Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (14 page)

After Emma finished talking, she stood beside
her pack and nudged it with her foot. The Indian crept near,
watching Emma with a hesitant, distrustful eye, and took the pack.
His dark features showed no emotion. He called out to the others,
and each Indian took a pack. Someone started to protest, but Emma
told him to hush.

The Indians slowly backed away and dissolved
into the woods, gone as rapidly as they had appeared, but Emma
stood stock-still with her revolver for several minutes, just to
make sure.

****

Emma's first action was to tend to Eli Nash.
Still sprawled on the ground with the arrow sticking out of his
chest, Nash had not moved or lost consciousness.

"What happened?" Nash whispered.

"Save your strength." Emma looked frantically
for another arrow as the men gathered around Nash. When she found
an arrow, Emma compared it to the one stuck in Eli. "It's not too
deep, but I'm gonna have to pull it out."

Nash took a deep breath and nodded for her to
yank it out. She did. Nash screamed. Emma took bandages from
another pack and undid Nash's jacket. Wet with blood, Nash's chest
was pierced on the right side.

"You'll be all right, but we've got to stop
the bleeding."

"How'd you do that?" Trumball asked, holding
a ready musket.

Emma wasn't sure how to answer. Like the rest
of her comrades, she was still in shock. Everyone gazed at her with
awe, including, to a degree, Trumball.

"My father." Emma left it at that. "We should
get moving, Lieutenant." She scanned the trees. "I'm not certain
those Indians won't come back."

The men scrambled and shrugged on the
remaining packs. Emma spun bandages around Nash's chest and helped
him stand. Graham suggested he ride atop the wagon next to him, but
Nash declined.

"Prolly better if I jus' walk," Nash said.
"All that jostlin' in the wagon don' sound so good."

Emma and the others weren't convinced he
could handle the exertion, but they let Nash have his way. After
scanning the forest floor, Emma found a large stick Nash could use
for support as he walked. Others offered to take turns, keeping an
eye on Nash and helping him walk, if need be. Emma handed him the
stick with a slight smile.

"Who knew a tadpole could help out a big fish
like you."

Nash returned the gesture and thanked her,
and the company moved out at a fresh, adrenaline-laced pace. They
made the most of the remaining daylight and covered six more miles
instead of three. Graham scouted the woods as evening drew near and
found a cave for shelter.

"We should post pickets for the night," Emma
told Trumball.

"I'm still in charge of this operation."

Emma checked the lieutenant's face for
disgruntlement but noticed an awkwardness instead. Perhaps he
wasn't used to losing control of a situation and didn't know to
respond to her. For it was obvious to all of them that Emma had
saved their lives, but she didn't want that recognition.

"Yes, sir," Emma said.

"Evans, Procter, you two take first watch."
Trumball glanced at Emma, as if for approval, then straightened and
resumed his confident poise. "You did well, Edmonds."

Emma knew better than to gloat, but a sense
of pride filled her, more so than she had ever known before.

****

A slab of salt pork was heated over a spit
and rationed among the men, as were the wild onions foraged from
the forest's floor. After a tense meal, with their ears sensitive
to the woodland's sounds, the men relaxed but talked little. No
signs of the Indians materialized. Emma changed Nash's dressing and
was pleased with how the wound looked. Men who were assigned a
late-night shift of picket duty hit their bedrolls for some shut
eye.

"So your father, he was Injun?" Joel Evans
asked. Another pal to Nash, Evans was quick to get in on
tomfoolery, but lacking Nash's size and strength, he wasn't as
intimidating or as successful when it came to pestering others.
Since Xavier's death at Bull Run, though, both had eased their
mischief. Evans had a mess of brown hair that he was always
brushing out of his dull-gray eyes and a recessed chin that was
further exaggerated by his large nose.

"No," Emma said. "Back where I'm from, there
were some tribes who wanted to be civilized, wanted to own a
homestead and get along with the settlers. My granddad and father
tried to help them assimilate. It was years and years ago, but they
learned the ways and language of a couple tribes. My father thought
it was important to understand other peoples, especially when they
weren't like us, so he passed it on to me."

