Blood Moon

by Jana Petken

  He turned and looked downwards at the open parade ground sitting in the centre of a maze of buildings and filling up with reinforcements and supplies. He’d arrived only yesterday, following behind two trained Massachusetts volunteer militia infantry regiments, yet work was already under way to fortify the fort’s defences.

  He shifted his gaze to the land. General Benjamin F. Butler, the fort’s commander, had ordered the men to dig trenches – long lines of them stretching from one side of the narrow causeway to the other. Two cannons sat at each end of the narrow strip of land facing eastwards towards Newport News, some eight miles away, and the town of Hampton, which was on their doorstep. He was not privy to all the officers’ meetings but he had been informed that the towns would be occupied within days and that this, for the moment, would be their land grip on the Virginia Peninsula.

  He walked down the stone stairs to the level below and then climbed down the ladder to ground level. His man was there waiting for him. He smiled. Everywhere he turned, Nelson was standing to attention, ready to serve and please him. “Nelson, I want you to make sure that my uniform is ready for dinner tonight,” Isaac said. “I’d like to make a good impression on the other officers. I’m going to be here for quite a while and can’t have them thinking I’m green about the ears.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr Isaac. I make sure you look like a fittin’ soldier.”

  Nelson heard the snap of a gun being fired and spun his head to the left and then to the right of him. He was uneasy in his new surroundings. For starters, there were too many white folks with guns, he thought. He had struggled long and hard to get to Boston in search of a new life, a peaceful life, where his skin colour would not determine who he was or what he was capable of doing. He thought about his journey to Boston a lot, and every time he recalled it, he shuddered with fear.

  Bandits had stopped him. They had taken some of his money but not all, thanks to Miss Mercy, who had advised him to keep most of his money in his socks. The bandits had punched him in the face. After kicking him in the ribs, they had left him on the ground hugging his belly; that had been his first taste of freedom. Later he’d been questioned by white folks who had insisted on seeing his freedom papers. Had he not been in a public place, he felt sure that they would have hauled him away to a slave auction back in the South. He was thrown off a carriage, even though the driver agreed to take him and his money. He was refused bed and board on three occasions and had slept in fields and empty barns, feeling like a slave on the run once again.

  He had concluded that freedom was a wonderful notion but at times a theory, absent of reality. He also thought that being alone and having to fend for himself was not the great adventure he had hoped for but was instead a daily struggle to stay alive and safe.

  “It don’t seem right, me being back here, Mr Isaac, on account of me bein’ a free man. But you can count on ole Nelson,” he said, mulling his thoughts aloud.

  “I didn’t think I would be back here so soon either, Nelson,” Isaac said, smiling at him. “I guess we can thank the Virginians for this situation of ours. Tell me honestly – are you afraid? Do you wish you had stayed in Boston with my father?”

  “No, sir, Mr Isaac. I’s right where I’s meant to be. Miss Mercy done tol’ me you were a good man – she done tol’ me an’ tol’ me. Said I be in good hands, and I sure am. You done let me see the white folks’ world. I got to eat in a restaurant. You done give me a job, and I done got dollars. I done walked down a street beside you, and some white folks even called me Mr Stuart. I done got to make a decision for the very first time, and I’s real proud to be with you here, Mr Isaac. Yes, sir, I reckon I ain’t never been no prouder.”

  The two men walked towards the infirmary, which sat in a block behind the row of buildings overlooking the parade ground. Isaac looked at its shabby facade, engrained with dirt and eroded by sea salt. It was lined with small windows and framed with cracked wood holding panes of dirty glass. He was going to be here for the foreseeable future, he thought, and the first thing he’d see to was the infirmary’s cleanliness.

  “We have a lot of work to do, Nelson,” Isaac said. “If I’m to be the fort’s surgeon, I’m going to make damn sure this place is cleaned properly. It was a good day indeed when you arrived at my doorstep, but you might not think so now. You’re going to be working harder than you ever did in the cotton fields, and I’m sorry about that.” Nelson’s arrival in Boston at the end of April had been a joyful day for him. He had read Mercy’s letter more times than he could count since then. It sat inside the cover of his Bible, one of his most treasured possessions, and he brought it out at least once a day, a reminder that Mercy was alive and well.

