by Gina Danna
Emma’s upper teeth tugged at her bottom lip. But when she noticed Caroline’s smile falter as she started to swoon, Tilly caught her and Emma sprang forward.
“Hello, Emma,” her sister said.
“Caroline, are you all right? Where’s your husband?” Emma feared he’d be there soon. Could she handle seeing him again? A flash of hatred and fear twisted her stomach. She hoped he’d stay away after he had betrayed her.
The two helped Caroline inside and to the settee in the front parlor.
Sally appeared instantly. “Oh, Miss Caroline. Tilly, go get her some lemonade.”
Emma’s brows furrowed, confused. “Caroline, the trip here couldn’t have been easy. Why did you come?”
Caroline’s smile wavered. “Jack decided it would be better if I came home to rest.”
“Rest? Caroline, are you ill?” Fear coiled inside Emma. With the war effort and the raising of troops, getting a doctor would be nearly impossible.
“No, Emma,” she said softly, her hand resting on her stomach. “I’m with child.”
Emma’s gaze fell to her sister’s stomach, which still looked flat. She blinked. Buzzing filled her ears, so much that she couldn’t hear Sally coddling Caroline or anything else for that matter. The edges of her vision blurred, and she heard herself moan as the blackness came and her knees buckled.
The time for compromise has passed, and the South is determined to maintain her position, and make all who oppose her smell Southern powder and feel Southern steel.
—Jefferson Davis at his inaugural speech, February 16, 1861
Chapter Twelve
Rose Hill, Winter 1861
God must hate her. Emma stifled a groan as Caroline’s voice echoed throughout the house, calling for Tilly. Poor slave. Emma pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. This winter was cold, harsher than any she could recall. She watched the flames flicker in the fireplace and closed her eyes. She had never felt so alone as she did now.
Caroline waddled into the parlor, her hand on her lower back, supporting it because of the baby growing inside her. “Have you seen my Tilly?”
Emma wanted to tell her that if she’d stop slapping the girl, she’d probably come when called, but she bit her tongue. Nothing got through to Caroline. The woman was a grouch and had only gotten worse as the weeks went by. Sally warned Emma that her sister’d probably have a rough confinement simply because she had never been restricted from anything before. Her condition kept her housebound, and at almost six months along, her mobility was slowing. According to Sally, she’d spend the last three months in bed. Emma feared the demands Caroline’s increasing confinement would bring.
“No, sister. Why don’t you go sit and I’ll see if I can get her.” Emma rose to leave when she heard a groan behind her. Caroline had slumped onto the settee, her face swollen like her stomach. Emma’s eyes narrowed. “You did tell Jack you were expecting, didn’t you?”
Caroline glared, her jaw tightening. “Of course. Who do you think sent me back here?” she snapped.
Emma left the room, and a troubling thought occurred to her. If he knew she was in the family way, why hadn’t he written to find out how she was? Emma took the mail every time there was a delivery, but nothing came from him. Somehow, that seemed strange, considering her sister raved about how wonderful he was to her and their grand life in the Union capital. But when pressed as to why she was home, the woman grimaced, saying he was going to war and felt it better for her to be home with loved ones. Posh!
Glancing into the drawing room, she didn’t find Tilly. So she walked down the hallway to the back of the house. Tilly no doubt was hiding. She’d hide too if she had to answer to Miss High-and-Mighty. She bit her lower lip. It wasn’t Miss but Missus. Just like she was. Mrs. William Bealke. But unlike her sister, she remained barren. Granted, they had only the one night together, and he left before dawn with her father to gather their unit and march to Richmond. Emma fought the urge to cry, clenching her hands at her sides. Not even a child to look forward to. The notion upset her when she saw her sister’s bulging belly. Jack’s baby.
As she walked farther down the hall, she heard the rattling of metal and leather. The way it sounded on a wagon. She heard a man say very clearly, “Whoa,” and the hooves stopped. There was a commotion outside and she frowned. What was happening?
