Blood Moon

by Jana Petken

  Jacob was not sure which way this verdict would go. Elizabeth had committed murder, but he believed that should the jury decide to free her, it would be because of their Christian consciences or repugnance of Margaret Mallory. He had studied the jury’s faces during testimony. He had seen eyes filled with pity for Elizabeth, but confusion had also been present. Right now, the twelve jurors would be asking, “Did Elizabeth intentionally kill or did she stab Mallory to death in self-defence?” Damn it, he thought, if only he knew the answer to that question.

  “I am of the opinion that Elizabeth will receive a period of incarceration,” Mrs Bartlett pronounced in a whisper.

  Jacob stirred from his thoughts and nodded in agreement. “You might be right, Mrs Bartlett. They won’t hang her and I don’t think the judge will let her go home.”

  Jacob wanted to smile at the world this morning. He was happy, despite the daunting thought of his wife’s fate being decided. Mercy had looked radiant at Mrs Bartlett’s breakfast table. After being invited to join the ladies, Jacob had tentatively asked Mrs Bartlett’s permission to call on Mercy every day until he received orders to leave Richmond. She had granted his request.

  He looked at the throng of people waiting to be called back into the courtroom, wishing that he could conjure up a measure of sympathy for his wife. He would probably go to hell for his lacklustre support for Elizabeth, but she had brought herself to this, and he no longer wanted to bear the guilt of her actions. The only thing he desired now was a bright future with Mercy.

  “You’d better get back in, folks. Go take your seats now,” a voice rang down the hallway. “Verdict’s in.”

  Jacob was surprised. He had expected the jury to take longer. He took Mrs Bartlett’s arm and followed Mr and Mrs Coulter back into the courtroom. Was this a good sign or a bad sign? he wondered.

  Elizabeth stood in the dock. Her body trembled, and her hands were clenched in tight balls by her sides. Jacob once again felt a measure of compassion. No woman should have to abide this, he thought. He prayed silently for the best possible outcome. Whatever happened would not affect his resolve to leave Elizabeth and go to Mercy, but an acquittal for Elizabeth would certainly ease tensions with the Coulter family.

  “Do you have a verdict?” Judge Travers asked the jury’s representative.

  “We do, Judge.”

  A deputy took the jury’s written verdict and passed it to the judge. The judge glanced at it without comment or expression and passed it back. “Read it aloud to the court,” he ordered.

  The jury representative cleared his throat. “We the jury find the defendant, Mrs Elizabeth Stone, guilty of the crime of murder.”

  “No!” Mrs Coulter screamed above the tide of noise filling the room. “No, my daughter is a victim!”

  “That’s enough, folks!” the judge shouted above the thumping noise of his gavel.

  “Simmer down. This is not a debate. This is a court of law!”

  Jacob was shocked. Mercy’s testimony should have, at the very least, lessened the verdict to a crime of self-defence – but murder? She was guilty of a capital offence. He watched, stunned with fear, as Judge Travers shifted papers in front of him.

  He looked at Elizabeth. She sat with her hands covering her face, muffling her wretched weeping. The judge would want this over with as soon as possible, Jacob thought. Travers would not adjourn again to deliberate on sentencing. He had to end this now, before he lost control of this riled-up mob. He recalled the marshal’s statement and groaned. Murder is murder, regardless of circumstances.

  “Silence!” Judge Travers shouted.

  The noise receded. Jacob held his breath. He looked again at Elizabeth, who now stared with unquestionable contempt at the jury. “I don’t think Travers knows what to do with her,” he whispered irately to Mrs Bartlett.

  “This has been a difficult and distasteful case,” the judge said. “I have listened to the evidence and find that I cannot and will not overturn the jury’s verdict. The verdict of murder stands, just as it should. However, I have taken into consideration Mrs Stone’s state of mind and Miss Carver’s testimony, and I have to say that I do not believe this was a premeditated killing.

