The Northeast Bastion of Fort Fisher
How long do you plan to keep us here like muskrats?”
Cold, wet, and faint from hunger and thirst, Jackson scooped up a mouthful of brackish black water and spit it out.
“Until I know those Yankee sailors went back to their boats. Just keep your head down and your mouth shut.” The sergeant spat a stream of brown juice into the murky water.
How the man managed to keep his plug of tobacco during a maelstrom of artillery and swarming Yankees with bloodlust in their eyes remained a mystery. Jackson rubbed his eyes to stop the images of men dying. He would never forget the human cruelty he witnessed. He could handle shooting a man from twenty paces away. The poor soul usually crumpled to the ground to await death or an eventual stretcher bearer. But what Jackson had witnessed on the blood-stained grounds of Fort Fisher left him weak-kneed and nauseated. Nothing in life could have prepared him for so much bloodshed, and nothing would ever replace this as the worst day of his life.
“We’ve been sitting in this tree for almost two days,” he said wearily, stretching out his legs.
“You’re just a corporal. I’m the one givin’ orders round here, Henthorne.”
“Yes, sir. But if we don’t find good water to drink soon, we’ll drop over dead from dehydration.”
“The rest of you boys got something to say ’bout this?” The sergeant swiveled around to two privates in uniforms so covered with mud, their loyalties would be unrecognizable.
“Can’t stay here another night, sir.” The taller of the two drawled. “Them bloodsuckers just ’bout ate us alive.”
“What exactly you got in mind, Corporal?” asked his equally emaciated companion.
Jackson looked to his sergeant, a gap-toothed boor of a man. If this was the typical caliber of Confederate officers, the end could be near for their Glorious Cause. “With your permission, sir.”
“By all means, Henthorne. Tell us your humble opinion after three stinkin’ weeks as a soldier.”
Jackson ignored the barb. “If I were in charge of this outfit, I would head toward higher ground. Once we’re away from the sea, we should find water and may locate the rest of our company.”
“Maybe they’s all dead,” said one young private.
“We’re not the last ones standing,” the sergeant snapped. “Regiments will regroup upriver to give it another go. We’ll keep fightin’ till they kill every last one of us, but that ain’t gonna be today. So I’m of a mind to take your advice, Henthorne. Why don’t you lead the way since you’re so eager to leave our little hidey-hole?”
Jackson nodded but dispensed with a salute. After watching his superior officer in battle, he had little respect for the man. Sergeant Womack spent more time positioning himself out of harm’s way than shooting and reloading. Jackson had shot his share of Yankees and would have continued until a bullet found its way to him. But when an explosion blew open their shelter, the sergeant ordered them through the breech in a hail of gunfire. With men dropping to their knees on both sides of him, Jackson tried not to step on fallen comrades. Blindly he followed his superior officer into a maritime wilderness, running from the inevitable collapse of Fort Fisher.
Sergeant Womack’s new order was no particular honor. Leading them up the peninsula made him an easy target for Yankee sharpshooters who loved to pick off Rebel stragglers. But Jackson would rather take his chances than spend another night in that bug-infested tree.
They slogged for hours until finally gaining higher ground as the moon rose over a shimmering Atlantic Ocean. They had encountered no Yankee patrols. Their enemies had either returned to the gunboats anchored around the mouth of the river or were celebrating their victory in the newly acquired fort. But Jackson’s joy in avoiding capture and a federal prison camp was soon eclipsed by the view out to sea. Sitting off the coast, surrounded by the Union navy, was a familiar-looking blockade runner. From her sleek lines and exquisite details, Jackson knew for certain it was the Roanoke. While he stood frozen on a bluff of land, the Roanoke went up in flames and thick, black smoke.
“Looky there.” The sergeant pointed one blunt finger. “Who’d ever reckon one of those iron boats could catch fire?”
