Ebb Tide: Ella Wood, #3

By Michelle Isenhoff

Will Emily find the courage to make one final bid for love and freedom?

When the Union navy fires on Charleston, Emily must flee to Ella Wood—and to a father who has never forgiven her for attending the Maryland Institute against his will. There, she grapples with Jack's secret plans for the plantation and his final admonition that she carry them to fruition. But as a woman under the authority of her father, evoking even the slightest change may prove too much to hope for. In the meantime, old jealousies place Emily's life in danger, and her desperate hope for Jovie's return begins to fade. As the war rumbles to its conclusion, she must draw upon every ounce of courage in one final bid for love and freedom.

Don't miss this poignant conclusion to this highly acclaimed Southern romance series. With its high stakes, sweet romance, and happily ever after, discover why readers have called Ebb Tide "the best of the three." 

Titles in series: Ella Wood, Blood Moon, Ebb Tide

Accompanying novellas: Lizzie, Jack, Jovie

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Isenhoff
• Release date: May 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393888000

Michelle Isenhoff

MICHELLE ISENHOFF's work has been reader-nominated for a Cybils Award, the Great Michigan Read, and the Maine Student Book Award. She's also placed as a semi-finalist in the Kindle Book Review Book Awards, a finalist in the Wishing Shelf Book Awards, and earned multiple Readers' Favorite 5 Star seals of approval. A former teacher and longtime homeschooler, Michelle has written extensively in the children's genre and been lauded by the education community for the literary quality of her work. These days, she writes full time in the adult historical fiction and speculative fiction genres. To keep up with new releases, sign up for her newsletter at http://hyperurl.co/new-release-list.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Charleston, South Carolina

August 22, 1863

Emily felt the explosion before she heard it. Her ribcage thrummed like the plucked strings of a guitar, then the sky split open, pouring sound and fury down upon the world below. Her bones bucked against the sudden pulse of energy. Glass fractured. Horses plunged and screamed, slamming vehicles together with a crunch of wood on wood. Escape mocked them. East Bay Street was impassable, a mass of souls scrambling for position. Everyone in Charleston had joined the mad rush to safety.

Outside the carriage, a crush of frantic pedestrians swarmed though the spaces created by the jostling traffic. Emily cupped her face against the window to watch them pass. Old men, youths, women dragging screaming children, stately matrons—they streamed through the darkness with buttons undone and suspenders flapping. One fellow fled wearing shirt, drawers, boots, and nothing else.

Another shell dropped, tearing Emily’s attention away from the refugees. The shriek sliced through the night and dissolved in a flash of amber somewhere to the west. Trudy whimpered, a tiny sound like the mewl of a frightened kitten. Emily reached for the maid’s hand and glanced at the rest of her companions, momentarily visible in the fading brilliance. Stella’s face was stoic, but Aunt Margaret’s reflected fear and outrage. The same outrage that burned within Emily. How could the Yankees fire on a city filled with women, children, and old men?

It can’t be much longer and traffic will sort itself out, she reassured them. But her own heart pumped like the rod of a steam locomotive.

The carriage inched forward. Paxton strained against the reins as a ghostly figure in cap and nightgown ducked beneath the horses’ chins and set them to rearing once again. Somewhere ahead of them, the clang of a fire bell pounded out an alarm, but there was no room for an engine to pass. Northbound vehicles clogged the street from gutter to gutter.

Emily glanced behind. The mist from the harbor formed droplets on the glass and blurred the outline of her parents’ carriage, but she knew it held Ida Malone, Tandey, Betsy, Zeke, and the few possessions they were able to carry away. The farm wagon came last, conveying the rest of the Preston and Thornton slaves. They were all fleeing together—to Ella Wood.

Emily knew what it would cost to return. Her father would not quickly forgive her for daring to steer her own course. He might not let her stay at all. As the carriage jostled another half block, dread began building in the hollow of her belly, but it was nothing compared to the staggering ache of loss that pressed her into the seat. The letter in her pocket weighed more than a Yankee battleship. Jovie…missing at Gettysburg. She set her face toward home. What could William do to equal the grief she already carried?

The carriage moved again, with fewer stops and longer starts. Another half hour carried them beyond the reach of the farthest shells. Pedestrians slowed to collect their wits. Vehicles began turning off at the homes of friends and relatives. East Bay ended, and Paxton shimmied over to Meeting Street, pausing to merge with another long line of traffic. The hundreds of wheels vacating the city warbled like the low, sad notes of a funeral dirge.