  Isaac looked at Nelson’s black face, grinning with the elation of freedom still new to him. He envied Nelson. He’d been fortunate to come to know Mercy better than he had or Jacob had. Nelson had spent months with her, surviving, laughing, crying, and sleeping beside her. On that journey, they had shared experiences that he would never have. As he walked to his office, he realised that he begrudged Nelson and Mercy’s relationship. He had learned that Mercy was alive and well, and that should have been enough to satisfy him, yet proof of life was not enough to satisfy his incessant craving for her nor dampen his resolve to possess her, body and soul.

  “Nelson, where do you think Miss Mercy is right now?” he asked. “Do you believe she might still be in Newport News?”

  “I don’ reckon I know, Mr Isaac. She talked all day long ’bout getting back to the man she left behind. I done told her that she should forget him, on account of him being married, but she just say they meant to be together. Now, Mr Charlie done tell Miss Mercy to stay away from that Mr Jacob Stone, but Miss Mercy say she love him and he should know better.”

  Isaac smiled to mask his disappointment. “Know better about what?”

  “I dunno – about love, I reckon. Love sure must be a powerful thing, the way Miss Mercy be goin’ on about it.”

  “It is, Nelson, and when you have it, it’s not easy to give up. I believe it may be a cursed pursuit for some folks.”

  Nelson didn’t know any more about Mercy’s whereabouts than he, Isaac, did. There was still a sliver of hope that she had decided against going back to Jacob, he thought. He would cling to that hope.

  “Nelson, I have paperwork to be getting on with. You best get on with cleaning those rooms, like we talked about, and, Nelson, if a soldier stops you and asks what you are doing and where you’re going, you tell them that you are a free man and that you are Major Bernstein’s orderly. You understand?”

  Chapter Ten

  For over a month, the Ninth Virginia Volunteer Cavalry Regiment had vigorously trained in Portsmouth, under the command of Colonel Godwin. Its members came from the counties of Roanoke, Chesterfield, Isle of White, Nansemond, Lunenburg, Dinwiddie, and Norfolk. They were an enthusiastic bunch of men, but many had turned up bedraggled in well-worn farm clothing, with unsuitable guns and without the cavalry’s most important requirement, a horse.

  Jacob and a few other large plantation owners had discussed finances during the first week of training, and all had agreed that it was their duty to purchase horses for the poorer farmers in the regiment, for most of them owned no more than a couple of old beaten mules. The men also had to be outfitted with uniforms, it was declared, as there was a prideful reluctance by the officers to face the Union Army looking like a bunch of badly dressed country boys.

  The bulk of the Ninth had no orders to deploy; however, on this June morning, Jacob, along with fifty other cavalrymen, was preparing to leave Portsmouth for Yorktown, which sat on the northern side of the James River. Colonel Godwin, who would accompany them, gave no solid reasons as to why this particular advance party was going, except to say that their comrades up the bay were on the march and that some of the Ninth had been asked to join them.

  Mercy patted Jacob’s black horse, Thor, on the nose whilst whispering softly in its ear. She had been dreading t
his moment. She had seen it in her mind’s eye many times, but now, with her heart filled with poignant farewells, she realised that reality was much more painful than her imaginings could ever be.

  She looked at the other horses, well groomed and destined for battle, and wondered how many would fall or be crushed, shot, or stabbed with sabres. Her eyes searched out Jacob in a moment of panic, and they found him some distance away in a light-hearted conversation with a fellow officer. She watched his animated face break into a smile, and her heart filled with love. God was cruel, she thought, for although he had given her and Jacob these past months together, he was once again tearing them apart this morning.

  Mercy stood alone and was well aware that the other women present were deliberately shunning her. Mercy had grown accustomed to the Portsmouth ladies and their determination to make her an outcast, yet their cruel jibes about Jacob Stone and his whore never failed to hurt her feelings.