Jackson stared mutely for a full minute before responding. “Anything will burn after being hit by cannon shot or if it triggers a water mine. What doesn’t burn will soon sink to the bottom of the sea.” Without visible emotion, he delivered the information like a schoolmarm speaking to her pupils. Same as his companions, Jackson watched the Roanoke curiously as half his earthly fortune burned out of control. Why mention that it was his ship providing their entertainment and give the sergeant another reason to despise him? Womack already resented that he entered the service a corporal instead of a private, as though one level of rank made much difference to pay, or whether or not a man lived to see another day.
The contents of my pay envelope will be little consolation, he thought as the crow’s nest crashed into the flaming hull. It was an inglorious conclusion to a reckless investment.
“Let’s keep moving. Show’s over.”
The sergeant’s bark pulled Jackson from his trance, and then they set out again on a meandering course north that crossed marshland, sandy floodplains, and skirted around treacherous bogs that could suck a man into a gruesome death. They ate what little remained in their knapsacks and foraged for berries and edible roots. One of the untidy privates knew which plants could be eaten and which would wreak havoc from just touching the leaves. The men caught rainwater in their caps until they found fresh water. The rushing stream seemed like a mirage after days of walking through tidal pools.
Without much military experience, several days passed before Jackson realized Sergeant Womack was carefully avoiding contact with all troops, friend or foe. The two brothers from Macon seemed content to wander wherever their commander decreed, but after choosing a dry place to sleep on the third night, Jackson decided it was the time to ask questions.
“I would have thought we’d find the Confederate encampment by now. Surely General Bragg intends to regroup and make another stand against the bluecoats.”
Womack pulled an insect from his grizzled beard. “Reckon that’s what General Bragg plans to do.” He imbued the commander’s name with blatant contempt. “But as far as I’m concerned, Corporal Henthorne, I don’t give a rat’s arse what General Bragg intends to do.” He imbued Jackson’s surname with almost as much disdain.
Womack consulted his compass. “I figure if we keep moving north, sooner or later the river will narrow down and get shallow enough to cross. Then we’ll be off this infernal peninsula and back on the mainland. I plan to head west and south, keeping out of sight the best I can. By the time I get home to South Carolina, this war should be just about over. Nobody’s gonna count on their fingers what day I left the army. I’ll tell them I caught me a fast-moving train.”
“You intend to desert?”
“You could call it that, rich planter boy.” Cocking his revolver, Womack aimed it at Jackson’s chest. “Or we could just say I’m letting you finish my enlistment, seeing that you’re one of our newer recruits. Can’t imagine what business was so important that it took you nigh on four years to do your duty.”
The gun barrel didn’t waver. He could end Jackson’s life with the twitch of an index finger.
Jackson slowly lifted his palms from his knees. “There’s no sense getting all riled up over a harmless question.” His languid drawl masked his fear. “I’m simply curious about your plans, that’s all. I judge no man for their past or future deeds.” He forced himself to meet the sergeant’s eye.
“I might be willing to let you live if you give your word as a gentleman to keep your mouth shut.”
“On my honor and on the graves of Henthorne ancestors, I will speak to no one about this.”
Womack considered his pledge and then aimed his weapon at the brothers. “What ’bout you two?”
They exchanged a glance. “If it’s all the same, we’d like to tag along with you, Sarge, seeing that South Carolina is in the same general direction as Georgia.”
Womack grunted before turning back to Jackson. “And you, Henthorne? Do you intend to head toward the river to find what’s left of our army or are you comin’ with us?”
“Let me mull this over and give you an answer in the morning. Either way, don’t worry about my overzealous loyalty to General Hoke. As you succinctly pointed out, my enlistment has been a scant three weeks.”