In the center of town, rising daylight cast the shelters of Marion Square into hard panes of light and shadow. The refugee camp was a warren of tents, crates, driftwood, rags—anything that might offer them shade at midday or stop the rain of summer squalls. Pinched faces peered out of filthy huts, speaking of hunger, illness, and deprivation. Driven from their homes, they had nowhere left to run.

Such a pity, Aunt Margaret clucked as they rolled past. I wish I had something to offer them. All good Southerners, every one.

It was probably true. Most Union sympathizers had been driven out or fled to the North long before. Emily too wished she could do more as she pressed a hand against the glass and watched the houses of the more fortunate block the muddy square from view.

The stately homes and wide avenues of the upper neighborhoods soon morphed into the squalor of Charleston Neck. Here, free blacks and many for-hire slaves settled outside the direct scrutiny of whites. The settlement had caused considerable concern among the town fathers in the past. It was illegal, after all, for more than seven black males to gather together without white supervision, and hundreds congregated in the ramshackle tenements of the Neck. But with more important matters at hand, the issue had lost priority.

Now the permanent structures were augmented by the shacks of additional refugees. These faces held the same thin, desperate quality she’d observed in Marion Square. They’d inherited identical hunger, identical squalor. Only their color had changed. And with no public efforts at relief such as existed for their white counterparts, meager as they were, death became a very real companion.

Emily met the soulful eyes of a little girl with thick black braids. Where had she come from, she wondered. And why would her family congregate here? The Yankees held the entire coast, from John’s Island all the way south to Hilton Head. She’d heard that in Port Royal, contraband slaves were fed, freed, even educated. Why not try for the protection of the Union lines?

She waved to the child, who stared back at her, unmoving.

The Neck and its sorrows soon passed out of sight. The persistent rhythm of shells, however, followed Emily and her companions across twenty miles of South Carolina countryside. As the sun dragged the temperature skyward, fatigue settled over the travelers like a fine layer of dust. The carriage became a cauldron of heat, sweat, and odor. But at least they had shade. The heavy farm wagon, which fell farther and farther behind, was open to the sun.

No one felt much like conversing. Even Aunt Margaret was wearied to silence. She’d grown thinner over the summer, strained by the relentless occupation. Today’s journey would likely test the limits of her strength.

Emily tried to draw her mind away from the tribulations of Charleston, away from her own private anguish, but evidence of war was all around her. Where farms and plantations once prospered, fields now lay fallow. Houses had fallen into disrepair. Livestock was nearly nonexistent. The landscape provided no escape from reality.

At last, as daylight diminished into evening, Emily caught her first glimpse of Ella Wood in nearly two years. She sat forward as her grandfather’s glorious gardens rolled into view on one side of the drive and the kitchen and stable on the other. The slave village lay beyond, all but two of the cabins hidden behind a gentle roll of the land. And in the distance, the Ashley River meandered through acres and acres of rice fields. Emily drank it in in big, thirsty gulps.

The drivers halted the tired horses outside the back door of the big house. As Emily unfolded herself from the cramped quarters, she heard the shriek of a maid and the cry of Missus! Missus! fading into the house’s interior. She had been recognized. Moments later, Marie burst onto the porch, eyes as huge as carriage wheels, hands pressed against her mouth.

Hello, Mother. It was the first time they had laid eyes on one another since William had dismissed Emily from the Charleston house the previous year.

Marie swept from the porch and engulfed her daughter in a fierce embrace. Emily, you’ve come home!

She looked fragile—thinner and grayer. Emily dared not squeeze too hard. I had to, Mother. The Yankees are shelling Charleston.

Marie drew back in shock. With civilians present?

They gave no warning. Emily gestured behind her. I’ve brought guests.

By this time, Ida had climbed stiffly from the second carriage, and Paxton was assisting Aunt Margaret into her wheeled chair.

Ida! Margaret! Marie exclaimed.

Ida hugged her warmly. Can you afford to feed us all?

Emily wondered the same. Most residents of the city were marked by gaunt, hollow faces, and the troops that guarded it fared no better. Her parents had generously donated both funds and food to the Cause, but their past support wouldn’t protect them from foraging parties that scoured the countryside as the army grew increasingly desperate. How much food remained?

Marie clasped her friend’s hand. We won’t turn you away. Then she bent to kiss her sister-in-law’s cheek. Margaret, I’m glad you’ve come. We’ve been listening to the bombardment for weeks. Fort Wagner is so close to the city; I’ve been worried sick about you.

