by Gina Danna
#
Emma sat on the window seat in her room, staring outside at nothing. To avoid another afternoon of embroidery work, she had claimed she had a headache. Who cared what her pillowcases looked like? Nearly twenty, she supposed she should be building her trousseau in happy anticipation of marriage. But in fact, she feared she might never wed.
Caroline would get married of course. She had several gentlemen callers, and Emma cringed every time one of them showed up to fawn over her sister. Naturally, Caroline enjoyed their ludicrous endearments. She was the pretty Silvers girl, so petite and dainty, always outshining Emma.
Several of Caroline’s callers paid their respects to Emma as well, though she knew they did so only to be polite. Billy was her only friend and companion. They knew so much about each other, having grown up together. Billy, four years her senior, would have a substantial farm from his father’s holdings, and he had been tutored for the last few years, so he was learned as well. If he asked for her hand, there was no reason to turn him down. She sighed. No reason except for the green-eyed man who wrote to her periodically. Whenever she felt Billy would be a good husband for her, Jack invaded her dreams, and she awoke tense and excited.
But as Jack’s letters became more infrequent, her dreams about him did too. Granted she hadn’t responded to him quickly. It was hard to concentrate on writing with all the tension brewing around her. The meetings her father held and the men ranting in the library about politics grew so loud and vicious they could be heard through closed doors.
A light sound at Emma’s door interrupted her thoughts.
“Enter.”
The door opened, and Annie, her slave, slipped in. In her hands, she clutched the Richmond Post. “I’s got it ‘fore your daddy done seen it,” she said slyly, handing the newsprint to Emma.
Emma took the paper and opened it. The headline covered half the page.
Execution of John Brown & Scenes at the Scaffold
December 1, 1859
She read the article, her blood racing as fear rose. The fact that some deranged man could think of arming slaves, believing they’d give their blood for freedom appalled her. She glanced up at Annie. The slave was making herself busy, straightening the perfume bottles and knickknacks on the dresser. Was Annie miserable being a slave? She received everything she needed to live—food, clothing, shelter—wasn’t that enough?
Emma opened the paper again and read the articles about the upcoming elections. The Southern viewpoint of states’ rights aligned with Emma’s beliefs, although she didn’t fully understand the arguments for and against. Who could she ask? With Charles gone, her father never discussed politics with the family, and the few times she asked why his meetings were so loud, he soothed her by saying they were dealing with issues beyond her worries. Perhaps if she wrote Charles…
A flicker of activity outside the window caught her eye. She turned in time to see Caroline’s buggy returning from town. Though she claimed she would take Emma, Caroline told her she’d no doubt find it boring and useless because she was going to the apothecary. Emma frowned and looked at the clock. Four hours at the apothecary? It wasn’t that far away…
Hooves pounding down the lane called her attention back to the window. It was Billy. She smiled. Folding the newsprint, she handed it back to the slave.
“Now, you be careful takin’ that back.”
“Yessum,” the slave dutifully bowed and left.
Billy’s arrival was well timed. She could ask him more about the debate she’d read about without worrying he’d tell on her. And it’d be nice to have some company. That is, if Caroline would stay away…
We have shared the incommunicable experience of war. We felt, we still feel,
the passion of life to its top. In our youths, our hearts were touched by fire.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes
Chapter Eight
Charles City, Virginia, May 1861
It had happened. The nation was now divided. Captain Jack Fontaine of the 2nd US Cavalry pulled the reins, sitting back in the saddle and bringing Goliath to a halt. He looked at the rolling green land as a wave of despair threatened to wash over him. Shifting in the saddle, he removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Did he dare continue to the Silvers’ home? Would he be welcomed?
His mission in January had been simple. Escort the new president, Abraham Lincoln, to Washington, DC. Threats to the newly elected official demanded a covert entry into the capital city. On the trip back East from Illinois, Jack got a close look at the changing nature of the country. South Carolina had seceded in December, soon to be followed by Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Florida, Texas and his home state, Louisiana. News reports revealed the rapid deterioration of the nation as men left the military and government to head home and offer their services to the newly formed Confederacy. He shook his head at the idiocy of many of his brethren in the Army for resigning their commissions for this farce. But as the attack on Fort Sumter showed, it wasn’t a farce after all.
Despite the upheaval in the newly elected government and the secession of some states, a message from his father had reached him in Washington. His father demanded he come home. Jack simply wadded the note and threw it into the fire. He would not go to Louisiana, but he had requested leave. He felt the need to return to Virginia. Caroline’s letters sounded panicked, or maybe overwhelmed, with the idea of Virginia leaving the Union. Emma wrote nothing, and that irked him. And what of Charles? He knew his commander, Robert E. Lee, was waiting for Virginia to make a decision. Jeb told him over the holidays at Jefferson Barracks that he’d go with his state and had already sent his wife home.
But what would he, Southern-born Jack Fontaine, do? His loyalty was to the country as a whole. It was an obligation enforced by an oath he’d made when entering West Point. But as the middle states teetered, he felt pulled to consider leaving to support the South, and the internal conflict unnerved him.
