Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (35 page)

Both he and Knox expressed their hope that
Emma would return home, but Stuart said nothing more about
marriage. Emma knew her time, her life on the estate had ended. As
much as she loved her family, the marshes and the smell and feel of
the low country, too many unpleasant memories loomed there. Plus,
she still held out hope that Sylvia would find her in the city,
though no one had heard from her since her last letter from Aunt
Celia's.

Now eighteen and living with Eleanor and
Zechariah, Emma devoted herself to working at two nearby hospitals
and to her studies. She intended to become a doctor. Although women
doctors were uncommon and unaccepted in certain areas, Emma knew
from her experience as a Union nurse that more doctors were needed.
Construction of hospitals increased as combat inflated the number
of dying and injured men on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line, and
no foreseeable end to the conflict was in sight.

Emma dashed home one evening, books cradled
in her arms and rain cascading down. Her hair, which reached the
top of her shoulders now, became soaked, along with the rest of
her. She scaled the front steps of the Pratt home and made it
inside. Rain dripped from her and quickly made a puddle. She was
thankful Eleanor and Zechariah were at church for the evening,
knowing Eleanor would hate to have her clean floors wet and dirty.
The fate of her books concerned Emma, as they too were wet, but her
attention was quickly diverted.

"Miss Emma, deys someone here fo' you,"
Rosemary said. She glanced at the increasing mess on the floor.
Exasperation crossed her face.

Emma removed as much of her wet clothing as
she could but found no comfort. The last thing she needed in her
current state was a visitor. Eli Nash had come by, but neither of
them could deny the awkwardness that had settled between them. Nash
still called her Edmonds, even though Emma now wore a blouse and
skirt. She didn't bother correcting him.

Inwardly, Emma harbored a secret wish that
she would be approached by a Union officer with another spy
mission, but no such visitor ever came.

"Can I have a minute to change?" Emma asked
Rosemary, but she looked at the person who suddenly emerged from
the kitchen. Curly, strawberry-colored hair flowed over her
shoulders.

"Emma!"

It took her only a second to recognize her
sister.

"Sylvia!"

Despite Emma's wet clothes, they embraced.
Tears and squeals of joy erupted. They squeezed one another until
they couldn't breathe.

"How did you find me?" Emma asked.

"The newspaper," Sylvia said.

For months, Emma had spent a portion of her
earnings putting ads in local newspapers. She asked for anyone who
might have information about her sister Sylvia to visit her at
Reverend Pratt's home. At first, the ad had only attracted
pranksters and people attempting to bleed Emma for money. She'd
given up hope that anything would materialize, but her conscience
forbade her from stopping the ad.

"I can't believe it!" Emma looked Sylvia over
from head to toe, never letting go of her hands. Almost as tall as
Emma now, thin but with the figure of a young woman, Sylvia had far
outgrown her former self.

"Ma, ma," came a tiny voice.

Everyone looked to the toddler who came out
of the kitchen, a finger in her mouth. Sylvia went to her,
whispered to the child and picked her up.

"Emma, this is Anna."

Rosemary excused herself as Emma stood
wide-eyed, slack-jaw, and speechless.

"You… you have a baby?"

"No! Well, yes, but she's not really mine. I
didn't give birth to her. I found her, and I saved her." Sylvia
hugged Anna and kissed her cheek. "It's a long story."

Emma smiled, thinking of the wild tales and
adventures she had to share.

"Yes, I'm sure it is."

Sylvia held Anna close, then looked at Emma
with sheepish eyes.

"A lot's happened, Emma. I wanted to find you
sooner, but it just didn't work out that way. I know it may not be
proper to ask, but do you think we could stay here with you?"

