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  Jacob laughed. “My darling Mercy, if only life were so simple that we could forget its troubles. Would you have me hide in the woods only to return home to find it burnt to the ground by an invading army?”

  “God’s truth, of course not! I said that I wish, not want. I know you could never hide from your responsibilities – it’s just that spending this time with you has made me realise how much I love you. I can’t bear to imagine now what it will feel like to suffer your absence again. I think I’m turning into a pitiful woman.”

  “You pitiful? Never …”

  He had volunteered with the Ninth Unit of the Virginia Cavalry. His Portsmouth neighbours and men volunteering with him had voted to give him the rank of captain, making him an early leader, yet he knew nothing of war, military strategy, orders, or battles where life or death could be decided by words spoken from his mouth. War would be as a sunrise expanding across the horizon, bursting like a fiery ball over the land and setting it ablaze. The Northern states would descend like a plague of locusts and eat into the soil nurtured by Southern farmers for more than two hundred years, and the arrogance of Northern politicians would be matched only by their desire to teach the disobedient South a lesson.

  Jacob kissed her forehead and pulled her closer, wishing that he could shelter her from all harm. Mercy knew little of his country and its history, yet she was going to be involved in its war.

  “Mercy, are you sorry you came to my country?” he asked.

  “God, no – this country has saved me; you saved me. You’ve brought me more happiness than I could ever have imagined. I’m not sorry, not one little bit. I’m just mad at men for not being able to sort out their differences with reason. If you were to put women in charge of this country of yours, they would probably have a screaming match in the street and pull each other’s hair, but they wouldn’t bring out weapons to kill each other.”

  “A country ruled by women? That is a peculiar notion.”

  “It’s a wonderful notion, if you ask me.”

  “While we are on the subject of killing, will you promise to stay away from Madame du Pont?” Jacob said. He found Mercy’s restraint admirable, but this self-control had been present only because she had been on a more important and pressing mission: to free the slave. He worried that with him gone, she would turn her mind to the revenge she craved. She’d killed Eddie and a slave, yet not once had he heard her say she regretted shooting them. She would have to live every day knowing that du Pont was just across the James River. Mercy was kind and sweet-natured, but she had demonstrated an impulsive and unrestrained character, which was apt to make wrong decisions. Yes, she was impulsive, and that’s what worried him the most.

  Mercy looked into his eyes, which were filled with concern. She was surprised at this rapid turn in conversation, for the vile creature had not been mentioned in days.

  “Please don’t worry, Jacob,” she told him. “Only you, Belle, and Hendry know of my whereabouts. I’m safe here with Lina and Charlie. I have no reason or desire to return to Portsmouth; therefore, I will be nowhere near the old cow.”

  “I don’t blame you for hating her, my darling – you have more than enough cause – but we must allow time to work for us.”

  “Time’s not a luxury we have … and why should we give her time? I would rather end her miserable life tomorrow, not next year.”

  “We’ll destroy her together. Together, Mercy. Will you heed these words?”

  Mercy sighed. Jacob was right; she could not murder du Pont on a whim. She would just have to hope that he’d find another way to get rid of the old whore. “I will … I promise. But you must know that I’m not scared of her anymore. I don’t feel like the same girl that left Liverpool with you. I’m stronger and wiser – I think. Some part of me wants to forgive her, and I do try, but I can’t. She’s the monster that haunts my dreams,” she added truthfully. “Nelson called her a devil woman, and he’s right. I swear she came to Earth straight from hell. How can she live day after day knowing what she’s done? How can she sleep soundly at night when she disturbs my peace? I fear she’ll destroy me unless I destroy her first. So whatever you plan to do to her, do it soon. I want her gone.”

  “Mercy, it breaks my heart when I think of everything that has happened to you, but I have to ask you now to consider uprooting yourself again and return with me to Portsmouth. I cannot abide the thought of you remaining here.”

  “But why can’t I stay here?” Mercy asked.

