Her Captain's Heart (12 page)

Matt blazed with anger. The sofa near him was catching fire. “Get your filthy hands off her!”

“No! You drop your rifle! Or I snap her neck!” Orrin pressed Verity back against him with one arm around her neck.

Samuel burst through the door.

Orrin bellowed with rage, threw Verity at Matt and lunged for Samuel.

By the time Matt got to his feet and helped Verity up, Orrin had run outside. Samuel was unconscious in the entry hall. Smoke billowed up from the hungry flames devouring the carpet. Grabbing up the rag rug in front of the open door, Matt began beating out the rug and sofa fire.

Verity knelt beside Samuel's body. “Wake up!” she shouted, shaking him. “Fire!” Then, hearing Barney barking, she called up the stairs. “Beth! Alec! The house is afire! Run outside!”

Finally Samuel blinked, moaned and sat up.

Verity left him, got a small rug from the dining room and ran to Matt. Side by side, they beat out the sofa fire. Coughing, choking, Matt tried to speak to Verity but couldn't. She leaned over, rubbing her neck where Orrin had held her tightly. Samuel helped Matthew drag the smoking sofa outside. Verity joined them in the welcome fresh air.

 

Verity looked toward Matt and gasped—one of his eyes was swollen shut and his lips were split and bleeding. But he was breathing and standing. She looked beyond the porch and was crushed by what she saw. Many had fallen in the gun battle. Fear pierced her like an ice pick. Beyond the porch, Hannah was kneeling beside Elijah on the ground. “Did any die?” Verity called to her.

Hannah stood. “I don't think so, but we got a few shot and the rest are beaten up pretty bad.” Samuel started toward his mother.

Matthew went back in the house and then tossed what was left of the parlor rug into the yard. “Samuel,” he called, “go and see who needs help most. Then bring them inside. We'll use the dining room and parlor as a field hospital. The fire burned the rug and scorched the sofa, but it didn't get to the walls. We can be glad that Orrin doesn't know much about setting fires without kerosene.”

Verity hurried to help Samuel. As she examined each man lying or slumped on the grass around their yard, visions of Gettysburg flashed in her mind. All this over a barn raising. Those who were able to walk headed home on foot in groups. Verity could see white men carrying their wounded away through the trees. Matt and Samuel were bringing the injured inside where Hannah quickly began treating wounds. Verity hoped her nursing supplies would hold out.

 

After Joseph, Beth, with Barney beside her, and Alec had been in bed for many hours, Matt, Verity and Samuel sat around the kitchen table, too exhausted to move. Hannah was sleeping in the parlor on a rocking chair and footstool, keeping watch over the few men who didn't have family to nurse them. With a bandaged head, Elijah had gone back to their cabin without her.

Matt tried not to stare at Verity. Everything in him wanted desperately to hold her tight. His determination to protect her had only grown more fierce as the danger increased. “In the morning, I'm going to telegraph the commander in Richmond that we need troops here so we can build the barn and school,” Matthew said harshly.

“Be sure you're armed,” Samuel warned. “Orrin might try to ambush you if you give him half a chance.”

“Don't worry. I'll be ready for anything.” Matt was assaulted by the image of Orrin Dyke holding Verity, ready to kill her. He gripped the cup so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

A soft hand touched his. “Is thee all right? I can put a cold compress on thy eye again.”

His gaze connected with Verity's and the tender concern in her eyes nearly unmanned him; tears he wouldn't shed collected behind his eyes. “I'll be all right,” he said, sounding gruff and unfriendly to his own ears.

She squeezed his hand and then let go. “It seems people here haven't had enough of violence.”

“Evidently not,” Samuel said, lifting his coffee to his bettered mouth. His arms were so tired, his hands shook.

Matt was so glad Samuel had been at the barn raising. He was still a friend and had stood by them.
I should probably be glad that Dace stayed away. At least he didn't join in the attack.

Verity leaned her head into her hand. “We should go to bed.” But neither she nor Samuel nor Matt moved.

In the lamplight, Matt gazed at Verity. Her copper hair had come down completely and the long waves made a curtain that hid her face.
Orrin Dyke, you will never touch another hair on her head.

