by Jana Petken
Elizabeth blew loudly into her handkerchief and clutched her breast. “Why, that’s just not possible. I can’t believe it. I have so many good friends in the county. Everyone likes me! And anyhow, Ma and Pa would never allow folks to treat me like that. It will never happen …”
“Oh, but it has. You take my word for it.”
“Margaret, this is your fault! You convinced me to divorce Jacob – you told me that if I had money, I’d have power!” Elizabeth said, stamping both her feet. “You said it would be easy to pick and choose my next husband. Why do you have to acquaint me with such cruel conversations now that I’ve gone and left him?”
“Elizabeth, don’t you go blaming the messenger,” Margaret said harshly. “I’m telling you for your own good, and if I’m lying, God will strike me dead. Don’t you think it’s strange that your family have not asked you to live with them permanently? You’re alone and vulnerable, yet they made it quite clear that you should find your own way.” She paused. Elizabeth was grappling for words. “They’re embarrassed – that’s why.”
“They are not! My father has some problems of a financial nature. He’s selling his slaves, and I believe he wants to sell Pine Trees too. It has nothing to do with my state of affairs.” She blew her nose. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Pa doesn’t believe we will win this war. He thinks we will all be ruined and our slaves will be taken away. He’s very angry with my brothers for going off to fight because they’ve left him with all the responsibility. He suffers with gout, you know. Oh, thank goodness for Jacob’s money. At least I’ll have a roof over my head. Maybe I’ll ask Ma and Pa to live with me if they can’t sell theirs …”
Margaret panicked. Jesus Christ, that was the last thing she wanted to happen. “Oh, no, that’s a terrible idea,” she stressed. “You’ll never get respect that way. You have to keep your independence now. Living with your mother and father will only hold you back, you mark my words. Think about it: if you’re not invited anywhere, you’ll just end up a lonely woman looking after your parents for the rest of their lives. You’ll have to pay to keep them too cos who’s going to want to buy your father’s slaves when the black buggers might get freed by this Lincoln man? And what person in his right mind would want to invest in a plantation when those Yankees, as you call them, come down here and burn the towns and everything that surrounds them?
“You’re right, Elizabeth. I did encourage you to divorce that horrible man you married cos if he and his brother die, you’ll be left to fight for that plantation against that bitch, Belle – and remember, she’s got a baby, so she’d have more rights to it than you. My God, you could have ended up with nothing had you stayed with him!” Margaret paused for a second to watch the tears course down Elizabeth’s cheeks. Things were going well, she thought.
“I’m so humiliated. I’ve been treated badly by everyone it seems. My only consolation is the money he gave me. I’m still young and desirable. I can find another husband. I’m sure I can – don’t you think so?”
Margaret stood and then crossed to the couch. She sat beside Elizabeth and held her hand. She had been planning her next words for weeks, hoping against hope that this girl would be stupid enough to let go of the power she had as Jacob Stone’s wife. It had been touch and go for a while but all her urgings had finally paid off.
“I think there will be a queue of men wanting to be your new husband, dear, but you have to let go of the past. Your prospects are not good here in Portsmouth. I know this is hard for you, but we could never have foreseen these problems – your friends abandoning you, men going off to war, your mother and father wanting to use you and your money …”
“Oh, Margaret, I don’t know what to do – please help me! Everything has gone wrong. I could just kill that … that Mercy Carver woman. It’s all her fault! What if she does come back here? Who’ll listen to me now? If no one wants to speak to me, how can I tell folks what a horrible, horrible woman she is? And I do wish you hadn’t overheard my friends yesterday. Why, it’s disgusting after all I’ve done for the ladies of Portsmouth over the years. I hate them all. You’re my only true friend … Oh, I just want to die.”
“You don’t want to do that, not when you’ve got me … and you’ll always have me,” Margaret said.
“Then if I can’t die, I feel like running away and starting over. If I knew where to go, I would. I swear it on all that’s holy. I was only married for five minutes before she ruined everything. Why couldn’t she have died? I hate her!”
