"Yeah." It shocked her to hear James echo her own thoughts, and it grieved her, realizing how much Quinn despised her. He'd become a man who thrived on hatred and blamed others for his shortcomings. Thomas Cartwright would've been hurt and devastated, knowing his son was such a monster.
Emma's mind flashed to Quinn on the ground, writhing from his injury. She didn't know, of course, if the bullet had grazed him or penetrated his neck. Plus, she didn't know if Will would bother to get Quinn any help. "I wonder if he'll live."
James said nothing.
At last, they came upon a house. Relief and a sense of caution settled in them. The house looked as dark as the evening.
"C'mon," James said, "let's check it out. If everyone's down for the night, maybe we can hole up in the barn."
They dismounted the horse and approached the modest dwelling. James peeked in a window and saw the back of the house had a gaping hole. That, along with a broken window in the back, suggested that the house might have been damaged during a skirmish between the blues and grays, a growing side effect from the war's efforts. Families often left their homes if they became caught in the cross fire.
"Nothin'. Could be abandoned, but we gotta make sure." He stepped inside and called out. Only an echo replied. He motioned for Emma to join him. "Maybe we can get a fire goin'."
"I'll check the cupboards."
A bin in the kitchen held cornmeal. Traces of salt and sugar remained, but not enough to use. Emma knew a family leaving their home would take everything, especially if they didn't plan to return. Every staple would be sacred.
James managed to get a fire started, though Emma wasn't sure how. She checked the meal, making sure it wasn't infested with fleas or other bugs, then found a small pot she could boil water in. She'd watched and sometimes helped Harper make Johnny cakes at home. Harper added sugar and bacon drippings to her recipe, and Emma's mouth watered at the mere thought of such luxuries. She did her best with what she had, and both she and James were grateful for the scanty, bland supper, and they both agreed that one of Grady's wild concoctions didn't sound bad at the moment.
"We failed," Emma said after they ate. "We don't have anything we can report back to McClellan."
"Not so." James snickered. "We know they don't have any ammunition, and after all that ruckus, whatever strategies they were plannin' to incorporate will probably get scrapped."
"Maybe so." Emma ran her hands along her arms. Shivers set in as the meager fire struggled to provide warmth. She doubted, though, little could keep her from sleeping.
"Might help if we keep close by the fire," James said. He put his arm around Emma and pulled her in close. "That better?"
She detected a tremor in his voice.
"Yes."
Except for the crackle of the fire, the cabin fell silent. Emma felt her heart race, and fighting a chill was no longer an issue for her. Though she hesitated, Emma felt she owed James an apology.
"I'm sorry about your wife," she whispered. "And I'm sorry for bringing it up earlier and suggesting that it would make you reckless. I shouldn't have read the letter."
James stared at the fire.
Emma knew that feeling of piercing grief. Since her enlistment, she'd grown to know sorrow as if it were her own shadow, and now, most everyone she knew had been dealt a dose of devastation. But all of her bedside experience with the dying didn't help her now; she didn't know quite how to comfort James.
"I do best when I keep things to myself," he said.
Emma nodded in understanding. "But you loved her so much."
"I did. Finest woman I ever knew."
A strange sense of jealousy stung Emma. "What's it like to be in love?"
"Well, it's good, I suppose. Real good. Ain't you never had a suitor?"
Emma shook her head as she slowly looked at him. Of course, she didn't consider Vaughn a suitor. More like a predator. She had paid little attention to the young men around her, as none of them had ever sparked an emotion inside her. Aside from forcing her cousin Willie to kiss her on the lips when she was eight, Emma had no experience with intimacy and genuine affection. Her sister Stella had married and found happiness, and even Annabelle, young as she was, enjoyed flirting with the boys at parties and gatherings. Emma had long wondered if something was wrong with her, since she found most boys her age disgusting or uninteresting. That had changed the first moment she saw James.
"Who would want to court me?" Emma said timidly. An instant blush came over her, as she had never considered herself pretty or desirable.
"Now, what kind of thing is that to say?" James met her eyes. "I imagine with your hair all fixed and pretty…" He ran his fingertips through her hair and slid them down her cheek. "… in a fine dress… and all…" He paused, then shook his head. "No. Them things don't matter none. You've got a real inner beauty about you, Emma."
The intensity of their gaze took over. Emma feared he could read her every thought and feel the obnoxious pounding from her heart.
James cupped her cheek in his hand and brought her lips to his. Tenderly and slowly, he kissed her.
Every ounce of Emma tingled. Passion blossomed, until James suddenly stopped kissing Emma.
He turned his head slightly, swallowed hard.
"You're real special Emma," he said softly, "but this ain't how it should be." His eyes met hers. "You deserve better than this, here in a rundown house. And you deserve better than me."
Emma shook her head and protested. James touched his fingertips to her lips.
"Don't," he said. "There ain't enough in me to resist what's about to happen between us, Emma, but we can't let it go that far." He took her hand. "I don't want to dishonor you." He hesitated. "Just let me hold you tonight."
With her heart pounding in her ears, Emma could only look at him. She eased into his arms to escape the intensity from his gaze, but sleep would evade her all night long.