Samuel rotated his neck as if it hurt. “I'll stay here tomorrow, Matt, while you head to the telegraph office. And you should ask for an army doctor. A couple of the wounded need professional care.”

Matt nodded.

“Where will this all end?” Verity whispered, her brown eyes lifted to him.

Matt had no answer for her. He knew Fiddlers Grove would lose this battle in the end, but at what cost to the town and to the three of them around the table?

“I don't know the final outcome, but I do know you are doing what is right,” Samuel said. “Good people cannot give in to evil. Where would I be if Matt's family hadn't spoke out against slavery and its injustice, or if your family hadn't joined the Underground Railroad? Hadn't helped me to freedom? Hadn't been willing to fight a war?”

Matt nodded, gripping his cup so he wouldn't reach for Verity's hand. They were colleagues and should remain so. “We can't give up.”

Verity nodded. “I'm going to see if I can get a few hours of rest.” She staggered to her feet.

Matt rose and grasped her arm to steady her. “I'll help you.”

“No,” she said, touching his arm, “I can make it. I want to check on our patients first anyway.”

Matt knew that if they had been alone, he would have pulled her close and held her.
Not a good idea.
She left the room, her light footsteps quiet in the hallway.

Samuel rose, too. “I'm going to sleep on the floor next to my mother.”

Matt nodded and headed toward the back door, picking up his rifle standing there.

“She's a good woman, Matt. You should marry her.”

Startled, Matt swung around, but Samuel was already out of the room.

T
wo days later, on Second Day morning, Verity stood beside her father-in-law in the bright but chilly sunlight. Joseph was positioning old cans in a line on the fence around the small empty paddock beside their barn. The horses that had been tethered to trees nearby nickered loudly. Verity stood, wringing her hands. She was already keyed up.

Union troops would arrive in Fiddlers Grove today, the same day that she had planned to attend the meeting at Lirit Ransford's house. And now Joseph was trying to get her to use a gun. “Joseph, I didn't approve of thee bringing guns with thee.”
How can I stop the violence? Where has Matthew gone this morning? Why isn't he here to meet the troops?

“You've said that about ten times already,” Joseph replied mildly. “It's good I did bring a few firearms. And I'm going to make sure that I still can hit what I aim for. And you should, too.” He walked backward, putting distance between him and the target.

He motioned for Verity to follow him. “During target practice, everyone must stay in back of the person who is firing. When I taught my boys how to handle a rifle, I was always careful about gun safety.”

“Joseph, thee knows that I cannot do this. I cannot fire a weapon.”

Joseph fixed her with a dark stare. “When we were attacked while raising the barn, what if Matt and Samuel hadn't had their guns? I should have had mine with me. It won't happen again. I'm not young enough to defend us with my fists. Cold steel and lead will have to make the difference.”

Verity didn't know how to persuade him. “I can't do this.”

“What if I'd been shot and they had tried to kill or hurt you and Beth? And I mean more than just beating her.”

Verity couldn't meet his fierce eyes. She knew he was referring to rape. The idea that any man would use that kind of low, vicious violence against her, much less her sweet little daughter, made her mind go blank.

So she stood there wringing her hands. “I'm sorry, Joseph, I can't. I can't, no matter what. It is against all of my beliefs. I will have to depend on God's mercy.” She hurried away, her heart still pounding at the thought of holding a gun, much less firing it.

Faithful Barney beside her, Beth awaited her on the back porch. Not surprisingly, she had been clingy and weepy ever since the attack the other day. When Verity reached her daughter, Beth put her arms around Verity's waist and hugged her as if she'd been gone for days to a foreign shore, not just a few yards away in plain sight. “Mama, I'm glad Grandpa has a gun. Is that bad?”

Verity smoothed back stray tendrils of her daughter's hair. Guilt had stalked Verity relentlessly since the attack. Did she have the right to put her father-in-law or her daughter through this? “No, it isn't bad.”

“If the bad men come back, Grandpa will shoot them before they can hurt us. Won't he?”

Each question was a razor slicing into Verity's sore heart and raw conscience.
My daughter shouldn't have to ask these questions, Lord. No child should.

Verity stroked her daughter's hair. “Beth, thy grandfather came along to protect us. He is doing what he thinks is best in order to keep us safe. But in the end, God is our shield and defender, the Ancient of Days. We must trust in God.”