“Now, now, there, there. I hate her too. She destroyed my wonderful memories, remember. Shh, don’t cry. You know, I think it might be a good idea for you to start over somewhere else, as you said, for you don’t want to be reminded of her every day, do you? That’s what will happen if Mercy Carver is brought back here. She’ll parade around like a bloody cockatoo. They say Richmond is wonderful, with opportunities for women like us, who are all alone.”
“Richmond? But I could never leave Ma and Pa. It would break their hearts.” Elizabeth sobbed even harder.
“I understand. I just hate to think of your life being wasted. I don’t see any good coming for you if you stay here …”
“Maybe I should never have left Jacob …”
Margaret was losing all the patience she had mustered. It was time to put an end to this before she ended up punching the stupid bitch in the gob. “Elizabeth, please stop crying. You’ll stain that beautiful face. Now, listen to me: don’t give that Jacob Stone another thought. You could do so much better than him. He never wanted you, so why are you ruining your lovely eyes over him? Just think about all the unmarried officers in the Confederate Army. They’ll be in Richmond, and when this nasty divorce is settled, that’s where you will find yourself a husband of good standing – you might even meet a general!”
“Oh, I never thought of that,” Elizabeth said.
“Of course you didn’t, but that’s because you won’t look to the future. Well, I am, and it’s looking rosy from where I’m sitting.”
“What are you going to do?” Elizabeth asked.
“I’m leaving. I’m sorry for your troubles, and I wish I could remain here to assist you and your needs, but I have decided to go to Richmond. I want to live there for a while …”
“You can’t! I won’t survive here without your good guidance,” Elizabeth wailed.
Margaret sighed. “I’ll miss you too, dear, but I’m tired of Portsmouth and the nasty people who are saying terrible things about you. I did hope that you would decide to come with me. I suppose I’ll just have to go to all the balls and parties on my own. Portsmouth will be deserted, apart from women and a scattering of old men, but Richmond is a different kettle of fish.”
“If I did come with you, where would we live, Margaret? If I get Pa’s permission, he’ll insist I live in the best house or the best hotel in the city. I would want everyone to know I’m rich. After all, it’s not like I can’t afford to treat myself.”
“I agree with you there. You should take your money and enjoy it – you should buy a whole new wardrobe of clothes and then you’ll have men hanging on to your skirts for dear life. So you’ll think about it?”
“I believe I will, Margaret. As you so rightly said, I won’t have many attractive opportunities in Portsmouth, and I’m sure Ma and Pa won’t mind as long as I’m with you. Why, before I know it, I’ll be old and then no man will want to marry me.”
Chapter Eight
The graveyard, which sat on a hill at the edge of the town’s perimeter, was bathed in a soft spring morning glow. The dew twinkled like diamonds on damp grass and wet the mourners’ bare ankles and dress hems as they came to stand around the newly dug hole.
Mercy stood at the graveside with head bowed beside Charlie, standing rigidly to attention and steadfast in his resolve not to shed tears.
She watched him place a small bunch of Virginia bluebells on top of Lina’s coffin. He kissed the wooden lid and stepped back to watch it be
ing lowered into the ground. He had barely spoken to her since her return yesterday morning with Lina’s body, but she surmised that his stoic silence was but a mask to hide his pain. Mercy sensed his desolation, but he would not speak of it. She had seen his eyes lose all light on her return and had done her best to give an honest account of all that had happened, but Charlie could not comprehend Lina’s murder. The blame for Lina’s death was hers, she’d told him, describing the moments before Lina died. She had drawn her Colt and had aimed it. She had wanted to save Lina and Seth, but she had hesitated to pull the trigger, and by the time she did, Lina was dead.
She pleaded with Charlie to say the words that would either vindicate or condemn her actions, for blaming her, she’d told him, would be better than his wall of morbid silence. She spoke of Lina’s bravery, of her desire to help Seth right to the bitter end, but Charlie remained voiceless, unable or unwilling to give her the peace of mind Mercy craved.