Emma knew the Pratts would welcome Sylvia and
the baby, even though it meant two more mouths to feed when money
and food were already tight. She knew from looking at Sylvia that
she had been through a great deal. Just as Emma was no longer a
girl wading through the marshes and hiding when her mother called,
Sylvia was no longer the carefree, giggly girl, following her
sister like a devoted puppy. Emma knew they would have to
rediscover each other and learn who they had each become against a
backdrop of war and loss. Emma had so much to tell Sylvia,
including the painful news about Alexander and their mother.

But Emma pushed aside those melancholy
thoughts for the moment. She embraced Sylvia and Anna as thankful
prayers flowed from her heart. Anna reached for Emma's face with
her tiny fingers and mumbled. Emma mumbled back and they
laughed.

"Of course you can stay," Emma said. "I
wouldn't have it any other way."

First off, a heartfelt thanks to the amazing,
courageous women who risked everything to serve as soldiers
(incognito) during the Civil War. Such tenacity and bravery helped
pave the way for bold strides in rights and freedoms for both women
and African Americans.

A round of applause to the organizers and
participants of the Ohio Civil War and Artillery Show in Mansfield,
Ohio. Getting the chance to handle and study a plethora of Civil
War relics, coupled with the opportunity to chat with experts and
collectors, was an unforgettable day. My impromptu role as 'Mary',
wife of an amputee, was a fun highlight.

Special thanks to: John Turney (all-star
"BiCCO" and author), for unending insights and for providing
valuable resources that helped shape this book; Carolyn Melvin,
fellow "Sister in Crime" for always being up for an adventure, for
dreaming big with me, and for your supportive, fun friendship
through the years; Twila Kolda, for lending your "editor's eye" and
for much-needed girl time dinners.

Much gratitude to Stephanie Taylor, Amanda
Wimer, and staff at Astraea Press for believing in this book!

This book may not have happened if it weren't
for my family. We've created a life together that I never would've
imagined, one that I wouldn't trade for anything. All my heart, all
my love to the six of you!

An Ohio native and founding member of Sisters
in Crime Columbus, Ohio, Mercedes King has three passions: her
family, her dogs, and all-things books and writing. When she isn't
reading or elbow-deep in research, you can find her on a bike path
or at her kids' ball games. A graduate of Capital University, she's
working on her next writing adventure.

CHAPTER ONE

THE HUNT

Early October 1095, Bouillon in Lower
Lorraine

He kicked the hard sides of his muscular
horse and charged through the Ardennes woodlands, zipping by an
array of colorful oak and beech trees. After winding between the
mazes of low hanging branches, he directed his horse down through a
small stream and then up to the top of a hill that flattened at its
peak. The rider pulled on the reigns, and his mount came to a halt.
Knocking a few strands of his peppery brown hair out of his eyes,
the rider looked back to witness his household following behind at
a leisurely pace. At the head of the group was a beautiful woman
with long, silky black hair. She looked angelic with her fair skin
and rode gracefully over the crunchy leaves. Below, a young and
proud looking boy did his best to jog alongside her. Behind the
woman, an elderly couple rode atop two fine looking horses. They
were her parents and a youthful and energetic aura hovered about
them. Their eyes prodded the woods like two children exploring a
cave.

Beyond, the rider could just make out the
rest of his hunting party, Baldwin the chaplain, Fulbert the head
steward, and Oswald the captain of the guard. Ten staff members
accompanied each of these men. Relaxing his body, the rider whiffed
in a deep breath of crisp air and took in his surroundings. Streams
of sunlight gleamed through the tree canopy illuminating the sparse
undergrowth and soft earth. The sounds of the hunting grounds, the
rushing of craggy streams, and the morning songs of sparrows filled
his ears. Autumn in Bouillon was an ideal time to hunt.

Abruptly, the rider was taken out of his
reverence. Turning his head, he caught sight of his wiry and
green-clad huntsman motioning him over. In the huntsman's hands
dangled a pair of leashes. The cords led down to two fine looking
alaunts, slender hunting dogs with long noses and thick, russet
coats.

