Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (23 page)

Silence beat in the room. Men shifted
awkwardly. The jovial spirit that had infected the room met a
sudden death.

Lincoln stood. "Well, Private Edmonds, I
believe it is time you had your rest. Meeting you has been an
extreme pleasure. Thank you for your service. This country is
indebted to you, as is the general."

Lincoln shook Emma's hand again. He exchanged
parting words and thanks with Eleanor and made his way through the
throng of men, shaking hands as he went. The men, including
McClellan, Graham, and even Eli Nash, passed on well wishes to
their comrade and slowly funneled out of the house.

"Wait till I tell Zechariah!" Eleanor said
once everyone but Trumball and Rosemary had departed.

Breathless and in need of a fresh bandage,
Emma's thoughts wandered to her grandfather. She wondered what he
would say if she ever had the chance to tell him that she had met
the president. Would he be proud of her? Would he envy her, meeting
the nation's leader? Emma didn't know. But a new-found respect for
President Lincoln swelled in her, as well as a certainty that
General McClellan was a fool.

Pain woke Emma from a late afternoon nap.

"Needin' a dose of morphine?" Trumball
asked.

Emma, surprised and more pleased than she
should be to find James in her room, declined the medicine.

"Nah, I'll just give it a minute. It'll
pass."

"No need to play stubborn for me." James
sounded neither condescending nor lofty. In fact, Emma detected a
grin on him, but he quickly became self-conscious. "I'll check with
Miss Eleanor, see what I can find."

Emma took a deep breath and nodded. Having
someone, besides Sylvia, tend to her was a new feeling. So was
being shot. Twice. She tried to remove part of the bandage to
assess the damage, but it was no use. Too much movement only
invited more pain. How she had made it back to camp with such
injuries was a mystery. While she was hiding on board the ship,
Emma had found a crate with bread loaves. She'd done her best to
make a poultice for her wounds. Whether that had made the
difference, or the fact that the bullets had zipped straight
through her, she didn't know. Regardless, she sent up prayers of
abundant thanks.

James returned with a bowl of broth and a
bottle of whiskey. He settled at Emma's bedside. He seemed to
fumble for the correct way to act and behave around Emma, and she
found his awkwardness endearing. Except for their encounter with
the Cherokee, she had never seen him unsure of himself. The change
in him was a welcome one, though Emma wasn't quite sure how to
behave around him either.

He poured a shot of whiskey and offered it.
"If you think it'll help."

"Worth a try." Emma's face tightened as the
drink burned its way down her throat.

"Eleanor thinks you need somethin' in your
stomach."

He held the bowl and sat close. Then he
leaned in as he fed Emma. Broth dripped onto Eleanor's bedding, but
Emma pretended not to notice. After a few spoonfuls, Emma's body
rattled with jitters at being so close to and so dependent upon
James. She held up her hand to indicate she was done.

"I never did have a way with nursin'." He sat
the bowl aside.

"No, you did fine." Emma withdrew her
overly-pleased smile and rolled the covers so the spilled broth
wouldn't show. "Not much of an appetite yet. I don't mean to sound
unkind, but should you be here?"

"Wantin' rid of me?" James looked insulted
and stood.

"No!" Emma sat up and held out her hand to
keep him from leaving. Her pain caused her to cry out.

"Easy now." James took her hand and sat again
as Emma caught her breath. "I got special permission to keep an eye
on you. That bother you?"

"No," Emma whispered. "I'm glad you're
here."

Her words brought a half-smile to his face.
"What do I even call you now?"

She knew he wasn't referring simply to her
name. He was wondering where they went from here and how he would
address her in front of others. Emma wondered the same, but what,
at the moment, were the alternatives? Neither had an idea as to how
the situation would unfold.

Under James' curious gape, Emma fidgeted.
This wasn't the way a lady wanted to look in front of a gentleman.
As much as she'd hated her mother's primping and insistence upon
proper etiquette, Emma craved her long hair and that lilac frock.
Perhaps for the first time, Emma wanted the admiration a gentleman
offered a lady. Cropped and dirty hair, grit under her fingernails
and a makeshift wardrobe would do nothing to make a man's heart
flutter. But what was she thinking? James was still her commander
—
and married.

