Emily's Song

by Christine Marciniak

  “Do you suppose you’ll be here for lunch?”

  “I don’t think so, no.” It might be interesting to stay here and get to know him a little more, but it was more important to get back to her own time.

  “I could show you around the plantation.” He tugged at his own gloves as if they were constricting his fingers.

  Tempting, but better to have him go about his business so she could dive into the fish pond. She really didn’t need, or want, an audience for that.

  “Thank you, but no. Don’t mind me. I don’t mean to interrupt your routine.”

  “It’s really no trouble.”

  Sam looked at her with his soft gray eyes, and she really wanted to say yes.

  There was something so gentlemanly about him, something grander than she was used to, that she wouldn’t at all mind spending time with him. But he was engaged to be married to someone else and was going to die in the Civil War. There was no reason to encourage pointless fantasies.

  The decision was taken out of her hands when a young man on horseback rode into the yard. He dismounted in a fluid motion and was up the stairs to the porch in a few bounds.

  “Sam, I need to talk…” He stopped, noticing Emily on the porch. His round baby-face turned red, right to his protruding ears. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you had a guest.”

  “This is Miss Parks, a friend of Dinah’s. She fell ill at the ball and spent the night.” He cleared his throat and turned toward her, and gave her such a warm smile that her insides melted a little. “Miss Parks, this is Mr. George Phelps, a neighbor and friend.”

  “Nice to meet you, George.” She held out her hand to shake his.

  His face got even redder. He took her hand, delicately, as if not sure quite what to do with it. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Parks.”

  At his formality, she wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have used his first name. The etiquette of this time was a minefield she did not want to have to navigate.

  George glanced around, his eyes lingering on the door, while he fidgeted with his hat.

  Emily didn’t need it spelled out for her.

  “It’s all right if you two need to speak in private. I’ll walk down to those gardens over there.”

  “No.” Sam reached out a hand but stopped short of touching her arm “It’s fine, you don’t have to…”

  “I really do need to talk to you, Sam.” George sounded terribly apologetic. “And it would be easier in private.”

  She had no right to make things difficult for the two men. She shouldn’t even be here at all. She smiled graciously. “Please, don’t mind me. I’ll be fine.”

  She stepped off the porch, the wide skirt cumbersome around her. She walked away from the house, letting the two men have whatever private conversation they might need. She glanced back and saw they had stepped inside. Perfect. She could go to the fish pond and get home. Sam would come back out and figure her ride had arrived. They might question why she had not said good bye, but she doubted they’d worry about it too much.

  She followed the path to the pond. It was not nearly as stylized as it would be in the future. There was no stone wall surrounding it, allowing for sitting and dreaming. Instead it was simply a pond, the size of a small swimming pool. The sky and nearby trees were reflected in it, giving it a very picturesque quality. On closer look the water wasn’t particularly clear, and there were long strands of algae or some other native-pond growth obscuring the water. How deep was the pond? She had no idea. She supposed it didn’t matter, except, she didn’t want the dress to pull her down and drown her. Could she drown in a fish pond? If it was over her head and the dress kept her from surfacing again, sure she could.

  She felt the row of buttons that went down her back. There was no way she could get herself out of this dress without help. She was not going to let a dress drown her. She was a strong swimmer. Plus, the pond couldn’t be that deep. And it had a muddy edge, a bank, it wasn’t like it was a cliff she was going to suddenly drop off. She took off the white leather shoes she’d been given. She couldn’t make herself wear such nice shoes into the water. The mud squelched between her toes, and she had to steel herself to continue. The hem of the dress started to soak up the water and got heavy. She was ruining this dress, just as surely as she had ruined the bridesmaid dress. Not that it mattered, she certainly wasn’t going to wear either one again.

  Suddenly the muddy bottom dipped away, and she was over her head in water. The weight of the dress pulling her down, down. The water filled her ears and her eyes, and she could see nothing in the murkiness. Concentrate. Get head above water. This was what she needed. She needed to go under water so she could go home. She was under water now. Next step, get out.

  There had to be a bottom. When she hit it, she could kick off and get her face above water again. She hit and let herself sink far enough that she could bend her knees. Then she kicked off with all her might and pushed her arms through the water to get back to the surface. She could see the light of the sun above her. She was almost there. Her lungs burned. Her vision was starting to go dark. She needed to get to the surface.

  And when she did she’d be home and have quite a story to tell.

  The surface of the water was only inches from her face.

  Her face broke through. She gulped in the air before her dress started to drag her down again. Hands grabbed for her and pulled her out, and she looked into Sam’s gray eyes.

  She hadn’t gotten home.

  Chapter Six

  Sam

  Sam pulled a dripping Miss Parks from the water. It was one thing for her to fall in the fish pond if she had too much to drink, but to fall into it stone cold sober in broad daylight. That was another matter entirely.

  “You seem to have an unnatural affinity for this fish pond, Miss Parks.” He tried to keep his voice light, but he wasn’t sure he properly masked his concern.

  “You could have drowned.” George took her other arm to help her out of the pond.