  “The facts surrounding Mrs Mallory’s murder are sorely lacking here. The jury has determined that Mrs Stone did unlawfully kill the deceased, but we can only speculate as to why she did it. The mind is a mighty complex piece of equipment, and as the doctors have stated, amnesia is a condition we have yet to understand.

  “Mrs Stone, given your poor health, I believe that an undetermined period of incarceration in one of our fine mental institutions here in the capital would be in your best interest—”

  “What?” Elizabeth shouted. “I am not going to a mental asylum. I want to go home! Judge, you cannot do this to me. I am not a bad woman – and I am not mad! Ma, Pa, take me back to Portsmouth!”

  “Hush now, Mrs Stone. This is for your own good,” the judge said soothingly. “You will not be going home for a very long time. Do you understand what I’m telling you? You committed murder, Mrs Stone.”

  “I did not! Margaret stole my money. She took everything away from me. She was heartless and cruel. Had I not killed her when I did, she would have killed me. I only did what any terrified woman would do! I am not guilty – I am not!”

  Voices rose once again. Jacob covered his face and shook his head. Mrs Bartlett whispered in his ear, locking out the surrounding voices. “What is she saying, Captain? I knew she was lying. Oh my.”

  “God help her,” Jacob said.

  Elizabeth and the judge locked their eyes together in a silent battle. She begged him for leniency as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’ll just die if you put me in a madhouse with all those crazy people,” she cried. “I can’t abide the thought of it. Oh God, help me! I’m good – I’m good!”

  Travers’s livid red face continued to stare at Elizabeth. “Stand up, Mrs Stone! I have not finished with you. If you interrupt me again, I will have you removed. I will not tolerate any more contempt in my courtroom!

  “As I said, you are hereby sentenced to a period of psychiatric care, and as you appear to have regained your memory and your wits, I don’t believe you will be in the mental institution for long. With this in mind, I sentence you to fifteen years in a women’s penitentiary, to begin as soon as you are released from the asylum. That is all. I thank the jury for their service. Now get the prisoner out of my sight!” Judge Travers thumped his gavel for the last time. He stood, turned, and walked out of the courtroom.

  Jacob watched Elizabeth being dragged roughly by the arms by deputies. A distraught Mrs Coulter tried to follow her daughter, but her husband pulled her back. Newspapermen descended from the gallery and rushed towards the Coulters for statements. Jacob guided Elizabeth’s parents towards the door, which was blocked by a swarm of excited onlookers.

  “I am so sorry,” Jacob said to Mrs Coulter. The Coulters reached the hallway, and Jacob led them into a vacant unlocked room. “Mrs Coulter, I am at your service. Tell me what you want to do. My funds are at your disposal should you want to appeal this verdict. We’ll do everything we can to get her released. You have my full support.”

  Mr Coulter’s face was red with rage. He let go of his wife’s arm, clenched his fist, and threw a punch.

  Jacob staggered backwards, feeling Coulter’s tight fist’s full force on his jawline. He regained his footing, rubbed his jaw, and said, “I will let that pass, sir, but if you ever touch me again, I will strike you back. Your daughter hoodwinked you both. You saw her. You heard her confession. She’s not suffering from amnesia. She never did. She lied to both of you!

  “I reckon you should deal with Elizabeth’s deception, sir, instead of lashing out at me. I will take no more of your family’s meddling into my affairs and cussing me to the world. My marriage is over. It was over months ago, with Elizabeth’s full agreement, yet I am prepared to call on her later today, and every day to come, for as long as I am
able, if that is what you want.”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter, you godamn son of a bitch!” Mr Coulter yelled. “May God forgive your black soul from hell! You ain’t no man – you ain’t got no decency!”

  Jacob put his hat on and walked to the door. He had done what he could. There was nothing else to say, except goodbye to this sordid affair. He tipped his hat to Mrs Coulter. “Ma’am, you have my condolences,” he said. “My offer stands. You know where to find me.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  May 1862

  Mercy forced herself to remain in bed on this sunny May morning. On the very night she arrived here, Mrs Bartlett had insisted on giving her a slave called Anna. Mercy had argued against the idea and had said no thank you repeatedly, but every morning Anna appeared, standing at the foot of the bed with a cup of tea and newspapers. During the winter, she had found the courage to ask Mrs Bartlett to sell Anna to her. Mrs Bartlett had been surprised at Mercy’s request, but after a few weeks, she realised that Mercy had her heart set on it, and the deal had been struck. “Thank you, Anna. Why don’t you go find some breakfast. I can bathe and dress myself,” Mercy said, wanting to be alone.

