"Mr. President, I would like to introduce to you Private Tom Edmonds." McClellan held out a hand as if he were presenting a showpiece.
With a warm grin and kind eyes, President Lincoln shook Emma's trembling hand.
"It is a distinguishing pleasure to meet you, young man." Lincoln removed his stovepipe hat. The other men followed suit. Lincoln took a seat in a chair placed next to the bed.
Emma felt terrified, convinced that every man in the room could tell she was a woman. She had no idea how she looked, but imagined that with rumpled hair, pale skin, and an oversized bed shirt, she had to be a sight. With her body heat rising, a warm sweat beaded her every pore.
Furthermore, Emma had yet to solidify her opinion of the president.
"George here has shared a great deal with me about your recent adventures," Lincoln said. "Here I made it a priority to caucus with George and to," he glanced at McClellan, "encourage him to press forward for a resolution, and what do I hear? He informs me that a spy has just returned from the Yorktown encampment with valuable insight — vital insight, actually — that will be crucial to his troop movement and future victory." Lincoln paused a moment while he fed McClellan an indifferent expression. "Upon hearing such a report, I was eager to make your acquaintance, Mr. Edmonds. I am indeed grateful that you managed such a successful feat. Considering the peril you were in and the injuries you sustained, I believe it's a testament to the Heavenly Father that you are still alive."
"Thank you, sir." Brevity, Emma decided, would be a safe measure.
"I hope to hear that your prognosis is quite favorable?" asked the president.
Emma had avoided an examination by Dr. Hillman, though she noticed him standing in the room. She bit the inside of her lip as she looked his way.
"Edmonds is in the best of hands and receiving the utmost in care," Dr. Hillman said.
"I can certainly see that is true." Lincoln acknowledged the room. "This is a finer arrangement than I am sure many of the infirm are accustomed to."
Trumball stepped forward. "This setting is only temporary for Edmonds."
Lincoln slightly arched an eyebrow in Emma's direction. "What a shame."
Laughter reverberated through the room.
Eleanor squeezed her way in carrying a tray filled with glasses of tea. Rosemary followed with a similar tray and tended to the men in the back. Eleanor served the president first.
"Thank you, ma'am." Lincoln sat back in his chair. "You have a very comfortable home here. Thank you for your kindness and allowing us ruffians to invade."
"Oh, Mister President," Eleanor blushed, "You are quite welcome here. And may I say, sir, how honored I am by this visit. My husband and I pray for you daily." She sniffed back tears. "I do wish he could be here to share this moment."
The president reached out and patted Eleanor's arm. "I receive those prayers and the supplication of others with much thanksgiving, ma'am, and I hear that your husband is at present in service with our troops aboard the Zouave, for which I am also grateful. Please give him my highest regards when he returns." Eleanor nodded, and the president looked at Emma. "As this soldier can attest, such times and such conditions require faith." Lincoln lost his focus for a moment. Sadness seemed to come over him, and Emma was certain he was pained with thoughts of his departed son.
"Yes, Mr. President," Emma said when his silence stretched for too long. "A man needs his faith."
Lincoln nodded and returned to them. "Well, you may find a comfort in learning that the general is preparing to move his troops toward Yorktown in the morning."
A cheer rose from the men, but McClellan looked at the president with a restrained glower.
"Your discoveries have given him the information and confidence he needs to finally exercise some of that West Point academy training we have all heard so much about." Lincoln glanced at McClellan and snickered.
Annoyed, McClellan made no attempt to hide it. He took a deep breath and stood next to the president. Little Mac, unfortunately, could compare in stature to Lincoln only when the president was seated.
"The men are ready for combat." McClellan's words elicited another cheer. "Of course, considering the conditions and the limited resources I've been forced to work with, I have adjusted my strategies accordingly and plan to lead a successful campaign. All while you sit comfortably in your office, Mr. President."
