Her Captain's Heart (11 page)

Verity pressed Beth's back against her to make room for Matthew. He scooped the boy into his arms and headed for the main house. Within minutes, Verity was breathing hard and fighting back tears as she followed Matthew up the stairs. She looked back at Samuel, Dacian, Joseph and Beth standing in the hall at the foot of the stairs. She held back tears and tried to look calm. “Please go back in and eat. Beth, stay with your grandfather and entertain our guests.” She didn't wait for a response.

 

Matt took Alec directly to Beth's room. He waited for Verity to turn down the bedding, then he gently laid the boy on the canopied bed, wishing he could do more. He stood back as she examined the boy yet again, touching her hand to his forehead, pressing her ear against his thin chest to listen to his heart, and then moving his limbs. When she tried to move Alec's right arm, he moaned. She very carefully moved her fingers around the elbow joint and then probed up and down the length of the arm. “He may have a break in his arm.”

Matt felt sickened at the sight of the boy's battered face.

Hannah hustled into the room with a wash basin, rolled bandages and some small brown corked bottles of medicine. Samuel followed her with a kettle of hot water, steam still puffing from its spout. “How is that boy?” Hannah's voice was soft, muted.

Verity turned. “Thank thee, Hannah and Samuel. That's just what I need. I can handle this with Matthew's assistance. Please go down and make sure our guests have everything they need. And please watch over Beth. Seeing this has upset her. She has bad memories—we nursed soldiers after Gettysburg. She has a soft heart.”

“Just like her mother,” Samuel said, and Matt silently echoed the sentiment. Matt's chest tightened into a painful knot. He tried to imagine what a very little girl would recall of the noise of battle and bloodied wounded. The thought of Beth having to witness the horror of war was almost more than he could bear.

Verity smiled. “Thank thee both.”

Samuel and his mother left them. Matt hovered near Verity, ready to do whatever she needed. He watched her bathe the boy's face and dab tincture of iodine on the many cuts. Alec seemed to be awake but unresponsive. He winced at the iodine but made no outcry. Matt's thoughts turned to Mary. Was she safe or lying somewhere bruised and bleeding, too?

“Matthew, would thee undress Alec while I go get a nightshirt from Joseph's room?”

“I got…to go home,” Alec finally whispered, wincing with pain at each word. “I just…came to get away. And you helped…me last time.”

Matt moved closer to the bed. Anger was replacing shock and gathering tight and hot in his gut.

“Thee will go home when thee is better,” Verity said in a no-nonsense tone.

“My ma,” the boy moaned. “She needs me.”

Verity gave Matt a significant look and left the room.

Matt reached to unbutton Alec's threadbare, blood-spattered shirt. No one should have let sweet Mary McKay wed Orrin Dyke.

“Sir, please—”

Matt made his voice strong and sure. “Mr. Ransford is downstairs, Alec. He will make sure your ma is protected. Now lie still and don't argue. You did right coming here.”

The boy passed out. Matt quickly undressed him and pulled the blanket over his bruised body. Verity entered with the nightshirt. “Will thee help me put it on him?”

Matt supported the boy's neck and shoulders while Verity pulled the nightshirt over his head and arms. Her motions were efficient yet gentle and motherly. Watching her tend to Alec attracted him in a new, more powerful way. She might be an idealist, but when faced with dreadful reality, she knew how to handle it.

As he watched her hands move, he could almost feel her gentle touch soothing him also. After the nightshirt was on, she took a linen towel and fashioned a sling, which she tied around the boy's right arm. Then she stepped back and looked up at Matt. “Something must be done for this child.”

He nodded, unable to speak because of the anger surging up like hot air from a bellows.

There was a knock at the door and Samuel stepped inside. “I'm going to sit with the boy while you two go down and eat.” He held up a hand. “My mother's orders. Don't think you can go against her. She wants you downstairs and me upstairs.”

Matt hesitated. He'd done right by inviting Samuel—and he'd done wrong. His reactions tangled inside him like a kite's string caught in the branches of a tree.

Verity nodded and walked to the door. As she passed Samuel, she patted his arm. Matt followed her down to the dining room. She paused at the doorway. Looking over her shoulder, Matt glimpsed Joseph at the head of the table with the Ransfords to his right and Beth to his left. They were eating pumpkin pie and whipped cream. Matt's mouth watered at the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon, but his stomach clenched at facing Dace and Lirit again.

