The Last Heiress

by Mary Ellis

  The contents of my pay envelope will be little consolation, he thought as the crow’s nest crashed into the flaming hull. It was an inglorious conclusion to a reckless investment.

  “Let’s keep moving. Show’s over.”

  The sergeant’s bark pulled Jackson from his trance, and then they set out again on a meandering course north that crossed marshland, sandy floodplains, and skirted around treacherous bogs that could suck a man into a gruesome death. They ate what little remained in their knapsacks and foraged for berries and edible roots. One of the untidy privates knew which plants could be eaten and which would wreak havoc from just touching the leaves. The men caught rainwater in their caps until they found fresh water. The rushing stream seemed like a mirage after days of walking through tidal pools.

  Without much military experience, several days passed before Jackson realized Sergeant Womack was carefully avoiding contact with all troops, friend or foe. The two brothers from Macon seemed content to wander wherever their commander decreed, but after choosing a dry place to sleep on the third night, Jackson decided it was the time to ask questions.

  “I would have thought we’d find the Confederate encampment by now. Surely General Bragg intends to regroup and make another stand against the bluecoats.”

  Womack pulled an insect from his grizzled beard. “Reckon that’s what General Bragg plans to do.” He imbued the commander’s name with blatant contempt. “But as far as I’m concerned, Corporal Henthorne, I don’t give a rat’s arse what General Bragg intends to do.” He imbued Jackson’s surname with almost as much disdain.

  “What are your plans, sir?”

  Womack consulted his compass. “I figure if we keep moving north, sooner or later the river will narrow down and get shallow enough to cross. Then we’ll be off this infernal peninsula and back on the mainland. I plan to head west and south, keeping out of sight the best I can. By the time I get home to South Carolina, this war should be just about over. Nobody’s gonna count on their fingers what day I left the army. I’ll tell them I caught me a fast-moving train.”

  “You intend to desert?”

  “You could call it that, rich planter boy.” Cocking his revolver, Womack aimed it at Jackson’s chest. “Or we could just say I’m letting you finish my enlistment, seeing that you’re one of our newer recruits. Can’t imagine what business was so important that it took you nigh on four years to do your duty.”

  The gun barrel didn’t waver. He could end Jackson’s life with the twitch of an index finger.

  Jackson slowly lifted his palms from his knees. “There’s no sense getting all riled up over a harmless question.” His languid drawl masked his fear. “I’m simply curious about your plans, that’s all. I judge no man for their past or future deeds.” He forced himself to meet the sergeant’s eye.

  “I might be willing to let you live if you give your word as a gentleman to keep your mouth shut.”

  “On my honor and on the graves of Henthorne ancestors, I will speak to no one about this.”

  Womack considered his pledge and then aimed his weapon at the brothers. “What ’bout you two?”

  They exchanged a glance. “If it’s all the same, we’d like to tag along with you, Sarge, seeing that South Carolina is in the same general direction as Georgia.”

  Womack grunted before turning back to Jackson. “And you, Henthorne? Do you intend to head toward the river to find what’s left of our army or are you comin’ with us?”

  “Let me mull this over and give you an answer in the morning. Either way, don’t worry about my overzealous loyalty to General Hoke. As you succinctly pointed out, my enlistment has been a scant three weeks.”

  Once his comrades had bedded down for the night, Jackson stared off into the brush, deeply cloaked in shadows. In his mind’s eye he saw his father’s plantation. Not faded and overgrown as it was now, Oakdale sat like a polished jewel in the middle of fields of peanut plants. Abigail sat on the verandah stitching some tiny garment for his son or daughter. People there bathed, changed their clothes, and led civilized lives. He came to the conclusion the Georgia brothers had been dirty before the battle had even begun. In the morning, after a restless night of weighing honor against practicality, dignity against his overwhelming intuition the Yankees would soon control the Cape Fear River, Jackson made up his mind.

