by Mary Ellis
Mason shrugged his shoulders. “Since you hate slavery so much, why don’t you start riding with us?” His whisper was barely audible. “We tear up rail lines north of here as fast as the Rebs lay down new tracks. When work on the docks slacks off this winter, we plan to form scouting parties around Fort Fisher. It’s high time the Yankee generals get a better idea of how many troops are inside. Their navy can’t get close enough to do much good. What do you say?”
“I could lie to you and say I will think about it, but since I’m in your debt I won’t.” Nate lowered his voice and continued. “I won’t tear up railroad tracks because that cuts off my supplies as a shopkeeper. And I won’t take up arms against the South. Wilmington is my home. Whether the Confederacy wins or loses, there must be a peaceful solution to end slavery once and for all. If there’s any way to repay you that doesn’t involve turning against North Carolina, you let me know.” He stood and pulled on his sodden coat.
Conroy jumped to his feet and reached for something inside his coat, but Mason pushed him back down. “I had a feeling that’s where you stood. We’ll keep the rest of this as payment till I can think of something better.” Mason patted his weskit pocket.
“Be my guest, but if either of you ever bother Miss Dunn, you’ll face a worthier adversary than some soldiers watching a railhead.”
Nate was halfway to the door before Mason called after him. “Know who you remind me of, Cooper? You and your brother will both end up dead in a rich man’s war.”
Amanda felt like the Bengal tiger she once saw in a traveling road show—relentlessly and hopelessly pacing from one end of its cage to the other. She had stayed with Abigail all morning while she huddled over a basin in the bathing chamber. Did all expectant mothers suffer so much nausea? It was a wonder that women had an ounce of meat left on their bones by the time the baby arrived.
Not that she wasn’t happy for her sister. Amanda couldn’t wait to see her new niece or nephew. And seeing the baby was something she intended to do. Now she had two reasons to stay in Wilmington: The little Henthorne due by spring…and Nathaniel. Nate…how she loved saying his name and picturing his handsome face and holding his hand. Then there had been his three kisses at dinner. She enjoyed herself more than at the party to introduce her to Abigail’s friends, or the Stewarts’ ball when she had to dance with Jackson’s business associates, or even her society debut in England. It had been the most memorable night of her life.
Yet she’d seen Nate only a few times since and never alone. Abby insisted that Salome accompany her on every shopping trip to this store. Even stout-hearted Nate didn’t try to steal a kiss in front of her.
“Miss Amanda?” Helene appeared on the balcony, her face pinched and drawn. “May I speak with you a moment?”
“Of course. I seem to be wearing a groove in these beautiful floor tiles. Let’s sit in the shade.” Amanda pointed at two chaises under the roof’s eave.
Helene glanced back into the bedroom. “Where is Josie?”
“She is helping in the laundry. Have no fear of an eighty-pound girl today.”
Helene found little humor in the jest as she perched on the chair. “You know I am eager to return home. It’s already October. I fear if I wait too much longer, winter squalls will make travel impossible except for the foolhardy. You have been very kind to me, but I want to spend Christmas by my mum’s hearth.” Helene extracted a cloth pouch from her apron. “I saved my wages. This should be enough for my passage. Please take the money and make the necessary arrangements.”
Amanda placed her hand over Helene’s. “Knowing your feelings, I have discussed the matter with Mr. Henthorne on several occasions. He won’t let either of us leave on one of his steamers. It’s far too dangerous. Yankee gunboats have sunk several ships off the coast of Virginia, blessedly none of the ones Jackson contracted. The Union navy fires on any vessel flying the Confederate flag without consideration for civilian passengers. Those ships sank within minutes with all hands lost. I cannot take a chance on losing you.”
“Why not? You have Josie to see to your needs, especially as you refuse to wear any hairstyle other than a coiled braid like a farmer’s wife.”
Amanda recoiled, as much from Helene’s tone as her harsh words. “Because I have grown fond of you over the years, Helene, and appreciate all you have done for me, here and in Manchester, if my brother-in-law agreed I would send you home tomorrow. But he refuses and no other ship leaving port permits civilian passengers.” Amanda struggled to keep her voice level as her throat clogged with emotion.
