Secondly is our concern with the laborers. We have noticed an overall shift of attitude among them since they are well aware of the war. Three have run off to join the Union, or so we've heard. There was even an incident between Henry and George, where George was about to strike Henry, presumably for working too slow, and Henry snatched the switch from him and broke it. Although George was probably drunk at the time, he has not been able to exercise his cruel, rigid command over them ever since. This makes Knox nervous, and though he hasn't mentioned it, I am sure he fears another uprising. So do I.
Your safe return is in my prayers, though what you may have to return to is uncertain.
Your cousin,
Stuart
Emma felt her heart drop. She had given no thought to the consequences the war would have on her family at home. The family enjoyed a measure of wealth, but under the pressure of scarce supplies and increasing costs, she wondered how far the money would stretch. Guilt nagged her for taking such a sizeable amount from the money chest, and she planned to return a portion, though she dared not trust the post. But, when would she see Beaumont again, if ever?
Greater was her worry over the change in the slaves. She couldn't blame Henry for retaliating against George, but would others overthrow and mistreat her family? Emma considered the steps she had taken for her freedom. Should the tide of the war change, especially under McClellan's direction, and the notion of freedom become tangible, what man wouldn't fight for that? But what would happen once the slaves learned the war wasn't about their freedom? With nothing to lose, would they band together and revolt? What would happen to her family?
Emma also felt concern for Sylvia. Was their aunt attempting to distract Sylvia and the rest of the children from the growing tension building in the nearby port? The Union's naval presence, Emma knew from hearing reports, had increased in the Gulf of Mexico as control over the Mississippi had yet to be determined.
Or was Sylvia the one presenting a brave front? Was she aware of the impending battle? Emma hated that she could do nothing to protect her beloved sister. For that, she had to rely on her own prayers and the feeble trust she placed in them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Union Encampment
Northern, Virginia
September, 1861
As reveille sounded, Emma was stolen from her dream. She had been with her family, dressed in her Union uniform. Her fingers grasped at her short hair, but everyone around her, including her father, Franklin, and Grandmother Louise, was woozy with joy. No one batted an eye at her masculine appearance. All of them had gathered to celebrate the birth of Stella's baby. Stella was about to place the fussing little bundle in Emma's arms when she awoke.
Of course, it struck her that in fact, Stella was a mother by now. Her boorish, proper sister, who could never stand for her hands to be dirty or a spot on her dress. The sister who wouldn't play with Emma when she stunk of the marsh. The sister who'd been too clumsy to climb trees. She had a baby, and sadly, Emma had missed it.
Emma and her fellow company gathered for drill duty at dawn, their enthusiasm and gusto for the on-going regiment was equal to receiving a portion of Grady's bullfrog stew. McClellan's morale-building speeches continued, but gripes among the troops emerged over the lack of mobilization and action against the Confederates. In August, news of another Union loss at the Battle of Wilson's Creek in southwestern Missouri disturbed the encampment. Quick to blame "dotards" in Washington for his cautious tactics, McClellan's mounting excuses gained as much fame as his love letters to his wife.
This morning, Lieutenant Trumball addressed his division.
"Men, I've just received word from the colonel that a detachment is needed to transport supplies to a train depot outside of Winchester, which is a three day haul. Tensions are rising in Kentucky, along with troop concentrations from both sides. Once the supplies are in Winchester, they will be sent by railroad to General Sherman and his men stationed in Louisville. It's our duty to make sure the shipment reaches Winchester safely. You'll each be required to carry a loaded knapsack and help stock the supply wagon. Have your gear ready and be prepared to leave at dawn."
Trumball wasted no time with questions.
"That's the most I've heard him speak since I've been here," Charles said.
"Me too," Emma said.
Emma let Eleanor and other hospital personnel know that she had been called out for a short duty.
"Be careful," Eleanor said. "Zechariah just returned home from a trip to western Virginia. He heard tell that there are groups of Confederates who have abandoned Lee's army because of recent defeats near the Cheat Mountain area. The men are desperate to get home, and some are acting as bandits along the roadway, attacking and robbing people."
Emma patted Eleanor's shoulder to calm the urgency in her voice.
"Don't worry, Miss Eleanor. We'll be careful." She doubted a band of deserters would be bold enough — stupid enough — to attack a company of well-armed soldiers. On the other hand, the actions of men no longer surprised her.
Emma kept personal items to a minimum when she packed her necessities, but she made room on her person for her grandfather's Colt. It was easier to handle than the musket and more accurate. She hoped Eleanor had been fed exaggerated tales, but she aimed to be prepared.