  She looked across the street and saw Elizabeth’s mother standing with her husband and a group of matronly women who were in different stages of weeping, hugging, and kissing their sons goodbye. Two of Mrs Coulter’s sons were also leaving, yet their mother seemed more intent on making Mercy feel uncomfortable with blatant hateful stares than in receiving comfort from her sons’ farewell embraces. Mercy lifted her chin in defiance and turned away from the Coulter family. She could put up with Mrs Coulter’s spitefulness, but what Mercy could not abide was having a bad reputation borne out of an old woman’s personal and biased hatred.

  As far as Mrs Coulter was concerned, Mercy was the woman who had disappeared for months, only to appear again in the arms of her daughter’s husband. It was rumoured that Mercy was an infamous prostitute who had fled from England under suspicious circumstances. There were also women, starved for excitement, claiming that she was a witch involved in the cults. She had heard all about the utterances and gossip, yet she could not blame the Portsmouth ladies or Mrs Coulter, for they were ignorant of the truth. The fault for all the dreadful words spoken lay at Madam du Pont’s feet, Jacob had insisted, and Mercy had agreed with him.

  Upon her arrival in Norfolk, she had learned that she would not remain there but would instead be joining Jacob in Portsmouth until his departure for the front. Madam du Pont, Jacob told her, had spirited Elizabeth away to Richmond and had left even the Coulter’s in the dark concerning their daughter’s exact whereabouts. Mercy had mixed emotions regarding this shocking news. Lately she had been happier than at any other time in her life, lying in Jacob’s arms every night in Belle and Hendry’s Portsmouth home and grateful that this arrangement had been made possible by Hendry and Belle, who had offered to chaperone them for as long as necessary. But at the back of her mind were nagging worries about Jacob’s wife. Mercy had no love for Elizabeth, but she well knew Madam du Pont’s cruelty and could only imagine that Jacob’s wife was being manipulated and cheated out of her newfound wealth.

  Jacob had requested leave in order to bring Elizabeth back, such was his sense of duty towards his soon-to-be ex-wife; however, the country was at war, so the task of bringing Elizabeth home had fallen to Elizabeth’s father. Mr Coulter had returned a week later lamenting that his daughter had been found but was extremely happy living in a rented house in central Richmond. According to him, Elizabeth had absolutely no intention of leaving Richmond in the near future. In fact, she was thinking of purchasing a house there.

  Mercy waved to Jacob, striding towards her in shiny new boots to match his fresh grey uniform and hat with gold tassels. He wore a gold sash today. She had made it for him after purchasing material in the haberdashery store, which had profited greatly in sales of military attire, from gloves to coats. She had never seen him look so handsome. “Is it time? Have you said your farewells?” she asked.

  “It is time, my darling. So where is my brother?” Jacob asked worriedly. “He promised to be here by noon.”

  “Are you sure he’s not at sea already? You know how sudden things can change.”

  “He might be. He did say he might not get back today. If he doesn’t get here before I leave, I want you to tell him that I’ll miss him – and tell him not to break the damn ship.”

  Jacob grinned and kissed Mercy’s hand. He was terrified of leaving her alone, yet he was determined to say goodbye to her with a smile and a kiss. He could ill afford to display the anxiety that was cramping his stomach and making him feel as sick as a dog, for that would only cause her more worry. Even so, he did feel sick and painfully aware that he was scared of what was to come in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

  He looked at Mercy’s sweet face searching for Hendry. He could happily gaze at her forever. He loved the way her eyes shone with youthful passion, her soft playful smile, and her unending desire to learn about his country. He not only loved her, he thought, watching her; he also admired her. She had been treated abominably since her arrival in Portsmouth, yet she had faced the hatred and spiteful comments thrown at her with stoic patience and dignity. She had put the ladies of Portsmouth to shame as far as he was concerned.