“Forgive me, Miss Amanda. That was a cruel thing to say.” She burst into tears. With her apron covering her face, she sobbed for several minutes, despite every attempt to console her.
When the maid finally lifted her head, Amanda patted her arm. “As soon as it’s safe to sail from Wilmington, I promise to send you home.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I will go see why Josie hasn’t brought up your tea yet.”
Amanda resumed pacing, but she hadn’t crossed the gallery once when Helene reappeared with Josie at her side. The girl seemed to be trying to hide behind her.
“I found Josie on the steps, Miss Amanda. She wants to tell you something but is frightened for some reason.” Helene nudged the slave forward none too gently.
“What is it, Josie? Tell me what’s troubling you.”
Josie wrung her hands until Helene cleared her throat. “I was carryin’ up your tea on the outside steps because Miz Henthorne gets mad if I slosh tea on her shiny wood floors.” Her dark eyes darted left and right.
Amanda began to grow impatient with the girl’s reticence. “Speak up and tell me the rest.”
Josie crossed her arms over her homespun dress. “I run into that Mr. Cooper who come here once or twice. He the one who brung Miz Henthorne a bunch of flowers even though we got prettier ones in the garden.”
“Mr. Cooper is downstairs in the courtyard?”
“Yes’m. I asked what he’s doing comin’ round back instead of knockin’ on the front door. He sez he’s hopin’ to run into you, Miz Dunn, when you ain’t…predispos’d. Then he asks who I be.” Josie angled her thumb toward her chest.
Amanda huffed out her breath. “Go on,” she prodded.
“I told him I’m your maid, Josie.” She focused on the polished tiles. “He asks what happened to Miss Helene. I sez nothin’ because you got two maids—one for the fancy work and one for the hard work.” Josie peeked at Helene over her shoulder. “Then Master Cooper took the tray away from me and said he’ll wait for you in the rose garden. So I’m here to fetch you.”
Several moments spun out while the three women looked at each other, one more perplexed than the next. “Thank you, Josie. You never have to be afraid to deliver a message to me. That will be all for now, both of you.” Amanda hurried down the gallery stairs and didn’t stop running until she reached the ivy-covered arbor among the roses.
“Nate,” she said breathlessly. “What a surprise.”
He half rose and bowed. Then he began pouring tea. “A pleasant one, I hope.”
“Yes, indeed, but perhaps reckless as well. Jackson often comes home early to check on his wife. If he does so today, he may make an unpleasant scene.”
“I don’t fear a confrontation with your brother-in-law. In fact, I have grown weary of our clandestine rendezvouses behind his back. I yearn for a bit more transparency between us.” He lifted the porcelain pitcher. “Would you like cream, Miss Dunn?”
“Yes, please, and a teaspoon of sugar too.” Amanda sat on the opposite bench.
“By the way, I ran into your slave a few minutes ago. I believe her name was Josie. I thought we were of the same opinion regarding slavery.”
“I feel the institution is wrong, but I couldn’t fathom what to do with the girl. Jackson had already made the purchase before I landed in America.” Amanda incautiously sipped the tea and burned her tongue. “At least she’s better off in my sister’s household than in most. If I r
efused her, she would have been resold at the slave auction. She seems happy here or at least well adjusted.”
“Slaves are not happy, Amanda. They merely put on performances for their masters to avoid reprisals.”
“You are correct; I misspoke. But I didn’t want to enrage Jackson until I restored a supply of cotton to Dunn Mills. After months of making inquiries, Henthorne and Sons remains the only factor with a constant supply. Jackson fills every blockade runner arriving in port.”
Nate sipped his tea with a frown. “And why do you suppose that is?” His eyes narrowed into a glare.
“I beg your pardon?” With trembling fingers she set the cup in the saucer.
“Did you ever stop to consider how his business partners are able to find cotton when most plantations lie fallow because the slaves have run off?”
“He must pay a better price—”
“Or perhaps he deals with the most despicable breed of planters—those who refuse to provide manumission papers and keep their slaves in bondage under threat of death.”