Boots thudded to the back door. “Emma! Emma!”
“I’m here,” she replied. Her mouth fell agape, and she froze.
Billy was home! So was her father! But they looked dismal. Billy was supporting her father. John Henry’s head was wrapped in bandages, very dirty-looking bandages. His eyes were sunken, his face thin, and he stared ahead with a pain-filled gaze.
“Daddy,” she cried, racing toward them.
“Oh, my darlin’ Emma,” the man said softly, his hand reaching for her face as she approached him. He trembled under her touch.
“He was standing too close to the artillery,” Billy interjected. When Emma reached to touch John Henry’s cheek, Billy added, “He got stung by the blast, Emma. Too close, and when it exploded, he was thrown.” He released his grip on his father-in-law as the slaves came under Sally’s direction and moved John Henry toward the stairs.
Emma watched her father, and her heart faltered. He looked almost dead. She trembled. War, this dreaded war. Wasn’t it to be over by now? It was close to the holidays, and both sides had boasted it’d be finished by then. Tell that to the troops she’d had to run off two days hence. Troops looking for supplies and food, and she had none to spare.
“Emma, I’m sorry,” Billy said, pulling her into his arms. “I tried to get him to leave long before the fighting, but he wouldn’t listen to reason.”
She shuddered. It was all too much. Her sister pregnant. Her father injured. All her household responsibilities. Unless…she looked up at her husband. His face showed all the signs of fatigue. Lines creased his eyes, his face gaunt and dirty. Once tawny-colored hair had turned dark, matted with mud and sweat. The arm around her shoulders was thick, his chest hard and lean. It was as though he was another man. She twisted free of his grip.
“How are you doing?” she asked, her eyes roving over him, seeing his butternut-colored short coat and pants stained with hard work and war.
He grinned wryly. “I’m okay. Can stay a couple of days if you’d like.”
“Of course,” she replied coolly. “I have Caroline home as well.”
She caught a flicker in his eyes at the news. “Home? What’s wrong? That Yankee dead?”
Emma chewed her bottom lip. He sounded harsh, not like the sweet man she had wed. “She’s with child. He sent her home so we could care for her. He’s with the Union army.”
“Child?” he muttered. His jaw tightened. Emma noticed and was going to ask about it when he released her and smiled. “Tom here,” he motioned to the wagon driver “and I could use some food, and I need a bath.”
#
Caroline huffed a disgruntled breath as she tried to push her ungainly body off the cushions. The babe kicked at her, and she fell backwards, her hand to the bulge protruding from her. Another kick. She figured she’d be black and blue by bedtime at this rate. Three more months. She was so uncomfortable. This child wouldn’t let her sleep, always making her get up to relieve herself, plus she couldn’t bend over and see her feet. She felt miserable, as though this nightmare would never end.
Tilly came scurrying in, her bare feet silent against the wood and carpeted flooring, but as usual, she knocked the table, sending the vase of flowers teetering. “Miss Caroline.”
She glared at the slave. Insolent creature, that one was. She’d slap her hard for making her wait. “When I call for you, I ’spect you to be here.”
The slave knelt before her, close enough for Caroline to reach. As she pulled her hand back, the girl closed her eyes. Caroline swung hard, slapping her cheek. It reddened even under the dark skin. Slightly mollified, she pulled the girl’s chin up. �
�You go get me some tea. And be quick.”
Tilly nodded and jumped to her feet, leaving the room as fast as she could.
Caroline grimaced. Good help was getting so difficult to find, she thought, rubbing her belly. Another kick. Heavens…
“Caroline?”
She looked up and smiled. Her Billy was home. “Billy,” she exclaimed, excited. Quickly she tried to get up, but the creature inside her made a simple move nigh on impossible to do.
“Let me,” he said, coming to her and taking her hand. He pulled and supported her weight at the same time, getting her to her feet. Heavens, she felt fat. And as his eyes roamed over her, she grimaced.