Beth did not look comforted by this response.
Oh, Lord, teach my child to lean upon Thee and not her own understanding.

Verity went inside to check on her remaining two patients on pallets in the parlor. A low fire burned, warming the room. The army doctor was to come today and remove the bullets lodged too deeply for Verity to access. Verity had cleaned and rebandaged the wounds several times to keep down the infection. But the two men were weak and listless.

Hannah was helping one patient drink water. The mantel clock chimed eleven times. How would she stand the tension four more hours until she ventured out into this town that hated her? Would she be able to enlist the help of Lirit and her friends for her personal mission or would the arrival of troops put an end to that? Would the festering evil in the South kill her heartfelt hopes and prayers?

 

Three o'clock loomed. With feet like blocks of lead, Verity set out. She carried the precious box in her oak basket. Feeling unprepared, she arrived at Ransford Manor. Passing between the imposing Doric columns, she knocked on the broad double doors. In spite of the fact that the shiny black doors and white columns were peeling, the setting was quite impressive—and quite daunting.

Elijah answered her knock. “Good day, Miss Verity.” He looked as if he wanted to ask why she'd come here today. He no longer wore a bandage but he still had a swollen eye from the skirmish over the barn raising.

She gave him a brave smile. “Good day to thee, Elijah. Mrs. Ransford has invited me to the tea.”

His eyebrows rose. Finally he stepped back and she entered. The house smelled of old polished wood and candle wax. The hall had been swept and polished since her last visit. The chatter of women came from the room to the right of the staircase. Verity was certain that they couldn't be talking as loud as it sounded to her now.

“I'll tell the mistress of the house that you are here,” he said in a hollow voice.

Verity's heart fluttered like a captured bird.

“That's all right, Elijah.” Mrs. Ransford stood in the doorway to her parlor in a faded pink dress in the antebellum style, and wearing a gold locket at her throat. “Mrs. Hardy,” the lady greeted her with a mix of hostility and mockery, “you decided to come today after all.”

“Yes, I have come.” Verity hoped her trembling wasn't visible.

Lirit's gaze swept over her with scorn. “Then come in and meet the Daughters of the Confederacy. They will be overcome with joy to meet you in person at last.”

Ignoring the heavy sarcasm, Verity entered the parlor. Numbness started spreading through her limbs, fear freezing her. She looked from face to face. The hostile expressions on each told her that they had not expected or desired the Yankee schoolmarm to show up for tea. Verity took a deep breath and said, “Good afternoon, ladies. I have something I'd like to share with you.”

A large woman with a blotchy complexion rose and snapped, “You are not welcome here. Please have the courtesy to leave.”

Verity knew the moment had come. It was now or never. “I am here at Mrs. Ransford's invitation and I have something to share with all of thee—”

“Of all the nerve!” A second woman in a worn lavender dress rose and faced Verity. “We don't want to hear anymore about that Negro school you want to build here. Please leave.”

“Thy hostess invited me here and I am going to stay until I've said what I came to say.” Verity cast a glance at her hostess, who gloated in the parlor doorway, plainly enjoying Verity's hostile reception. Verity straightened. The time for truth-telling had come. “I'm sure that Lirit Ransford invited me here this afternoon for tea so that I would suffer public insult. But I have something of importance to tell thee—” Verity's voice gathered strength “—which has nothing to do with my Freedman's school. I'm not leaving until I have spoken to all of thee.”

“Personally I cannot wait to hear what y'all have to tell us,” Mrs. Ransford taunted.

Verity ignored her, though her heart skipped and thumped against her breastbone. “I do not think any of thee know that I come from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.”

Their reaction was instantaneous. The mere mention of her hometown and the horrific battle that had cost thousands of Union and Confederate lives cast a grievous pall over the room. The large woman with the blotchy complexion slumped back into her chair.

The other woman in the lavender dress also sank down. “How can you bring that up? So many of us…How could she?” she whispered.

Verity tried to catch her breath and soften her voice. “I do not mention this to hurt anyone. But my sisters and I, along with our congregation of Friends, worked to save the lives of soldiers during that terrible battle. In the midst of all the killing, our men went out onto the battlefield and carried wounded off to our meeting house, which we set up as a hospital. My sisters, the other women of our meeting and I worked tirelessly for over two weeks trying to save lives on both sides.”