From his mount, he could see Rose Hill, and all looked normal. The slaves working in the fields, the horses in the pasture and smoke rising from the house chimney. The scene he remembered from years ago, when he was only a youth on leave from West Point. But now he was twenty-five and supposedly mature. He snorted. Goliath heard him and shifted, lifting his head from the grass, ears forward and alert.
Enough musing, Jack, ride on.
He squeezed his legs and the horse stepped forward.
#
Concentrating on the fabric, Emma pinned another tuck in the bodice and felt the metal poke into flesh.
“Ouch! Thought you knew how to at least pin!” Caroline screeched.
Emma bit back a grin. “I do. Now, hold still or I might stick you again.”
Her sister groaned but stood still. Emma restrained herself because giggles threatened to take control of her, and she would definitely drive the pin into flesh. How she got involved in this was beyond her reckoning. But Caroline pleaded with her to fix the tear in the silk ballgown. Taking a deep breath, Emma held the fabric together and pinned.
“There, now, let me get my thread,” she said as she reached for the spool. Emma wasn’t thrilled to be doing this, but after working with needle and thread the last couple of years, her skills had improved, making her the more talented of the two at sewing. Sadly, neither of them would ever be as good as their mother. After the woman had died last winter, Emma reluctantly found herself the mistress of the house and was saddled with all the responsibilities that had been her mother’s. It was irksome because this was the year she was to come out. But Caroline had no skills for running the house, so it had fallen to Emma. Actually, it wasn’t that Caroline lacked the skills—she had them but avoided using them. In that regard, she excelled, which irritated Emma to no end.
“Why, look what I see before me,” the male voice from behind said.
Caroline jumped and squealed before Emma had a chance to turn.
“Charles! You’re home!” Caroline raced to her brother.
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Emma set her sewing needle down and smiled at him. “Charles, whatever are you doing here?”
“And you’re not wearing that dreaded Yankee blue!” Caroline added.
Charles laughed. “No, no. I’m going to offer my services to the good old state of Virginia.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Emma had read the newspaper headlines. She knew of Fort Sumter’s surrender and the new president’s demand for the states to ante up militia to put the rebellion down. But that was the last she’d learned.
“Why, we’re all seceding, sister,” he drawled.
Caroline bounced again. For being older, she behaved like such a child.
“Father is in the library,” Emma quietly said.
“How’s he holding out?”
She shrugged. Their father felt the loss of their mother more keenly and often retreated to his library for days at a time. Only immediate business ever got his attention now. The attack on Fort Sumter and its aftermath had made him a little more visible but only because Emma persuaded him to meet with the neighbors who visited, worried about the state and such. But she feared for his health. He looked gaunt and sickly in color. Maybe with Charles home, he’d get better. She hoped.
Charles patted her shoulder. “I know it’s been hard on you.”
Her vision blurred, and she felt slightly relieved, as if his presence would make everything all right. But that was just an illusion because the flames of war licked across the land, and, despite everything, she knew her brother would fight. A knot of fear formed in her throat, and it took all her strength to swallow it.
“Massa Charles,” their butler Sammy interrupted. “You’ve gotta visitor.”
Charles frowned. “We expecting someone?”
Emma blinked her tears aside and shook her head. “No.”
“Charles.”
Emma flinched. She knew that voice.
“Jack! Good God, man, what a surprise,” Charles exclaimed. His voice was nearly drowned by Caroline’s scream of excitement as she lifted her skirts and ran to Jack.
Jack laughed and picked her up, giving her a peck on the cheek and setting her down.
Emma stood stock still, her senses reeling. Jack Fontaine had just sauntered into her house and back into her life. She scanned him from head to toe, relishing the sight of the man she couldn’t completely shake from her dreams. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight, emerald-colored eyes dancing in amusement. He wore civilian clothes of brown jacket, white shirt, green waistcoat and dark sable pants. Tan from the last few years in the sun and riding for the cavalry, his face was more chiseled, shoulders still broad, waist narrow and legs long and muscular. When Emma glanced back up to his face, she found him staring right back at her, a wicked smile on his lips. She felt the heat rising up her neck to her cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught looking him over.
“Miss Emma,” he said softly.
“Jack, what a surprise,” she replied, trying to recover her composure, but he had caught her in the middle of the day, wearing nothing more than a plain workdress. It wasn’t suitable for receiving company. She smoothed the worn skirt. Well, what did he expect, appearing at this hour without any warning? She straightened her shoulders.
“Caroline, why don’t we allow the gentlemen a few minutes,” she said. Caroline had looped her arm through Jack’s as she chattered rapidly.
Caroline gave her a nasty look, daring her to push the issue.
Charles laughed. “Jack, come, let’s get my father and open a bottle, huh?” he said, tugging him away from Caroline.
#
Jack exhaled a sigh of relief at his warm welcome. With the rift in the country, he wasn’t sure how the Silvers would act toward him. Seeing Charles here, in civilian clothes, had steered Jack away from commenting about the military. And when they entered the library, he knew his decision to travel in street clothes had been wise. The elder Silvers sat at his desk, newspapers and other papers strewn across the desk in disarray.
