Plantation Nation (9781621352877) (4 page)

Emma checked her face in the mirror and went
pale. Her long, dark hair lacked its sheen, and her nourished build
looked scrawny and defeated. Her busted lip and bruised chin were
still healing, but Emma was convinced no amount of ruffles or rouge
would save her appearance that night.

"At least Stuart will be there tonight,"
Sylvia said.

Yes, Emma thought. Knowing her favorite
cousin would be there for support, and mischief, gave Emma a sense
of relief. Of course, she would have to tell Stuart about Basil and
all that had happened, if word hadn't reached him yet. Stuart had
warned her months ago about her endeavor to teach Basil to read,
but she knew Stuart would understand her grief.

"Emma," Sylvia hesitated, "why don't you like
Vaughn?"

Before she answered, Emma gave it careful
thought. She refused to burden her twelve-year-old sister with the
truth. Wealthy and handsome, Vaughn was also shallow and
self-serving. He only showed interest in Emma because she wanted
nothing to do with him. Marrying Vaughn would take Emma off
Olivia's hands, liberating her from a disagreeable daughter. But
how did one skip the dramatics and veil her distaste for Vaughn
Jackson?

"His nose it too big," Emma remarked, causing
her and Sylvia to laugh. "And I don't care for the way he eats his
food. It's almost like watching a horse at his trough." Giggles
struck both of them.

"Well, I'm delighted that you're in such fine
spirits." Olivia stood at the threshold to Emma's room. The sight
of their mother dissolved their laughter. "Vaughn will be pleased
as well."

Emma felt certain her mother's cheeks looked
rosier than usual. How Emma wished she had glimpsed her mother's
horrified countenance earlier that morning, when she spread her
curtains and George Napier's backside greeted her. Fortunately,
Emma's imagination served her well.

"I would suggest that you be more mindful of
that dress, young lady." Olivia scowled at Sylvia. "I want nothing
to spoil this evening." She turned her subtle yet blazing glare to
Emma. "And I do mean nothing."

Emma produced a faint smile but made no
audible promises.

****

As scores of friends and relatives migrated
to the Cartwright estate that evening and transitioned smoothly
from carriages to lawn, receiving superfluous hospitality and
refreshments, Olivia's hopes for a successful gathering had
manifested
—
until the arrival of
Montgomery Jackson. He leapt from his carriage before it came to a
complete stop. A dangerous feat for a man of his girth. Pushing
through a throng of guests, he waved the latest edition of the
Charleston Mercury
and shouted forth the headline.

"War has begun! The war is upon us! War is at
hand!" Monty favored white tailored suits year-round. The color
complimented his wiry whiskers, but the buttons on his undershirt
and coat endured the utmost stress from Monty's sizable middle.

The Cartwright family poured onto the front
porch. The four younger children, Annabelle, Preston, Pierce, and
Sylvia were not as disturbed as their older siblings. Alexander,
Quinn, and Emma knew the outbreak of war meant their very
livelihood could be at stake. Months of suppertime conversations
and evening porch chats had been dedicated, dashed, or dominated
with mention of war. Olivia appeared on the brink of fainting while
Knox took the news with stoic calm.

"Where'd it start, Mr. Jackson?" Quinn
asked.

"Fort Sumter. Our boys fired the first shot.
I'm sure you've heard tell of them Billy Yanks taking control of
the fort since our secession. Well, General Beauregard done figured
those cowards had been hiding in there long enough. Wasn't hardly
what you might call a battle of any sort. A few men were wounded
but none killed from the crossfire, and the Union made its first
surrender." Montgomery handed the newspaper to Knox, who became
surrounded by his family.

The rest of the Jackson family stepped from
the carriage. Vaughn emerged after his stepmother, looking as
dashing and arrogant as ever. Unlike most men, Vaughn kept his face
clean-shaven as he preferred to show off his sharp jaw line. Having
had his portrait done several times, he was accustomed to posing
and receiving compliments for his striking countenance. Charming
ladies and coaxing them from their undergarments were primary among
his talents. He found Emma's face among the population of
Cartwrights and flashed a wry smile.

Unamused, Emma lifted her chin and pretended
to concentrate on the newspaper. To her, little difference existed
between Vaughn Jackson and George Napier.

