Emily's Song

by Christine Marciniak

  He rounded the corner of the house as George rode into view. He dismounted and casually handed the reins to Lucas.

  “I was just in town,” he said, his words rushing together in excitement. “Yuengling’s going to be there tomorrow taking recruits. If we leave right after breakfast, we shouldn’t have any trouble both getting in.”

  Sam ran his hand over his face. Why now? He did not need the extra complication of a war to deal with. Then again, it would get him out of here and every one could sort out their own problems. There was something to be said for that.

  “You are still in, aren’t you?” George put one hand on Sam’s arm and looked into his face.

  He shook him off. “Yes, I’m still in. It’s perfectly normal to have qualms about going off to war. In fact, if you don’t there might be something wrong with you.”

  George shrugged. “I’ve always been up for adventure.”

  “Lots of people are going to be killed.” He echoed what Emily had told him earlier.

  “Pshaw,” George waved that concern away. “It’s going to be over by Christmas. We’ll show those rebels what’s what and come home to a nice roast goose.”

  “You really think it’s going to be that easy?” Why couldn’t he have that kind of confidence. Go off, kick some rebel butt and come back home again. He’d sign up for that in a heartbeat.

  “Don’t you?” George tilted his head and studied his friend. “You don’t think the rebels have a chance of winning, do you?”

  “No.” Even without Emily’s take on it, he still felt this way. The south did not have the manufacturing to fuel a war. How could they win? “But I do think they are going to put up a good fight.”

  George preened a bit, like a rooster entering the hen house. “I’m always up for a good fight. Aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He wished he felt more enthused about the whole thing. “I’ll sign up with you tomorrow, but things have gotten more complicated. My father is not here to look after things, I don’t trust Wilkins, and then there is Emily.” He hadn’t meant to actually say that last bit out loud.

  “Who?” George asked, eyebrows drawn together. “Oh, you mean Miss Parks, mystery woman. Hey, do you think I’ll get a chance to take that picnic with her before we leave? Is she going to dine with us today?”

  “Us?” He didn’t recall inviting George to dine with him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d been envisioning a quiet, romantic meal. But that probably wasn’t the most prudent move anyway. It would be better of George were around.

  “You were planning on inviting me to stay for supper, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He always invited George to eat if he were around at mealtimes. Why should today be any different?

  “And I’ll get a chance to woo Miss Parks.” George waggled his eyebrows in a way that Sam suspected he thought was seductive.

  Over my dead body. He winced, with war on the horizon, that might be truer than he cared to admit.

  “Wilkins give you any more trouble?” George bent to adjust his boot.

  “No, it’s been quiet today. Though I wasn’t really around.”

  “No? Where were you?”

  He grinned, he had no compunction at all about needling his friend. He didn’t even need to waggle his eyebrows. “Picnicking with Miss Parks.”

  “No!” George stared at him open mouthed. “You dog!”

  “Took her to the waterfall,” he added with a sideways glance at George.

  “Wouldn’t want to be you when Dinah hears about this.”

  “She won’t.” He gave him what he hoped was a stern look, and then sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to break the engagement with Dinah.”

  George couldn’t seem to lose that bug-eyed stare. “Because of Miss Parks?”

  He shook his head. “Not directly, no. I’m not in love with Dinah. She deserves someone who is.”

  “You in love with Miss Parks?”

  “Quite possibly,” he answered and with a slap on the shoulder, brought George inside for a pre-dinner drink.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Emily

  George was there for dinner again, which kept things from getting too intimate or awkward. Emily wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. She was still trying to sort out what had happened this afternoon and what it meant. She couldn’t be in love with Sam. They were from different worlds, and that wasn’t even metaphorical, they really were from different worlds, different centuries at least, they couldn’t build a life together. But yet… No. They couldn’t. She would go home as soon as she could figure out how and that was that.

  In the meantime maybe she could repay Sam for his hospitality by helping him figure out what was happening to his missing supplies. She didn’t bring it up at dinner, unsure of how much he had shared with George. There would be plenty of time to discuss it once they were alone.

  When the final dishes were cleared, Sam dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and stood. George pushed back his chair, and Emily realized they were heading to the study for an after dinner smoke. She put her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back. Was she expected to join them? Was she even allowed to join them? From what she could tell it was rather a male-bonding ritual. Besides, she didn’t smoke.

  Sam’s eyes widened, and he looked around the table and realized that there were only the three of them. “George, perhaps we should retire to the parlor instead. No one is here to entertain Miss Parks.”

  “Please don’t change your plans on my account.” She was an uninvited guest here, she should try not to cause more trouble than necessary. “I’ll simply go in the parlor and read for a while.”

  Her selflessness was rewarded with a grateful smile from Sam which made her heart flutter. Why did he have to have this effect on her?

  “We won’t be long,” he assured her. “Only a quick smoke.”

  ****

  The gas lamps in the parlor gave off a cozy glow, and she studied the books on the shelves looking for something that piqued her interest, settling on Pride and Prejudice, an old favorite. She read the first chapter and realized that Sam and George had not emerged from the study. She suspected that like any old friends, they got caught up in talk and lost track of time.