  “I’m coming with you boys until we get to Wilmington. My folks have a farm about a day’s ride from there. I’ll hole up in the city for a while.” He didn’t mention the word “plantation” or refer to his mansion in the city. No sense giving the sergeant a reason to shoot him in the back.

  “Suit yourself, Corporal. Don’t make no never-mind to me.” Womack spat tobacco juice into the dirt.

  All day they followed a rutted wagon track north, close to the river. They kept off the road, lest patrolling militiamen drag them back to the army or shoot them as deserters. That evening, when the sun dipped low in the sky, the other three bade him farewell and waited for their opportune moment to swim to Eagle Island unseen. Jackson continued north until the familiar landmarks of his hometown appeared. Only then did he assess his present physical state. No one would recognize him for the wealthy man he was. Or at least, the wealthy man he used to be. Memories of the Roanoke burning in grand spectacle churned his empty gut.

  Knowing Abigail would be appalled to see him like this, he chose Third Street as his destination. He would bathe, don clean clothes, and burn his uniform in the fireplace. Then he could leave for Oakdale after a good night’s sleep in his own bed. Surely Salome left something behind to eat when she packed up the kitchen. After the past few days, he wouldn’t be too particular.

  It was a little past dawn when Jackson trudged up the oyster shell driveway of home. Glancing down at his muddy boots, he chose the back door, half a dozen steps below ground level, and entered a warm kitchen. He’d assumed the room would be empty.

  “Master Henthorne!” Three voices chimed in unison from the trestle table.

  Jackson stared at Amos, Salome, and Thomas in succession. “What are you doing here? Why haven’t you gone to the plantation with Mrs. Henthorne?”

  “Mistress Henthorne is upstairs sleeping, sir.” Amos was first to respond as he helped Jackson off with his wet coat.

  “Why on earth didn’t you take her to Oakdale as I instructed?” He posed this question to Thomas.

  Salome bustled toward him with a cup of water. “We were of a mind to leave come that morning, all packed up and ready. But your baby had other ideas. He made up his mind to be born, but then took almost two full days to get ’round to it.”

  Relieved of his outerwear, Jackson slumped into a chair to pry off his boots. “Did you say he?”

  “I did, sir. You got yourself a strong, healthy son with quite a set of lungs on him.”

  Jackson grasped the table for support. “And Abigail—how is my wife?”

  Salome patted his back as if he were a small child. “Miz Henthorne be just fine. We was sure glad to see Miz Dunn that day, sir. ’Tween the two of us, we handled the situation fine.”

  “Miss Dunn? She’s here too?” He shook his head as though waking from a dream. I have a son my sister-in-law helped deliver? He was too exhausted to process the information. “I thought she sailed back to England.”

  “She told Miz Henthorne she was not going anywhere until her new niece or nephew was born.”

  Jackson struggled to his feet. “I want to see my wife…and the baby.”

  “No, sir, Master Henthorne,” said Salome, shaking her head vigorously. “You’ll scare her the way you look. Thomas will fill the giant washtub with hot water, and Amos will find you clean clothes to wear. You need a bath and a shave, if you don’t mind my saying so. And I’m gonna cook you up a breakfast that’ll stick to your ribs.”

  Jackson felt a wave of relief that decisions were being made for him. “Thank you, Salome, all of you, for taking care of my family.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. �
��Just so you know, Mr. Henthorne, we ain’t slaves no more. Miz Henthorne told us we’re paid workers. She just don’t know how much to pay us yet.”

  “That should have been done long ago.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, overwhelmed by fatigue, hunger, and worry. He had to bite his lip and hold his breath to keep from crying in front of his new domestic employees.

  “Well, it’s done now.” She walked into the pantry as Amos and Thomas left to do their tasks. Jackson was left alone in the kitchen, savoring for the first time the true meaning of home, family, and loyalty.

  But his solitude was short lived. He heard the soft patter of feet on the steps, and then his wife stepped into the kitchen.

  “My word, Jackson! It is you at long last,” Abigail said breathlessly.

  “I-I was told you were sleeping,” he said softly, taking a step toward her.