Surprisingly, George appeared from the side
of the house. Limping and slow going, he made his way onto the
porch. He avoided eye contact with Emma and the rest of the clan,
focusing instead on Knox.

"What's all the fuss about?" George scratched
his legs. Emma assumed his legs were covered with mosquito bites.
Along with his hind end.

"War, Mr. Napier. Looks like we had best
enjoy our evening while we can. There's much discussion to be had,
for I believe great change will be thrust upon us."

****

To a degree, Emma regretted not being
truthful with her sister about Vaughn. Had she taken the time to
release some of her contempt toward him, perhaps her evening would
have been more tolerable seated beside him at the supper table. His
hand slinked around her waist several times, and his eyes attempted
to venture a peek down the front of Emma's dress. Instinct told her
to gouge him with her fork, but she exercised supreme
self-control.

To distract herself, Emma scanned the dinner
table. Across from her sat Stella, aglow and fawning over her
pregnant belly. Emma shuddered. Could such a fate soon be hers?
Dawson, Stella's husband, with his friendly face and broad smile,
had trouble keeping his eyes off his wife. Other guests included
the usual aunts, uncles, and cousins Emma had grown up with, though
she was beginning to lose track of all the new additions to the
family. The younger brood, which happened to include Sylvia and her
twin brothers, had been banished to a separate parlor for their
meal.

The night's main menu, low country boil,
married Creole crab with local shrimp. Olivia's nod to her
upbringing and her subtle theme of combining cultures was not lost
on Emma. Naturally, Olivia knew Emma despised shrimp and ignored
the disgruntled leer her daughter sent her between courses. Slices
of venison and smoked ham hocks joined the feast, along with a
bounty of vegetables.

Feeling suffocated by the idle chatter
surrounding her, Emma felt a pinch of relief when Stuart and his
family finally arrived. He maneuvered into a spot next to Emma, and
they exchanged greetings. Vaughn sulked as the two dove into
conversation.

Stuart leaned in toward Emma so only she
could hear him. "Have you seen this?" He showed her an edition of
Harper's Weekly
, a northern newspaper publication that
included a declaration of war from Lincoln and a call for
seventy-five thousand volunteers for the Union army.

Emma shook her head as the enormity of the
situation sank in. The very mention of Abraham Lincoln at the
supper table would spark a flurry of vehement remarks. Emma felt
neither hatred nor admiration for Mr. Lincoln. She wondered how
deep his dedication ran to end slavery. Was he a man of great
morals, or a man who had been elected at the most inconvenient
period in history?

"If I had my legs," Stuart said, "I would go
and join the Union army in an instant." His eyes slipped to his
wheelchair. At the age of two, Stuart had endured a near-death bout
with an illness that claimed two of his siblings. His survival had
been scarred by the paralysis of his legs. What he lacked in
ambulatory skills, though, Stuart made up for in cleverness. Being
confined to his chair, he made good use of his hands, sketching,
reading, and crafting devices that increased his utility. One such
object was a hook fastened to the eyepiece of telescope. Stuart
could extend it and reach for items on tables and shelves. Though
it often resulted in said items tumbling into his lap, Stuart felt
more useful around the house. In recent months, Emma had assisted
while Stuart tinkered with iron rods, hoping to craft leg braces.
He playfully ribbed that his small inventions might one day surpass
the notoriety of Eli Whitney's cotton gin.

His zeal for inventions matched his passion
for abolishing slavery. When he could, Stuart, much like Franklin
had done, contributed to Emma's forbidden reading materials.
Leaflets, small books, news of Senate debates, and even a copy of
Uncle Tom's Cabin
passed from him to Emma and helped nourish
her awareness of various viewpoints and the political pulse of the
country.

Emma squeezed his hand briefly and
sympathized with his disappointment. She and Stuart both believed
in not dwelling on unfortunate circumstances, especially ones they
could do nothing about. She thought about Basil but resolved not to
speak of it until they had a moment alone, in case her emotions got
the best of her.

"Could you do it?" she asked. "Could you
really go and fight with the Yankees?" She surprised herself,
sounding like Alexander or Quinn.

Stuart looked at her with a steady gaze. "I
hate that my dead legs tell me what I can and can't do."