  She, however, needed to use the ladies’ room. She sighed. Outhouse. She hoped she wasn’t here long enough to actually get used to that.

  She set the book on the end table and headed outside. When she had finished what she needed to do, she walked past the kitchen. Inside she could hear cheerful voices and the sounds of cleaning up. She should go in there and see what they knew about the missing inventory. At the very least she could find out how much of any given item they regularly used. Then she could see how their numbers matched up with what showed in the ledger.

  She hesitated at the open door of the kitchen. The room inside was cast in shadow, lit only by the fire in the hearth and the fading light of the setting sun coming through the window. The aroma of the night’s roasted meat and fresh bread hung in the air. Three women worked inside, their long skirts sweeping the stone floor, all three with their hair hidden by faded scarves that had once been colorful. They chatted and laughed as one swept the floor, another scoured a large pot, and the third banked the fire. Did she really have a right to intrude on them? But if she didn’t ask, she wouldn’t get answers. She knocked on the doorjamb. The room fell silent, and three dark faces turned toward her.

  The woman who had been bent over the hearth, straightened. She was tall, lean, and wiry and seemed to be the senior of the three. Emily could see the muscles in her forearms and knew this was a woman who worked hard, all the time. “Can I help you?” Her voice was formal and clipped with no warmth in it.

  “Are you Sally?” Emily asked, taking a guess and stepping into the room, which was hot and airless even though the evening was cool

  “I am. Do you need something?” The words were spoken as one of whom something was always being dem
anded. Emily wanted nothing but answers, but was even that asking too much?

  “May I ask you some questions?” She tried to keep her tone light and respectful, to let them know they could say no if they wished.

  “You one of those abolitionists come to find out if we like being slaves?” the woman with the broom asked harshly.

  The question took her off-guard. “I wouldn’t expect anyone would like being a slave.” Perhaps if she showed them she didn’t consider their work beneath her it would help matters. “Can I help with the washing up?”

  “We’re quite able to do it ourselves,” the third answered, bitterness in her voice.

  “I’m sure.” She took a step back. She had thought they’d be happier to talk to her, chalk up another misconception about people and the past. “Actually, I was wondering who is in charge of placing orders for flour and sugar and other things that the farm doesn’t produce.”

  “Mister Sam places all the orders.” Sally kept hold of the iron poker while she spoke, and Emily wondered if she posed that much a threat to this woman. She couldn’t imagine how, but there was a lot about this time she didn’t comprehend.

  “How does he know how much to order?” She took another step backward, to prove she was no danger to them.

  “Wilkins tells him,” the woman with the broom answered. Sally gave her a squelching look, and she began sweeping more industriously.

  That was about what Emily had suspected. “And how much do you need a month?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, seeing as you are a stranger here.” Sally didn’t actually lift the poker in a threatening way, but Emily saw the strong muscles in her arm flex. She was not helping matters by being here.

  She could tell them she was trying to help Sam catch a thief, but he hadn’t really given her permission to ask questions.

  “I’m sorry for intruding.” She stepped out of the kitchen entirely, and then, with one hand still on the doorjamb she said, “For what it’s worth. If I knew of a way to free you all, I would. But know this…by the time this war ends you’ll all be free.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” Sally muttered, and turned back to the fire.

  She left them to their tasks, feeling rather lonely and desolate. The sun was near the horizon, and the shadows were long. Honeysuckle was sweet in the evening air, and birds chirped cheerfully in the trees. It was so lovely here, now, so peaceful. It was hard to believe that somewhere, battles were being fought, men were dying in a war that was going to go on and on and destroy so much. How could that even be possible when the world seemed so serene?

  She should go back inside to the cozy parlor and her book and quietly wait for someone to want to spend time with her. She sighed, that prospect did not exactly fill her with joy either. She wanted to do something, to help Sam out in some way.

  There were other outbuildings here behind the house. Sam had pointed them out to her when he took her around the plantation. Storehouse, smokehouse, spring house, overseer’s house. Where might Wilkins hide ill-gotten gains? If it was indeed Wilkins behind the thefts. His house would be a likely spot, but she wasn’t going to snoop around in a person’s private home. She wasn’t an idiot. But maybe that would be too obvious, anyway, perhaps he would utilize one of the outbuildings.

  No one was around, so she decided to channel her inner Nancy Drew and do a bit of sleuthing. The first building was the storehouse. Barrels of flour and cornmeal and sugar and beans were neatly stacked along the walls. Dwindling piles of apples and potatoes were in the corners. After all, this year’s crop wasn’t in, and last year’s would be almost gone. This was the sign of a home well cared for, well-provisioned. What would the war do to it though? Would they starve like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind? Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  She shut the door on the storehouse and went to examine the next building. This was empty but had the definite odor of smoke lingering about it, clearly the smokehouse. The building after that Sam had called the spring house, and when she stepped inside she saw why. It housed a cool natural spring, surrounded by rocks. However, it was clear nothing was hidden in this building.

  Back in the evening air, she hesitated. Obviously Wilkins hadn’t hidden anything in a place that people frequented, and how was she even going to find places people didn’t? It was a fool’s errand.