  “I was, dear heart, but I thought I heard your voice coming through the vents in the floor and had to check.” Abigail shifted the tiny bundle in her arms. “I told myself it was just my imagination, but here you are.” Her voice turned raspy.

  “I wanted to come to you right away, my love, but Salome told me to wait until my appearance was more presentable.” He grimaced as he slicked a hand through his dirty hair.

  His wife stared at him for a long moment, her eyes glistening. “Your appearance, untidy as it may be, erases every worry from my mind, every burden on my heart.” Her sudden smile shone like the sun. “Don’t just stand there, husband. Come kiss me and then say hello to your son. I named him Jackson, but Mandy and I have been calling him Jacky.”

  No matter how he bit his lip or held his breath, tears streamed down Jackson’s face as he viewed his son for the first time. As unworthy a man as any could be, God had answered each one of his prayers.

  Early in the morning of February 21, 1865, a bedraggled Nathaniel Cooper knocked on the door of the Simses’ residence on Castle Street. His brow dripped sweat, his muscles ached, and hunger made his gut clench. Because he no longer rented a room there, he waited on the stoop for someone to rouse from their bed.

  A wan-looking Odom opened the door as Ruth hovered behind his shoulder. “Nate! Why didn’t you just come in? We don’t stand on ceremony here, son.” Odom almost dragged him across the threshold.

  Nate could have hugged his former landlord instead of shaking his hand. “I didn’t know if you would entertain a guest wearing this color uniform.”

  “Shucks. We know your heart. That’s what’s important.”

  Ruth didn’t bother asking whether he was hungry. Instead, she swiftly mixed batter for flapjacks while her skillet heated up. “Ain’t your brother with you, Nathaniel?” she asked softly.

  “No, ma’am. I’ve been sent into Wilmington with a detail to alert the citizens. Joshua and what’s left of our regiment are trying to move artillery so it doesn’t fall into Union hands.” He gratefully accepted a cup of coffee, sweet and thick with cream.

  “What’s the news?” Odom practically forced him down onto a chair with a gentle hand.

  “None of it is good for the South. Fort Anderson fell to the Yankees. We’ve been routed from the Sugar Loaf as well. Admiral Porter’s gunboats have moved up the river within range of Wilmington. When they retreated from Fort Anderson, they burned the bridges over Town Creek and the Brunswick River. Those bridges and our cavalry will slow the Yankees down some, but we can’t stop them.” He gazed from one of his friends to the other.

  Young Rufus crept from the staircase, wide-eyed and frightened without knowing why. “Hullo, Mr. Nate,” he said.

  Odom folded his hands on the table. “Will there be a battle on the city streets? Have you come to warn us?”

  Nate smiled at the boy before answering. “Probably not, but you should pack everything you value and leave at once. Braxton Bragg has ordered Wilmington evacuated.”

  “What does ‘vacuated’ mean?” asked Rufus, his eyes soulful.

  “It means ‘leave the city.’ For now staying would be unwise, but you’ll be able to come back someday.”

  “Come along, young man,” said Ruth, setting a plate of food in front of Nate. “Let’s go upstairs and pack our clothes.” With a firm hand she guided the boy from the room.

  “There won’t be fighting here.” Nate continued once he and Odom were alone. “At least, not much. But we have no choice but to surrender the city. There are too many Yankees with too much artillery.”

  “Why should we leave, Nathaniel? The Union army should have no truck with us.”

  “Our commanding officer ordered the cotton and tobacco warehouses burned, along with the foundries and any ships tied in the harbor. Bragg doesn’t want them falling into enemy hands.”

  “All of Mr. Henthorne’s warehouses?” asked Odom.

  “Yes, and everyone else’s too. If his ships are in port they will be destroyed.”

  “All that waste.” Odom shook his head sadly.

  “I’m surprised you would take pity on a slaver.” Nate began eating ravenously.

  “I harbor no hatred and wish no ill on any man.”