Once his comrades had bedded down for the night, Jackson stared off into the brush, deeply cloaked in shadows. In his mind’s eye he saw his father’s plantation. Not faded and overgrown as it was now, Oakdale sat like a polished jewel in the middle of fields of peanut plants. Abigail sat on the verandah stitching some tiny garment for his son or daughter. People there bathed, changed their clothes, and led civilized lives. He came to the conclusion the Georgia brothers had been dirty before the battle had even begun. In the morning, after a restless night of weighing honor against practicality, dignity against his overwhelming intuition the Yankees would soon control the Cape Fear River, Jackson made up his mind.
“I’m coming with you boys until we get to Wilmington. My folks have a farm about a day’s ride from there. I’ll hole up in the city for a while.” He didn’t mention the word “plantation” or refer to his mansion in the city. No sense giving the sergeant a reason to shoot him in the back.
“Suit yourself, Corporal. Don’t make no never-mind to me.” Womack spat tobacco juice into the dirt.
All day they followed a rutted wagon track north, close to the river. They kept off the road, lest patrolling militiamen drag them back to the army or shoot them as deserters. That evening, when the sun dipped low in the sky, the other three bade him farewell and waited for their opportune moment to swim to Eagle Island unseen. Jackson continued north until the familiar landmarks of his hometown appeared. Only then did he assess his present physical state. No one would recognize him for the wealthy man he was. Or at least, the wealthy man he used to be. Memories of the Roanoke burning in grand spectacle churned his empty gut.
Knowing Abigail would be appalled to see him like this, he chose Third Street as his destination. He would bathe, don clean clothes, and burn his uniform in the fireplace. Then he could leave for Oakdale after a good night’s sleep in his own bed. Surely Salome left something behind to eat when she packed up the kitchen. After the past few days, he wouldn’t be too particular.
It was a little past dawn when Jackson trudged up the oyster shell driveway of home. Glancing down at his muddy boots, he chose the back door, half a dozen steps below ground level, and entered a warm kitchen. He’d assumed the room would be empty.
“Master Henthorne!” Three voices chimed in unison from the trestle table.
Jackson stared at Amos, Salome, and Thomas in succession. “What are you doing here? Why haven’t you gone to the plantation with Mrs. Henthorne?”
“Mistress Henthorne is upstairs sleeping, sir.” Amos was first to respond as he helped Jackson off with his wet coat.
“Why on earth didn’t you take her to Oakdale as I instructed?” He posed this question to Thomas.
Salome bustled toward him with a cup of water. “We were of a mind to leave come that morning, all packed up and ready. But your baby had other ideas. He made up his mind to be born, but then took almost two full days to get ’round to it.”
Relieved of his outerwear, Jackson slumped into a chair to pry off his boots. “Did you say he?”
“I did, sir. You got yourself a strong, healthy son with quite a set of lungs on him.”
Jackson grasped the table for support. “And Abigail—how is my wife?”
Salome patted his back as if he were a small child. “Miz Henthorne be just fine. We was sure glad to see Miz Dunn that day, sir. ’Tween the two of us, we handled the situation fine.”
“Miss Dunn? She’s here too?” He shook his head as though waking from a dream. I have a son my sister-in-law helped deliver? He was too exhausted to process the information. “I thought she sailed back to England.”
“She told Miz Henthorne she was not going anywhere until her new niece or nephew was born.”
Jackson struggled to his feet. “I want to see my wife…and the baby.”
“No, sir, Master Henthorne,” said Salome, shaking her head vigorously. “You’ll scare her the way you look. Thomas will fill the giant washtub with hot water, and Amos will find you clean clothes to wear. You need a bath and a shave, if you don’t mind my saying so. And I’m gonna cook you up a breakfast that’ll stick to your ribs.”
Jackson felt a wave of relief that decisions were being made for him. “Thank you, Salome, all of you, for taking care of my family.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Just so you know, Mr. Henthorne, we ain’t slaves no more. Miz Henthorne told us we’re paid workers. She just don’t know how much to pay us yet.”
“That should have been done long ago.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, overwhelmed by fatigue, hunger, and worry. He had to bite his lip and hold his breath to keep from crying in front of his new domestic employees.