Suddenly Verity couldn't go on. The appalling memories of Gettysburg made it impossible to speak for a moment. Cannon blasting, drums pounding, rifles firing; men screaming, cursing, the earth shaking under her. And blood, blood, blood everywhere. Before she disgraced herself by fainting, Verity collapsed onto the empty chair nearest her. She couldn't feel her feet, but her heart danced wildly.

The only sound was of two women weeping quietly.

“Why did you bring this up?” a woman who wore spectacles whispered. “Do you think that your nursing should impress us?”

Shaken to her core by memories, Verity was beyond being insulted. She had begun; she would finish the course. “As my sisters and I cared for the soldiers both Union and Confederate, we tried to gather their names, their hometowns and any other information we could about them. We gathered their mementos, insignia from their uniforms and pieces of identification or personal possessions. We wanted to be able to let their families know what had happened to them.” Verity's throat constricted again and she tried to swallow the horrible memories of the overwhelming smell of blood and dirt and sweat. “But some of the soldiers—” she forced herself to go on “—were never able to give us their names and some no one recognized. So we put their belongings into envelopes and marked on them anything, any clues that we might have about their names and where they came from.”

With numb fingers Verity fumbled open the covered oak basket that sat on her lap. She lifted out the topmost bulging envelope. “This soldier died without regaining consciousness. We found this watch.” Fighting to draw breath, she held it up. “Inside the inscription reads, ‘To Jesse from his loving parents.' And we found this picture in his pocket.” She held up a daguerreotype of a young woman. “He wore the insignia of the South Carolina militia. And we heard him speak the name ‘Louisa' several times.”

“I don't understand why you are putting us through this,” said the woman in the lavender dress, who was weeping.

“I know what it feels like to lose a husband in battle. But I was fortunate enough to receive a letter from my husband's commander telling me about Roger's final days of life and how he died. The commander sent me his watch, and other personal effects. But not all women—wives, mothers, sisters, daughters—were as fortunate as I was. My sisters and I saved these precious envelopes for after the war. We did this in hopes that we would be able to find the women, the families to whom these keepsakes would mean so much. But we are at a loss with regards to finding these people.” Verity felt a headache begin behind her eyes.

“What you expect us to do?” the large woman asked, no longer sounding hostile but now only quietly distressed.

“I am hoping that thee, all of thee, will take on the task of finding the families of these men as a work of charity. I know that thee all have relatives and friends all over the South and can also contact people who fought with thy husbands. I'm hoping—my sisters and I are hoping—that thee will be able to return these mementos to the rightful heirs.”

There was again silence, except for the weeping. Then Verity felt tears dripping down her face. She hadn't even realized she'd been crying. She found her handkerchief and wiped her face. “Will thee accept this work of charity?”

From outside came the sound of horses. Lirit moved to the window. “Yankee troops have come,” she said in a flat tone. “Matt Ritter's riding with them. We should have known that he'd come back and take revenge on us.”

Verity tensed, feeling the progress she'd made with the women slipping away.
Dear Father, please, no.

 

Late that afternoon in the chill early darkness, Verity walked the last few steps to her house. Feeling a hundred years older than she had this morning, she saw that their paddock was occupied by several strange horses. She trudged up the steps and inside, hearing male voices in the parlor where the last few wounded lay. She took off her bonnet and hung it on the hall tree. After the emotional scene at the tea, Verity felt worn out. And now she must face Union troops, an army doctor and Matthew. She clearly understood why Matthew had to summon these troops. But was there any way she could avoid a local backlash?

She moved into the parlor, her head aching. The army doctor was kneeling beside one of the patients, examining an open wound on the patient's shoulder. Unfortunately, this sight no longer had the power to shock her.

Matthew was standing nearby. At sight of him—his dark good looks—her heart sped up. She tried to temper this reaction, but it was in vain. “You went to meet the troops?” she asked, trying to ignore the unseen pull toward him.

“No, I went to Richmond to swear out a warrant for Orrin Dyke's arrest,” Matthew said, not meeting her eyes.

“His arrest?” She folded her arms around herself and tried to smooth back her unruly hair.