma's room and
dropped an armful of clean wash on top of her.

"What's going on?" Emma roused from a drowsy
sleep.

"I need your help today."

Emma pulled the covers over her head. "I
can't."

Eleanor yanked the covers down. "Yes, you
can. There's nothing physically wrong with you, Tom."

She couldn't argue. A fleeting appetite and a
gnawing grief in her chest weakened her, but she made no attempt to
accept what had happened. Now, with Eleanor exasperated, Emma
rolled to one side and squeezed her eyes shut, but Eleanor got in
her face.

"All you've done now for two weeks is mope,
sass me, and complain. Well, enough's enough. I want you out of
that bed and decent in five minutes, Private."

Eleanor slammed the door, leaving a rumpled,
dumbfounded Emma in bed and buried under a pile of linens.

****

Armed with the laundry, Emma joined Eleanor
and Rosemary in the kitchen. She set it on the table and began
folding it.

Rosemary's eyes grew wide, as she only knew
the angst-ridden side of Emma and didn't know what to expect from
her next. Eleanor stifled a laugh but said nothing. Sheets billowed
and eyes darted in the silence, but Emma knew she owed Eleanor an
explanation.

"My brother was killed in the Battle of Port
Royal." Emma stared down at the laundry. Her words sounded foreign,
and she wished they belonged to another person.

Eleanor's shoulders sank. She came around the
table and wrapped herself around Emma. Rosemary excused herself as
the two embraced and said she would pick up necessities at the
mercantile.

"This is what's brought you so low, isn't
it?" Eleanor asked when they were alone.

Emma nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't know how to deal with it." She took
a seat at the table. "I've lost so much…" Thoughts of family,
Basil, and home invaded Emma's mind, but she fought the urge to
break down. The mix of tears, isolation and emotion had proven to
be poor companions.

"Few people are strangers to loss. Zechariah
and I have buried three daughters."

Emma looked at her with disbelief. Shame also
weighed on her for not knowing more details of Eleanor's life.

"Wh
—
How?"

"It's been so many years ago, but I remember
it like it was yesterday. Back in the '30s, Zechariach and I came
here from England. America was such a dream then, founded on
religious freedom and an opportunity for new hope. Well, we left
our church, boarded a boat with our three young girls, and made the
journey to New York. Our girls grew sick along the way. The
youngest, my precious Alice, she died in my arms aboard the ship.
Other passengers were sick, too. Even Zechariah took ill. I felt so
helpless on that ship. There was nothing I could do but pray.
Within a month of our arrival, our other daughters, Mary and
Eunice, also passed. It was another month before Zechariah could
even sit up in bed."

Emma had wondered why Eleanor and Zechariah
had no children or grandchildren. Considering their loving natures,
Emma had easily pictured them with a large brood, but she knew
there were women, unlike her mother, who couldn't conceive. She'd
been too timid to ask but had not imagined the truth contained such
tragedy.

"I'm sorry."

"I am too." Eleanor shared a feeble grin. "We
didn't get to see our daughters grow up, but Zechariah and I found
peace, knowing they are with the Father. You see, Tom, when you
trust in the Lord, loved ones move on, but they are never gone."
She wiped tears from her eyes and put on a brave smile. "We will be
with them again someday. Until then, we will love and encourage as
many people as we can along the way. Others have suffered worse.
Since the war began, I've felt a growing gratefulness to the Lord.
My children died in my arms. I held them, mourned them, buried
them." Tears welled in her eyes. "But there are already so many
who've lost their husbands and sons to the battlefield. They have
no special place where they laid their loved ones to rest. They
never had that last tender good-bye." She hugged her hands to her
chest. "I'm grateful the Lord allowed me that."

Emma wanted to understand, wanted to find her
own meaningful faith. She thought of Tilda and how she, too, had
held steady in her faith, despite losing her child. Faith, real
faith, Emma decided, wasn't for the weak at heart.

It occurred to her how self-absorbed she had
been, and that focusing on her hurts would do her no good. Loving
and trusting God wasn't for the sake of what God could do for her,
but for the depth and strength she needed to walk out her own
destiny, and to be a source of strength for those who needed her
along the journey.

"I'm sorry for the way I've acted, Eleanor. I
don't deserve the kindness you've shown me. I wish I could explain
a few things. There's a great deal you don't know."

"Of course there is! Tom, I've dealt with
people my whole life, and I've learned how complicated and complex
they can be." Eleanor put her hands on both Emma's shoulders and
looked her in the eyes. "I hope you realize how deeply Zechariah
and I care for you, Tom. No matter what I may not know, nothing
could change that."

Emma desperately wanted to confide in
Eleanor. She had fought and denied the need for months. Unveiling
her secrets, though, would put Eleanor in a difficult
—
perhaps even dangerous
—
position. She knew she could trust her, and Zechariah,
but it would be for her benefit and not theirs.

"I want to tell you everything," Emma said,
"but I can't. At least not now."

"That's all right. You tell me what I need to
know, and I'll be here anytime you might need me."

After finishing the laundry and helping
Eleanor tidy the rest of her house, Emma cleaned the guest room
she'd occupied. Rosemary returned and started supper. Emma packed
her few belongings and prepared to head back to camp.

"You know what I find interesting?" Eleanor
asked as Emma was about to step out the door. "I think it's
interesting that a man like you stayed in bed for days and didn't
emerge with whiskers or the need to shave."

Flabbergasted, Emma wasn't sure what to say.
She ran her hand over her cheeks, as if that could make her appear
scruffy or help her conjure an explanation.

"I'm a late bloomer," she said.

Eleanor suppressed a knowing smile. "Of that
I'm not so sure."

****

If Eleanor really knew Emma's secret, she
made no more mention of it. That suited Emma, as she worried that
letting her guard down around anyone, Eleanor included, would make
her vulnerable to discovery.

