Her Captain's Heart (14 page)

Jed McKay cursed loud and long. “What does it matter? She is bringing wrong ideas into this town! You give blacks school-learning and the next they'll want is the vote. Haven't you read about the riots in Louisiana and Tennessee? The Negroes there demanded the vote! You mark my words—you'll have blacks voting and running for Congress in Virginia if we don't put a stop to this right now!”

Matt stood straighter. “You're right, McKay. And the sooner the better.”

A stunned silence filled the yard. McKay glared, red-faced and white-lipped. “We don't want or need Yankee schoolmarms teaching blacks to be ‘colored gentlemen.'” He made the terms sound like vile insults as he dismounted. “We can keep blacks in their place in this town if you stand with me today and run this Quaker and Matthew Ritter out of town! Who stands with me? Who stands for what is right?”

The troops almost casually reached for their rifles and turned them on McKay and the other two whites. The black men brandished their tools as weapons, ready for anything.

Then Samuel stepped forward. “Any man that can be happy to have his daughter married to a brute like Orrin Dyke is a man I can disagree with—cheerfully.”

“You've got that right,” Matt seconded.

“No one asked you to open your mouth, boy!” McKay roared. He charged Samuel. Dace leaped forward and grabbed Jed's arms. The old man struggled against him.

“Orrin
is
a brute.” Mary Dyke's thin, frightened voice shocked everyone into silence. “I told my father that Orrin beat me and he told me to mind my man and I wouldn't be ill-treated. He was wrong. Orrin didn't need a reason to hurt me and my son.” Mary's voice shook with feeling. “I'm glad Orrin's gone. I hope he stays gone.”

“You dare to speak against your husband in public?” McKay demanded.

“I dare because of this woman.” Mary nodded toward Verity. “I didn't think women could make a difference, or could stand up to men. But she did. She stood up to the women, too, and showed them what she was about. I didn't know a woman could do that. If Mrs. Hardy can stand up to all of you, so can I.”

Then Jed yanked himself free of Dace's grasp, mounted his horse and rode away without a backward glance. All eyes watched him until he disappeared from sight.

Mary approached Verity, the men giving way to her. “I've come to take my boy home, ma'am. Thank you for giving him shelter. I knew he was safe with you. May I see him please?”

“Of course.” Verity motioned Mary up the steps and took her inside.

McKay should be horsewhipped for letting Orrin abuse his daughter and grandson.
After a quick glance at his cousin, Matt turned away, choked up. “Show's over! Let's get moving! The sun goes down early these days.”

Matt felt good, really good. If nothing else, he'd come home and had run Orrin out of Mary's life. With Verity's help.

 

The long, eventful day was finally finished. Matt thought it might take him a long time to sort through his reactions to all that had happened today. He ached, but in a good way and for a good reason. The barn was up and only needed some finishing work, which Joseph had offered to do so the men could move right on to the school tomorrow. The workers had all gone home with pay vouchers and smiles. Now sitting at the kitchen table, Matt wrote out the last voucher to Samuel.

Samuel looked at it and smiled. “Matt, when we were boys, did you ever think that you'd be paying me—a free man—for building a school for black children and former slaves in Fiddlers Grove?”

Matt was caught up short. He hadn't thought of it in that way. “My parents hoped for, worked for something like that.”

Samuel's face sobered. “They were good folk. I'm sorry they didn't live to see this day. To witness this miracle.”

“This was a day of miracles,” Verity said, walking into the kitchen.

Samuel rose. “Time I left for home. Good evening, Mrs. Hardy.”

Matt had also risen at her entry. As Samuel passed through the back door, he winked at Matt.

Matt felt himself warm under the collar.

“Would thee like to take a walk, Matthew?” Verity asked. “I feel the need of some fresh air to clear my head. So much has happened this day.”

He nodded. “Good idea.” The truth was, he wanted Verity to himself. The house was crowded with soldiers bedding down in the parlor, the dining room and the entry hall. Verity had insisted they sleep inside because of the cold.

She tied her bonnet ribbons and Matt helped her on with her cape. He was careful not to touch her shoulders. Touching her might unleash all he fought to conceal. He shrugged on his wool jacket and they stepped outside into the cloaking darkness of early December.

The moon was high and bright as Matt walked beside Verity. He listened to everything with new ears, it seemed. Their footsteps sounded loud in the quiet. Matt was very aware of the woman who walked beside him, the rustling of her starched skirt. Though he longed to claim her hands, he kept his arms at his sides.

Finally she broke their silence. She did not turn toward him. “Thee doesn't believe in miracles then?”