“How is Alec, Mama?” Beth asked, her face drawn and worried.

Matt seated Verity at her place and then sat by her side, across from his cousin. Hannah bustled in and put down plates of food in front of Verity and him. “I put your plates in the oven so they kept warm.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” Verity said with a sigh.

Matt didn't like how tired and worn down she sounded. But what could he do about that? What could he do for Alec? He picked up his fork and began eating, hardly tasting his food.

“How's the boy, Mama?” Beth asked again.

Matt chewed slowly, waiting for Verity to answer.

“He's resting,” Verity replied, her fork motionless in her hand. “Has thee finished eating?”

“Yes. Thank you. May I please be excused to go see Alec?” Beth asked, sitting on the edge of her chair.

“I think thee had better go out and play with Barney. He is moping around the back porch for thee. And after all, he must be rewarded for letting us know Alec needed our help.”

“You want me to go and play with Barney?” Beth asked, rising.

Verity nodded. Beth curtsied to the Ransfords and left the room.

Matt touched Verity's arm. “Eat. Don't let your food go cold. Hannah will have a fit.” Verity nodded, her lower lip trembling.

“Will someone please tell me what is going on in this crazy house?” Lirit demanded.

Matt waited for Verity to reply, but she merely began eating. He found he could contain himself no longer. “Orrin Dyke is abusing his son. We found Alec beaten in my cabin back by the barn. We brought him inside and Verity—Mrs. Hardy has treated his wounds.”

“Well, what can you expect from trash like Orrin Dyke,” Lirit said dismissively.

“Calling names doesn't help the boy,” Dace said.

“The boy isn't our responsibility,” Lirit snapped back.

Verity looked up and fixed Lirit with an unwavering stare. Lirit blushed finally and looked down at her plate. “Dace, I think it's time you took me home. It appears that Mrs. Hardy has other matters to attend to,” she said.

Dace gazed at his wife. “Very well. I'll take you home, Lirit, but then I will return here.”

“Why?” Lirit pouted.

“Because I am still Dacian Ransford, and the welfare of Mary Dyke's son is my concern. The Ransfords have always taken care of the people in this county. And may I remind you, you are a Ransford, too.”

The Ransfords had always taken care of the
white
people in this county, Matt silently amended.

Lirit rose in a huff. Matt had never liked Lirit much, and he liked her even less now. He recalled all the times when they were children and she'd ruined their fun with tears and tattling. Some people never changed.

Joseph said with gallantry, “If you will trust me with your lovely wife and team, Mr. Ransford, I'll drive your lady home and then return with the carriage.”

“Thank you,” Dace said. “Lirit, I will be home as soon as matters here are concluded.” Face averted, Lirit swept from the room without thanking Verity for the meal. Joseph hurried to help her into her cape in the hall. Dace stared down at the remains of his pumpkin pie and cup of coffee.

Matt pitied his cousin, married to such a woman. Why had Dace married Lirit anyway?
When I marry, I…
He found he could not finish the thought, it startled him so.

When Joseph and Lirit had gone, Dace looked up. “What do you think we should do about this, Matt? I can confront Orrin, but—” Dace paused and then continued, sounding bitter. “I don't have the clout I once had in this town. Money is power and I don't have the money I once had.”

Caught up short, Matt could hardly believe his cousin had just admitted this.

“I think that thee still has thy position in the community. Thee still owns thy land,” Verity said.

“She's right.” Matt added. “You're still the Ransford. Your father's family has been the most prominent in this county for over a hundred years.” The memory of Dace's father fanned the flame smoldering inside Matt. Why hadn't he weighed in on the side of Matt's family? Then Matt chided himself.
What has that got to do with the present, with Alec and Mary? This is about their horrible situation, not ancient history.

Dace looked from Matt to Verity. “I'll go talk to Orrin. But what if it just spurs him to more cruelty? What if he turns violence onto Mary, too?”

“What makes you think he hasn't already?” Matt asked, thinking of how Alec was always concerned about his mother.

“Yes, I'm afraid that a man who beats his son usually mistreats his wife, too,” Verity said. “I'm pleased that both of you want to do something for Alec and Mary. My family has tried to help women in this type of home situation in the past. And unfortunately they have been actively opposed and criticized for interfering with a husband's right to rule his home.”