She thought back to the night she, Lina, and Seth left Charlie standing in the street, watching the wagon drive away. She had seen his fear and torment, not wanting Lina to go yet not able to stop her. It was as though a voice somewhere in the depths of his soul had already told him that he would never see his beloved Lina again. She recalled his last words to his wife: “I love you.” Mercy had witnessed the truth in those words many times, for they were clear to see in everything Charlie did or said when he’d been with Lina. That night, however, was the first time she’d actually heard him say those three short words aloud.
Only a small group of mourners had accompanied Lina to her final resting place. The town was almost deserted. All the townsfolk suspected that the Yankees, as everyone called them, were going to occupy Newport News. The woods and waters would soon echo with the tramping of boots along the great Warwick Road, they had all agreed.
Charlie was leaving the moment Lina was laid in the earth. He was going to the cabin – alone. He said he did not want company. He would not return until Northern boots left Southern ground, Mercy had overheard him say to the captain who had helped Nelson escape. She would not argue with Charlie on this occasion. She was leaving too, to Norfolk and Jacob. He was her home, her compass, and she should have gone with him when he’d asked her to.
Mercy had quickly read the letter brought to her by courier this morning. In it, Jacob had given her many reasons to leave this place, and she had finally agreed with him.
Lina had gone forever, and her arguments for remaining here were no longer valid, which she had already decided before receiving his missive. She did not want to be divided from Jacob by an occupying army for an indefinite period. She had come to realise that life was a vulnerable state in which all things should be enjoyed and savoured before death robbed a body of consciousness. She would go with the courier to Jack’s wife, Dolly, as Jacob requested, and she would remain there for the foreseeable future. She would not disappoint Jacob again with misfortunes brought about by her own hand, not after witnessing Charlie’s sorrow.
Mercy stood by the wagon as Charlie loaded the back of it with the rest of his belongings. He had a glum expression, and his eyes were dulled with pain. She checked the horses’ harnesses and then placed her hand on Charlie’s arm. She looked deep into his eyes and recoiled at the accusations she saw there. He was not going to forgive her. Her truthfulness had come from a genuine attempt to give him understanding, yet it had also condemned her as a coward. She waited patiently for him to speak, to say something that would give her heart some tranquillity.
Charlie stepped up and into the driver’s seat. He looked down at her tear-stained face and shook his head with a miserable sigh. “Mercy, I just don’t know what to say to you, girl. My Lina was as stubborn as a mule and could kick like one too. I loved her, but I’m so damn angry with her. You were with her when she drew her last breath, and it should have been me. You saw her eyes looking at you just before she closed them forever, when they should have been seeing me – I’ve no doubt you gave her comfort in those last moments, but I can find no ease in any of this. You’re the best damn shot I know, man or woman, yet when it came for the moment to deliver, you let my Lina down …”
“I’m so sorry, Charlie …”
“No, you will not speak. I’m going to give you some advice because you were as close to my Lina as it gets. You need to hear what I have to say and recall that I said it. If you ever have call to draw that gun on someone again, you make damn sure you fire it without hesitating. I lost my Corslina, and I ain’t gonna lose you too! I love you, girl, I do, but damn it, Mercy, I can’t give you the comfort you need. You’ll have to get it from Jacob.”
As Charlie’s arm reached down to stroke her face, he noticed that her eyes were swollen. He doubted she’d slept in days. His heart went out to her as she stood with trembling lips. He couldn’t leave her like this when he figured he might never see her again. He had not meant to be cruel; she was not to blame for Lina’s death. But he believed she had needed his opinion, for she was not the kind of woman who would sit still in someone’s house ignoring a war. He had come to know her – she was impetuous and fearless, and she would throw herself into another dangerous cause because that’s who she was. She would draw her gun again, and he had wanted to drill into her that she might have to fire the damn weapon to save her life.
His days would be over soon. His life’s blood would ebb away with sorrow and emptiness, and he’d be glad to see his end. He looked once more into Mercy’s face and smiled for the first time. “Get on your way to that man of yours. He loves you as much – every bit as much – as I loved my Lina, and that’s saying something.”