"Lord Godfrey," the young man said, pointing
down to a muddy and pocketed line in the earth. "These tracks are
very fresh, less than an hour I believe." The indentations were of
hoof prints from a large quandary of boar, perhaps thirty or more.
With the huntsman's good news in mind, Godfrey nudged his horse to
start along the pig trail. However, he heard a hard battering
against the creek and so relented. Still at the lead, the seraphic
woman crossed first. As she approached him her sapphire eyes
glistened in the light, and her lips curled into a natural smile.
Godfrey then greeted her with a kiss.

"How are your parents fairing?" Godfrey asked
in his native tongue of Walloon French. His fair mistress's cheeks
warmed like two budding roses.

"They have not stopped talking about you
since they left the castle." Her voice was like silk.

"And you, my love?" Godfrey asked her
endearingly.

"I am just happy to see them." She sighed.
"They are getting older. Father is talking always about the old
days, and Mother is having health problems, even though she won't
admit it." She went silent for a moment before saying, "This means
a lot to me, Godfrey, thank you."

Sophie was veritably meek, yet only because
she remained wholly selfless. In truth, he could not ask for a
better lover. If God had permitted, he would have made her his
wife. However, he was forbidden to marry by an old law of the
church.

"Rainald," Godfrey called harshly in
German.

The boy who had been running along Sophie
immediately stood at attention. So quickly did he do so, his curly
blond hair shook. Awaiting Godfrey's order, the boy hastily
adjusted his tunic.

"Tell our guests and the rest of the
household to remain on the trail the huntsmen have carved. Tell
Fulbert to keep anyone from following too close to me or the
huntsmen. Quickly now."

After making a quick bow, Rainald leapt atop
a boulder in the stream and like a rooster calling out the morning,
he boldly announced his lord's request. As Godfrey watched Rainald
he wondered if such precautions were histrionic. Nonetheless, he
considered the outcomes if he were too lenient. Neither of Sophie's
parents had undertaken boar hunting and many in the household were
oblivious to the dangers. In fact, as he rustled his whiskers
Godfrey really did not like the idea of Sophie being on a hunt, and
he felt his stomach tighten with the thought of her injured.

Wild boar hunting, Godfrey knew only too
well, existed as a dangerous venture and often a fatal sport.
Vindictive to their cores, wild pigs carried a gory spirit that was
only accentuated by their substantial builds. Sprouting from their
lower jaws waited a set of bladelike tusks. If a boar could gain
the upper hand in a fray, the animal could burrow through even the
strongest mail, sometimes tearing a man from gut to throat.
Youthful sows were agile, treacherous, and would happily smash
through underbrush to spearhead an enemy.

Sophie's parents made it up to the flat part
of the hill. They were draped in a sunny yellow. Fixing her strands
of grey hair, Isabelle, Sophie's mother, gave a humble smile while
Gregory, her husband, scratched his arms at his long woolen
tunic.

"Good lady and lord, how are my most prized
guests fairing?" Godfrey asked them with a charming smile.

"Why, my lord," Isabelle said sheepishly. Her
voice was much like her daughter's, rich and soft. "We have never
had an opportunity — well I have always wanted to — it is just
that—" Her husband nervously placed his arm on her shoulder.
Embarrassed, Isabelle covered her mouth, and her cheeks flared
apple-red. "Forgive my impropriety, my lord, I sometimes ramble as
many nervous people do."

Godfrey smiled reassuringly. When Sophie's
parents first arrived at his castle, he quickly learned Isabelle
and Gregory could have easily been saints by their humility alone.
Even though the couple had been at the castle for about a week now,
they remained most uncomfortable in Godfrey's presence. Curious why
Isabelle and Gregory were still fidgety when around him, Godfrey
supposed his status stood as the thickest barrier to a warm
friendship. For his life existed in contrast, being that he was
nobility and they his tenants — well, rightly his servants if he
called them to be. Godfrey, a descendent of Charlemagne and the
duke of Lower Lorraine, answered only to the German Emperor Henry
IV, and to God.