Emma let that sink in. She had never focused
on his limitations, but Stuart was right. Like a slave, Stuart was
trapped by circumstances he could not alter. Emma struggled to find
words of encouragement, but Montgomery Jackson made a point of
speaking loud enough to drown out all other conversations.

"I do rightly declare, Ms. Olivia, that was
the finest venison I've had in a spell." Montgomery reared back in
his seat, satisfied and straining those buttons.

"Well, I'm afraid I don't deserve your kind
gratitude, Mr. Jackson. You'll be beholden to Alexander here. His
outstanding hunting skills brought this addition to the table."

"Indeed?" Monty turned to Alexander, who
replied with a curt nod.

Contempt flashed across Quinn's face. Emma
wondered if only she noticed. Quinn had yet to bring down a deer,
or any wildlife for that matter.

"Job well done, young man," Monty continued.
"If you're as fine a shot as all that, I believe you should
consider volunteering your skills to the Confederate army. Gonna
need some outstanding men like yourself."

"You sound eager to send our boys off,
Monty," Knox said, puffing his pipe.

"We haven't time to waste, Knox. Now, I know
you're a man who likes to bide his time and take care with his
decisions, but we must act accordingly, and while this tide is in
our favor. There's word of a blockade on all Southern ports."

Knox listened, but no reaction registered
upon him. "Is that so?"

Montgomery nodded. "That's bound to cause a
mess o' trouble, especially come harvest time. How will we get our
cotton and rice to Europe?" He lectured about each southern man's
duty to protect his homeland and way of life. The Cartwrights had
heard the same from Knox, and it appeared that a united Southern
front was highly contagious.

"I am to believe then, Vaughn, that you have
already signed up and committed to this cause?"

Vaughn cleared his throat. "Not at the
present moment, sir, no. Currently my attention, as well as my
heart-felt devotion, is set on changing my marital status and
wooing this lovely granddaughter of yours." Vaughn took Emma's hand
into his and pressed it to his cheek. Slick cheeks to match his
slick manners, Emma thought. She flashed a shy, pensive grin for
the sake of her relatives while she daydreamed of yanking her hand
from his touch.

Unable to stomach Vaughn's phony sentiment
and the "awws" that oozed from the dinner guests, Emma dropped her
gaze to her lap, while Pierce and Preston snickered and fired their
pea-shooter from another room. Ammo struck Vaughn in the side of
his head, causing the twins to chuckle.

"Boys, please," Olivia said. "We're at the
dinner table."

"I'm encouraging Vaughn to step into politics
with me." Montgomery finished his third serving of gin-spiked punch
and proudly slammed down his glass. "Why, Lord knows we'll need all
the common sense we can corral against that black-republican in the
White House and his talking heads. And with Senator Brooks no
longer serving in Congress, who's going to give those Yanks a good
beating when they need one?"

Montgomery and several others laughed while
recalling the 1856 thrashing of Senator Charles Sumner, a senator
from Massachusetts. Two days after Sumner delivered a malicious
speech,
The Barbarism of Slavery
, in which he slandered
Senator Andrew Butler, a relative of South Carolina's own
representative, Preston Brooks, Brooks assaulted Sumner with his
metal walking cane on the Senate floor. Brooks continued to serve
in the Senate until his death in 1857, while Sumner required three
years to recuperate.

"I abhor violence," Knox said over their
merriment.

A hush fell over the guests, and Montgomery
fought embarrassment, having let the Uprising and the loss of
Thomas slip his mind.

"However," Knox spoke with the tip of his
pipe tucked into the corner of his mouth, "I am certain this
conflict over states' rights is about to be settled once and for
all, and it will boil down to a matter of sheer brawn. Way I see it
right now, though, the North has some mighty advantages."

The men around the table, Alexander and Quinn
included, perked up, but Montgomery was first to ask, "Such
as?"

"The railroads. A great deal of those tracks
are laid up North. Could make for some trouble for a number of
reasons. Then there's the navy, or our downright lack of one here
in these parts. It's doubtful we can provide much resistance
against that blockade you mentioned. Fightin' vessels are
manufactured up North
—
along with
firearms and other weaponry. Telegraph lines run mostly in the
North. In some respects, the odds are stacked against us."