I was never in danger until they turned the guns on Charleston. Aunt Margaret’s eyes flashed, and Emily wished fleetingly that she could loose the old woman on the Yankees. After the harrowing morning, the loss of her home, and a painful day of travel, her fury would have been at least as destructive as a howitzer.

How can the fort still be standing? Marie’s question dissipated into thin air, addressed to no one in particular. But Emily knew. In the hospital, she’d been mending and losing those defenders for weeks. They held on just as the entire South held on—through sheer grit and stubbornness.

Muted by distance, the unbroken rumble of the barrage rolled on, binding the women like an evil enchantment. Marie shook off the spell first. You all must be exhausted. Let me show you to your rooms.

A harsh voice halted them before they took a step. "Why are you here?"

Earth, sky, and space condensed into a single pinprick of awareness as Emily turned to face her father. William filled the entire porch, arms akimbo, eyes drilling into hers. The women dropped into silence. Slaves averted their eyes and busied themselves at their tasks. Emily kept her tone gentle and conciliatory. Hello, Father. I’ve come to deliver Aunt Margaret and Mrs. Malone. The guns are firing into the city.

A muscle in his neck twitched. You’re not welcome here.

I have nowhere else to go.

That’s not my problem. You chose your path.

William— Marie began.

Not now.

Marie quieted, but Aunt Margaret felt no compulsion to do likewise. William Samuel Jackson Preston, you listen to me. Your only remaining child has returned to you after two long years. It’s high time you set wrongs to right and move forward.

William’s eyes never even shifted in her direction. Marie, take my sister into the house.

Confounded, stubborn fool! Mark my words. If you refuse to compromise, you’ll die a broken, bitter old man with no friends or family to mourn you. Aunt Margaret continued to rail against him as Paxton wheeled her away, not letting up even when the door closed behind her. Her shrill voice could be heard whisking through the open windows.

Emily waited until all three women had left the yard. Her jaw tightened, and she struggled to keep her voice even. I gave up school to care for Aunt Margaret.

Now that she’s here, she’ll be well tended. And you can go back to wherever it is you came from. He spun on his heel and marched toward the door, the conversation over.

I’m not leaving. Her words chimed across the stillness, halting his footsteps. From behind, she could see the flush of anger that climbed his neck.

He spun slowly, menacingly. I will not tolerate your presence on this property, young lady.

Emily had prepared herself for this confrontation all the way from Charleston, but his rejection still pierced her defenses, slamming into soft underbelly. This man had once been the sun in her universe. For just a moment, she let her guard down. Do you really hate me this much?

The tremor in her voice had no effect. William’s eyes glittered like black crystals. It isn’t a matter of emotion. You have disregarded every rule I’ve set.

I’m not breaking any now.

So I’m supposed to welcome you home and kill the fatted calf? His lip twisted, mocking her. Even if the army had left us any, I think we’ve moved well beyond that cliché. By enrolling in school, you defied my will in a very public display of disobedience.

She held her eyes closed for a long blink, reining in her impatience, willing him—just once—to see from her perspective. I was pursuing the one passion I’ve held since childhood.

You made me look weak and foolish before all of Charleston County.

It always comes down to appearances, doesn’t it? Still spoken quietly, her words had lost their congeniality. Blending in, accepting the status quo, never finding the courage to even question it. You put your career ahead of your own daughter.

His face grew redder. I am proud of my accomplishments in the Assembly. I still have a reputation to uphold.

And Jack’s behavior did nothing to sully your image? Why could you grant him the freedom to make his own decisions but never me?

Because you’re a woman! he bellowed.

Any slaves still bravely unloading the carriages scattered at this outburst.

And that was my first sin, wasn’t it? The brittle question fell into the empty yard, shattering any attempts at civility. I can’t even count how many times you praised my academic accomplishments with a proud smile and the offhand comment that I should have been born a man. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me?

He tore at his hair, pacing first in one direction and then another. Your education was a generosity I’ve lived to regret. Had I been able to see what a stubborn, willful child I would create—

Educating me to think for myself is the one thing you did right!

He stopped and jabbed at her with a forefinger. Not when it fosters disobedience and disrespect. You have undermined my authority, even to the point of questioning the administration of my own estate.

This isn’t an estate. It’s a medieval fiefdom, she spat. "You hold a coward’s view of women and slavery."

His eyes narrowed. His voice turned deadly. I’m fully aware of your Negro sympathies. Don’t think for a moment that I hold you above suspicion in Lizzie’s disappearance. It’s too coincidental, coming days after Ketch ran off.