In the humid, vine-entangled garden, Amanda felt the air leave her lungs. “Even if that is the case, Nate, what can I do? I am a guest in my sister’s home.”
He threw the rest of his tea into the shrubbery. “You could refuse to do business with Jackson Henthorne.”
“But our mills desperately need raw materials. Livelihoods in Manchester are at stake.”
“Doing business with Georgia and Carolina planters supports those who refuse to let slavery die. Stop helping the Confederacy. You should be seeking cotton from farms in South America or Mexico—anywhere but here.”
Amanda thought about her twin sister, eagerly awaiting the birth of her first child. “Abigail would consider it effrontery if I sever ties with her husband, even though I agree with you on principle. Surely you understand that life becomes complicated when families are involved.”
“You shouldn’t let family stand in the way of your convictions. Each man and woman must decide for themselves who they are.” Nate stood and tugged down the hem of his weskit. “Don’t get up, Miss Dunn. I can find my way to the street.”
Jackson’s stroll home from his club that night did nothing to improve his bad mood. Without minding where he walked, he stepped off the curb into a gutter filled with stagnant water. Little progress had been made to clean the streets since the flood two weeks ago. Too few able-bodied men remained in town, whether slave or free. The local militia had their hands full rounding up deserters from Fort Fisher downriver.
According to sailors on the docks, the Yankee gunboats beyond Bald Head Island were thicker than ticks on a hound dog. That didn’t bode well for ever seeing Captain Hornsby and the Countess Marie, or his share of the substantial profits from the last shipment. He had loaded the Countess Marie with so much cotton the crew would have to sleep standing up on the voyage. Hornsby was supposed to transfer the cargo onto vessels bound for Europe and return with a load of artillery from German foundries. That had been almost six weeks ago.
Certainly the crossing could take several weeks in each direction if a storm blew them off course, but Jackson had had a sour taste in his mouth since agreeing to Hornsby’s strong-armed terms. He should have taken whatever beating the thugs dished out and not yielded to that pirate’s demands. Now Hornsby had stolen three thousand pounds of first-rate cotton, which he could easily sell to a European buyer. He never should have struck a bargain with the devil. Hornsby had no loyalty to the cause and didn’t care that the Confederate army was desperate for guns.
But given enough opportunity, Jackson could make up for Hornsby’s thievery. The Roanoke and the Lady Adelaine were proving themselves worthy of their exorbitant price because each could hold five thousand bales of cotton. It was his conversation with Judge Stewart that ruined his evening of relaxation. And this was one time he wouldn’t allow Abigail to interfere with his dealing with his sister-in-law.
Jackson found his butler asleep by the door when he entered the house. “Amos,” he said, tapping the man’s arm.
“Master Henthorne, I was waiting for you, sir, but my eyes closed of their own accord.” Amos pushed up from the chair.
“Where is Mrs. Henthorne?” Jackson tossed his hat and gloves on the round hall table.
“She retired for the evening, sir.” Amos smoothed down his grizzled hair.
“And Miss Dunn. Where is she?”
Amos cocked his head in confusion. “I suppose she’s in bed too, sir.”
“Find Josie. Tell her to inform Miss Dunn that she is to dress and join me in the library.” Jackson shrugged off his coat, dropping it on the vacated chair.
Amos stepped closer and whispered, “Sir, it’s past eleven o’clock. Miss Dunn may be sound asleep.”
Tamping down his irritation, Jackson spoke through gritted teeth. “I am aware of the time, but there is a matter of upmost urgency. Mrs. Henthorne is neither to be awakened nor informed of this meeting tomorrow. I suggest you make that crystal clear to Josie as well.”
“Yes, sir. I will tell her.” Amos shuffled down the corridor and out the door on stiff legs.
One set of steps led to the subterranean kitchen, another led to the courtyard, gardens, and slave quarters. Needless to say, Josie would approach Amanda’s suite from the second floor gallery. The girl always avoided Jackson whenever possible, even though he had never lifted a finger against her or any other female slave.