He was about to say he didn't—then he recalled all he'd witnessed today. “I haven't for a long time,” he said finally. “Is it a miracle or coincidence that Dace was one of the many you nursed at Gettysburg?”

“I call it Providence.”

“Providence?” Matt asked, and shoved his chilled hands into his pockets.

“Yes. Surely my reunion with thy cousin is no mere coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence. Far in advance, God knew that I would come to Fiddlers Grove to open this school for freed slaves.”

Leaves were falling in cascades from tree branches, sounding like sighs and whispers. Once again Matt wished Verity wouldn't wear such a deep-brimmed bonnet. He wanted to watch her vivid expressions. For a woman who radiated peace, she felt and showed everything vibrantly. “You believe that God had this all planned?” he asked, knowing what her reply would be.

An owl hooted in the moonlit darkness. “I do. God saved Dacian's life that awful night, not my poor nursing. He saved thy cousin for this purpose. And God preserved thy life, too. Thee is a part of this, a part of God's foreknowledge and providence.”

Her voice grew stronger, with the passion that he loved in her. And hated.
Don't care so much, Verity. That's the way to pain. I'm afraid for you.
He turned his collar up against the cold.

“I don't know,” he hedged. “It all sounds wonderful when you say it like that. As if God has a grand plan with parts for each of us to play—”

“It's the war, isn't it?” she interrupted. “The war cost thee much.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Matt insisted, suddenly flushed. He didn't want to go back to those years, a collection of days no living soul should have had to face. “I won't.”

“As thee wishes. I'm sorry. I remember…” Her voice trailed off.

She sparked his anger. He stopped her and gripped her slender shoulders. Her face shone pale in the moonlight. “You only survived one battle,” Matt growled, “and you weren't in the midst of it all…” How could she know what it had been like, having to face over and over the possibility of pain, dismemberment and perhaps anonymous death.

He thought of the prebattle ritual of writing his name and town on a slip of paper and having a friend pin it to his collar. That way, if he fell, he wouldn't die nameless. The men from whom Verity had collected belongings must not have done this. Or their slips of paper had gotten torn off or lost.
God, no one should ever have to do that. No one.

A gust of wind billowed her dark skirt. “I know. I don't know how thee did what thee did, survived what thee survived. But I know enough to know that it cost thee much, too much. And through it all, thee remained a good man, a kind man. How did thee manage that?”

He heard the sorrow and compassion in her voice, and he could hold off no longer. He pulled her into his arms. “Just put it behind you. Just say it's over.”

“But it isn't over.”

He didn't ask her what she meant. He drank in the sensation of her breathing against him, of her bonnet touching his face. He pressed his cheek to her forehead, wishing she were wrong. But she was right—it wasn't over. The school wasn't built and Orrin Dyke was on the loose. The hate just went on.

I
t was a week later on the morning of Second Day. This would be the very first day that class would be held in the new school. Verity couldn't recall ever feeling quite this happy or uplifted. Halfway between their house and the school, she and Beth walked hand in hand through the windbreak of poplars. The morning air was crisp and clear. Behind them, smoke from the chimney puffed high and white in the blue sky, following them. For the first time in her life, Verity felt like singing out loud, hearing her own voice. Then she laughed at the silly thought.
I don't even know if I can carry a tune.

Beth, who had finally conceded and left her dog at home with Hannah, looked up. “Mama, is this going to be a good day?”

The worry in her daughter's strained eyes pierced Verity. She halted and pulled Beth into a tight hug. “Dearest daughter, today will be a very good day. We open the school today. The children in Fiddlers Grove will be able to learn to read and write.”

“But only the black children, right? Alec won't get to learn.” Beth's dismay over this darkened her deep brown eyes. Even Beth's voice drooped.

Her happiness dimming, Verity looked over the top of Beth's bonnet.
Father, I thank Thee that my daughter has a tender heart.
“Beth, whether Alec learns or not isn't up to me. But I wouldn't stop any child from coming to school—ever.”
Maybe, Lord, Mary would let him come over to the house and I could teach him his letters at the kitchen table.

Beth tugged at Verity's arm. “So if Alec came to school today, you'd let him stay?”

Verity bent, kissed Beth's forehead and cupped her chin. “Of course.” But Alec wouldn't be coming to school today. The whites here had made it clear they would have nothing to do with the Freedman's school—even though that meant their own children would remain illiterate. Verity drew Beth along with her.
There are none so blind as those who will not see.

The new white one-room school loomed ahead of them. The frozen grass under their feet crunched. On Seventh Day, the desks and blackboard had arrived and had been installed the same day. It had taken only four days for the willing workers, with the soldiers' help, to put up the school, paint it and then outfit it.