Lincoln enjoyed his refreshment. "Well, as the leader of this fine nation, that is precisely where I belong, General. Military success is a necessary but pithy aspiration next to the task of reunification. Be grateful, sir, that you are sure to find peace and rest easier than I." Lincoln stared decisively at McClellan.
Silence beat in the room. Men shifted awkwardly. The jovial spirit that had infected the room met a sudden death.
Lincoln stood. "Well, Private Edmonds, I believe it is time you had your rest. Meeting you has been an extreme pleasure. Thank you for your service. This country is indebted to you, as is the general."
Lincoln shook Emma's hand again. He exchanged parting words and thanks with Eleanor and made his way through the throng of men, shaking hands as he went. The men, including McClellan, Graham, and even Eli Nash, passed on well wishes to their comrade and slowly funneled out of the house.
"Wait till I tell Zechariah!" Eleanor said once everyone but Trumball and Rosemary had departed.
Breathless and in need of a fresh bandage, Emma's thoughts wandered to her grandfather. She wondered what he would say if she ever had the chance to tell him that she had met the president. Would he be proud of her? Would he envy her, meeting the nation's leader? Emma didn't know. But a new-found respect for President Lincoln swelled in her, as well as a certainty that General McClellan was a fool.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Pain woke Emma from a late afternoon nap.
"Needin' a dose of morphine?" Trumball asked.
Emma, surprised and more pleased than she should be to find James in her room, declined the medicine.
"Nah, I'll just give it a minute. It'll pass."
"No need to play stubborn for me." James sounded neither condescending nor lofty. In fact, Emma detected a grin on him, but he quickly became self-conscious. "I'll check with Miss Eleanor, see what I can find."
Emma took a deep breath and nodded. Having someone, besides Sylvia, tend to her was a new feeling. So was being shot. Twice. She tried to remove part of the bandage to assess the damage, but it was no use. Too much movement only invited more pain. How she had made it back to camp with such injuries was a mystery. While she was hiding on board the ship, Emma had found a crate with bread loaves. She'd done her best to make a poultice for her wounds. Whether that had made the difference, or the fact that the bullets had zipped straight through her, she didn't know. Regardless, she sent up prayers of abundant thanks.
James returned with a bowl of broth and a bottle of whiskey. He settled at Emma's bedside. He seemed to fumble for the correct way to act and behave around Emma, and she found his awkwardness endearing. Except for their encounter with the Cherokee, she had never seen him unsure of himself. The change in him was a welcome one, though Emma wasn't quite sure how to behave around him either.
He poured a shot of whiskey and offered it. "If you think it'll help."
"Worth a try." Emma's face tightened as the drink burned its way down her throat.
"Eleanor thinks you need somethin' in your stomach."
He held the bowl and sat close. Then he leaned in as he fed Emma. Broth dripped onto Eleanor's bedding, but Emma pretended not to notice. After a few spoonfuls, Emma's body rattled with jitters at being so close to and so dependent upon James. She held up her hand to indicate she was done.
"I never did have a way with nursin'." He sat the bowl aside.
"No, you did fine." Emma withdrew her overly-pleased smile and rolled the covers so the spilled broth wouldn't show. "Not much of an appetite yet. I don't mean to sound unkind, but should you be here?"
"Wantin' rid of
me?" James looked insulted and stood.
"No!" Emma sat up and held out her hand to keep him from leaving. Her pain caused her to cry out.
"Easy now." James took her hand and sat again as Emma caught her breath. "I got special permission to keep an eye on you. That bother you?"
"No," Emma whispered. "I'm glad you're here."
Her words brought a half-smile to his face. "What do I even call you now?"
She knew he wasn't referring simply to her name. He was wondering where they went from here and how he would address her in front of others. Emma wondered the same, but what, at the moment, were the alternatives? Neither had an idea as to how the situation would unfold.
Under James' curious gape, Emma fidgeted. This wasn't the way a lady wanted to look in front of a gentleman. As much as she'd hated her mother's primping and insistence upon proper etiquette, Emma craved her long hair and that lilac frock. Perhaps for the first time, Emma wanted the admiration a gentleman offered a lady. Cropped and dirty hair, grit under her fingernails and a makeshift wardrobe would do nothing to make a man's heart flutter. But what was she thinking? James was still her commander — and married.
