Ebb Tide (Ella Wood Book 3)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  Emily couldn’t understand his complacency. “But don’t you see? It will be years now before Ella Wood’s people go free.”

  “You don’ know dat. ’Sides, such a decision never been in yo’ power to make, has it?”

  “Well…no.”

  He leaned forward and turned her palm upward, tapping it with gnarled fingertips. “You see, Miss Emily, you can only do what be put in yo’ hand to do. An’ you done so.”

  “Not much good came of it,” she grumbled.

  “Now, I reckon dat ain’t so. Ella Wood holdin’ together jus’ fine. You learnin’ de books. Yo’ mama be thinkin’ new thoughts. An’ Marse Preston regainin’ his health. Sound to me like a lot o’ good come of it.”

  “But our chance to free Ella Wood’s slaves is drying up.”

  “Maybe dat mean you got somethin’ else needs doin’ now.”

  The corner of her lip twisted. “You’re not going to let me wallow in this, are you?”

  “No, miss. You done right. What will be will be in God’s good time.”

  His logic alleviated any pressure she might have felt to accomplish the impossible. “Zeke, I sure wish I had your faith.”

  The old man smiled and eased back in his chair. “Do yo’ comparin’ when you been tested eighty years.”

  She watched him take a bite of bread and cheese, followed by a wedge of apple. “You haven’t come across Jack’s journal by any chance, have you?” she asked.

  “No, miss.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Not that she would need it any time soon, now that she was being relieved of responsibility. Still, one inheritance at a time seemed plenty. “Zeke, I haven’t told anyone this yet, but Aunt Margaret left her entire estate to me, including Trudy, Stella, and Paxton.”

  Dark brown eyes flickered with interest. “Dat so?”

  “It’s not all legal yet. Mr. Vitler’s still completing the paperwork.”

  He chewed another bite of bread, peering at her from under bushy gray eyebrows.

  She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “I’m not sure what to do about it. If I can’t free them, I have no idea how to help them.”

  Another apple wedge crunched.

  Her forehead puckered. He wasn’t offering much support. “Ideally, I’d like to ship them north, just as I did for Lizzie, but that hardly seems possible. What should I do, Zeke?”

  “What can you do, miss?”

  “I just said I don’t know.”

  He smiled, chewing unhurriedly. “Well, when you figure out what you can do, you’ll prob’ly know what you should do.”

  ***

  Emily wrestled with Zeke’s challenge for the rest of the afternoon. For starters, she decided she’d best be forthright with her new slaves, who’d been in limbo since Aunt Margaret’s death. She accomplished it promptly, gathering them in an empty third-floor bedroom where their conversation would not be overheard. “Do the three of you have any idea why I’ve sought you out?”

  They exchanged glances. It was Paxton who ventured a guess. “I reckon it because we all Mrs. Thorton’s people.”

  “That is correct. My aunt bequeathed you to me in her will.” She clasped her hands together. “I want you to know that I intended to manumit each of you; however, I learned that state law makes this nearly impossible. I confess, it has left me at a loss.”

  She paced a few slow steps and then returned. “As a legal means is not an option, it invites us to explore illegal means, but at the moment I am limited as to how much help and protection I can offer. Eventually, I will be returning to the North. At that time, you will be welcome to travel with me. But remaining at Ella Wood until then is your decision. As far as I’m concerned, you are all free to stay or go.”

  Only the sound of wind gusting against the windowpane could be heard as three incredulous slaves stood open-mouthed, absorbing this information. Paxton recovered first. He cleared his throat. “Travelin’ widout papers be a risk.”

  Paxton had always been so steady, so reliable, Emily wondered if he’d ever seriously considered the implications of running off before now. “It would require a measure of courage, that is true. However, if you leave, no one will follow you. And should you be caught and returned, you will suffer no reprisal at my hand. Go now, and think on it. But tell no one else. As much as I’d like to, I cannot free them all.”