"What'd you do it for?" he asked. "Why on
earth would a young woman go through so much trouble to pretend to
be a soldier?"

"Lot of reasons, but none that would probably
convince you."

James nodded. "Guess you'll be headin' home
soon as you're well enough."

Emma couldn't tell if he meant it as a
question or a command.

"Maybe." She played a homecoming scene
through her mind, one she found foolish to hope for. "I don't
really have a home to go back to." She forced a grin, not wanting
to make James any more uncomfortable.

"What about your pa? He know you're
here?"

"No, he died a couple years back." In
Beaumont, most people knew the story surrounding Tom Cartwright's
death. Mentioning it now, to a man who was still somewhat a
stranger to her, made Emma shift. She'd never shared the story
about the Uprising, never had to, and she didn't know if the timing
was right. Telling James this portion of her family's history could
further jeopardize the delicate position she'd already placed him
in with the accidental reveal of her gender.

"Shep," Emma said.

"What?"

"A man named Shep killed my father." Emma
hesitated. "It's a long story."

Confused but looking sympathetic, James sat
back to listen.

"Maybe I shouldn't tell you," Emma said.
"There's much about me you don't know."

"Might be helpful if I knew more."

Emma wasn't convinced that was true, but she
wanted to show James she trusted him.

"Well," Emma began, "Shep was a slave on my
family's plantation." She looked at him. "Our rice plantation."

James paused, then asked, "Are you tellin' me
you're from the South?"

Emma nodded.

Clearly, James hadn't expected that detail.
"A southern female posin' as a Union soldier? I reckon I'd best
hear this."

Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. She
was possibly endangering James by telling him more, but oddly, it
gave her a sense of security, sharing her secrets. For the first
time since she'd joined the army, Emma didn't feel alone.

"Shep was a good man. We called him Shep,
short for Shepherd, because he liked to preach to the slaves. He
was married to Harper, who works in our house, and they had several
children. One was a girl named Sissy. She was the same age as my
older brother, Franklin. The three of us were close, along with my
younger sister, Sylvia, but I didn't realize how close Franklin and
Sissy were until late one summer night, when one of our barns was
on fire. There was all kinds of commotion, screaming going on. Shep
was running around the barn with a torch in his hand and yelling,
'Burn, burn in hell you Jezebel.' At first, none of us knew what
was going on, but Sissy was inside. She'd just given birth that
night to Franklin's baby. Shep went crazy. He knew that kind of
scandal would ruin our family name, maybe have us run out of
Beaumont, and he wanted to punish Sissy. But my father heard Sissy
and the baby crying. He ran into the barn."

Tears streaked Emma's cheeks, but she
continued.

"No one could stop him. Shep even tried to
hold him back, hollering, 'Let 'em burn, master!' My father fought
him off, ran inside. Shep went in after him. It wasn't but a few
seconds later that the roof collapsed on all of them."

James let it sink in, then asked, "What
happened after?"

"Franklin disappeared after the funerals. He
left us a note that told us everything. Said he loved Sissy and
wanted to marry her. He knew he had to take her and the baby away
that night. He'd left her in the barn and went to pack some things
from the house. He said he was the only one besides Sissy who knew
she was pregnant. But Shep must've known something was wrong with
Sissy that night when she gave birth. When he found Sissy and the
baby, he set the barn on fire. Franklin said he couldn't stay, and
that he was headed to Kansas to do what he could to stop the spread
of slavery, and to get as far from Beaumont as he could.

"Our family was devastated, Harper, too, but
we never told folks in town the whole story, never mentioned the
baby. My grandfather took it the worst, and he insisted we blame
the tragedy on Shep, make it sound like he was starting a
rebellion, an uprising. He wanted the slaves scared, and he swore
he'd never let something like that happen again."

James sighed. He reached over and took Emma's
hand. "I think I understand why you're here then."