  Miss Parks, her hair dripping and hanging in rivulets around her face, her dress wet, muddy and hanging limply so that every rib in the hoop showed, looked from one to the other and burst into tears.

  Sam looked over her head and caught George’s eye. This was not the kind of situation either of them was prepared for. Going off to war they could handle. Crying women who threw themselves into ponds? That was beyond them.

  “We’ll get you up to the house,” he assured her, speaking softly to the crying woman by his side like he would to a colt that needed gentling. “Beck will take care of you. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

  A small boy, one of the kitchen maid’s sons, watched him, fingers in his mouth.

  “You there,” Sam snapped. “Go find Beck and have her come here at once.”

  The boy nodded and scampered off, bare feet kicking up dirt as he ran.

  They had nearly gotten Miss Parks to the house when Beck appeared. She took one look at their sodden burden and seemed to sum up the situation. She was quick; he had to give her that.

  “I will take care of her. Leave it to me,” she said with calm assurance. They gratefully left Miss Parks to Beck’s tender mercies.

  He led George to his study and poured them both some whiskey.

  “Who is this mysterious woman?” George settled into one of the wing chairs.

  What he wouldn’t give for an answer to that question. “I don’t know. She showed up here last night. In my bed, if you must know.”

  George’s raised eyebrows were enough to keep him telling the story.

  “After falling in the pond—”

  “She fell in the pond last night, too?”

  Sam held up a hand. He hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.

  “Apparently had too much to drink. Fell in the pond. Went to my room, stripped naked, and climbed into my bed.”

  “Naked? In your bed?” George’s blue eyes opened wide. “Why can’t I have your kind of luck? What did you do?”
<
br />   “Called for Beck and had her given something to wear and moved to a different bed.”

  “This is the difference between you and me.” George grinned, showing bottom teeth that overlapped slightly. “I would have figured she was fine right where she was.”

  “I had just announced my engagement,” he reminded him. “Besides, I’m a gentleman. I wouldn’t take advantage of a woman like that.”

  George sipped his whiskey before answering. “Being a gentleman is overrated.”

  He sat in the other chair. “Isn’t it, though?”

  “So, who is she? Where did she come from?”

  “She says she was at the ball. That she’s a friend of Dinah’s.”

  “You don’t believe her?” George tipped up his glass and took another sip.

  He shrugged. Her story made sense. She could have been at the ball. There were people there he didn’t know, and although, as host, he’d tried to speak to everyone, if she had left early, he may have missed her. But if she were such a close friend of Dinah’s, it surprised him that he’d never heard her name mentioned. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

  “I don’t know if I believe her.” He walked to the desk and pulled out a piece of paper and his pen.

  “Dear Dinah,” he began. He supposed since they were engaged he did not have to begin his correspondence with ‘Miss Johnson’ anymore. He dipped his pen in the ink again while deciding how to word what he wanted to say. “Do you know a young woman by the name of Emily Parks? She had a slight mishap and was forced to stay overnight here after the ball, and we are awaiting the arrival of her people to pick her up. She says she is a friend of yours, but I do not recall you mentioning her.” He looked at what he had written, crumpled the paper, and started again.

  “Dear Miss Johnson,” maybe it was better to stay formal. “Your friend, Miss Emily Parks is here. Would you care to come visit?” Everything else was too difficult to explain in a note and too apt to be misconstrued.

  He signed the note, blotted it, folded it, and sealed it, then rang for Tobias. “Have Lucas deliver this to Miss Johnson, at once.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tobias said, taking the note from him.

  “What are you up to?” George asked from the comfort of his wing chair, one leg casually crossed over the other.

  “I suppose if we want to find out if our Miss Parks really knows Dinah, we ask Dinah.”

  “You think maybe she’s a little crazy?”

  “She fell in the fish pond twice in two days.” Sam stood and looked out the window toward the pond. Why would that woman go straight for the pond again, after having fallen in it only yesterday? Most people would stay clear of it, for fear of repeating the unpleasant experience. Yet, she had not. Why?

  “Remember those stories Moses used to tell?” George set his empty glass on the table beside him.

  Moses, the man in charge of the stables, had been an old man even when Sam was young. He told stories that weaved magic around the listener.

  “Which ones?”

  “The ones about the spirit in the pond.”

  He remembered those. Moses had a whole host of stories dealing with spirits that lived in the pond and fed on the fish there. Most of them had to do with monsters rising out of the water to devour little boys who got too close.

  “I think those were designed to keep us from swimming there.” After listening to those stories, they never had been tempted. They’d swam in the creek and in other places but never in the fish pond. They knew better than to take chances with monsters.

  “Yes, but why?” George joined him by the window. “He wasn’t afraid of us drowning. We knew how to swim. Why keep us out of that particular pond?”

  “What are you getting at? Do you think Miss Parks is the monster from the pond?”

  “Or bewitched by it.”

  A shiver went down Sam’s back. Could it be? Could there really be evil monsters or spirits or demons there? Had one bewitched Miss Parks and beguiled her to enter the water? It almost made sense. Except it didn’t, because those stories weren’t true, they were fairy stories.