  The women slipped quietly into the hall, heads together, whispering excitedly to one another, but Paxton stayed. His large, calloused hand gripped hers. “Thank you, Miss Emily. You a good lady.”

  With the current state of the South, Emily wasn’t sure if she was doing any of them a kindness. But the choice had to be theirs, and she would grant it.

  Later that afternoon, Emily also felt ready to share her news with Marie. She simply blurted it out as they drove to Fairview for tea. “Mother, Aunt Margaret named me her heir. Mr. Vitler told me during our meeting in the city.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful, Emily. Now you’ll have a livelihood should you fail to find a husband.”

  That wasn’t the response Emily had expected. “I am overwhelmed by your confidence, Mother.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Emily. You’ve scorned the idea of marriage since childhood, with all your ideas of independence.”

  “I haven’t scorned marriage. I want to marry. I—” Her words broke off. It was these sudden ambushes of memory that took the greatest toll on her hope. “I just wanted to attend school first,” she finished flatly.

  Abel turned the horses into Fairview’s drive. “Aunt Margaret also left me her slaves,” Emily added before they disembarked. “But if they should choose to leave Ella Wood, they aren’t to be pursued.”

  Marie considered her daughter for a long moment. “We’ll discuss that later.”

  Emily alighted in front of Fairview’s grand facade with unaccustomed expectancy. These familiar doors had never before veiled the unknown. She couldn’t hold back a swell of melancholy as she realized that at war’s end, Jovie would never burst through them in an ecstasy of reunion. Nor would he ever enter with the pride of ownership. Fairview had been cut off from him forever.

  She shook off the thought. Life changed, and there was no remedy for it. Just to have Jovie back would be miracle enough.

  Jacob opened the door for them as he always had. “Good aftanoon, Missus Preston. Miss Emily.”

  Emily squeezed his hand in answer, strangely comforted by his presence.

  “If you gib me yo’ wraps, de new marse be waitin’ fo’ you in de parlor.”

  “Thank you, Jacob,” Marie said. “We’re quite eager to meet him and his wife.”

  They handed off their garments, and Emily followed her mother across a foyer that looked exactly as it always had. But as Marie crossed the threshold of the parlor, she stopped abruptly, her posture going rigid as a fencepost. Emily nearly ran into her backside. “Mother, what in the world…?”

  She stepped around Marie and took in the refurbished room, now draped in burgundies and royal blues and the deep, rich sheen of mahogany. A young man sat in Mr. Cutler’s place beside the fire, one leg crossed casually over the other and a glass of brandy in his hand. Cool blue eyes regarded Emily from beneath a thatch of blond hair, and when he smiled, a dimple winked in his left cheek. She grasped the doorframe and felt the blood leach from her face. A whisper escaped her, one word, a mixture of revulsion and disbelief.

  “Thad.”

  Marie recovered before Emily. “What are you doing here, Mr. Black?” she asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

  Thad rose and sauntered over to take her hand. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Preston. Please accept my deepest condolences. I was very sorry to hear about your husband’s condition.”

  Marie shook off his touch. “I don’t know what you’re up to, young man, but you’ve caused quite enough damage in my family. I would thank you to keep to your own property and your own business. Come along, Emily.”

  Emily st
ill clutched the doorframe. Her shock had passed, replaced by deep foreboding. Thad could not have purchased Fairview by chance. Possible motives made the hair on her arms stand upright, but she vowed to know the truth. “No, Mother. I think I’d like to speak with Mr. Black.”

  Marie snatched her cloak from Jacob’s hands. “You know your own mind. I’ll not stay another minute in this house.” Before leaving, she whirled back to the parlor and delivered a warning. “If you so much as lay a finger on my daughter, Mr. Black, I will set the entire Confederate army on you.”

  Emily watched her mother’s departure with bemusement. When the door slammed and the carriage rattled into silence, she gathered the tatters of her own courage. Stiffening her spine, she faced her former beau. “Why, Thad? Why did you purchase Fairview, of all places?”

  “Because Ella Wood wasn’t for sale.”