“Well, it’s done now.” She walked into the pantry as Amos and Thomas left to do their tasks. Jackson was left alone in the kitchen, savoring for the first time the true meaning of home, family, and loyalty.
But his solitude was short lived. He heard the soft patter of feet on the steps, and then his wife stepped into the kitchen.
“My word, Jackson! It is you at long last,” Abigail said breathlessly.
“I-I was told you were sleeping,” he said softly, taking a step toward her.
“I was, dear heart, but I thought I heard your voice coming through the vents in the floor and had to check.” Abigail shifted the tiny bundle in her arms. “I told myself it was just my imagination, but here you are.” Her voice turned raspy.
“I wanted to come to you right away, my love, but Salome told me to wait until my appearance was more presentable.” He grimaced as he slicked a hand through his dirty hair.
His wife stared at him for a long moment, her eyes glistening. “Your appearance, untidy as it may be, erases every worry from my mind, every burden on my heart.” Her sudden smile shone like the sun. “Don’t just stand there, husband. Come kiss me and then say hello to your son. I named him Jackson, but Mandy and I have been calling him Jacky.”
No matter how he bit his lip or held his breath, tears streamed down Jackson’s face as he viewed his son for the first time. As unworthy a man as any could be, God had answered each one of his prayers.
Early in the morning of February 21, 1865, a bedraggled Nathaniel Cooper knocked on the door of the Simses’ residence on Castle Street. His brow dripped sweat, his muscles ached, and hunger made his gut clench. Because he no longer rented a room there, he waited on the stoop for someone to rouse from their bed.
A wan-looking Odom opened the door as Ruth hovered behind his shoulder. “Nate! Why didn’t you just come in? We don’t stand on ceremony here, son.” Odom almost dragged him across the threshold.
Nate could have hugged his former landlord instead of shaking his hand. “I didn’t know if you would entertain a guest wearing this color uniform.”
“Shucks. We know your heart. That’s what’s important.”
Ruth didn’t bother asking whether he was hungry. Instead, she swiftly mixed batter for flapjacks while her skillet heated up. “Ain’t your brother with you, Nathaniel?” she asked softly.
“No, ma’am. I’ve been sent into Wilmington with a detail to alert the citizens. Joshua and what’s left of our regiment are trying to move artillery so it doesn’t fall into Union hands.” He gratefully accepted a cup of coffee, sweet and thick with cream.
“What’s the news?” Odom practically forced him down onto a chair with a gentle hand.
“None of it is good for the South. Fort Anderson fell to the Yankees. We’ve been routed from the Sugar Loaf as well. Admiral Porter’s gunboats have moved up the river within range of Wilmington. When they retreated from Fort Anderson, they burned the bridges over Town Creek and the Brunswick River. Those bridges and our cavalry will slow the Yankees down some, but we can’t stop them.” He gazed from one of his friends to the other.
Young Rufus crept from the staircase, wide-eyed and frightened without knowing why. “Hullo, Mr. Nate,” he said.
Odom folded his hands on the table. “Will there be a battle on the city streets? Have you come to warn us?”
Nate smiled at the boy before answering. “Probably not, but you should pack everything you value and leave at once. Braxton Bragg has ordered Wilmington evacuated.”
“What does ‘vacuated’ mean?” asked Rufus, his eyes soulful.
“It means ‘leave the city.’ For now staying would be unwise, but you’ll be able to come back someday.”
“Come along, young man,” said Ruth, setting a plate of food in front of Nate. “Let’s go upstairs and pack our clothes.” With a firm hand she guided the boy from the room.
“There won’t be fighting here.” Nate continued once he and Odom were alone. “At least, not much. But we have no choice but to surrender the city. There are too many Yankees with too much artillery.”
“Why should we leave, Nathaniel? The Union army should have no truck with us.”