  She was shocked at the very suggestion of leaving Newport News. He wanted her to be safe and to stay away from du Pont, yet he was now asking her to return to the city where she had been abducted.

  “I like it here, and I’m very happy living with Lina and Charlie. God forgive me but I have more fondness for them than I ever had for my grandparents. I don’t want to go back to Portsmouth, and as much as I want to see Belle, it pains me to say that not even she will entice me to go there.”

  “My sweet, believe me: I don’t say this out of any selfish desire to have you near me or because I want you to leave Lina and Charlie,” he said. “I am asking you to come back with me ’cause I don’t believe you will be safe here much longer should we become embroiled in a war.”

  “What makes you think I will be any safer in Portsmouth, when that murdering old whore is there?” she asked pointedly.

  “Do you know where Fort Monroe is?”

  “No, should I?”

  “Yes, now you should, because it stands only eight miles from here and belongs to the federal government. If we go to war with them, they might take this town and use it to bolster their grip on the area. God forbid, but if that happens, you may not have the opportunity to leave, and I won’t be able to cross enemy lines to see you. I want you to consider this before you give me your final answer.”

  Mercy held her tongue and considered Jacob’s request. But no matter the purity of his motives, she saw no merit to his line of reasoning: Where would she live? When would she have the opportunity to spend time with Belle and the baby, who were still sharing the same house as his wife? How could she possibly consent to go to Portsmouth whilst Madame du Pont resided there? Her thoughts were tumbling one after the other …

  She looked at the palm of her hand, a reminder of the Liverpool fire. The burn scars reminded her of du Pont every single day. She’d be looking over her shoulder ever time she walked down a bloody Portsmouth street, wondering if she was going to bump into the woman!

  “No, I won’t go with you,” she said.

  “I was afraid you would say that,” he said, clearly defeated and not surprised. “I guess there’s no point in debating this further.”

  “No, there is not.”

  “You are the most obstinate woman I have ever met, Mercy Carver, but will you grant me one favour?”

  “Anything – if I can,” she told him.

  “Assure me that you will get to Norfolk or Portsmouth at the first sign of trouble here.”

  “I promise I’ll leave, and I will always tell you where I am and where I’m going to be.”

  “Do you remember what we said?”

  “About?” she asked him.

  “About our spending the rest of our lives together. I love you so very much, my sweet Mercy. Without you, I have no direction. Some years back, I mocked Hendry and Belle. They once told me that that they had fallen in love with each other the first moment they met, and I found that to be a mighty fanciful notion – but I was wrong, for you, my little temptress, stole my heart at first glance. My darling, don’t forget our promise to each other. Nothing will divide us – nothing, not even war.”

  Chapter Two

  Jacob and his horse approached Stone Plantation at a slow walk. He breathed in his land’s untainted air and cast his eyes upon his cotton fields. He loved rural twilight, the way the flaming red sky hovered just above the horizon, colouring Virginia’s dark soil a deep crimson and turning the bright green pines into eerie black shadows agains
t the soft pastel sky. Spring was a magical time at the plantation. Fresh greenery sprouted, and fields already furrowed in deep lines were being furnished with cotton seeds, soon to cover the land like a gathering of white fluffy clouds. He was swollen with pride, and never more so than at this moment. He would kill and risk death to keep it, for if the North came, they would leave a trail of ash and destroy the very fabric of his society.

  As he dismounted in front of the porch, his tired eyes immediately noted the animosity between Belle and Elizabeth, both sitting on the porch with arms crossed defensively and each wearing scowls. The sight of them only intensified his dark mood for marring his homecoming.

  He passed the reins to Gus, a young Negro, and ruffled the boy’s wiry hair. “Give her a good rub down now, you hear, Gus?” he said, walking up the porch steps.

  He greeted Belle and Elizabeth, who responded with silent yet scornful rebukes from eyes which held no joy at the sight of him. A disdainful conversation with the latter would come soon enough, Jacob thought, but not until he was ready to receive it. “Where’s my brother?” he asked Belle.