"What'd you do it for?" he asked. "Why on earth would a young woman go through so much trouble to pretend to be a soldier?"
"Lot of reasons, but none that would probably convince you."
James nodded. "Guess you'll be headin' home soon as you're well enough."
Emma couldn't tell if he meant it as a question or a command.
"Maybe." She played a homecoming scene through her mind, one she found foolish to hope for. "I don't really have a home to go back to." She forced a grin, not wanting to make James any more uncomfortable.
"What about your pa? He know you're here?"
"No, he died a couple years back." In Beaumont, most people knew the story surrounding Tom Cartwright's death. Mentioning it now, to a man who was still somewhat a stranger to her, made Emma shift. She'd never shared the story about the Uprising, never had to, and she didn't know if the timing was right. Telling James this portion of her family's history could further jeopardize the delicate position she'd already placed him in with the accidental reveal of her gender.
"Shep," Emma said.
"What?"
"A man named Shep killed my father." Emma hesitated. "It's a long story."
Confused but looking sympathetic, James sat back to listen.
"Maybe I shouldn't tell you," Emma said. "There's much about me you don't know."
"Might be helpful if I knew more."
Emma wasn't convinced that was true, but she wanted to show James she trusted him.
"Well," Emma began, "Shep was a slave on my family's plantation." She looked at him. "Our rice plantation."
James paused, then asked, "Are you tellin' me you're from the South?"
Emma nodded.
Clearly, James hadn't expected that detail. "A southern female posin' as a Union soldier? I reckon I'd best hear this."
Emma swallowed the lump in her throat. She was possibly endangering James by telling him more, but oddly, it gave her a sense of security, sharing her secrets. For the first time since she'd joined the army, Emma didn't feel alone.
"Shep was a good man. We called him Shep, short for Shepherd, because he liked to preach to the slaves. He was married to Harper, who works in our house, and they had several children. One was a girl named Sissy. She was the same age as my older brother, Franklin. The three of us were close, along with my younger sister, Sylvia, but I didn't realize how close Franklin and Sissy were until late one summer night, when one of our barns was on fire. There was all kinds of commotion, screaming going on. Shep was running around the barn with a torch in his hand and yelling, 'Burn, burn in hell you Jezebel.' At first, none of us knew what was going on, but Sissy was inside. She'd just given birth that night to Franklin's baby. Shep went crazy. He knew that kind of scandal would ruin our family name, maybe have us run out of Beaumont, and he wanted to punish Sissy. But my father heard Sissy and the baby crying. He ran into the barn."
Tears streaked Emma's cheeks, but she continued.
"No one could stop him. Shep even tried to hold him back, hollering, 'Let 'em burn, master!' My father fought him off, ran inside. Shep went in after him. It wasn't but a few seconds later that the roof collapsed on all of them."
James let it sink in, then asked, "What happened after?"
"Franklin disappeared after the funerals. He left us a note that told us everything. Said he loved Sissy and wanted to marry her. He knew he had to take her and the baby away that night. He'd left her in the barn and went to pack some things from the house. He said he was the only one besides Sissy who knew she was pregnant. But Shep must've known something was wrong with Sissy that night when she gave birth. When he found Sissy and the baby, he set the barn on fire. Franklin said he couldn't stay, and that he was headed to Kansas to do what he could to stop the spread of slavery, and to get as far from Beaumont as he could.
"Our family was devastated, Harper, too, but we never told folks in town the whole story, never mentioned the baby. My grandfather took it the worst, and he insisted we blame the tragedy on Shep, make it sound like he was starting a rebellion, an uprising. He wanted the slaves scared, and he swore he'd never let something like that happen again."
James sighed. He reached over and took Emma's hand. "I think I understand why you're here then."