“Our commanding officer ordered the cotton and tobacco warehouses burned, along with the foundries and any ships tied in the harbor. Bragg doesn’t want them falling into enemy hands.”
“All of Mr. Henthorne’s warehouses?” asked Odom.
“Yes, and everyone else’s too. If his ships are in port they will be destroyed.”
“All that waste.” Odom shook his head sadly.
“I’m surprised you would take pity on a slaver.” Nate began eating ravenously.
“I harbor no hatred and wish no ill on any man.”
“I would warn Henthorne, but I don’t know where he is. There’s nothing he can do anyway.” Nate dropped his chin to his chest. “The storehouses and mercantiles are to be burned as well.”
“Not your store?” Odom slapped a palm on the table.
“I’m afraid so, but it’s time for me to change careers anyway.” Nate gobbled up the last bite of his food. “Let’s pack your tools into the wagon and hitch the horses. You need to leave as soon as you can.”
Odom stood. “We’ll go live with Ruth’s sister until this blows over. You’re welcome to join us, son.”
“Thank you, my friend, but I must remain to make sure people understand what’s coming.” Nate offered his hand again, but Odom wrapped his arms around him.
“Make sure you’re gone before the Yankees arrive. Keep yourself alive for when Miss Amanda comes back.”
Nate couldn’t speak. His throat burned with emotion. These three kind people had been like family to him since he arrived on the Carolina coast. “I aim to do my best.”
Once Odem and his family were packed up and gone, Nate allowed himself a long howl of frustration. Then he returned to the business at hand—pounding on doors and preparing citizens for the inevitable.
By the time he worked his way down to Water Street, further endeavor had become unnecessary. Clouds of black, acrid smoke poured from the rooftops of the warehouses on Walnut. The streets were filled with wagons, horses, and people carrying belongings strapped to their backs. Pandemonium reigned on the waterfront. Yet despite the panic and smoke-filled air, Nate fought his way to his beloved market. He arrived just as the roof—his roof—fell with a thunderous clash, sending sparks and flames twenty feet into the air.
“Great Scott, Cooper! What are you doing on the waterfront?”
Nate slowly turned to see Jackson, dapper in civilian clothing, astride his gelding. “It should be obvious, Henthorne. I am bearing witness to the destruction of my business.”
“I am aware that your shop is on fire.” Jackson struggled to control his horse. The smoke filling the beast’s nostrils turned him skittish. “So are my cotton and tobacco warehouses. We’ll suffer financially to be sure, but we must move swiftly to protect those who matter most.” The horse reared, almost unseating the rider.
It took Nate a moment to pull his gaze from the inferno. “What are you talking about?”
“There is no telling how far this fire will spread. If it reaches Third Street, our womenfolk and my new son will be in danger.”
Nate took several steps back from the intense heat. “Then stop jaw-boning with me and move Miss Abigail and your son to safety.” The knowledge that Henthorne now had an heir sent a jealous rage through his blood. Would he ever know the happiness of hearth and home with the woman he loved? “Congratulations on your new son.” He forced himself to speak the words.
“Much obliged, but I didn’t come here for that. I promised my sister-in-law I would check to see if by some miracle you had come back to the harbor. And here you are. Let’s go, Cooper. Climb up behind me.” Jackson removed his foot from the stirrup and offered a hand.
Nate grabbed the bridle of the prancing horse. “What are you talking about? Amanda went back to England—”
“You have much to learn about stubborn women if you think that. She saw her maid off in Washington and then returned to Wilmington. She helped deliver our baby.”
With his head swimming with confusion, Nate doubled over in a coughing jag. Amanda is here in this melee with the Yankees breathing down our necks? When he was finally able to speak again, Nate looked at Jackson, all pride and anger gone. “She’s truly here?”
“I have no reason to lie to you. Apparently, she feels the same about you that you do for her.” Henthorne extended his hand a second time. “Please, let’s get away from the waterfront. I would welcome your help in moving the ladies to safety.”