“I’ve put on some weight,” she said, self-conscious. He was bound to find her ugly, even disgusting, carrying another man’s child.
He held her chin up. “Is the child mine?”
Caroline saw the hope in his eye and felt a moment of sadness threaten to overwhelm her. Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t answer and shook her head instead.
He gave her a tight nod and looked away. She felt his pain and cursed Jack for putting her in this condition.
When Billy’s eyes returned to her, his lips curved at one corner. “You look good.”
She saw the tick in his cheek. “I’m told you married my sister. See, aren’t you glad I taught you?” She gave him a weak smile.
“Caroline,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you.”
She closed her eyes. Heaven. “I’ve missed you, too.”
He laughed. “But you managed to stay busy I see.”
His vulgarity about her condition irked her. How dare he make fun of her? But when she looked into his beautiful grey eyes, they regarded her warmly. Her precious Jack had dismissed her so coldly, she felt lost. Billy had always been there for her, even if he did marry her sister. But Billy still seemed to feel something for her. Did he love her?
“How long are you home?” she asked, her heart fluttering—and the baby kicked as well. Little tyrant.
“A week, maybe,” he replied. “I brought your father home. He isn’t well. Hurt on the field by cannons.”
Her breath hitched. “Daddy’s hurt? Oh, heavens...” She was so frustrated as she padded across the floor.
“Yes, darlin’,” he whispered, taking her arm and returning her to the settee. “Relax, I’m sure he’ll recover physically.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “Billy, what’s wrong with my father?”
She watched him swallow hard. A memory of him swallowing her flooded her mind.
“Caroline, I’m sorry. Your father’s injury hurt his brain.”
#
That night, Emma stared at the canopy above her bed, counting the folds in the fabric. Billy lay next to her, his arm thrown across her stomach. His heavy, even breaths on her neck assured her he was asleep. Something she needed herself but doubted it’d come to her tonight.
Arranging for her father’s room, redoing the menu for the added company, ordering a bath for Billy and his man, having their soiled uniforms laundered and dealing with Caroline’s demands had just about done her in. Sleep should’ve come easily. Billy attempted to make love to her, trying to fill her with his seed in hopes she’d become a mother, but he had failed. He couldn’t maintain his erection, and she was no help. What a miserable end to her day. God really must hate her.
Her eyes blurred and she sniffled. Billy reacted by pulling her against him, and he snuggled his face in her hair. She tried to relax and enjoy his embrace but melancholy prevented it. He didn’t love her. He loved Caroline. She’d seen his face at dinner and noticed her sister’s lightened, jovial mood. Emma tried to deny it to herself, but it was right there in front of her. Billy and Caroline had been involved with each other. When or how, she wasn’t certain, but she refused to spend any more time thinking about it.
Once again, her sister had won. She had married the man Emma loved with her whole heart but apparently had a liaison of some type with Billy too. A lone tear fell. Yes, God hated her.
#
March 1862
Emma sat, knitting another blanket for Caroline’s baby. From the corner of her eye, she saw Caroline lying on the settee, her bare feet resting on the pillowed arm. Emma grimaced at her sister’s swollen ankles and feet. The woman hadn’t worn shoes for the last week, waddling barefoot on the wooden floors of the main house. Happily, the spring air was warm, but Caroline complained of the heat and Emma just shook her head.
The heat wasn’t the only thing Caroline complained about. Anything was fair game. The slaves stayed out of her way. Well, all of them but Sally. Sally just scolded her and laughed, a rich, deep laugh that seemed to placate Caroline and soothe Emma’s nerves.
“Just be thankful you’re not going through this,” Caroline told Emma.
Emma bit her lip. It made Emma sad to hear her sister so unhappy about approaching motherhood. Emma simply couldn’t understand her sister’s attitude when her own womb remained empty. Unfortunately, Billy’s brief return had done nothing to change that.