  “In Norfolk,” Belle mumbled back.

  He declined tea and excused himself, wishing only to reach his bedroom without an onslaught of verbal conflict. Elizabeth made no move to follow him upstairs, and for that he was eternally grateful. Jacob was fatigued in body and in mind. He craved Mercy’s presence. He was perplexed by her stubbornness to remain behind, yet he understood her reluctance to accompany him back to the city. Portsmouth had not been kind to her, in so many ways.

  He desired a hot bath and a moment of peaceful thought, but his mind was overflowing with the many troubles that had to be resolved here at home. Some of these issues would need tact and sensitivity, whilst others would require more direct and heavy-handed declarations. Either way, all of them would have to be tackled tonight, leaving no time for quiet contemplation.

  Jacob lay in the bathtub, stretching his aching muscles and long legs. He closed his eyes and sighed. He felt like an unwelcome visitor in his own house. His wife and sister-in-law had declared open warfare on each other, he had heard from Handel, his long-time house slave, who was like a father to him and his brother. They were causing havoc amongst the house servants in their fight for supremacy, and Handel had wasted no time in voicing his displeasure. “You got to do somethin’, Massa Jacob, ’cause Mistress Belle’s just itchin’ to hit Mistress Elizabeth square in the face,” the old man had said. “Lord knows I ain’t got no clue what you gonna eat for your supper with all the changes going on, from menus to who sits where at the dinner table. My ole heart ain’t gonna survive this. No, sir, I’ll be dead and buried ’fore I ever see them two white women say a kind word to each other, and I ain’t thinkin’ on goin’ nowhere just yet.”

  Jacob smiled affectionately. Handel was at his wit’s end, and this was not acceptable. Handel had also elaborated on Henry’s whereabouts. He had left at dawn to tend to ship business in Norfolk. Jacob was not surprised to hear this, for all eyes had been on Norfolk’s Navy Yard yesterday after Portsmouth secessionists from the United States Navy seized it. It was the most crucial development to affect Virginia and the South to date.

  Jacob’s gut told him that Hendry would be deeply concerned about the Carrabelle and her future – he was not worried about his brother’s safety but was nonetheless impatient to hear the latest news from him.

  Just before leaving Newport News four days ago, he had learned that Virginia had finally elected to secede from the Union. After hearing the news, he’d gone straight to the Portsmouth Militia’s headquarters, overflowing with men who had flocked to the city from surrounding farms and from as far inland as the small town of Smithfield. He’d remained there for three days, recognising the urgency of setting plans in motion concerning Elizabeth and his new army career. Virginia had cut itself off from Washington. President Lincoln had asked for loyalty, ordering all eight Virginia militias to defend the federal government. Instead, Virginia had disobeyed and, in doing so, had drawn a clear dividing line between the North and South.

  He had received orders and a grey uniform, which was to be worn forthwith. He was still reeling at the speed at which ordinary country folks were being asked to arm themselves, for he had seen farmers and labourers who didn’t own a rifle or a decent horse between them. He also believed that he’d been somewhat naive to presume that he would simply be asked to defend Portsmouth when or if that necessity arose.

  He scrubbed his hair with lavender soap and wished now that he’d had the gumption to decline the honour his comrades had bestowed upon him. He was a captain in charge of men who would follow his orders, ride behind him to God only knew where, and place their lives in his hands. Heaven help him and those who had chosen him for the task, he thought, still trying to digest everything he’d heard.

  The majority of the men in the Portsmouth ranks were volunteers like him. Those who had already joined up or had been thinking about enlisting had been involved with rudimentary training and an initiation into army life since the end of February, alongside regular state troops. All volunteers were signing enlistment papers which enforced their loyalty for a period of six months. That was a long time to be away from his land. He would miss the planting season and harvesting.