****
A tangle of feelings assailed Emma the next morning as she and James set out to return to the Union encampment. She didn't know which emotions she should allow to the surface, and she checked James constantly for signs, but she didn't know what she was hoping for or expecting from him. Part of her felt angry toward her mother, as she considered all the time Olivia had spent teaching Emma how to sit and fold her hands and nothing about how to handle her feelings for a man.
"I thought it was beautiful," she said, mostly because she had to say something, even if it was the wrong thing to say. "I mean, I liked being in your arms."
James looked at her with newness, a delight she had yet to see in him.
"I liked it, too, and we did the right thing."
"But what do we do now?"
"We need to get back to headquarters—"
"That's not what I mean."
"I know." James sighed. "I ain't sure what you want me to say, but after last night, I think you know how I feel about you."
Did she? Last night had only confused her — and been like a flame touched to the wick of a canon. Emma blushed. She had no idea such intense sensations were possible. Guilt rippled through her as she felt her focus and passion for the war effort wane. She cared nothing about returning to the Union camp and reporting back to McClellan. For the first time, she wondered if the cost of being a soldier was too high, and she was tempted to beg James to forget the Union and to ride off and abandon their duties.
"I'm not sure," she said. "Maybe I want to hear that after all this is over, we'll get married." She felt foolish for saying such words. It was unfair, she knew, putting him in an impossible situation. James was grieving for his dead wife, and she wanted to talk of commitment and future plans — perhaps abandon the cause and get married. Emma could not explain herself, nor prevent herself from being irrational. Right or wrong, all she really understood was that she loved him, and it scared her.
"I can't make promises, Emma. I've got two boys to be thinkin' about and lookin' after. But I can tell you that I don't want to kno
w a day in my life without you now." He took her hand. "I want to be with you. Maybe that's no good, and the truth is we can't begin to know what's goin' to happen to our lives with this war goin' on."
Emma knew he was right, and all the uncertainty twisting inside her made her uncomfortable and unwilling to face the future.
****
Union Encampment
Northern Virginia
Once they reached the Union encampment, Emma and James fell into their roles as Private and Lieutenant and reported to General McClellan. Though he was disappointed neither of them had managed to smuggle out a map detailing Confederate strategies and movement, McClellan was pleased they had survived the mission. Emma left out any mention of her brother and had moments where it was difficult for her to concentrate on the conversation at hand. Despondency pricked her. Though she tried to focus, formulating a plan of action against the near-defenseless Confederates held no interest for her.
"May I be excused, sir?" Emma asked.
McClellan and Trumball paused and took in Emma for a moment.
"Everything all right, Edmonds?" McClellan asked.
"Yes, sir, still shaken up a bit and tired. That's all, sir."
McClellan nodded his consent. Emma ducked out of the tent and felt James' urgency to go after her. She didn't want James. She wanted fresh air and a chance to clear her head before discussing and dissecting plans to launch a battle.
She avoided her comrades inside the camp and decided to leave the area. Not wanting to face Eleanor, either, she slipped inside Eleanor's home, knowing she was at the hospital tent. She stuffed her pockets with money she had taken from the plantation's money chest and set out for the city. Emma had no distinct agenda, but she welcomed the freedom she felt while walking the streets of Washington, D.C.
The city's population had exploded with the onset of the war and created problems for the area. Streets badly needed repairs. Housing for factory workers, government workers, and even tourists was in demand, and the city's developers had the task of improving sanitary conditions, as garbage multiplied and current drainage systems proved inadequate.
Emma ignored such conditions. She dined in a restaurant and later walked by the White House and wondered if Union troops still occupied the East Room. Oddly, she even wished to see President Lincoln again. He'd be impressed, hearing all that had happened to her since his visit at Eleanor's house. More importantly, she was certain that he would be able to give her meaningful advice for her predicament.
Dejected, Emma tired of the sights and sounds around her. Her present mood and the melancholy that wanted to suffocate her confused Emma. She worried nothing might return her to her former self — though she no longer knew who that person was. Had she become Tom Edmonds to a point of no return, or was Emma Cartwright battling her for control again? Weren't Tom and Emma one and the same? Didn't both identities want the same thing? She didn't know anymore.
As she strolled past a general store, an item in the window caught her eye and urged her inside. This, she thought, might be the very thing, the very test she needed.
****
A short time later, Rosemary opened the door to the Pratt house and greeted her with an expression of muted bafflement.
"May I help you?" Rosemary asked dully.
"Yes." Emma stepped inside without an invitation. "I'm here to visit Mrs. Pratt." She smiled and did nothing to conceal her feminine voice, and in her current ensemble, she knew there was no reason to do so.
"I'll fetch her."
When Rosemary returned with Eleanor, the chaplain's wife had a difficult time taking in the frilly pink frock, the gloves and saucer-like hat that her 'caller', with rouge-rubbed cheeks, was wearing.
"Hello, may I help you?"
Emma laughed at the repetition and the fact that her dear friend didn't recognize her.
"Why, it's me, Emma!" She twirled as if that would enhance the effect.