“The war, Emma,” he told her. “It mars a man. Let me get through this and then…”
Let him get through the war? The war that was to have ended last Christmastide? The war that continued even now? Stealing every man from every home? She shook her head again as Caroline continued to rant about her condition. The woman never ceased. Instead of staying in bed as the doctor had told her to do, she roamed the halls, refusing to be “trapped” in her room. It was enough to drive everyone mad.
Except their father. Emma heard the chimes from the grandfather clock and looked up. One o’clock. Time to get daddy to eat. That is, if he was still in the library where she had left him this morning. She didn’t understand it. He seemed so alert, so rational, only to suddenly forget the present and dwell in the past, when she and Caroline were children and their mother alive. At those times, he also became short tempered, violent in his language and actions.
“Caroline, I need to get father,” she stated, putting her knitting down and rising.
“You can’t just leave me like this.”
Oh, yes I can. The evil thought flashed through her mind and she came close to saying it but dampened her anger. It did no good to express it. “Here, give me your hand,” she said, holding out her arm.
Caroline grasped it and with her other hand pushing behind her, she managed to stand. “Thank you.”
Emma nodded and headed to the hall.
“Oh! Emma, wait!” Caroline’s panicked voice rose.
Quickly, Emma turned and found Caroline doubled over, clutching her stomach. She uttered a pain-filled sob. From underneath her skirts, liquid spread across the wooden flooring.
“Sally!” Emma cried. “Hurry! I think Caroline’s having her baby!”
Caroline cried out, loud enough to be heard as far as the fields. Sally entered the room calmly. “Come, Miss Emma, help me get her to her bed.”
With both of them holding Caroline’s elbows, they steered her to the staircase, taking one step at a time. Jemmy raced into the hallway, and Sally told him to start boiling water.
“What about Doc Hemmings?” Emma asked.
“Child, we don’t need no doctor,” Sally reassured her. “I done helped ten childrens come into this world. We’ll be good.”
It took no time to guide Caroline into her room and onto her bed. She screamed, clutching the bed linens in her hand as another contraction came.
“Emma.” She grasped her sister’s hand after the pain passed.
Pain seared Emma’s arm as Caroline tugged her closer. They were alone. “Yes, Caroline, I’m here.” She wished her sister’d release her wrist.
“I. Need. You to tell Jack,” she grunted and her mouth twisted. “Tell Jack…”
“What do you want me to tell him?” She’d probably retch if it was to tell him his wife loved him.
“Tell him,” Caroline gulped. Her eyes were bloodshot, their pupils shrinking. A sheen covere
d her skin. “Tell him the babe is his…”
“Of course,” Emma interrupted.
“No, promise me! Promise me you’ll tell him.”
Emma frowned. It seemed like a ridiculous request, but she nodded. “Yes, Caroline, I’ll tell him.”
A fleeting smile came to Caroline’s face before it contorted and she screamed.
Will you pardon me for asking what the horses of your army have done
since the battle of Antietam that fatigues anything
—Abraham Lincoln’s directed remark to George B. McClellan,
who had excused his lack of action in the fall of 1862 due to tired horses
Chapter Thirteen
The Peninsular Campaign
Virginia, May 1862
Jack stared down the line of his troops. They stood tense, straight, a couple of them shook, but they had their Springfield rifles loaded and ready. The air was filled with black powder, fire and smoke. Screams from men and horses fought to be heard above the noise of cannon fire and gunshots and a hint of drums and bugles in the distance. This cacophony had been continuous for the last few hours with little change. Advance, withdraw, only to advance again. War.
Jack inhaled the sulfur-laced air. “Ready!”
The order went down the line.
“Aim!” He heard the sound of rifles being raised. “Fire!”
Gunfire sounded behind him as smoke from numerous firearms engulfed them. In the distance, more moans and screams filled the air, only to be drowned out by the return volley. Jack heard the shriek of bullets. One grazed his right temple. He felt its heat. But he didn’t move. This was what he had trained for, why he was here. Surprisingly, fear shot straight down his spine, but a strange indifference kept control of him.