  “What do you think you are doing?” A gruff voice from behind her asked.

  She turned and saw Wilkins standing behind her. A leer spread across his ugly face when he realized who she was.

  “I think you better come with me.” He grabbed her by the arm.

  “With you?” She tried to jerk her arm free from his grasp, but he had a grip like a vise. Don’t panic. That was the key to situations like this, right? “Why would I do that? No, I was just getting a bit of air. Sam is expecting me back any moment.”

  “Sam is it? You two getting nice and cozy with each other?” She didn’t like the look in his eye and his breath smelled of onions.

  “Let go of me.” She jerked her arm again, but it made no difference. Should she scream for Sam? Would he hear her? The ladies in the kitchen might. Would they help her if they did? She wasn’t so sure.

  “No. You’re a trouble maker, and I’m going to put a stop to it.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “I’m not causing you any trouble,” she insisted, trying to push down her rising panic, even as he pulled her along the path, her feet reluctantly moving to keep herself from falling. “Honest.”

  “You caused me to take a whipping,” he snarled. “That ain’t ever happened before, and it ain’t ever happening again.”

  “Oh, if that’s all. I’ll be sure to ask Sam to never whip you again.” She wanted to sound firm and confident, but her voice quavered as she spoke.

  He laughed. It was not a cheerful sound.

  “I took that whipping because of you.” He tightened his grip on her arm. She’d have bruises there for certain. He dragged her toward a small house on the hill, the overseer’s house.

  Enough of being conciliatory. “That’s because you whipped me. You big jerk.”

  “Jerk am I?” He snarled and tugged her arm up behind her, wrenching her shoulder painfully, and grabbed her face with his dirty fingers. “You’ll pay.” He whispered the words, which made them all the more frightening.

  She struggled, but it only made him hold her more roughly. He moved his mouth closer and closer to hers. Her stomach clenched. He was going to kiss her. When his mouth was only an inch or so away and she could smell his dirty teeth and onion breath, he whispered, “Oh, I’m not going to kiss you yet, don’t get all excited. There’s plenty of time for that. But then again, why make you wait, when you so obviously want me.”

  Oh, hell no. She wasn’t sure particularly what he had planned, but she was having none of it.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound at all came out before he had actually planted his mouth on hers. She squirmed, but he only held her tighter. She brought up her knee, to get him in the crotch, a move she’d seen often on TV and in movies but had never had reason to employ herself, but that proved physically impossible with all the hoops and layers of skirts.

  Finally he released her mouth, and she tasted blood on her lip where he’d bit her.

  “Don’t try to scream again, or you’ll be sorry.”

  She was pretty sure she’d be sorry if she didn’t scream, but she had no breath with which to even whisper yet.

  Wilkins let go of her face and grabbed hold of both her arms so quickly that she wasn’t even aware he was going to do it until he already had both hands behind her back and was tying them with something. A bandanna or handkerchief perhaps? Whatever it was, it didn’t bite as hard as rope probably would, but he tied them tight enough that she could already feel her fingers go cold.

  “Let me go.” She pulled her hands apart, but it only made the knot tighter. There’d been some video o
n Facebook awhile back on how to get out of a situation like this. Too bad she hadn’t watched it.

  He propelled her forward and soon she was in his house. He pushed her down onto the floor, and she cried out. She’d be a mass of bruises tomorrow, if she lived that long. She was face down and managed to turn herself over. With her hands behind her back, it was hard to maneuver. He stood over her, his hands on his belt, leering at her. If he came closer, she would kick him. And she would scream. And spit. Anything to keep him from raping her. But then he moved his hands from his pants and gave her an evil grin.

  “No, that can wait. There’s plenty of time. And anticipation is half the fun, don’t you agree?”

  “No.” She spat the word at him.

  “You’re like an alley cat.” He didn’t seem bothered by that. “I look forward to subduing you.”

  “You won’t—” He shoved a bandanna into her mouth and tied it tight behind her head before she finished her sentence. The cloth bit into the sides of her mouth. She wouldn’t be screaming now. That must mean he anticipated she would want to. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  She tried to kick him, but her skirts and tied hands really limited her mobility.

  “None of that now.” Next thing she knew he was sitting on her legs, tying her ankles together.

  Tears pricked her eyes. There was no reason Sam would come looking for her, and when he did, he certainly would have no reason to look here. If she was going to get away, it would have to be on her own.

  Her muscles tensed waiting for a blow she was sure would come. But instead she heard the door open and close, and she realized she’d been left alone on the floor. This was unexpected.

  She lay still for a moment letting her heartbeat go back to normal and assessed her situation.

  She was in a combination front room and kitchen. A fire was banked in the hearth; a pot of what smelled like stew hung over the embers. A table and chairs took up much of the center of the room. Perhaps there was a knife of some sort around, and she could manage to free herself. She struggled and wiggled until she was able to sit up. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but better than lying on the ground like an upside down turtle. She stretched and craned her neck and did see a knife on the table, but unless she could stand, she wasn’t sure she could get it. And she didn’t see any way of standing. Maybe she could knock it off the table and then somehow get a hold of it and then manage to free herself.