He let Emma shed her tears, and didn't look
at her while she wept. Emma was thankful for that, since his touch
was all the intensity she could tolerate. When Emma had recovered,
he released her hand and poured another shot of whiskey. Emma
settled back in bed after downing a dose, and James helped himself
to a dose of the spirits.

"I got me two boys," he said. "Back in
Kentucky. I ain't one that knows much about the politics and such,
but I knew I had to leave, had to show my boys that leavin' and
fightin' was the right thing to do."

There were many times when Emma forgot being
a soldier and part of the war effort was only a temporary reality.
Hope lived in every man that he would return to his home and farm,
loved ones, and to the life he had left behind. Emma didn't have
the same hope, as she had no idea what she would do with herself
once the war had ended.

"What about your wife?" Emma's boldness came
as a surprise. "I don't mean to sound disrespectful, I
—
"

"No, it's all right." James ran his hand over
his moustache as he seemed to think about her. "My Lily, she's uh,
been powerful sick. Got some ailment they don't know what to do
with." He shook his head. "It don't look good."

"Can't you request a leave and go be with
her?"

"Yeah, I reckon I could." He grew quiet. "But
I don't know if I could see her like that. I ain't used to bein'
helpless, and watchin' her die…" He swallowed hard. His head
drooped.

"She needs you. So do your boys."

"I wouldn't be no good for none of them.
She's got her folks there." He stood and went to the window. "When
I kissed my Lily goodbye afore comin' here, I accepted right then
and there it would be the last time I saw her, unless by some
miracle the Lord saw fit to deliver me home in one piece from this
war. But now, I've watched so many boys go to the grave without
even seein' a battle, I don't count myself as anything more special
than a one of them."

Emma understood his reasoning, but she didn't
agree with him.

"You'll regret not seeing her," she said.

"Maybe, but there ain't nothin' that'd make
losin' her easier. I don't want my last memory of her to be one
where she's ailin' and dyin'." He dug his hands into his pockets.
"Prayin' is the best thing I can do for her."

"You're being selfish."

He turned back to her, aggravation flaring in
his eyes.

"What?"

"She needs you, right there at her side. Like
you are now, with me." Emma felt her cheeks grow hot and her speech
loose. "I know I'd want you. Holding me. You'd have to be witless,
not going to her."

James sprang from his seat. "You think you
got all the answers there, Emma? You got me and my problems all
figured out? Is that it?"

"Huh? No, I
—
"

"'Cause let me tell you somethin' there, miss
southern gal, you don't know me, and you don't know a thing about
my problems. Seems all you know about is stirrin' up trouble, so
why don't you stick to that."

Emma tried to apologize and explain that she
was only concerned for him, but James ignored her. He slammed the
door behind him when he left and stomped his way out of Eleanor's
house.

Moments later, Eleanor poked her head into
Emma's room, but Emma, silently blaming the whiskey for her
brazenness, had placed a pillow over her face to muffle her squeals
of frustration.

****

April, 1862

As Emma recuperated, McClellan moved his army
by boats down Chesapeake Bay and positioned them on the
Rappahannock River near Yorktown. He revised his plan of attack,
thanks to reports that claimed the Rebels were over a hundred
thousand men strong, and lay siege to the city instead. He informed
Lincoln and the government that he had no hope for victory without
more men and more artillery.

While McClellan waited at Yorktown, Federal
troops under Grant's command at Shiloh, Tennessee, squeaked out a
defeat of Confederate forces. Although Grant failed to push his
troops in pursuit of the retreating Rebels, the Union welcomed the
triumph. Casualties on both sides were staggering, though, and over
twenty-three-thousand men lost their lives, were wounded or
missing.

Amid such news, Emma decided against leaving
the army, though she had issues to resolve before she could return
to camp and assume her role as Tom Edmonds once again. One matter
was Grady. Emma needed to find out if Grady would continue to guard
her secret. Wearing a newly issued jacket and hat, Emma approached
him one evening while he was alone, cleaning utensils after the
supper meal. To her surprise, Grady showed off his toothless grin
the moment he saw her and greeted her as Private Edmonds.
Discretely, she asked him if she could count on him to keep her
secret. Grady winked.