Her voice rose to a screech. "It wasn’t coincidence. I masterminded the entire operation! Lizzie, Ketch, and the children. I moved them beyond your reach, and I’m not a bit sorry!"

He took a menacing step forward, his face unrecognizable in its fury. Get off my land.

She crossed her arms and planted her feet. Or what? You’ll whip me? Lock me in the wood shed?

The blade of his glare nearly cut her in two. He shouted toward the stable, Abel, send for the constable immediately!

Emily set her chin, but her heart thumped wildly. Would he truly arrest his own daughter?

No one is sending for anyone. The words preceded Marie out the front door. With a white face and noticeable tremor, she bypassed her husband, descended the steps, and alighted beside her daughter.

Marie, go back in the house.

I will not. She joined her quaking hand with Emily’s. I’ve already lost five children. I will not lose my sixth.

William’s rage boiled over. He stormed down the steps, his features distorting into a frightful purple mask. By God, am I not a man? he howled. I will be obeyed by the women of this household! His open palm struck his wife’s cheek with a crack. She crumpled to one side.

Emily sprang forward, throwing herself between her parents. If this is the kind of man you’ve chosen to become, you deserve no respect. She sneaked a glance at her mother. Marie appeared shocked but unharmed, cradling her face in one hand. That woman has loved you and stood by you faithfully for more than two decades—despite your lack of fidelity. She has more honor in her little finger than you could claim in a lifetime.

His face quivered. His body trembled. Madness flickered in his eyes. It was like watching a man morph into a demon. Emily would have been terrified if her own anger hadn’t moved her beyond fear. William reached out to squeeze her neck in a stranglehold, his eyeballs nearly popping from his head, when his right arm suddenly wobbled and sank jerkily to his side. Sanity returned to his eyes first. Then came surprise.

It took a moment for Emily to recognize that her father’s mania had turned to distress. His head twitched. He tried to speak, but his words came out garbled. Then with one more step in her direction, he pitched headlong into the dirt.

Chapter 2

Father! Emily dropped to William’s side. Marie crawled to join her, and together they rolled him onto his back. His quivering had ceased, replaced by limp vacancy.

At that moment, the groom emerged from the stable with a fully saddled horse in tow. Emily called to him as he mounted. Forget the constable, Abel. Ride for the doctor. Hurry! Turning to the open windows of the house, she screamed, Someone help us get my father inside!

Within moments, two footmen were carrying William through the door and up the stairs, attracting a stream of shocked house slaves. Emily followed behind, half-supporting her mother, who was blinded by a flood of anxious tears. She hardly knew which of her own emotions to allow to the forefront—anger that hadn’t yet abated, terror at her father’s unknown condition, or a spiteful sense that William had finally received a well-deserved comeuppance.

The footmen laid William on his bed just as Deena pushed through the cluster of gawkers. Get along, now. You all got work to do. To drive home her point, she began barking orders. Celia, set Josephine to boilin’ water. May, fetch up some clean rags. Ben, Apollo, stick close. We be needin’ you if he starts thrashin’.

But the fight had drained out of William. He lay in an unresponsive stupor.

Marie perched on the edge of his mattress and took his face in both her hands. William. William, look at me.

His eyes rolled in her direction and fixed on her face. Whether it was purposeful or simply reflexive, Emily didn’t know, but her mother seemed to gain hope from his response. She continued stroking his cheeks. Stay with me, William. Just hold on until the doctor gets here. He’ll set you to rights.

Emily wasn’t so certain. William’s eyes were glazed, and the flesh drooped off one half of his face. While the sight roused her pity, she still warred with bitterness. She stayed on the far side of the room, keeping vigil in silence.

Ida knocked hesitantly and poked her head into the room. I just heard what happened. May I help?

Ida, please come in. Marie seemed to gain strength as her friend pulled up a chair beside her. Has anyone told Margaret?

She’s retired to her bed. The long ride provoked her rheumatism. I’ve asked your staff that she not be disturbed.

Thank you.

The women spoke together softly. It seemed an age before Deena barged into the room with the doctor in tow. It wasn’t Dr. Malone, who was too far away in Charleston, but an ancient, wizened little man who cared for the family during their months at Ella Wood.

Dr. Wainwright! Marie exclaimed, relinquishing her place at the bedside. Thank God you’ve arrived.

Good evening, Mrs. Preston. He tottered over to observe his patient and frowned at the sight of William’s distorted face. Tell me, has your husband experienced any strenuous exertion recently? Or perhaps a display of heightened passions—joy, fear, loss, anger?