"I didn't think any tribes existed out in
these parts in anymore," Trumball said absently. His eyes still
scanned the surrounding trees outside their newfound cave.

"Most were forced by the government to move
out west," Emma added. "Guess they gave up on the idea of peace
with white settlers."

"Well, it's no wonder," Joel said. "You saw
what happened. They're savages. They wanted to kill us and eat
us."

"Joel, you need to stop believing everything
you hear. Those men were Cherokee. They have values and even their
own written history. Compared to other tribes, they're down right
civilized."

"They tried to kill Nash! How civilized is
that?"

Joel had a point, but Emma didn't like the
direction the conversation was taking.

"And they had paint on their faces and
chests," Graham added before Emma had a chance to respond. He
pointed at Trumball. "Think how close they came to scalping the
lieutenant."

"Yeah, and you saw what happened!" Emma said.
"When was the last time you heard tell of a band of Indians backing
down from a fight? Or just making off with a few packs of supplies?
They didn't even steal the horses!" She let that sink in, and no
one had a remark.

The intensity subsided from the
discussion.

After calm settled among the men, Daniel
Procter leaned in and asked, "What did you say to them, Tom? How
did you get them to let us go?"

Emma sighed. It had all happened so fast.
This was the first moment she'd had where she could sit and replay
the scene in her mind. It struck her that she'd wasted no thought,
no fear when it came to shooting the Cherokee. How had she
separated them from charging Rebels? The simple answer, she knew,
was that none of the Indians could be one of her brothers.

"I'm not entirely sure. I just started
yelling in Cherokee. I think I called out to the spirit of
Sequoyah, one of their great chiefs. That was when their leader
stopped, looked at me. He asked how I knew his language and his
chief. I told him my grandfather knew Sequoyah."

"Is that true?" Daniel asked.

Emma nodded. "But only briefly. Sequoyah
created a writing system for the Cherokees. He's still greatly
respected among his people, even among a rogue band like that. I
also told them harming us would be like killing an eagle or a bear
out of season, which they believe brings evil and misfortune upon
them."

"How did you know they were Cherokee?"

"I didn't. The language just came out of me
when I saw they were Indians."

"How did you know they would let us go?"
Trumball asked.

Emma shrugged. "I didn't."

****

Still feeling uneasy from the Indian attack,
Emma didn't bother trying to sleep. Instead, she took over picket
duty for a weary-worn Graham. With a musket and her revolver at her
side, Emma kept vigil over the camp. She knew her words had done
little to soothe the men's concerns. Fear simmered over whether or
not the company would make it to Winchester alive. Emma could not
escape feeling responsible and wondered if she had put her fellow
soldiers in greater danger. What if the Indians returned in greater
numbers, determined to make off with the rest of the supplies, and
the horses?

"Suppose you saved my life today." Trumball
handed Emma a cup of coffee and sipped from a cup already in his
hand.

"Maybe," Emma answered softly. She set her
sights on the forest. "But there's no need to get ahead of
ourselves. We still need to make it to the train depot and then
back to the encampment all in one piece." She glanced at Nash, who
was sleeping peacefully. "What happens next time if they bring
poisoned arrows and their own guns?"

"You might have to conjure up Sequoyah in the
flesh."

Emma looked at her commander and the two
shared a laugh.

"We do what we can, Edmonds, and we take
things as they come. It's no good to worry about things we can't
control."

They listened to the summer night. Crickets
sounded bountiful and happy. Frogs croaked love songs near and far.
Spruce trees provided a hearty fragrance. Even the crackle of the
campfire enhanced the faulty sense of security.

"Where'd you get that revolver?" Trumball
asked.

"It belonged to my grandfather." Naturally,
Emma refused to mention that she had stolen it from her granddad's
collection before running away.

"You keep surprising me, Edmonds. I may have
pegged you wrong."