Nate jammed his boot into the stirrup and swung up smoothly. The horse reared again, annoyed by the additional weight. As Jackson tightened his grip on the reins, Nate hung on for dear life. Once the horse’s hooves met the cobblestones, they took off through smoky lanes and alleys, away from the spreading inferno. In the courtyard behind the Henthorne mansion, Nate slid off the horse.
Jackson dismounted and threw the reins to Thomas. “Give him a good rub, and when he cools down, give him water and a bucket of oats, and then harness him to the coach.”
Nate followed Henthorne in through the kitchen. Unbelievably, inconceivably, Amanda was packing food into a hamper at the table. Abigail sat on a bench, discretely nursing an infant under a coverlet.
“Amanda,” he croaked.
“Nate!” she cried, dropping a jar with a clatter.
Abigail rose to her feet with the baby in the crook of her elbow. “Oh, I’m glad you found him, Jackson! Will you help me finish upstairs while these two get reacquainted?”
“Very well, but you both need to be brief.”
Nate shook off his astonishment as his mission came roaring back to him. “Braxton Bragg has surrendered the city. We must leave at once.”
“We’ll be down in fifteen minutes. Everything else is ready to go.” Jackson set his arm around his wife and guided her toward the steps.
Suddenly Nate was alone with his beloved. Facing the Union infantry swarming the fort had been less intimidating. “No one should impede our flight until tomorrow…” he stammered.
“’Tis a blessing, then.” Amanda took hold of the hamper handles.
“I assume Henthorne wishes to take you and Miss Abigail to Oakdale.”
“Not anymore. He sent Salome and Amos ahead with the Henthorne heirlooms and planned for us to follow in the coach. Although he’s certain they got through, a neighbor reported that Union troops have closed the road.”
Nate nodded. “Will he head down the peninsula? My plot of land is there. I started a cabin, but I haven’t progressed very far.”
She smiled as though pleased. “Jackson intends to find the Lady Adelaine if he can reach her. His ship is anchored in a hidden inlet downriver.”
Nate nodded a second time as a plan knit together in his mind. “I know of an old farm trace we can take. I’m not sure where his ship is, but there’s a good chance I can get us close to it without being detected by Yankee soldiers.”
Silence spun out as they both digested what they learned. Then Nate lifted his gaze and prayed for her to do the same.
First their eyes met and then their hearts. They ran into each other’s arms, hugging and kissing and hugging some more. Each whispered sweet endearments they wouldn’t want anyone else to overhear. Amanda chastised him for joining a dangerous war, while he scolded her for not leaving during the darkest days of America’s illustrious history. All the while they continued to hug and kiss, making up for lost time, until someone cleared their throat behind them.
Dressed in traveling cloaks, the Henthornes stood in the doorway. “Are you two ready to go?” asked Abigail with mischief in her voice.
Nate withdrew from Amanda, but only to arm’s length. “Yes, ma’am, I believe we are. By the way, congratulations on your new son.” He bowed in Abigail’s general direction.
“Thank you,” she said as Jackson herded them outside. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up once we reach the Lady Adelaine.”
“Then let’s get started,” Nate and Amanda replied simultaneously.
Nate left the mansion with his hand wrapped around Amanda’s. Although he was still a private in the Confederate army, getting the woman he loved safely out of a burning city was more important than anything else.
Amanda paused to pick up her valise on their way out the door. In a fortuitous turn of events, it had arrived by teamster wagon that morning. Mr. Bobby Waite had been true to his word.
“Let me carry that,” Nate said as he pulled the handle from her fingers.
“Much obliged,” she murmured, her stomach tightening from his touch. Considering the events of the last few weeks, Amanda feared the gentle shopkeeper with a knack for turning a phrase would never be the same. Nor would she.