Yes. Marie wrung her hands together. Our daughter just arrived home, and she and William had a rather sharp disagreement. I’m afraid I provoked him further by taking her side.

The doctor caught sight of Emily and raised his eyebrows knowingly. I see.

She sank into a hard-backed chair as shame inserted itself into the torrent of her emotions.

He turned back to Marie. And would this be when you received that magnificent bruise on your cheek?

Marie covered the tender area and nodded in embarrassment.

Yes, yes. It all fits. He began rummaging in his leather bag. I’m afraid Mr. Preston has suffered a fit of apoplexy. It’s quite obvious from the paralysis on the right side of his face. We don’t understand all the physiological effects, but there seems to be a correlation between the brain and the fullness of the blood that can be alleviated by reducing pressure within the veins. He pulled out a lancet and a length of cloth. I’m going to perform a venesection. Deena, would you locate a pan suitable for the collection of blood?

Deena delegated the task to one of the footmen in attendance outside the door, and a tin bowl was soon handed inside.

Mrs. Preston, it might be advisable for you to retreat to the far side of the room with your daughter.

But Marie wouldn’t be moved from her husband’s side. She grasped Ida’s hand. We’ve both attended bloodlettings before, doctor.

Very well.

Emily watched as the doctor rolled up William’s sleeve and tied the cloth strip tightly above the bend of his elbow. He then positioned the arm over the bowl and, thumbing a protruding vein, pushed in the lancet. The flow began immediately, thick and scarlet. Its coppery smell soon reached Emily’s nostrils.

Venesection was a process she had witnessed often in the military hospital at the beginning of the war, but the practice was falling out of favor among surgeons who had seen its lack of effect on a grand scale. It often killed soldiers who had lost too much blood already. As there were no new treatments to replace it, however, bloodletting continued, especially among the older generation of doctors. Emily suddenly wished Dr. Malone was present.

When the pan was full, Dr. Wainwright staunched the wound and bandaged it tightly. Emily could see no change in her father’s condition.

Will he recover? Marie’s fingers had worried the lace on her bodice into a shapeless tatter.

The doctor wiped off the point of his lancet and returned it to his bag along with the tourniquet. At this point, I cannot say. William is a strong man, not yet fifty, and he hasn’t the thickness about the middle so common among men of his position. It is entirely possible that he will regain his faculties. In the meantime, you must keep him quiet. A calm, moderate lifestyle is one he must undertake from now on if he is to prevent another attack.

Emily grimaced. Lately, her father hadn’t been known for calmness or moderation.

Was it William’s temper that brought on the episode? Marie asked.

It was likely the final contributing factor. Your husband has been under a great deal of stress. He’s suffered the death of one child, the estrangement of another, and sudden unemployment, all in quick succession. Such a combination would be enough to affect any man.

The doctor rummaged once more in his bag. Exercise restraint in your husband’s diet; no rich foods and temperance in drink. Avoid restrictive clothing, particularly about the neck. And no venereal activity. When he is recovered enough to take some exercise, it must be done in moderation. Above all, it is imperative that your husband remain calm. Remove any stimulation that might provoke a heightened response. He handed her a packet of powders. If he should become excited, administer one of these doses in a glass of water. But it is better to avoid excesses altogether. A second attack could kill him.

Marie took the medicine gravely. I’ll see to it, doctor.

Very well. He collected his belongings. That is all I can do for you at the moment.

While Marie escorted the doctor from the room, Emily approached the bed hesitantly. Her anger had faded, replaced by a languid disquiet. William no longer looked like an ogre but like a weakened version of the man she once adored. He was still awake and unresponsive. She took a step nearer and reached out a hand to touch his arm, but Ida stopped her.

You shouldn’t, Emily. If he would regain his senses, you’re the one most likely to provoke a negative response.

Emily drew back, aghast. Could her presence really cause her father injury? Even death? Pushing past, she fled to her room with guilt now adding to the confusion of her thoughts.

Deena hustled behind her, closing the bedroom door and crossing her arms in reproof. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Don’ be doin’ dis to yo’self, baby girl.

Emily cringed at the woman’s uncanny ability to read her mind. Doing what, Deena?

Don’ think fo’ a moment you be de cause o’ yo’ daddy’s fit. Yo’ daddy make his own troubles. Leastwise, he make ’em worse.

But it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t come home.

Nonsense. Yo’ daddy been short-tempered wid everyone. It bound to happen sooner or later.

So it’s not just me?