  He picked up George’s glass and brought it to the sideboard. He was tempted to pour them each some more, but it was barely noon, and if Dinah were to come, he would want to have a level head. Actually, he needed that simply for figuring out the story behind this strange guest.

  “I don’t think our pond is bewitching anyone.” He tried to sound firm and certain but wasn’t sure he succeeded.

  “You must admit it’s intriguing.” George picked up a paperweight from the desk and turned it over in his hands.

  “I’m sure there’s a less fantastic explanation Perhaps she’s incredibly clumsy.” He sat back in the wing chair. “So, you’re going to sign with Yuengling?”

  This was what George had come to discuss with him this morning. Events were spinning quickly out of control. This was no time to sit back and spend a lot of time evaluating options. It was time to make a decision.

  “He’s putting together a company for the area.” George continued their conversation from where the rescue of the mysterious Miss Parks had interrupted it

  It made sense to sign up with the company of a local man he knew and trusted.

  “Union,” Sam said, mostly to himself. He knew that was the side he needed to join, but yet he hesitated to commit himself.

  “Of course.” George cracked his knuckles. “You know there’s really no other option. Consider this. If we fight for the Confederates and they win, great, we made the right choice. If they lose? We’re traitors. If we fight for the Union and they win, great, we made the right choice. If they lose, then the Confederate States are their own country, and we go home and lick our wounds. The only real negative outcome there is fighting with the Confederates.”

  “Very logical.” Sam rose and walked back to the window. He appreciated that George was able to approach this so logically, but it didn’t feel logical to him. It felt visceral. Emotional. It didn’t seem as simple as a pro and con chart.

  “So, are you in?”

  Sam stared out the window at the fields of growing tobacco tended by slaves. His father said not to worry about the farm, that he’d take care of it, but it still felt wrong to simply walk away from his responsibilities here. But didn’t he also have responsibilities to his country?

  His great-grandfather, for whom he was named, had proudly fought in the Revolutionary War. His grandfather had fought in the War of 1812. How could he not help his country now? Of course he had to go. And if he was going to go to war, he might as well go with George. They did everything else together.

  “Yes.” He turned back from the window to face his friend. “I’ll go.”

  George nodded, as if he knew that would be the ultimate outcome. “He’ll be in town in the next couple of days, recruiting.”

  He thought he’d feel a sense of relief, now that the decision had been made. Instead there was a hollowness in the pit of his stomach. Is this how all men felt when they knew they were going off to war?

  The door to the study opened, and Tobias stuck his dark head in. “Will Mr. Phelps be staying for dinner?”

  Sam glanced at George, but he knew the answer without asking. George never turned down a meal.

  “I’ll stay.”

  “And your lady guest? Will she be dining?”

  “You’ll have to check with Beck. If she is hungry she is more than welcome to dine with us. Have a place set for Miss Johnson as well,” he added before Tobias shut the door.

  “You think Dinah will come?”

  “I can almost guarantee it.” Yet, at the same time he almost dreaded it.

  His prediction proved to be well founded. They heard the carriage drive up before they were called to table.

  Sam stepped off the porch to give Dinah a hand and help her out of the carriage. Her face was flushed, and her curls were a bit windblown. She looked lovely.

  “What’s this about entertaining female guests
while I’m not here?”

  She sounded annoyed, but in a mostly joking kind of way. He took her arm and walked with her up to the porch, where she and George greeted each other.

  “So, you know Miss Parks?” Sam asked.

  “Never heard of her,” she answered. “She says she’s a friend of mine?”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  Dinah toyed with her closed fan, tapping it against her hand. “What is she doing here?”

  He told her what he could.

  “I don’t recognize the name,” Dinah said, wrinkling her brow. “But perhaps I know her with a different name. I’d like to meet her.”

  “Naturally. I’ll find out if she’s coming down to dinner. I assume you’re staying.”

  “Of course.” Dinah adjusted her skirt which had caught on the banister. “Where’s Elizabeth?”

  “She went to Frederick with Mother and Father.” Sam leaned against the porch railing.

  “Frederick!” Dinah spoke as if it were the ends of the earth. “When did she decide to do that? Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “She apparently decided this morning. That’s all I know.”

  Dinah stamped her foot in the daintiest way possible and effected a pout.

  “Don’t complain to me.” Sam was sympathetic, though he did find her pouting amusing. “I had nothing to do with her decision.”

  “You could have convinced her to stay,” Dinah pointed out. Sam supposed that was true, but he hadn’t particularly desired that she stay. Her sleeping to all hours and mooning over Fitzsimmons when she was awake were getting a little hard to take.

  “She’ll come back when her parents do.” George toyed with his hat.

  Dinah turned her attention to him. “When is that?”

  “When Sam and I go off to war, Mr. Marshall will come back to run Bonne Terra.”

  George may be his oldest friend, and as close to him as a brother, but right now, Sam wanted to hold his head underwater and keep it there. This was not the way to inform Dinah that her betrothed was going off to war.

  She spun around, her eyes gleaming in her fury. “You enlisted and didn’t tell me?”