  “I would warn Henthorne, but I don’t know where he is. There’s nothing he can do anyway.” Nate dropped his chin to his chest. “The storehouses and mercantiles are to be burned as well.”

  “Not your store?” Odom slapped a palm on the table.

  “I’m afraid so, but it’s time for me to change careers anyway.” Nate gobbled up the last bite of his food. “Let’s pack your tools into the wagon and hitch the horses. You need to leave as soon as you can.”

  Odom stood. “We’ll go live with Ruth’s sister until this blows over. You’re welcome to join us, son.”

  “Thank you, my friend, but I must remain to make sure people understand what’s coming.” Nate offered his hand again, but Odom wrapped his arms around him.

  “Make sure you’re gone before the Yankees arrive. Keep yourself alive for when Miss Amanda comes back.”

  Nate couldn’t speak. His throat burned with emotion. These three kind people had been like family to him since he arrived on the Carolina coast. “I aim to do my best.”

  Once Odem and his family were packed up and gone, Nate allowed himself a long howl of frustration. Then he returned to the business at hand—pounding on doors and preparing citizens for the inevitable.

  By the time he worked his way down to Water Street, further endeavor had become unnecessary. Clouds of black, acrid smoke poured from the rooftops of the warehouses on Walnut. The streets were filled with wagons, horses, and people carrying belongings strapped to their backs. Pandemonium reigned on the waterfront. Yet despite the panic and smoke-filled air, Nate fought his way to his beloved market. He arrived just as the roof—his roof—fell with a thunderous clash, sending sparks and flames twenty feet into the air.

  “Great Scott, Cooper! What are you doing on the waterfront?”

  Nate slowly turned to see Jackson, dapper in civilian clothing, astride his gelding. “It should be obvious, Henthorne. I am bearing witness to the destruction of my business.”

  “I am aware that your shop is on fire.” Jackson struggled to control his horse. The smoke filling the beast’s nostrils turned him skittish. “So are my cotton and tobacco warehouses. We’ll suffer financially to be sure, but we must move swiftly to protect those who matter most.” The horse reared, almost unseating the rider.

  It took Nate a moment to pull his gaze from the inferno. “What are you talking about?”

  “There is no telling how far this fire will spread. If it reaches Third Street, our womenfolk and my new son will be in danger.”

  Nate took several steps back from the intense heat. “Then stop jaw-boning with me and move Miss Abigail and your son to safety.” The knowledge that Henthorne now had an heir sent a jealous rage through his blood. Would he ever know the happiness of hearth and home with the woman he loved? “Congratulations on your new son.” He forced himself to speak the words.

  “Much oblig
ed, but I didn’t come here for that. I promised my sister-in-law I would check to see if by some miracle you had come back to the harbor. And here you are. Let’s go, Cooper. Climb up behind me.” Jackson removed his foot from the stirrup and offered a hand.

  Nate grabbed the bridle of the prancing horse. “What are you talking about? Amanda went back to England—”

  “You have much to learn about stubborn women if you think that. She saw her maid off in Washington and then returned to Wilmington. She helped deliver our baby.”

  With his head swimming with confusion, Nate doubled over in a coughing jag. Amanda is here in this melee with the Yankees breathing down our necks? When he was finally able to speak again, Nate looked at Jackson, all pride and anger gone. “She’s truly here?”

  “I have no reason to lie to you. Apparently, she feels the same about you that you do for her.” Henthorne extended his hand a second time. “Please, let’s get away from the waterfront. I would welcome your help in moving the ladies to safety.”

  Nate jammed his boot into the stirrup and swung up smoothly. The horse reared again, annoyed by the additional weight. As Jackson tightened his grip on the reins, Nate hung on for dear life. Once the horse’s hooves met the cobblestones, they took off through smoky lanes and alleys, away from the spreading inferno. In the courtyard behind the Henthorne mansion, Nate slid off the horse.

  Jackson dismounted and threw the reins to Thomas. “Give him a good rub, and when he cools down, give him water and a bucket of oats, and then harness him to the coach.”