  Mercy fluffed up the pillows and rested her head against them. Looking out of the window at another glorious day, she couldn’t help but release a contemplative sigh. She held her teacup with both hands and sipped the cup dry.

  She had recently heard from the marshal that her parole had finally ended, and every day since then, she’d felt a growing urge to leave the capital. She had waited a long time for her freedoms to be returned to her. They had been unlawfully taken away in the first place, as far as she was concerned. She had actually come to think that the marshal, judge, and army had completely forgotten about her and what she had supposedly done. The accusation had been serious, but had they thought her guilty, they would have locked her up, not left her stranded with Mrs Bartlett’s never-ending Richmond Ladies Society meetings. God’s truth, she thought, jail might have been preferable!

  The stifling atmosphere of the capital, crowded with gloomy faces complaining about the blockade, which was beginning to damage the Richmond’s elite’s perfect lives, was worsening by the day, and so was her own disposition. She was suffocating from a lack of worthwhile activity. She missed Jacob terribly and had not clapped eyes on him for almost seven weeks. She was melancholic, and nothing would ease her black mood, bar seeing Jacob and getting out of Richmond.

  She lifted the newspaper and noticed an envelope hidden underneath it. She sat up, excited and delighted. It was from Belle. Belle was a ferocious writer, and her long, detailed correspondences had given Mercy welcome relief in the past months. Inside the envelope was a smaller envelope, along with Belle’s letter. She put the small envelope aside for the moment and lay her head once more against the pillows.

  Dear Mercy,

  I am sorry it has taken me so long to write, but I fear I will sour your mood with my news. I declare, I am quite beside myself with worry. Poor Hendry went back to sea awhile back, and this time I have no clue as to when he will return. I know what a good sea captain my husband is, but I find myself in a highly agitated state. I am consumed with terrible thoughts and premonitions of doom, Mercy, and no matter how much I try, I cannot lift my spirits.

  The battle of Hampton Roads has left me feeling that war is on Norfolk’s and Portsmouth’s doorsteps, as if it were not bad enough that the Union’s soldiers and Navy skulk like wolves across the James at Fort Monroe.

  That battle will live in my memory forever. I have never seen such a congregation of ships, barring Liverpool’s fleets, of course. I stood on one of Norfolk’s highest points to get the very best of views, and though I couldn’t see everything, I do know that, the James, Elizabeth, and Nanesmond rivers were overflowing with vessels.

  Our brave Confederate Navy sent the ironclad CSS Virginia into Hampton Roads with a flotilla of five supply ships. The Virginia is a magnificent sight, Mercy, and one I could never have imagined seeing with my own eyes. Why, she is an iron floating fortress! To have her ready for battle was a wonderful feat. I have never seen such determination and loyalty of men.

  I know you have probably read about that day on Hampton Roads, but I wanted to tell it to you in my own way. Can you imagine how wonderful it was to learn that the Virginia had managed to sink two Yankee ships! Unfortunately, darkness fell and she had to retire back to Gosport Navy Yard. I do believe had she remained in the Hampton Roads to fight on, she might just have routed the Union Navy and forced their bully of an army back to the North, where they belong.

  I do wish we had been successful, but of course, the good Lord seldom makes our trials easy for us, does he? We lost almost eighty men, and there were many others injured. The dead died valiantly and for a cause worth fighting and bleeding for.

  My Hendry has been asked to risk his life and the lives of his crew by a navy who has no experience in blockade running, but I remind myself every day that he is not the only man being asked to lay his life on the line. Still, I am so very afraid for him.