Out in the courtyard, Jackson took charge. “The women will ride inside the compartment with Jacky and the food we’re taking. You and I will ride topside with Thomas,” he said to Nate.
“Jacky?” asked Nate, strapping Amanda’s valise to the back.
Abigail paused on the coach’s step and smiled over her shoulder. “Jackson Jr., but Jacky seems appropriate for now. You look exhausted, Mr. Cooper. We could make room for you inside.”
Nate shook his head. “Your husband needs me to guide us to the river trace, assuming that the roads I remember are still open. Are you sure we can’t reach Oakdale?” he asked Henthorne.
“I am. The Yankees will confiscate the horses, carriage, and food, leaving us along the road to fend for ourselves. You, they will shoot with that uniform. Why not change into civilian clothes?”
The two men locked eyes. “I will not,” said Nate.
“Suit yourself. We’ll head in the direction the Yankees came from, hopefully not on the same roads. Do you agree, Cooper?”
“I do. Let’s get going.” Nate climbed up beside the coachman.
Jackson latched the door closed behind Amanda. “You ladies keep the windows shut and the curtains closed. I don’t know how rough the road will be or what sights we’ll pass along the way.”
“As you wish.” Although Amanda was happy to help Abby with little Jack, she yearned to be near Nate—to hold his hand and assure him that one day this madness would be over.
They rattled over bumpy roads for hours. When the sun set and they could no longer see ten feet in front of them, they stopped for the night. Amanda jumped down the moment the wheels stopped spinning. “What can I do to help?”
“Can you bring water from that stream for the horses?” Nate handed her a wooden bucket. “I’ll hobble them so they can graze without wandering too far.”
“Of course I can.” Amanda sprinted away as though her chore held great importance. To feel useful in any fashion pleased her. Once both horses had drunk deeply, she went in search of Nate.
He was exiting the woods with an armful of branches. “This is all fairly dry. It should get us through the night without creating much smoke.” He dumped the pile near the small fire Jackson had started with newspaper and twigs.
Abigail pulled food from the hamper, and soon they were gathered around the blaze, munching sandwiches. Amanda passed around jars of cistern water from home. With everyone tired and sore from the rough ride, there was little conversation during the meal. Longing to get a few things off her chest, Amanda tried to catch Nate’s attention.
The moment they finished eating, Jackson ordered the women back to the coach for the night. “Cooper, Thomas, and I will sleep by the fire,” he said.
Abigail rose with the baby to comply, but Amanda held up a hand in protest. “No, brother-in-law. I believe I’ll spend the first half the night out here while you rest.” She pointed at a rock close to Nate. “Midway through the night, I’ll go to the coach while you keep watch. Nate can sleep then. In the meantime, he and I have catching up to do that won’t wait.” Her tone of voice brooked no argument.
“A splendid idea.” Abigail hoisted the baby higher in her arms and reached for her husband’s hand. “If you recall, my dear, we were once young and in love.”
Jackson helped her across the uneven ground. “You and Miss Dunn are exactly the same age, and I love you just as much as—” The closing coach door obscured the remainder of his protest. Thomas looked at the two of them, and he then turned and discreetly walked off.
Amanda prayed her courage wouldn’t abandon her. “I hope you don’t mind staying awake a tad longer, but I wanted to explain why I’m still in America.” Settling primly on the rock, she smoothed her skirt over her ankles.
Nate plopped onto a log and moved his boots toward the heat. “I can remain upright long enough to listen to a few things I already know.” A grin tugged at his lips.
“And what would those be, Mr. Cooper?”
He stuck out his left thumb. “You were worried about your sister and refused to leave until her baby arrived.”
“Go on,” she encouraged.
Nate extended his index finger. “You were also worried about me and wouldn’t leave while the fighting continued.”
“Absolutely the truth on both counts. Have you a third conjecture to add? Perhaps you wish to venture a guess regarding my heart?” Amanda held her breath as she waited for his response.