  Decisions, decrees, and orders had taken effect immediately. The South, he suspected, would not want to be caught on the back foot by a Northern army. It would appear that they were to follow an offensive strategy from the outset, which made sense to him, for should an invasion force be allowed the time to organise themselves, they in the South would be pushed back without proper defensive lines both on land and on the Chesapeake and southern waterways.

  He lathered up the soap, scrubbed his body, and then took a moment to cast his eyes around his opulent bedroom. He was joining the army tomorrow, his mind repeated. He would be but a stone’s throw from Stone Plantation and only twenty-six miles south of Newport News and Mercy, across the James River. He would don the grey Confederate uniform, and he had no idea when he would be able to take it off and return to his life. The Confederacy owned him now, and all other allegiances would be pushed to the side, unattended to and neglected, until his country’s insanity was dissolved.

  He ducked his head under the water, came up, and pushed back his wet hair as he surfaced. He said the words aloud repeatedly: “War, I’m going to war.” It was not a possibility now but an actuality, which would see him leave his home in uncertain hands.

  As Jacob dressed, he turned his thoughts to personal matters. His departure from civilian life was now set in stone, and pressing business with his family would have to be concluded tonight. He was not prepared to give up his home for six months or more without tying up loose ends, and that included asking his wife for a divorce.

  Loving Mercy so completely had taught him many things. Love was the downfall of duty and honour. It was a transition from being a single entity into an indissoluble unity of two in body and soul. It was the singular most important commitment in life, for without the fullness of Mercy’s love, his life would have no real purpose. He only wished he’d realised this earlier.

  He watched a candle’s soft flame flicker and die in a small funnel of dark smoke. He had left his flame burning bright in Newport News, only to return to a household filled with hatred. Elizabeth was his biggest headache. Theirs was an untenable situation and one which he could not leave unresolved.

  Since their wedding, he had not given Elizabeth cause to desire him or to fall in love with him, he thought with a measure of guilt, for he had neglected her from the very first moment. He had been the very worst kind of husband, but she had also been dishonest, marrying for power, money, and a plantation. He was not a bad man. If he thought for a moment that his decision to dissolve his marriage would cause his wife heartache, he would stoically remain bound to her. But she had given him more than enough evidence through word and deed that she cared nothing for him, and this was her undoing and
his good fortune.

  He smiled, wallowing in the information he’d come by in the past couple of days. Elizabeth had been talking a lot lately, according to the men he had met with. They’d regaled him with stories of Elizabeth’s quest to darken his good name. Her accusations, encouraged by Margaret Mallory, whom Elizabeth now called her dearest friend, had become the talk of the city, and his fidelity had come into question, as had his blatant love for another woman. In his absence, Elizabeth had declared herself unsullied by him.

  She had openly affirmed that she would refuse all advances from a husband who had been with a prostitute. He was spitting mad at the insult to Mercy, but he allowed himself to smile again, for Elizabeth had miscalculated the reaction of most of Portsmouth’s male population, who had been frequenting brothels on a weekly basis since time immemorial. Not even Elizabeth’s father or brothers would go against him now, lest they be tarred with the same infidelity brush.

  Chapter Three

  Numerous lit candles brightened the formal dining room. The table was immaculately dressed with a crisp white lace tablecloth, flowers, silver cutlery, china, condiments, and crystal wine goblets. The house servants, dressed in their finest, scurried back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room in a last-minute flurry of activity to finish their chores, set by Handel, wearing his most surly expression.

  Hendry had returned. Like Jacob, he was dressed in evening attire. Belle attempted to smile pleasantly but looked exhausted and fraught with worry. Elizabeth wore her most expensive gown, complimented by a diamond necklace and earrings, a wedding gift from Jacob. She had taken it upon herself to rearrange the table settings, flowers, and candlesticks after Handel and the servants had set the table under strict instructions from Belle. She had changed Belle’s choice of wines and had told Handel earlier that she was not above whipping a house slave who disobeyed her. This in itself had caused a ripple of fear amongst the house servants, who were now coming into line at each side of the table.