“Father,” Charles said as he and Jack stood before the desk.
John Henry’s glassy-eyed stare at the desktop broke as he blinked, his gaze inching upward.
“Charles?” he voice croaked.
“Yes, father,” Charles went to him, grabbing his hands. “I’m home.”
His father smiled weakly as he embraced his son. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Father, Jack Fontaine is here as well,” Charles pointed, and his father looked past him.
“Mr. Fontaine,” the elder man’s voice still sounded gruff but was gaining in strength. Jack wondered what had waylaid the fine statesman he had met years before. “Nice to see you again.”
“Yes, sir, the pleasure is mine,” Jack replied, glancing at Charles.
Charles’ eyebrows inched up for a second before he turned back to his father.
“You boys need to stay home now,” John Henry continued more strongly. “There’s war a coming.”
Both men nodded. Charles walked to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle. “Let’s drink for peace, shall we?”
#
News traveled fast. Emma quickly realized her supper plans were insufficient for the number of guests arriving. Not only did she have her brother and Jack, but now Billy, the Anderson twins, and Abigail and the Somertons were planning on visiting to see Charles. Caroline, of course, was of no help. Emma just rolled her eyes when “sweet little Caroline” volunteered to entertain everyone, leaving Emma frantic, trying to adjust the menu. It shouldn’t have surprised her in the least because ever since their mother had passed, Caroline’s true colors had come out. While their mother had trained them both in how to manage a household, Caroline felt she was too good for such menial tasks. She had beaus and would be married soon, with her own house then, so why take on those duties now when she needed to find a husband? Emma bit her tongue when her father had agreed with Caroline’s argument—one of the few times he had taken notice of the house or them.
So it was left to Emma to pick up the reins, despite having skills that didn’t come close to her mother’s. She’d just have to muddle her way through and hope for the best. After making arrangements with the kitchen, she bathed and changed just as the last of the guests arrived.
This was her first attempt at hosting a party—impromptu as it was—and she began to relax as laughter drifted from the various conversations at the dinner table. She glanced down the long rectangle, ablaze with candlelight, and her stomach jumped when she noticed Jack looking her way. She hadn’t seen him since his surprise appearance that afternoon. Granted, she had been busy with preparations and cleaning up, but his glance set her nerves flittering once again.
Seated across from Jack, Caroline did her best to keep his eyes on her. It irked Emma. Caroline was the oldest and should have taken her place at the head of the table as the new hostess of Rose Hill, but she had shirked her duties to remain the center of Jack’s attention. Emma sighed, barely able to contain her frustration.
“Are you all right, Miss Emma?”
She looked up and saw the concern on Billy’s face. Good Billy, always looking out for her. She returned his smile, nodding.
The final course, cheese and fruit, was set before them. The house slaves, dressed in their newest frocks, poured the sweetened blackberry wine. Emma exhaled. All had gone well.
Her father clinked the side of his wine glass, calling for attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, in celebration of my son returning to us, we shall adjourn to the parlor together for further amusements.”
The table slowly cleared as people moved to the front room. Emma watched her sister on the arm of Edward Anderson. Annoyed at Caroline’s lack of manners, she remained to talk to her staff about cleaning. When she stood and turned, she came right up against a wall of solid flesh. She gasped, her hand splayed across the fine cotton shirt and silk waistcoat.
Two strong hands caught her elbows to stabilize her.
“You all right?” His
silky voice sent a warm rush over her, and, with it, his touch kindled a fire deep inside her.
Emma’s breath hitched as she looked into those sparkling green eyes. “You surprised me,” she sputtered.
He gave her a low chuckle. “I just wanted to thank you for a lovely meal.”
His voice was mesmerizing. She was frozen in place, her hand on his chest. The heat radiating from him filled her, seared her, enticed her. Those lips—oh yes, she remembered his lips. She had dreamt of them for months on end. When his curved upward and twitched, she refocused, yanking her hand off him.
“I’m so pleased you enjoyed it.” She sounded stiff, even rude, but her thoughts were scattered. “Perhaps we should join the others.”
His smile deepened. He released her and turned, offering his arm to escort her into the room. “But of course.”
She returned his smile and lightly placed her hand on his sleeve. It was going to be an interesting night.
#
Jack sat back after his failure at charades. Of course, his third glass of brandy probably hadn’t helped. More important was his sense of peace, something he hadn’t enjoyed in the last four years in the Army. He truly felt the Silvers were more like his family than his own was. The drink relaxed him further as the lively group before him laughed while continuing the game.
However, his substitute family presented somewhat of a problem—specifically, Caroline and Emma. He admired them both. Well, perhaps that wasn’t the right term. He liked them both. Caroline was the belle of the ball among Southern ladies, all frills and lace, batting her eyelashes at him and every other man there.
“Ooops!” Caroline squeaked, landing in a heap on the floor after trying to act out her charade. The room erupted with laughter. Her father helped her up.
“I think you failed, my dear,” John Henry told her softly.
The door to the room opened, catching everyone’s attention.