His grin faded, replaced by a somber expression. “I hope you love me so much you will wait on the Lady Adelaine until I return, Amanda. That’s what I yearn to hear more than anything.”
“What? Surely you’re not going back to the army…that would be suicide! Everyone whispers that the Confederacy will soon be defeated. What difference can one man make now?” Tears collected in her eyes. “But your life makes all the difference in the world to m-me.” Amanda choked on the final word.
He knelt next to her and folded her hands in his. “If God is merciful, the war will end soon. It can’t last much longer. Then we can be together for the rest of our lives—”
She pushed him away, along with his condescension and willingness to gamble with their future. “Jackson burned his Rebel uniform in the fireplace. Burn yours here, Nate, before some Yankee shoots you.” She pointed imperiously toward the dying fire.
“I don’t judge Henthorne or any man, but I must make my own choices. Before God I gave an oath to remain loyal until the end.” Nate tossed a handful of sticks into the fire, the flickering light reflected in his eyes.
“Oooooh! You are an obstinate man!” Amanda jumped to her feet. “I had planned to beg forgiveness for my narrow-mindedness. I intended to tell you about changes I implemented at Dunn Mills and the village of Wycleft. But there is no talking to you, Mr. Cooper!” Overcome with hurt and anger, she stomped to the carriage and yanked open the door. A moment later, Jackson stumbled out, hastily buttoning his frock coat. Her brother-in-law would simply have to adjust to the change in plans because if she spent one more minute in Nate’s company, she would forget she was a well-bred, genteel Englishwoman.
The next day they found the Lady Adelaine anchored in an idyllic little cove. Because the ground was soft and muddy, they carefully concealed the coach behind briars and walked to the ship. Abigail refused to mount the horse, so Amanda rode carrying little Jack. Nate led the way, clutching the gelding’s reins tightly, followed by Jackson and Abby. Thomas brought up the rear with his double-barreled shotgun.
Several armed guards patrolling the deck looked rather surprised when they emerged from the cover of foliage. “Mr. Henthorne, I didn’t think you would arrive on foot,” called a pink-faced man with red hair. “Come aboard, sir. All’s well here. The Lady lists to the side in low tide, but she floats nicely in high.”
When Nate lifted Amanda off the horse, she murmured an embarrassed, “Thank you,” and approached the gangplank without hesitation. He followed at her heels after handing the reins to Thomas.
“Mr. Campbell, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” said Jackson. “May I present my wife, Mrs. Henthorne, and her sister, Miss Dunn?”
“How do, ma’am, miss?” Campbell doffed his cap and bobbed his head. “I trust you will find the Lady Adelaine comfortable.”
“My husband expresses everyone’s sentiments, sir. We are all glad to finally arrive from Wilmington.” Abigail extended her hand.
Campbell kissed the back of her gloved fingers lightly. “If I can be of any service, ma’am, do not hesitate to ask.” He dropped his gaze politely.
Amanda smiled at Campbell as Nate stepped past the introductions and onto the ship. “Shall we explore my new home for the foreseeable future?” she asked him. Sarcasm dripped from the question, but she couldn’t help herself. Now that they had found each other again, why did he insist on returning to the battlefield?
Although not as large as the steamer that brought her to North Carolina, the Lady Adelaine was beautifully trimmed with brass, well stocked with food, and had several cisterns of fresh water for baths and washing clothes. Jackson’s guards took turns on watch and seemed to be a responsible lot. That night the weary travelers dined on fresh trout, sweet potatoes, buttermilk biscuits, and canned peas. She and Nate made polite conversation during the meal and passed the night counting stars on deck. She slept in a feather bed with a down pillow, lulled to sleep by the night sounds.
But on the morning of the third day, he crept into her stateroom, kissed her softly on the lips, and whispered goodbye. Amanda didn’t speak or return the kiss. She was too terrified for their future to do anything but pretend she was asleep.