  Emily eyed him carefully. “You put the offer in on Ella Wood last November, didn’t you?”

  His cool, lazy smile sent another jolt of uneasiness through her bones. “I admit, your home would have been the greater prize.” He strolled back toward his seat and gestured to the silver service waiting on the coffee table. “Come, sit down. I have real tea. Real sugar. Real sweetcakes. Help yourself.”

  Emily remained standing. “Why would you want it? Out of spite? To prove a point? To try to best me?”

  “It was just a fancy, that’s all. You’re familiar with my childhood. I’ve always longed for a large estate. The prestige. The grandeur.” He smiled. “They’re easy enough to find these days. I thought I’d pick one up cheap.”

  “But why this one? You know it’s over between us. I made it clear I’ll never marry you.”

  His smile turned smug. “Perhaps there is some satisfaction in knowing at least I’ve bested my competition.”

  The barb tore into Emily’s chest. Thad couldn’t possibly know Emily’s true feelings for Jovie. She hadn’t known them herself until after Thad left her life. But he knew of their long friendship, and he knew the acquisition would hurt her. So here he was, gloating over Fairview.

  His spite sickened her.

  “Now that you’re here, I want to know your intentions,” she demanded.

  “Why Emily, my dear, I have no intentions.” His smile was boyish. Disarming.

  She knew better than to believe him. Her gut told her he had a far more sinister reason for showing up next door. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t have to, of course. But I assure you, I have no motive beside my own amusement. And,” he added with another smug grin, “I am amused.”

  She wanted to smack his leering face. “You’re mad.”

  His laughter followed her across the foyer and out the front door, setting fire to her fury. Thad had waltzed in and snatched up the Cutler family fortune, capitalizing on their calamity and sacrifice—Jovie’s sacrifice—when he had done nothing for the Confederacy except profit. Her teeth ground together so hard her temples ached. But neither rage nor discomfort could block out the niggling sense of unease she carried away with her. She trusted Thad as much as she trusted an alligator in a duck pond. She knew what he was capable of.

  She hadn’t forgotten what he’d done to Lizzie.

  13

  Of all the months on the calendar wheel, Emily thought March the most sly. It began by masquerading as winter, allowing the growth of only the hardiest vegetation. Then, with a magician’s sleight of hand, it quietly brought forth life until she awoke one morning to discover that spring had once again caught her unaware.

  On a glorious afternoon late in the month, with the sun pooling on bare skin and temperatures hovering near perfection, Emily cut up the last of the cellared apples while Abigail lounged nearby. She had just delivered them to the kitchen when her friend’s shriek announced an unexpected visitor. Thrusting the pan into Josephine’s hands, Emily hustled to the door to find Darius engulfing his wife in an enthusiastic embrace. His hands moved to her belly, and his face radiated joy and wonder. The moment was so tender, so private, that Emily hung back.

  Josephine peeked out the window to see the cause of the commotion. “Miss Emily,” she scolded. “Gib ’em some privacy.”

  But Emily remained, watching wistfully from the doorway. How she longed for such a reunion of her own, but with every week that passed, the likelihood of Jovie’s return grew dimmer. She’d mailed his picture to every hospital on her list, but not one of them had sent a reply. Not one. Missouri, at least, had written to say that two of the letters had reached her. She’d distributed images to several area hospitals and located Solomon’s medical corps through Mr. Woodward. Solomon had recently been transferred, and sorting out his new address had taken some time, but she had forwarded everything.

  There’d been no further word.

  After a suitable wait, Emily fixed a smile on her face and strolled outside to greet her guest. “It’s high time you made an appearance. We were starting to wonder if you preferred Charleston to Ella Wood.”

  “Hello, Emily.” Darius had lost weight, his rounded muscles now lean and unyielding. He had the hard-bitten look of someone who had endured too much for too long.

  “How long is your leave?”

  “Three days.”

  She clucked her tongue. “Abigail isn’t due for two weeks. You couldn’t wrangle an extension?”