"Emma!" Eleanor's eyes boggled. "What in the world…?" She caught her breath and couldn't speak.
Footsteps sounded from the other room, and James appeared by Eleanor's side.
"Emma?" His disbelief matched Eleanor's. He looked from Emma to Eleanor and back again. "I've been lookin' everywhere for you."
"I went into town, bought a dress." Emma swayed and forced a smile.
"Wh-what is all this?" James barely found the words.
"Thought I'd disguise myself as a lady for a change."
As Eleanor and James traded glances again, Emma's giddiness faded. This wasn't the reaction she'd imagined. She'd thought, she'd hoped, that wearing a dress and proving she could behave demurely would win James over. But her feminine appearance only intensified his confusion, which made Emma feel foolish and terribly uncomfortable.
"Does this mean you're leavin' the army for good?" James asked.
"No." Emma shrugged. "I mean, I don't know."
"Emma, dear." Eleanor placed her hands on Emma's sagging shoulders. "I know all of this must be difficult for you, and I'm sure living as a soldier has been harder than you expected, but dear, I'm not sure now is the time for you to abandon the army."
"She's right, Emma. McClellan has given orders for the remainin' troops to head to Yorktown tomorrow. We're loadin' up supplies and headin' out first thing. He wants to attack while the Confederates are weakened. We won't get a chance like this again."
Emma looked at James and resisted the urge to be honest. All she wanted was to fall into his arms, to feel him close. Her passion for the war had faded, and the spark of fire in her now was for James. However, her wardrobe change had the wrong effect on him, which only confused and confounded Emma further. How could he focus on the war after what they'd been through? Weren't their hearts knitted together? Wasn't he consumed by the same longings and emotions?
"Yes, I suppose McClellan is right," Emma finally said. She turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Eleanor asked.
"I can't be seen like this. I have to put these clothes away."
"Emma." His voice had a subtle urgency, but James couldn't find the words that would soothe Emma's hurt.
"It's all right."
Emma left Eleanor's house, and when she was sure Eleanor and James could no longer see her, she lifted her skirt and ran. James called after her, which made Emma run harder. She ran until her chest burned. Unable to face anyone, she crouched and hid between houses, flinging aside the hat, muffling the sobs that burst forth, and smudging her gloves with rouge.
****
Dressed in her uniform the next morning, Emma joined the remaining members of her company as General McClellan gave an uplifting speech about the importance of victory and reunifying the nation. When the men dispersed to gather their knapsacks and begin the journey, James spotted Emma.
She noted the mix of worry and relief on his face as he approached. If she had to guess, James hadn't slept well. Had it been yesterday, Emma would have interpreted such signs as affection, perhaps devotion. Today, however, after her own sleepless night, she found no pleasure in knowing he had been distraught over her.
"Where have you been?" He kept his voice low and metered his frustration.
"It doesn't matter." She'd taken their encounter last night as a great rejection. Her only intention now was to guard and protect what was left of her heart.
"Of course it does!" Others looked their way, and James knew he was in danger of attracting unwanted attention. "Emma, I don't understand what's goin' on with you, and I'm terrible confused about all that's happened between us."
She looked at him stoically. "Nothing happened, remember? Just the way you wanted, because you can't see me as a woman."
He looked injured. "How could you say such a thing? You know why we couldn't be together. It wouldn't be right, not like that, and you're worth more to me, Emma, than one night in the countryside."
Shame turned Emma's cheeks red. It had never been her nature to hurt others, and now she had been set on hurting the one
man she cared about most.
"I'm sorry," she said.
James slipped her hand into his in a way that no one would notice.
"I wish there was some way to work all this out, Emma, but I don't know how right now. Just promise me one thing, though. Promise that you'll stick close to me and no matter what happens at Yorktown—"
"I'm not going."
"What?"
Her hand fell from his.
"I met with McClellan late last night. I-I told him I needed to take an emergency furlough. He didn't press me too hard on the matter, and he granted me leave."
Stunned, James took a moment before he spoke. "Now? This could be it, Emma. We might put down the rebellion with this here fight. How on earth can you walk away from one of the most important battles we might ever face?"
"Because it's not important to me, not anymore." Emma told herself she wouldn't cry, but she had no idea how hard that would be. "All I want is to be with you, James. Not as a man, and not in this uniform. I know I'm being unreasonable and selfish, but I can't help myself, and I can't go into a battle with my head so confused. The best thing I could come up with was to be away from you."
James sighed. "Seems to me this is the worst decision you could make right now. I don't want to be apart, Emma."
"But we can't be together."
James didn't reply. Emma knew she was pressing too hard, hoping for too much, but she had no other defense against the ache in her heart.
"I want to try and sort out my feelings," Emma said. "For now, it's best if I go back home."
"To your plantation?"
She nodded.
"And when you sort things out, are you comin' back?" James asked.
"I don't know."
They stood there with soldiers milling around them, preparing to move to Yorktown and face the enemy. James only focused on Emma. He studied her, as if he were etching her face in his mind and accepting that this could be the last time he would ever see her.
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