When Graham helped place the loaded knapsack on Emma's back the next morning, her knees threatened to buckle. Graham caught her and helped Emma adjust to the heavy pack.
"What's in there?" she asked Graham, but Trumball was the one to answer.
"Ammunition cartridges, food, medical supplies." The lieutenant stood in front of Emma and looked her over. "I need to know now if you can't handle it, Edmonds."
Emma returned her commander's stone-cold stare. "I'll manage, Lieutenant."
He didn't look convinced but walked off to help others. In his place came Nash, strapped with two sacks.
"Problem there, tadpole? What's a matter, can't carry anything heavier than a dead cat?"
Emma let him have the barb and put her strength into making headway with the pack. The morning's haze promised a steamy day, and she worried this challenge might do her in. If the pack became too much, Emma would have to think of something. Since joining the Union army she was a new person in more ways than one. Not only had she found and built muscles she didn't know existed, she had also exercised her resourcefulness and overcame each task she faced. Aside from her performance on the battlefield at Bull Run, which she didn't view as a failure, Emma considered herself dependable. She couldn't let this new trial unravel the reputation she had sacrificed much to create.
Displaying weakness among the men — especially in front of Trumball and Nash — was not an option for her. Even if it meant removing some of the items from the sack and kicking them along the forty mile trip, Emma determined to make it work.
****
Eight miles into the trek, Emma fell to the ground, for the third time. Rocks and terrain could be blamed the first two falls, since other men had stumbled, but this time, Emma landed face first and wanted to sink into the ground. Bringing up the rear of the company, she worried she would be left there in the dirt. Then she felt a kick in the sole of her dusty brogan.
"No time for a nap, Edmonds," Trumball said. "We've got another two miles before we make camp for the night."
Emma's body ached and throbbed. She feared she could no longer will herself to go on.
"I'm not sure I can move, sir."
Trumball rolled Emma over. "Come on. You're no different than the rest of us." He held out his hand to help her up.
Emma wanted to protest, to prove she was different and incapable for the task, but she reached for the lieutenant's hand and worked herself to her knees. He handed Emma his canteen.
"Another stop, tadpole?" Nash and the others had drifted back to find Emma and Trumball. "At this rate a new century is gonna come 'round before we get to Winchester." As usual, Nash chuckled alone at his humor, until a whizzin
g arrow thumped into his chest.
Nash moaned and crashed to the ground. A swarm of hollering Indians, riding on horses, surrounded them. Arrows zipped through the air. The soldiers hit the ground belly first. Arrows pierced their packs. Trumball grabbed his musket and began loading it. Emma shed her pack and reached for the Colt while Indians closed in on them.
On bended knee, Emma pointed her gun, but the mob of Indians moved too quickly for her to take aim. One climbed the supply wagon and threw Graham from the seat. Dark, flowing hair and bronzed skin dashed through the scene as arrows continued to slice the air.
Trumball struggled with a paper cartridge until it ripped open and spilled the gunpowder on the ground. From what Emma could see, the Indians were a modest band, but their ambush put Emma and fellow soldiers at a disadvantage. Apart from Emma, no one else had a ready weapon. They fumbled their muskets or threw rocks.
A screeching war-cry sounded. Emma and Trumball saw an Indian running at them with a raised tomahawk. Emma held her breath, took aim and fired at the Indian's hand. The shot sent the tomahawk flying and the Indian collapsing to the ground.
Emma fired another shot at an Indian on horseback. The Indian rolled backward off the horse as the stallion reared and screeched. The Indian writhed on the ground, clutching his shoulder. Another Indian jumped down from a tree and landed on Trumball. Emma pointed the gun at the Indian and yelled at him in perfect Cherokee.
Confused, the Indian paused. Emma was also confused, but she continued speaking in a language foreign to Trumball's ears. The Indian looked from Emma to his two tribesmen on the ground. He mumbled something to Emma, then produced an earsplitting noise that stunted the attacking mob. The chaotic stir created by the Indians settled. Slowly, the Indian leader lowered his tomahawk. Emma kept the gun aimed at the Indian as he got off Trumball and yelled at his fellow tribesmen. The other Indians held back, and the soldiers stayed down while Emma and the Indian, presumably the tribe's leader, conversed, keeping a fair distance between them. Emma spoke loud enough for all the Indians to hear. Both Indians she had shot were on their feet but injured.
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?
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