  His arm encircled Abigail’s shoulders and he kissed her temple. “I tried. No luck.”

  “Well, you’re always welcome to return. In the meantime, we’ll try our best to fatten you up.” She grinned and waved the couple away. “Go on, you two. Get out of here. Dinner’s not for hours.”

  Abigail smiled coquettishly at her husband and they strolled toward the fields, mashed together like bread and jelly.

  Emily tore her eyes away. She would not dampen their reunion with her own diminishing hopes.

  A stack of mail sat beside Darius’s rucksack. She pounced on it, rifling desperately through the envelopes. Discouragement descended in a double dose. There was no word of Jovie, though two Flag of Truce letters bore her name—one from Malachi and the other from Jeremiah. She sank to a chair and opened the first.

  Dear Emily,

  I thought you would like to share in my moment of triumph, as you were the one who first financed my medical textbooks. While Negroes are still not admitted to Ann Arbor’s medical college, I have just completed all their course work on my own. I am now undertaking a voluntary apprenticeship with Dr. Ferguson, whom you may remember. I will spend the next year assisting him with actual cases. After that, I intend to set up a practice of my own. You have played a large part in my success, investing in both my training and in my confidence. For that I am sincerely grateful.

  In other news, my mother and I have received word from my Uncle Ezra’s family. I once told you the story of my mother’s escape from slavery. We never knew what became of her brother, who promised to meet her in Detroit. This past week we received a visit from Ezra’s son, a strapping lumberjack from Allegan who traveled to Detroit to join the First Michigan Colored. By some miracle, he made contact through one of the black congregations. We’ve spent his entire stay catching up on decades of family history. I will be very sorry to see him depart.

  Do you realize six years have passed since your visit? The world has changed, as have we. I should very much like to see you again. Please consider this an invitation to return if ever the opportunity should find you. It is seconded by Isaac and Shannon, my mother, and Ketch and Lizzie. There are many here who care for you.

  Sincerely,

  Malachi

  Emily smiled over her old friend’s success. It would be nice to see him again. To revisit the inn and see her aunt and uncle and the four cousins she’d never met. And to visit dear Lizzie. Perhaps when the war was over…

  The second letter reminded her that she must think of some way to remove Sarah from Thad’s household. Purchasing her now was out of the question. Expressing even the slightest interes
t in her would only place her in danger. She wasn’t as beautiful as Lizzie, but she was young and fresh-faced, with a strong, lithe figure. Emily feared what might happen if she remained in Thad’s possession, especially if he learned of their connection.

  Jeremiah’s letter was dated more than a month before.

  Dear Emily,

  The Union army seems to have little need of me, holed up as I am in winter quarters. Twice my regiment has been called to action against crops and livestock, but our gravest dangers come in the form of mud, snow, cold, and illness. Most days we gain more practice with shovels than with guns. I eagerly await spring.

  I do not mean to complain. The food is good. Far better and more plentiful than when I traveled with Jack. And there is much to occupy my attention apart from drills and guard duty: band concerts, speeches, an occasional gala, and the fiercest preaching in the infantry. That would be our own Chaplain Hunter, one of the finest men I serve with. He’s even started a school, where the literate among us teach the former slaves, of which we have many. Northern ideas hold a striking contrast with home, do they not? I’ve even heard of efforts to settle and educate runaways around Port Royal and elsewhere along the liberated Sea Islands.

  General Butler does well by us generally, as do most of our officers, but we are ever under the critical gaze and harsh tongue of white regiments. And when there is labor to be done, it always falls on us first. I begin to wonder if we will ever have the chance to prove we are soldiers…

  Emily breathed a prayer of gratitude. Jeremiah was well. Her relief manifested itself in a tattoo of hard, slow heartbeats that tried their best to broadcast the strength of her affection to her brother, wherever he might be. But his letter also raised a new concern, the recognition of a fundamental divide that seemed to be forming between them. Liberated islands? She could not think of them so. They were occupied islands, held by an enemy that burned and looted and ravaged—the army with which Jeremiah fought.