Even in the night, Emma felt the intensity in
Trumball's eyes. She forgot herself and smiled provocatively at
him. She wasn't sure what provoked her, but she appreciated the
comfort and ease of the moment. Most of all, Emma relished the fact
she had a secret and that she had fooled the lieutenant, who seemed
to think he was more perceptive than others.

"I have a feeling, lieutenant, that you'll
find out you've been wrong about a lot of your assumptions
concerning me."

****

To the company's dismay and relief, the rest
of their journey proved uneventful. Aside from an outbreak of
poison ivy, the return trek to camp went swiftly with no loads to
shoulder and an empty wagon to ride in. Exhausted muscles and
dehydration branded them all, but complaints went unspoken. Nash
continued to heal and liked showing off the battle wound, with a
few dramatic fabrications thrown in.

Back at camp, Eleanor introduced Emma to
Doctor Niles Hillman, the new head surgeon. Based on Eleanor's
enthusiastic introduction, Emma liked him at once. Dr. Hillman
further endeared himself to Private Edmonds by addressing her with
the correct name.

Letters also awaited some of the men, though
none for Emma. Lieutenant Trumball, however, was handed an envelope
and tore into his correspondence. The contents stopped him in his
tracks. When he finished reading, his hand fell to his side with
the letter still in his grip. A foreign expression covered his
face.

"Everything all right, Lieutenant?" Emma
ventured.

Trumball walked off without responding. Emma
didn't like being snubbed. She thought she and her commander had
developed a bond, strange as it sounded, and somehow that entitled
her to intrude on his private letters.

Grady, who had prepared a small feast for the
company's return, approached Emma from behind and nearly perched
his head on her shoulder. "Ain't you heard?"

"What?" Emma took a slight step away, as she
feared the mix of Grady's breath and body odor might be lethal.

"Trumball's wife. She's powerful sick. Been
that way since he's been enlisted. Guess there ain't nothing the
doctor can do for her. Don't think she's expected to live much
longer."

With all the time and care she spent
protecting her identity and remaining vague about her family and
past, Emma had given little thought to the lives her comrades had
left behind. Though Trumball was still youthful, being in his
twenties, Emma had witnessed few emotions from the man, and it had
not occurred to her that he could be capable of being in love with
a woman. What surprised her even more was the peculiar, jealous
feeling that rose in her chest.

"Wife?" Emma whispered. "I had no idea he was
married."

Grady shrugged. "Might not be for much
longer."

Union Encampment

Northern Virginia

November, 1861

As autumn leaves lost their glory and sailed
to the ground, McClellan's favor with the president also became
parched and brittle. A detachment of McClellan's in Leesburg,
Virginia, suffered defeat at Ball's Bluff, further adding to
Lincoln's frustrations. McClellan's men, though, complained little
about the general's overly cautious attitudes and missing sense of
urgency, but Emma empathized with Lincoln's frustrations, wanting
aggressive, decisive movement made on the Union's behalf. McClellan
deflected his critics by blaming Secretary of War Winfield Scott
and "the original gorilla" Lincoln for not giving him more men and
greater control. McClellan's unflattering opinion of General Scott,
though, lead to Scott's retirement. New York Tribune editor, Horace
Greeley continued his support for Lincoln and Radical Republicans,
but unlike some Northern politicians, Greeley and his publication
not only wanted the Confederacy subdued, he also wanted slavery
abolished.

More troublesome for Emma was news of the
Battle of Port Royal. Although the battle consisted mainly of Union
ships bombarding shore-lining forts in the area, the conflict took
place only miles from Beaumont, South Carolina. With the bluecoats
declaring victory. Emma knew her family would be impacted with a
heavy presence of Union troops nearby and exercising control. Word
had also circulated that slaves were set free as a result of the
Federals' prowess, and that schools for blacks and regiments of
colored men were forming. Inwardly, Emma panicked. She not only
worried about Knox's health in light of such upheaval, but also
wondered how the plantation, the rice, would continue without the
slaves' labor. But wasn't that what she had dreamed of, Tilda and
the others having their freedom? Such freedoms would cripple her
family's livelihood. Frustration wrangled Emma's heart, as she had
never fully considered the effect of meaningful change.