With the butler gone, he had a few minutes to compose his thoughts and sip a glass of bourbon. But the strong spirits did little to calm his nerves. If anything, they fanned a small flame into a blaze of indignation.
“Jackson, did you really send for me at this hour?” A haughty voice spoke behind him. Amanda stood in the doorway in a prim dress, buttoned up to her throat. Her hair hung loose down her back and her feet were bare. So like the wild child twin not to plait her hair and cover her unsightly feet.
“Yes, I summoned you.” He strode to the sideboard to refill his glass.
“What’s wrong? Has something happened to my sister…or the baby?” Her expression changed to pure terror.
“Everything is fine with Abigail. And I intend to keep it that way, despite your continual efforts to upset this household.”
“Perhaps you will explain what couldn’t wait until the light of day.” Though she sounded composed, a nervous tic appeared in her cheek.
“I spoke with your good friend Judge Stewart tonight at the club.”
“Judge Stewart is your friend, Jackson. He and I are mere acquaintances, although I have grown fond of his lovely wife,” she said, settling at one end of the sofa.
“My, aren’t you a cool one?” He took a gulp of his drink. “Miles informed me of your mission of mercy in August. You showed up at his home uninvited under the auspices of a social call but with a personal agenda in mind.”
“Rosalyn had extended an invitation, which I accepted on behalf of Abigail and myself.” Amanda crossed her ankles, tucking her loathsome toes beneath her skirt.
“How long were you there before asking the judge to release your paramour from jail?” He reached her side of the room in a few strides.
“I made polite conversation for about an hour before deciding it was time to rectify an injustice,” she murmured, as though discussing the likelihood of rain.
Jackson stared at his sister-in-law, who possessed more bravado than most men. “You considered the arrest of Nathaniel Cooper, your favorite shopkeeper, an injustice? Why would you draw such a conclusion?”
“Nate won’t bear arms to preserve the evil institution of slavery, but he is no traitor to North Carolina and doesn’t deserve to be thrown into the stockade at Fort Fisher for not enlisting. Plenty of others haven’t responded to the call.”
Jackson was taken aback by her quick wit. “You implied to Judge Stewart that Cooper worked for me, which is a total falsehood!” Though he felt like shouting, he hissed the words. The last thing he needed was to awaken hi
s wife.
Color flooded Amanda’s face. Perhaps he had finally hit a nerve. “Judge Stewart drew that conclusion on his own because you are my brother-in-law and he knows I’m sweet on Mr. Cooper.” Her blush deepened with the admission. “I should, perhaps, have corrected his assumption, but my emotions prevailed over my better judgment.” She focused on the carpet as if suddenly beset by humility.
“Did you think your heartfelt confession would garner either pity or indulgence from me? I’m well aware that you have been sneaking out to see him despite my introductions to far more qualified candidates. I also know Abigail gave Salome permission to shop again at Cooper’s despite my preference for Baxter’s, and that Cooper paid an afternoon call here.”
Amanda fixed her gaze on the potted plant by the window.
“My wife doesn’t want your reputation ruined should you come to your senses about this infatuation.”
“No, Abigail remembered being in love with a man her parents found unacceptable—you, Jackson. Papa hated you because you were American, and yet my sister is happy and as much in love as the day you swept her off her feet.” Amanda offered him the smallest of smiles.
Jackson dropped into a chair, suddenly too weary to remain upright. “Thank you for your correct assessment. I love your sister more than anything in the world and I will stop at nothing to make her happy. That is why I overlooked your…indiscretions…at Cooper’s store, his home, and in my garden. But he is not who you think he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Judge Stewart approached me at the club tonight. He has friends in the militia, men he respects and who respect him.” Jackson pulled a folded piece of newspaper from inside his coat. With his index finger he pointed to an article. “Railroad tracks torn up, bridges north of here burned, telegraph wires cut—all in the dead of night. This isn’t the work of Union troops but a devious band of anarchists who have been wreaking havoc around Wilmington. They have disrupted the flow of supplies between the port and Richmond, along with dispatches between Fort Fisher and Generals Lee and Johnson. These hooligans are bent on destroying Southern society, the society that by your own admission has made your sister content.”