At twilight yesterday, Verity had walked down the center aisle and placed a large, leather-bound dictionary on her desk. Then she'd laid her hands on the two stacks of textbooks there—one a reader and one a math book.
It will be so good to be in the classroom once more.

The bubbly feeling came again. Then ahead she saw the children and their mothers, bundled up against the cold and waiting outside the school door. Thaddeus Ellington Ransford ran toward them. “Schoolteacher! Schoolteacher! Now we got us a real school. Does it got chairs?”

Verity couldn't help herself. She chuckled. “Yes, yes! We have desks with chairs.”

“Mama!” Beth shouted, pointing ahead. “It's Alec! Alec, did you come to school today?” Beth broke away from Verity and ran to her friend.

Alec still wore the sling, but he was walking now. His mother was standing behind him, looking uncomfortable but determined. “Good morning, Mrs. Hardy.”

“Good morning, Mary.” Verity looked around. There seemed to be two camps—one on each side of the door. The black mothers and children stood to the left, and a few white mothers and children to the right. Verity's spirits dropped to her toes. Would there be a confrontation on this bright, promising day?
Father, help.

“Mrs. Hardy, I know this school is just for freed slaves and their children, but Alec wanted to come. He wants to learn…” Mary said, her frail voice fading away.

“Don't worry, ma'am.” Beth spoke up with palpable confidence. “My mama won't turn away anyone who wants to learn. She told me so.” Beth gave Alec a look of delight and danced on her toes. “You can learn, too, Alec. Reading is fun!”

Verity glanced at the black mothers, who looked skeptical.
This must come from thee, Lord. I couldn't have caused it.
She decided the best course of action was just to go on as if this unexpected turn hadn't occurred.
Please, Lord, keep care of this. It's beyond me.

She walked to the door and unlocked it. Earlier this morning, Joseph had come over and started a fire in the Franklin stove in the center of the school, so the school was pristine, welcoming and warm. “Come in! Come in! Hang your coats on the hooks on the back wall. Those children who have already been registered and attending school, take your seats according to your age as you did on the porch.”

The black children scrambled to take their seats, all the while exclaiming over the brand-new desks. Alec hung back, but Beth dragged him forward by the hand. “Alec, you're a boy so you sit on this side. And you're bigger, so you sit back here.”

The black mothers had gone forward to examine Verity's desk. The white mothers—Mary and, to Verity's surprise, two women whom Verity had seen at the Daughters of the Confederacy meeting—walked in hesitantly, looking all around. They motioned their children to sit in the back behind the black children.

Before Verity could say anything, Sassy Ellington Ransford stood up and waved to them. “You white chil'run got to come up to the teacher and tell her your name—all your names. If you ain't got three, she'll give you what you need.” Sassy waved again, summoning them forward. “Come on. She got to write your names in the book so she can mark down when you come every day. It's called taking roll.”

The white children followed their mothers and moved forward, looking as if they'd been transported to China and couldn't believe their eyes or ears. Trying not to laugh at Sassy's instructions, Verity took off her cape and bonnet, and hung them on a hook on the wall nearby. Then she sat at her desk and opened her roll book and inkwell. With her pen in hand, she said, “Tell me your full names, please, one at a time.”

She enrolled three white boys including Alec, and one white girl—Annie, the granddaughter of the large woman with the blotchy complexion who'd ordered her out of Lirit's parlor. The woman, Mrs. Augusta Colbert, gave Verity an intense look. “We're trusting you to know how to do this.”

Do what? Teach? Integrate a school?
Verity tried not to appear as baffled as she felt and merely nodded, trying to look confident.

With that, the mothers departed, leaving Verity facing the children. The black children sat in the front rows and the new white students sat behind them. Beth had taken her accustomed seat near Sassy. All the children looked eager and uncertain. The mixing of the two races—something that Verity had never expected—seemed to put everyone on edge. Except for Sassy.

Verity took a deep breath and began calling roll, name by name. Each of the experienced students stood and replied to her, and then sat back down. Sassy turned and alerted the white children in a stage whisper that they should do that, too. So when Verity called, “Alec Jedediah Dyke,” Alec rose and replied, “Present, ma'am.” Then, as if he couldn't help it, Alec grinned—it was the first smile she'd ever seen on his face. Verity blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes.
I thank Thee, Father, for this moment. It gives me hope.

After roll, Verity began the daily alphabet instruction. The experienced students recited with enthusiasm while the new ones only observed. It would probably take some time for them to become comfortable enough to join in.

As Verity was about to finish the first math lesson, Matthew and Samuel came through the door. Her heart skittered in her chest.
Oh, no, what's wrong now?