Dace lifted his chin. “A man who strikes a woman or beats a child in this manner is a cad, and every right-thinking man should agree.”

So his cousin had learned some compassion over the years. Matt finished his meal and then accepted pumpkin pie from a sober-looking Hannah. Dace stirred his coffee and stared into it moodily. Verity spoke of her family in Pennsylvania, evidently trying to salvage the ruined holiday. Her soft voice soothed him. When she finished eating and excused herself to go up and check on the boy, Dace and Matt sat across from each other alone in the quiet room.

Dace broke the silence. “You invited Samuel to insult me, didn't you?”

“Interestingly, my main intention was to demonstrate to Mrs. Hardy how impossible it is to do what she wants to do here. She wants to bring peace and reconciliation, and make people accept the changes that are coming. Mrs. Hardy is an idealist, not a realist.”

“She told me that, too.” Dace stirred his coffee, watching the spoon swirl the dark brew.

“And we both know it's impossible, don't we?” Matt pressed his cousin.

Dace didn't respond, but his expression said Matt was right. The sound of the returning carriage gave Dace a reason to leave. “I'll go have a word with Dyke. Please thank Mrs. Hardy for the best meal I've eaten in a very long time. And my compliments to your cook.”

Matt rose and nodded.

After Dace had left, Matt stood in the hallway, listening to the quiet. Then he mounted the steps one by one, drawn against his will to the gracious woman of the house.

M
att found Verity alone—Samuel must have gone down to the kitchen. Matt stood for a moment in the open doorway, wanting to say something comforting but not knowing what. Then he noticed her shoulders were shaking. It rent his heart in twain.

With two long strides, he was at her side and she was in his arms. “Don't cry. Don't cry,” he murmured, breathing in her familiar lavender fragrance.

The top of her head just brushed his chin. The sensation of her springy hair against that sensitive area made it hard for him to draw breath. He stroked her hair and felt its fullness and life. She was so small, so slight that he felt he must be careful not to hold her too close, to crush her. How could a woman so small have such big ideas, such passion to help others? How did she bear all that compassion and all the pain caring brought?

Her weeping slowed, and then she was looking up at him. The tears glistening in her eyes only added to her beauty. He could see each tear in her lashes and her eyes were the perfect shade of brown, so warm and confiding. He pressed her closer, gently, as if holding a living bird in his hands. Her forehead was right next to his lips now. If he moved only a fraction of an inch, they would touch her, kiss her.

Sanity hit him. He released her slowly, reluctantly. If he gave in to temptation and kissed her, their whole relationship would change.
We have to work together. And I won't lead her to believe there might be something more for us.

She stepped back and looked down, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. “I'm sorry for breaking down like that. It's just hard to see a child suffer so.”

Matt tried to speak, but his throat was too thick. He cleared it and tried again. “Dace has gone to confront Dyke.”

She looked up at him quickly, her face full of worry. “I must pray about that.” And right before his eyes, she dropped to her knees, put her hand on Alec's shoulder and bowed her head.

He watched her, hoping God was hearing her and would not let more harm come to Alec and Mary. He bowed his head, too.
God, this woman has enough to worry about without this. Let Dace succeed in putting the fear of You in Orrin.
He looked up. It had been a long time since he'd prayed.

Verity rose and turned to him. “I'm sorry I didn't discuss inviting thy cousin and his wife to dinner today. On First Day, I truly intended to, but thee went off and I didn't want to wait to issue the invitation. I felt the Spirit moving me to go to them.”

“And I'm sorry I invited Samuel only to upset Dace and Lirit.” And honesty forced him to add, “And you.”

She rested one of her delicate hands on his arm. “Thee is a good man, Matthew Ritter. But thee spent four years learning to kill, suffering overwhelming horror and grief day by day. Does thee think I know nothing of war? Our farm was only a short distance from the battleground of Gettysburg. Beautiful green farmland turned into a killing field.” A tremor visibly shuddered through her. “I can think of nothing worse than war.” She gripped his arm. “I want to bind up our nation's wounds as President Lincoln bade us. And I think, Matthew, that thee came to Fiddlers Grove to do the same.”

“There can be no binding up here,” Matt said, his voice hoarse. He hated showing evidence of emotion. But her hand was warm upon his flesh and he seemed to lose himself in the sensation.