  Madame du Pont came to Jacob’s mind, and as always, anger joined the thought. Her lies had been the catalyst for Mercy’s latest troubles. Du Pont had spread falsehood after falsehood until a ripple of rumours had become a tidal wave of attacks on Mercy’s character.

  Du Pont’s death would alleviate Mercy’s suffering, Jacob thought, but it would not dismiss the damage the old whore had already caused – that was now irreparable. The world and everyone in it would be better off without the vile creature, yet for some reason, the Lord often chose to protect evil. The good often died at an early age while monsters roamed for decades upon decades, until their outer shells were as black and crippled as the soul itself. Maybe God put evil on Earth to challenge humanity’s resolve. Whatever his reason, Madame du Pont had outstayed her welcome in this world!

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to Stone Plantation?” he asked Mercy, who was now looking decidedly uncomfortable in the crowd.

  “No, as much as I would love to be with Belle and Grace, I’m unwilling to drag Belle into this quagmire of filthy lies. Belle pleaded with me. She assured me that no amount of malicious gossip would affect her, but I can’t do it – I won’t. Anyway, I’m looking forward to getting to know Norfolk. Dolly will be good company, and Jack and Hendry might be home from time to time to give us news. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Jacob took her in his arms and felt the lump in his throat. He could barely swallow. Her head leaned against his shoulder, and he looked down at her face, partially hidden, as it pressed against his chest. He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. Her lips trembled with sadness. He brushed them lightly with his mouth half open and then kissed her greedily. If only this moment did not have to end, he thought. If he could take her with him, hold her every night, and wake up with her lying beside him, he would. In a perfect world, he wouldn’t spend a day without her, for in that idyllic life, he would never have to worry about losing her again. He kissed her deeper, knowing that they would be ripped apart at any moment. He had cried for Mercy many times, but he had never felt the gut wrenching agony of separation until now.

  “Mount up, men!” the colonel barked loudly. “Those Yankees are not going to wait for us. We ride!”

  Mercy tore herself from Jacob’s arms and gazed up at his eyes, bright with unshed tears. She kissed him again and then reluctantly stepped back to watch him mount Thor. “I love you, and I will see you soon. If you don’t come back in quick measure, I will come find you. You know I will.” She sobbed.

  “Stay out of trouble, my love. I suspect that if it doesn’t find you, you’ll want to go looking for it. Stay safe, darling. I love you too, so very much.”

  “Move out! Move out!” the sergeant roared this time.

  The bugles played a gay tune. They were accompanied by side drums and a base drum which sounded like a giant’s heartbeat. Mercy stood amongst the waving, cheer
ing crowd and watched the Portsmouth men ride off to war. She walked towards Jacob’s carriage, blinded by tears and uncaring of sly and hateful glances.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jacob sat underneath a tall Virginia oak just a few feet from the river. It would be sundown soon, but the sun’s blazing heat and blinding rays were still oppressive. The ground was hot and hard caked dirt. A light breeze kicked up dust, stinging his tired eyes. The tree afforded him some shade. It also made the task of cleaning his weapons that much more bearable. His handgun, a five-shot back-action revolver, had been issued to as many cavalry officers as possible, with the hope of making it the standard weapon of choice for all cavalrymen at some point in the future. Most of the men still handled old smooth-bores muskets and rifled muskets, which were chiefly percussion weapons. The past couple of months had been dedicated to improving speed and precision with these rifles, which were heavy and time consuming to load and reload.

  Jacob put his rifle aside and once again wondered how the hell the Confederacy were going to come up with all these promised weapons before lives were put in danger because of damaged and inadequate guns. He cast his eyes around the once-peaceful landscape, marred now by the sight of soldiers, tents, trenches, and cannons. He shut out the noise of men arguing good-naturedly over a game of dice and others talking about family and home. He listened to the soothing sound of river water running over pebbles and stones. The water had been warm enough to give him the bath he’d craved, his first in over three days. It had left him feeling refreshed and slightly more at ease in his surroundings. There was nothing worse than smelling your own stink, he thought.