With painful effort, she replied to Knox's
letter. She thanked Knox for his generous sentiment and expressed
her sorrow for Alexander. Emma told him she would not be returning
home soon, as she was still dedicated to the cause of fighting for
slaves' freedom. She had thought long and hard before penning those
words. Returning to Beaumont, she knew, would not heal their hurt
for Alexander, and there was no promise her mother would forgive
her. In her letters to Stuart, Emma spoke mostly of her work at the
hospital, since battles had been few. Apparently, Knox and Olivia
still didn't know the depth of Emma's betrayal. She continued the
ruse with no mention of being a Union soldier and withheld her
complaints about Yankees.

Emma also felt a certain responsibility for
Eleanor. With Zechariah gone for an extended stay, Emma wanted to
look after her friend as best she could. When she returned to her
duties, Emma bypassed an explanation. Trumball didn't press the
matter, but a new tension emerged between them. Despite such
complications, Emma couldn't imagine leaving and never seeing James
again.

Emma heard that Orson and Will made many
friends among the soldiers. Having Will around brightened the
disposition of many since he reminded them of their sons, but most
agreed that an army encampment was no place for a young boy. Will
and his pistol joined the men during musket practice one afternoon
and demonstrated his aggression more than his marksmanship. Orson
and Will stuck to their wandering and eventually went in search of
other customers for their wares.

A few men ended up spending a couple nights
in the camp's improvised prison, but whether drunkenness and
disorderliness landed them there thanks in part to Orson and his
whiskey-elixirs, Emma didn't know.

Union Encampment

Northern Virginia

March, 1862

If the Army of the Potomac had been labeled
quiet during the autumn of 1861, it was downright mute during the
winter of 1862, Emma thought. Snowfall and bitter temperatures
discouraged serious troop movement, despite President Lincoln's
urging for a stronger Union presence closer to Richmond. McClellan
continued his demands for more men, more artillery, and more
time.

In the Western theater of the campaign,
General Grant did not allow the loss at Belmont to deter him from
chipping away at Confederate fortifications. By the middle of
February, he had captured Forts Henry and Donelson on the Tennessee
River. Union General Don Carlos Buell took control of Nashville
shortly thereafter, and General Samuel Curtis victoriously battled
an allied Cherokee-Confederate band in Pea Ridge, Arkansas.
Naturally, Emma and her comrades wondered if the Cherokee band was
the same group they had faced on their mission delivering
supplies.

Sadly, in late February, devastation struck
the White House when eleven year-old Willie Lincoln died from
typhoid fever. The president and Mrs. Lincoln plunged into an abyss
of grief that overshadowed the Union's accomplishments. Lincoln
went so far as to have the boy exhumed twice, just so he could see
his face again.

By March, McClellan made his plans clear
—
troops were to prepare for
advancement and attack upon Richmond.

"About time," Charles complained after drill
duty. "Some of us want to get this thing over with. If we don't
strike out and start putting them Rebels in their place, this
stalemate will just go on forever."

The change in Charles' attitude and his
newfound thirst for action surprised Emma. She wondered if there
was meaning behind those words, or if it was a means to conceal his
plans for desertion.

"Our pay come late again," Simon noted. "Not
much my wife can do with thirteen dollars a month with six kids to
clothe and feed, but she needs it. She's having a time managing the
farm without me."

"We're all in the same spot," Trumball said.
"Not much we can do, 'cept wait and follow orders when they
come."

"This better not just be li'l ol' Mac
flappin' his gums again." Nash wiped down his rifle as he spoke.
"Us movin' to Richmond better be for real. Ain't you heard nothin',
Lieutenant?"

"Nothin' that means anything. I know this
ain't ideal, men, but the best we can do is to keep our heads about
us and to be ready. Things could change at any moment. I get the
feelin' that's the way the general prefers things."

"Lieutenant Trumball?"

All heads turned and found Sergeant Howard
approaching. One of the few men shorter than McClellan in the camp,
Howard served as an assistant to McClellan.

"The general wishes to see you," Howard
said.

"All right, I'll be right there."

"He's also requested to see another man from
your unit," Howard glanced at a paper in his hand, "a Private
Edmonds."

Eyebrows jumped and curious looks found Emma,
who had an equally bewildered expression upon her face.

Trumball cocked a grin. "Tell the general
we're on our way."

Despite having won a degree of favor with
Little Mac, Emma's admiration of her leader never recovered from
her initial encounter with the man. Emma followed Trumball to the
general's tent and took a seat inside on a folding canvas chair. As
they waited for McClellan to materialize, Emma and Trumball were
joined by Colonel Reed. McClellan appeared a short time later,
combing his hair.

"Gentlemen, you're here. Good." He combed his
hair for several more minutes while the men watched. "I've been
thinking of taking some action."

Eyes darted all around.

"However, our situation is delicate."
McClellan began a slow, thoughtful pace. "Before I can move an army
to take over the Confederate's capital at Richmond, we'll have to
conquer Yorktown. Now the president seems to disagree that I need a
considerably greater amount of men for such a feat. He's a
politician, mind you, not a military leader. His weakness in
understanding my difficult position shows. In this great
undertaking I have been entrusted with, I want to be certain that
our strategies are effective and propel us toward victory, but if I
move this army to attack Yorktown at present, I fear what the
outcome may be. So in an attempt to further our efforts, and to
pacify the president, I have decided that what will benefit us most
is to infiltrate a spy into the Rebel camp."

"Don't we already have such persons, working
to seek out information on the Confederates?" Colonel Reed
asked.

"Indeed, we do have various gentlemen
undertaking such tasks, but what I require is someone of our own
choosing. Someone who can slip behind those enemy lines, complete
critical observations, and report back to me directly."