He like a bear wid a toothache all year. Leas’ now yo’ mama won’t be grievin’ fo’ you no mo’.

Deena’s words slowed the rush of emotion. You think I did right to come home?

I know it. A broad smile wreathed the ancient face, and she enveloped Emily in a fleshy embrace. Land sakes, chil’! She grabbed Emily by both hands, appraising her critically. You skinny as a plucked hen. Let me fin’ you somethin’ to eat.

Deena, you needn’t fuss over me, Emily scolded. Especially at your age.

Now don’ you try puttin' me out to pasture, Miss Emily. Nex’ step be de grave, an’ I ain’t ready fo’ dat yet. To prove her point, she whirled around the room with the vigor of a younger woman, plumping pillows and straightening the drapes.

I’ve brought you more help. Do you think you can find places for all our Charleston people?

Dere jus’ be five, Miss Emily—Mrs. Thornton’s people, Tandey, and Betsy.

The wagon still hasn’t arrived?

I don’ know nothin’ ’bout no wagon.

Emily frowned and pulled down the covers on her bed. I’ll speak to Zeke about it in the morning. I’m too tired right now.

Despite Emily’s protests, Deena fetched soap and water. Half an hour later, free of the grime of travel, Emily had just changed into a sleeveless nightgown when Marie knocked softly on her bedroom door. Are you still awake?

Come in, Mother. She sprawled across the top of her bed.

Marie entered quietly. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything before you retire.

Not a chance. Deena’s been fussing over me like a mother hen.

Marie smiled and brushed the hair off Emily’s forehead. It’s good to have you home.

I’m sorry I brought so many mouths with me.

We’ll manage.

But can you feed us all? Has the army been here?

Twice. They took most of the stock and the rest of last year’s rice harvest. With shipping so unpredictable, your father decided to convert most fields to corn, potatoes, wheat, or chickpeas. We’ve hidden a great deal. Marie hesitated, shifting her attention to a stain on the pillow sham. Emily, they took the horses.

Emily leaped upward. Chantilly?

Not Chantilly. Marie eased onto the edge of the bed. Your father managed to use his name and connections to save her.

Emily froze. He did that for me?

Lune is safe too. He was still comparatively young the last time they came.

Emily’s eyes filled with tears. All their beautiful, noble Thoroughbreds. Dead, most likely. Horses made large targets on the battlefield.

Your father really does love you. Lines etched themselves more deeply across her mother’s face. He’s just been under a great deal of stress. When Governor Pickens was removed from office last winter… Well, your father feels he’s been unfairly branded by their close association. He lost his position as well.

Marie always did make excuses.

You can imagine how difficult it’s been for him to have his leadership politely declined by the new administration.

No, William wouldn’t tolerate being set aside. What’s he been doing with his extra time?

Tinkering. Writing letters. Driving everyone to distraction. Marie sighed. And he and Walter Cutler have shared more than a few bottles since…

Emily flinched at the reminder. Jovie’s disappearance was still too raw. Too fresh.

Give your father some time. He’ll remember how much you mean to him. Marie cupped a hand around her daughter’s cheek and kissed the top of her head. Then she paused to drink in one last look before arranging the mosquito netting around the bed and blowing out the candle. Get some rest.

The door clicked shut and silence filled the darkness. There was no one left to be strong for. No one frightened or ill. For the first time since she had left Aunt Margaret’s house, Emily found herself alone.

Pain came in torrents then, gushing through her unstoppered defenses. Jovie. Missing in action. Had the letter only arrived that morning? Her grief felt as old as the world.

A memory came back to her, an incident she hadn’t though of in at least three years. She and Sofia had been sitting on the back patio at Fairview a few weeks before Sophia’s wedding, she reading a copy of Longfellow given to her by her Uncle Isaac while Sophia penned invitations and gushed about her fortunate match. When Sophia popped inside for something or another, Jovie had appeared in her seat holding a single white daisy.

Hi, Emily.

She looked up, slightly annoyed at the interruption, and gave him a tight smile. He and Jack had arrived home from their first year of college only days before, and she wasn’t overjoyed to see either of them.

I was walking in the garden. I brought you something. He held up the flower. Did you know a white daisy is a symbol of purity and loyalty?

I wasn’t aware of that.

He inhaled the flower’s fragrance then held it out to her. I want you to have it. He’d smiled, and even then she’d noticed the brilliant green of his eyes.

She took it uncertainly, with a quick check for bees or stinging nettles. Um, thank you?

After he’d gone, she left the daisy on the patio table and joined Sophia inside, but when she went