  I have decided to visit Dolly in Norfolk. Grace and I have such little consolation to find, but I do believe that a change of air will do us good. From the Norfolk wharfs, one can now see the ships on the James and at the edge of the Atlantic. I would give anything to be with Hendry at sea, I really would.

  I visited Stone Plantation and must say that guilt lays heavy with me. I do hope Jacob forgives me for abandoning his land. I am sure he understands why I wanted to be near Hendry for as long as he was home … and we are at war, in a situation that is ever changing.

  The plantation slaves are still there in great number. A few have run away, but most do not seem to have much interest in leaving or encountering an unknown future that may be worse than their present situation. They are passing their days idly sitting around, looking for guidance. They are quite the pitiful sight and seem incapable of making any decisions or in being productive with their time. I have sent a wagon with supplies to the slaves and will make sure they are fed until Jacob comes home on leave.

  Not such a long letter this time, my darling Mercy. I am far too upset even to think about burdening myself with gossip, although I do have some news. The Coulters are moving south. They want to be closer to Elizabeth. Mrs Coulter has become a fragile shadow of her former self. Elizabeth, from what I can gather, does not fare well in that terrible prison. Why she was sent all the way to North Carolina, I will never know. It is a cruel blow for her family.

  I’m not fond of Elizabeth, but she was a childhood friend. I am not happy that she remains Jacob’s wife, but I can’t help but feel great sadness at her plight. May the good Lord above watch over her and grant his benevolence upon her, for I fear she will not leave that penitentiary alive.

  I pray that you will soon join me in Norfolk. I am sure that those bullheaded politicians and army folks no longer think of you as a threat and have already given you back your freedoms. My goodness, Mercy, the thought of you ever betraying the Confederacy is preposterous!

  You will have noticed the other envelope. This was given to me by Dolly. I promise you, it has not been read. It is as it was found … Oh, but, Mercy, you must tell me who is writing you. Promise, you will?

  Do write me back. Pray for my Hendry as I do for your Jacob. What news do you have of my brother-in-law? I do worry so about the blue coats advancing on Richmond, but I cannot bring myself to imagine defeat.

  Once again, I implore you to come visit me in Norfolk. I am in sore need of your company.

  Your friend,

  Belle

  Mercy folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, which she then placed in the drawer beside the bed. She picked up the other envelope and looked at the postmark. It was from Fort Monroe. It had to be from Isaac. It had to be.

  November 2, 1861

  My dear Mercy,

  With no other means available to me, I write to this address in Norfolk in the hop
e of reaching you and finding you well. I will never understand why you left your friends without a word or proper farewell. You were not a prisoner, as you imagined, nor were you led to believe that your only escape from me was by secretly escaping on the back of a horse belonging to the Union army.

  I am deeply perplexed at your lack of consideration towards Nelson, a man that loves you with all the goodness in his heart. He has suffered greatly, and it took all my persuasion to convince him not to take off after you. As for me, I expected more from you … I also deserved your trust and your honesty.

  Somehow I know you are safe. You have a spirited soul, and you are as hardy as any man. If I am guessing correctly, you are probably off on another one of your adventures. I only wish with all my heart that you could have seen fit to share these adventures with me.

  I love you, my Mercy. I will not deny this, not until the day I draw my last breath. I presume that your flight from the fort means that you do not return my high regard for you, but I will never give up. No, I resolve to make you my wife one day.

  Please do not journey back to the fort. My commanding officer is not as understanding as I am regarding your theft of a horse. Write to me, I beg of you, if not for my sake, then for Nelson’s.

  Isaac

  Mercy’s cheeks were flushed. “Shame on you, Mercy Carver,” she murmured. This letter had brought back the awful guilt she had felt after leaving the fort. Isaac was right about her. There was no justification for what she did to him and Nelson. The letter had been written over six months ago, she noted as she looked at it again. Isaac and Nelson could be anywhere by now. They might even be with the great Union Army, marching on the peninsula. She would write back this morning. Everyone knew that there were many ways of sending mail between the North and South. Smugglers could take mail almost anywhere when paid well.