“Will I see you again?” Mercy asked.
“No, my sweet Mercy, you will not. This is a parting of the ways for us, but don’t you worry none about me. I’ve got my bears and my rabbits, and I’ll be just fine. You’ll always be in my thoughts, and I don’t mind tellin’ you I’ll miss you. Now let me go. You make a good life for yourself, Mercy Carver. You hold on to Jacob and don’t let anything or anyone come between you two.”
Chapter Nine
June 1861
Isaac Bernstein stood on the highest part of Fort Monroe’s stone wall, which had been designed and built with the purpose of repelling heavy attacks from a foreign foe. For 250 years, a fort had stood at the edge of the causeway. The first stronghold, Fort Algernourne, was erected in 1609 by British colonists and had served them for three years, before it burnt to the ground. This had always been a highly strategic position, no matter who had held it in the past, the commanding officer had told Isaac during his history lesson. Forts had come and gone on this very spot. They had been given various names. Some had been besieged, and the site had welcomed the Bantus, the first black people to set foot on American soil from Angola, Africa.
Isaac thought it a cruel irony that the foe on this particular occasion were his own countrymen, blatantly turning their backs on the United States and all they stood for, but he was not surprised that verbal conflict had turned to war or that he was once again in Virginia.
On his return to Boston in February, he resumed his surgical career under his father’s tutelage, with the aim of becoming a bone specialist. However, the threat of war had grown louder in March, and by the time Fort Sumter surrendered to the rebels, he had already enlisted in the army.
Being an army surgeon meant that he would not be asked to attend strategic meetings, nor would he fight unless, God forbid, he was called upon to do so in extenuating circumstances. But after being ordered to Virginia, his first objective had been to find out all he could about the long-term goals of the federal government.
It had not been easy to come by classified information, but thanks to his father, a noted surgeon who had treated the North’s elite for years, he had managed to ascertain the nature of certain military proposals made by General-in-Chief Winfield Scott, one of his father’s old acquaintances.
Scott’s plan had been put forward to President Lincoln and entai
led bringing the states back into the Union by cutting the Confederacy off from the rest of the world. This, Scott stated, would be a more cohesive strategy than attacking its army in Virginia. His plans had already been executed and involved a blockade of the Confederacy’s coastline, using navy and troops from Fort Monroe to control the Mississippi River with gunboats. This blockade had now been joined by two more: the southern seaboard from the South Carolina line to the Rio Grande, Virginia, and North Carolina coasts.
Isaac looked out towards the Atlantic Ocean, to the east and the James River, bordered by Portsmouth and Norfolk to the south. His emotions were entangled in a bittersweet conflict, for he supposed he should be remembering five years’ worth of good memories here instead of focusing on a petty squabble on Portsmouth’s railway station platform with Jacob.
That day still lay heavy on his heart. Jacob had been one of the closest friends he’d ever had, yet their parting had been filled with veiled accusations, envy, and bitterness, which had resulted in a staid and indifferent farewell between them. Were he able to, he would turn the clock back and apologise for his crass behaviour and jealous rhetoric, which had involved a woman who had not been his to begin with. However, saying these words to Jacob would not change the way he felt about her.
He thought about Mercy often. His feelings for her were not those of an infatuated boy blinded by a comely form. No, he loved her with the heart of a man, suspecting that his affections had been and always would be unrequited, but at the same time allowing his eternal optimism to deem that after months apart, Mercy would have come to recognise the futility of her love for a married man.
He wished for an opportunity to apologise to Jacob for so many things. He would give anything to cross the river and correct his bullish conduct, which had turned a friend into an enemy and trust into suspicion. He wondered, as he stared at the James River, what Jacob and Hendry were doing right now. Were they looking across the water at this fort? It was the incumbent North’s final bastion, standing alone at the enemy’s gates. Were they already on the march, slowly edging their way towards these walls in an attempt to drive the Union northwards?