He let Emma shed her tears, and didn't look at her while she wept. Emma was thankful for that, since his touch was all the intensity she could tolerate. When Emma had recovered, he released her hand and poured another shot of whiskey. Emma settled back in bed after downing a dose, and James helped himself to a dose of the spirits.
"I got me two boys," he said. "Back in Kentucky. I ain't one that knows much about the politics and such, but I knew I had to leave, had to show my boys that leavin' and fightin' was the right thing to do."
There were many times when Emma forgot being a soldier and part of the war effort was only a temporary reality. Hope lived in every man that he would return to his home and farm, loved ones, and to the life he had left behind. Emma didn't have the same hope, as she had no idea what she would do with herself once the war had ended.
"What about your wife?" Emma's boldness came as a surprise. "I don't mean to sound disrespectful, I—"
"No, it's all right." James ran his hand over his moustache as he seemed to think about her. "My Lily, she's uh, been powerful sick. Got some ailment they don't know what to do with." He shook his head. "It don't look good."
"Can't you request a leave and go be with her?"
"Yeah, I reckon I could." He grew quiet. "But I don't know if I could see her like that. I ain't used to bein' helpless, and watchin' her die…" He swallowed hard. His head drooped.
"She needs you. So do your boys."
"I wouldn't be no good for none of them. She's got her folks there." He stood and went to the window. "When I kissed my Lily goodbye afore comin' here, I accepted right then and there it would be the last time I saw her, unless by some miracle the Lord saw fit to deliver me home in one piece from this war. But now, I've watched so many boys go to the grave without even seein' a battle, I don't count myself as anything more special than a one of them."
Emma understood his reasoning, but she didn't agree with him.
"You'll regret not seeing her," she said.
"Maybe, but there ain't nothin' that'd make losin' her easier. I don't want my last memory of her to be one where she's ailin' and dyin'." He dug his hands into his pockets. "Prayin' is the best thing I can do for her."
"You're being selfish."
He turned back to her, aggravation flaring in his eyes.
"What?"
"She needs you, right there at her side. Like you are now, with me." Emma felt her cheeks grow hot and her speech loose. "I know I'd want you. Holding me. You'd have to be witless, not going to her."
James sprang from his seat. "You think you g
ot all the answers there, Emma? You got me and my problems all figured out? Is that it?"
"Huh? No, I—"
"'Cause let me tell you somethin' there, miss southern gal, you don't know me, and you don't know a thing about my problems. Seems all you know about is stirrin' up trouble, so why don't you stick to that."
Emma tried to apologize and explain that she was only concerned for him, but James ignored her. He slammed the door behind him when he left and stomped his way out of Eleanor's house.
Moments later, Eleanor poked her head into Emma's room, but Emma, silently blaming the whiskey for her brazenness, had placed a pillow over her face to muffle her squeals of frustration.
****
April, 1862
As Emma recuperated, McClellan moved his army by boats down Chesapeake Bay and positioned them on the Rappahannock River near Yorktown. He revised his plan of attack, thanks to reports that claimed the Rebels were over a hundred thousand men strong, and lay siege to the city instead. He informed Lincoln and the government that he had no hope for victory without more men and more artillery.
While McClellan waited at Yorktown, Federal troops under Grant's command at Shiloh, Tennessee, squeaked out a defeat of Confederate forces. Although Grant failed to push his troops in pursuit of the retreating Rebels, the Union welcomed the triumph. Casualties on both sides were staggering, though, and over twenty-three-thousand men lost their lives, were wounded or missing.
Amid such news, Emma decided against leaving the army, though she had issues to resolve before she could return to camp and assume her role as Tom Edmonds once again. One matter was Grady. Emma needed to find out if Grady would continue to guard her secret. Wearing a newly issued jacket and hat, Emma approached him one evening while he was alone, cleaning utensils after the supper meal. To her surprise, Grady showed off his toothless grin the moment he saw her and greeted her as Private Edmonds. Discretely, she asked him if she could count on him to keep her secret. Grady winked.
Plantation Nation (9781621352877) Page 17