She squeezed his arm and then turned back to Alec. “We shall see, Matthew Ritter. We shall see.”

 

Matt sat at his table and wrote in his journal, a habit his parents had started him on when he learned to write. He found that writing down his thoughts often helped him see what he should do next, and he was hoping for some clarity about the boy. The journal didn't help this time, unfortunately. He heard the sound of the carriage and walked to the door to see Dace. Dace didn't get down, so Matt went to meet him. The wind chilled him in his shirtsleeves.

“I talked to Dyke.”

Matt read grimness in his cousin's face. It chilled him more than the wind. “How did he take it?”

“Not good. He told me Alec was his business. And reminded me I wasn't his boss.” Dace slapped the reins and began to turn his carriage toward home. “He'll want revenge on someone. Watch your back.”

 

On the sunny but chilly Seventh Day morning, Verity stood on her back porch and gazed at a stack of new lumber, which stood beside the charred, acrid-smelling remains of the burned barn. Her outward calm was thinner than eggshell.

The wood had been delivered yesterday. Today, many men had come with shovels, saws and hammers. Along with Matthew and Samuel, they milled around her yard, laughing and joking amidst the ruins. Today, they would raise the new barn. In the coming week, the school would rise. And just in time since the chill of the west wind would soon make school on the porch impossible.

Verity couldn't help but notice that Matthew's was the only white face in the yard. She looked up the road once more. If only one white man from the town came to help today, she wouldn't have this deep worry gnawing at her. She still hoped that Dacian would make an appearance today.

“Good day, Elijah, Hannah,” she greeted the couple as she walked down the few steps. She tried to smile, but it was a poor, wobbly attempt. She'd spent most of the night praying for God's protection for Matthew, her family and the people who'd come out today to rebuild their barn. But she'd experienced that awful feeling that her prayers had hit the ceiling and fallen back onto her head.

“Good morning, ma'am,” Elijah replied. “I've come though I've never built anything in my life. I hope I'll be a help rather than a hindrance.”

Hannah must have sensed Verity's low spirits, because she came alongside her and gave her a hearty hug. “You be all right. Everything be all right. God is here today.”

Verity smiled, but could not shake the image of the barn burning. The memory left her sapped and shaken as if she were just recovering from a fever.

Though Matthew had said little, Verity knew Orrin Dyke would strike back at them. Alec was still asking to go home, but Verity had insisted he stay. And with a badly sprained ankle and a broken arm, he couldn't get home by himself.

She'd not overheard Matthew and his cousin, but she'd seen the two of them talking late on Thanksgiving evening from the window. Dacian Ransford had gone to confront Orrin Dyke, and he had not looked encouraged as he'd driven away.

Lord, please, if there's more trouble, Matthew will telegraph for troops and Fiddlers Grove will become a battlefield. The animosity will grow and fester. Please foil any attempts to stop us from building the barn and then the school.
No feeling of peace came.

Elijah, Hannah and Verity obeyed Joseph's beckoning wave and joined the circle of men and women around the burned remnants. “Brother Elijah, would you offer a prayer for our work today?” Joseph asked, doffing his hat. Matthew stood beside Verity, looking dour.

Verity noticed his rifle propped against a nearby tree and a pistol on his belt. The sight of the guns upset her, but when she looked at Matthew, she was overcome by the memory of him at Alec's bedside on Thanksgiving afternoon. She hoped no one noticed her warm blush as she remembered the feel of Matthew's arms around her.

Elijah prayed for strength and safety. At the end, everyone said, “Amen.” Then she and Hannah went inside. Joseph had bought her another dozen chickens. It would take all morning to dress, fry and get them on the table, along with cornbread, turnips and apple pies to feed the workers.

On her way inside, she glimpsed movement beyond the trees around her property. A few white men were just standing there, watching. Were they gathering for an attack? Or was this just intimidation? She recalled the terrible scene the day before she'd left Pennsylvania when Roger's cousin had spewed such hateful words about what they'd do to her here in Dixie. She met Hannah's troubled eyes, which probably bore a resemblance to her own.

“Think they'll do anything today?” Hannah muttered.

Verity shrugged, unable to say a word, her throat tight. Who knew? Just in case, someone came to cause trouble, she'd ordered Beth to stay inside with Barney and keep Alec company upstairs. The boy was still in too much pain to go home, and Verity worried Orrin Dyke would lash out at the boy because of Dacian's interference.