“Good morning, Mrs. Hardy!” Samuel called out with a smile. “Good morning, students!” He stopped short when he caught sight of the white students. Matthew halted beside him, looking uncomfortable.

Oh, dear.
She'd surprised him again. And he didn't look pleased. Verity drew in a breath and forced a smile.

“Hello, Mr. Ritter,” Alec said. “And you, too, Samuel.”

Recovering quickly, Samuel waved to Alec and the other children. Matthew nodded at them, still looking perplexed by the white children at the back.

“What may we do for thee today, gentlemen?” Verity asked, hoping to forestall any questions about the additions to her classroom.

“Well…I…” Samuel said. “We thought that this new school needed some decorating.” He looked around, grinning. “I mean, it's almost Christmas! When I went to school in the North, we always had a tree and pine branches on the windowsills. And I thought that Fiddlers Grove's first school needed them, too.” Samuel put an arm around Matthew's shoulders. “And Matt here agreed with me.”

A sudden lightness rose inside her. She smothered a chuckle. She could just imagine how enthusiastic Matthew had been about this idea. “Well, what do you think, children? Should our new school be decorated for Christmas?”

Beth jumped up, waving her hand. “Yes, Mama—I mean, yes, ma'am!”

Bouncing on her toes, Sassy had joined Beth and actually had to put both hands over her mouth to keep from speaking without waiting for permission.

“Sassy?” Verity said.

The little girl waved her hand like a flag. “Please, ma'am, we want to decorate our school! We never had a Christmas tree like they did in the big house!”

“Then I think that first the girls and then the boys should line up and put on thy coats and scarves. Then form a line and wait for permission to go outside. Thee will not run and thee will stay close to me.” Verity pointed toward the aisle and the coatrack. The girls lined up and soon all the children stood in two lines, waiting to head outside.

Matthew found his voice. “We left the hatchets outside and we have a wooded section at the back of this property with pines and holly trees on it. I thought we'd cut one for the school and one for the house,” Matt said.

“Wonderful.” Verity beamed at him, tugging on her gloves.

A warmth glowed inside him to see her so happy after all she'd gone through over the past weeks. He smiled as he helped her with her cape.

“Will thee two gentlemen lead us then?” At his nod, she said, “Children, please follow Matthew and Samuel.”

Samuel stayed at the head of the party, encouraging the children with teasing. The children's zest was contagious—Matt felt his mood lifting. As they tromped over the frozen grass, he drifted back to Verity's side, bringing up the rear.

The clear, cold air was invigorating and he breathed it in deeply, trying to shake off his powerful attraction to this woman. He leaned close to her, wishing her bonnet away. Its brim hid her face from him. He whispered, “How did the white children come to be in the school? Did you do something?”
And not tell me as usual?

She tilted her head so he could see her face, framed by the brim. “I arrived at school and there they were with their mothers. I was taken completely by surprise. But I'm not sorry. I hope more white children will come.”

What would the Freedman's Bureau have to say about white children in this school? Well, that would have to take care of itself. He wasn't going to tell Verity Hardy that she couldn't let white children into her classroom. He wasn't crazy.

“What kind of tree do you children think we should have in your school?” Samuel called out.

“A big one!” Thaddeus shouted.

“The biggest one!” Sassy seconded.

Verity chuckled and Matthew felt laughter rolling around in him. He finally let it come up his throat. He laughed out loud. “The biggest one?” he called out. “We'd better not get one so tall that we have to cut a hole in the roof.”

The children giggled at this. And Verity touched his arm. He looked down and she was beaming at him again. Making him forget they were colleagues. Making him want more, much more from her.

Soon they reached the wooded area. There were white pines, yellow pines, spruce trees, cedar trees. The children scrambled around, shouting about each tree they deemed a possible choice.

Matthew now realized how much all the opposition from the town had affected him. Each moment of listening to the children, listening to Samuel teasing them, lifted him and seemed to chip away at the burden he'd carried not for weeks but for years. He found himself keeping close to Verity, as if she were his North Star, glowing and leading him away from…what?

He couldn't put it into words. It just felt good. Just being near her, hearing her soft voice and her chuckling. Over and over, she turned her face up to him, beaming, shining, happy. Her enjoyment infused him, too.

Right here, right now it was hard to recall that Orrin Dyke was still at large. And that many in Fiddlers Grove would be outraged that white children had attended school with black children, and that together they were running around in the woods, choosing a Christmas tree.

Then he felt it—an icy dot melting on his face. He looked up. Snowflakes were drifting down. The children squealed with delight. “Snow! Snow!” they called out. “It's snowing!”