“Well, Hannah, we have food to prepare,” Verity said, and turned toward the kitchen. A few of Hannah's friends were waiting there, having come to help with the cooking while their husbands worked on the barn.

The sounds of saws and hammers continued all morning. Verity filled the pie crusts with apples and sugar, chatting with the women as they fried the chickens and peeled the turnips. But through the windows, she kept track of the white men gathering in the shelter of the trees around her property.

Their number had been steadily increasing all morning. And now a few had begun taunting the men working outside. Verity's stomach knotted. She could practically see the flames and smell the kerosene.
But what choice do we have, Lord, but to rebuild? The horses must have shelter in the winter. And we must build the school. We can't give in and run away.

To distract herself, Verity asked, “Have any of thee women ever heard about the movement for women's suffrage?”

More taunts outside. Verity tasted blood and realized that she'd bitten her lower lip.

“What suffrage?” one of the women asked. “Don't sound good.”

“Suffrage means the right to vote,” Verity answered. “Women deserve the right to vote just as much as men. We're just as smart as they are.”

“Smarter,” Hannah said with a grin. “We have to be.” All the women chuckled.

The volume of the taunts suddenly escalated and Verity could hear threats, racial epithets and foul words. The women in the kitchen fell silent. Then Verity realized that she wasn't the only one who was worried. Each face around her looked strained. The chatter had been their attempt to deny what was happening. And what might happen.

“What we going to do if someone try to stop our menfolk?” Hannah put the overwhelming question into words.

Verity gave up the pretense of working on the pies, wiping her hands on a dish cloth. Alarm coursed through her. She braced herself, drawing up her strength. “Nothing is going to happen. Matthew made it quite clear that he'd telegraph for Union troops if—”

A rock crashed through the kitchen window. The women screamed as one.
Dear Father,
Verity prayed silently. A rifle shot sounded. And then another. Beth screamed upstairs. And Barney was barking wildly again. Heart pounding, Verity ran into the hall and up the stairs to her daughter.

 

Matt had expected trouble. Counting the white men gathering around them had been like watching storm clouds roll in. And now the thunder and lightning had started. Firing his pistol at the first man to shoot, Matt ran for cover and grabbed his rifle. He hefted it to his shoulder. A shot thudded into the tree above his head. Had he survived four years of war just to die here? The familiar crosscurrents of wanting to fly to cover and forcing himself to face enemy fire twisted inside him.

Matt aimed and fired. All around him a free-for-all had broken out. White men were struggling with black men, who were fighting back with bare fists, hammers and shovels. He aimed for the few snipers who sheltered behind the big oaks and were trying to pick off as many black men as they could. He glimpsed the red of a shirt near one trunk, fired and heard a yell. He kept firing toward the trees that concealed the snipers. Finally, the shooting stopped. He reloaded his rifle, watching for more sniper fire.

He was glad Verity, Beth, Hannah and the rest of the women were safe in the house. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Matt glimpsed Orrin running toward the front of the house.

No, you don't.
Matt raced after him, stopping twice to shoot as sniper fire started again. Finally he bounded inside the widow's front door and saw Orrin crouched on the floor, starting a fire on the parlor rug.

Matt lifted his rifle. “Stop. Smother that. And step away, Dyke.”

The bigger man roared and charged at Matt. Matt hit Orrin's jaw with his rifle butt. Orrin jerked, but it didn't stop him. He slammed Matt back against the wall, his hands around Matt's neck.

Matt gasped for air, jamming his rifle butt into Orrin's belly and shoving forward.
I have to put out the fire.

Orrin wrenched Matt's rifle from him. Matt landed another blow on Orrin's jaw and knocked the rifle out of Orrin's hand. Then it was fist to fist. Matt kept punching. Orrin pounded him, his fists like flat irons—it was like fighting a bear.

Verity ran down the steps. “Stop!” she shouted. “Fire!”

Neither man paid any attention to her. Matt kept maneuvering for more room. Finally, he was able to grab his rifle off the floor. “Put your hands over your head or I shoot!” The fire had now engulfed the rug.

Orrin shouted and lunged toward Verity. Matt shot but missed. Orrin grabbed Verity and held her in front of him. “Get back! Or I'll snap her neck!”