Tanner (Bachelors and Babies Book 14)

by St. John, Cheryl

  “Yes’m. I have three younger brothers.”

  “Do they attend school?”

  “Yes’m. School is held in our church during the week. There are two freedmen who take turns teaching classes.”

  “So, there’s not an actual teacher?” Emerald asked.

  “The Freedmen’s Bureau doesn’t have enough teachers to spare, Miss Cameron.”

  Raylene looked surprised. “I read the agency was placing teachers in Southern and border states. But they don’t have enough for here?”

  “I reckon they think those states need the teachers more than we do.”

  Tanner had been involved in the town hall discussions about opening their public school to the Negro children, and the community had been divided. It angered him that thousands had fought and died to give the slaves their freedom, but now townspeople were opposed to having those children in their school? He’d personally delivered wood for heat to the freedmen’s church last fall and winter. “It’s up to the parents to pay for a teacher,” he told Raylene. “They’re already providing books and supplies.”

  Raylene passed a platter of thick ham slices. She sat with her hands in her lap for a moment. He didn’t know her well enough to read expressions, but it seemed as though she was tempering anger before she blurted, “I could take a turn teaching.”

  Emerald stared at her. “You don’t have a diploma.”

  “Neither do those parents.” She gestured with an open palm. “But I know history and geography. I am passable with French. I can play the piano. I could teach music or art.”

  Tanner and John Jay exchanged a glance.

  She looked directly at Tanner. Yes, a glimmer of anger flared in her eyes. “You don’t think I’m capable?”

  “It’s not that,” Tanner answered carefully. “It’s that those children need practical skills, like arithmetic, reading and writing.”

  “I can do those things, too,” she insisted. She paused and looked at the others around the table. “Is it because I’m a Southerner that you think they wouldn’t want me in their school?”

  No one said anything for an uncomfortable moment.

  John Jay broke the silence. “Mrs. Cranford, you’re the kindest Southern lady I ever knew,” he said with conviction. “I will talk to my parents. They can decide if it would be a good idea and ask the others.”

  “Thank you, John Jay. Everyone deserves an adequate education.”

  It was clear in her words and generous offer that her ire was for the children. His admiration intensified.

  The meal was delicious, the potatoes smooth, the gravy dark and rich. Tanner enjoyed every bite. “I haven’t had a meal like this in a long time,” he said. “This reminds me of my youth and all the dinners around my mother’s table.”

  “We have Meriday to thank for the perfection of the cooking,” Raylene replied. “She’s teaching me.” She stood and refilled their glasses with iced tea. “John Jay, do you like blueberry pie?”

  “Yes’m, I surely do.”

  Tanner drank his sweet tea and finished his meal. His landlady sure had a good heart, which he appreciated, but also some mighty peculiar notions. Her hair and clothing set her apart from the other women in Twin Springs, and he was pretty certain that was deliberate. At church, she’d been the only female wearing a lavish dress with a full skirt and an elaborate feathered hat. He’d sworn she’d exaggerated her drawl when greeting parishioners.

  He’d also noticed how many of the women had intentionally looked away rather than speak to her. He’d never had occasion to see that behavior before. After his deplorable experience in a North Carolina prison, her drawl irritated him, too, so the fact that he was disappointed in his neighbors made him feel hypocritical. He thought they shouldn’t have negative feelings toward a Southerner when her inflections raised his own hackles?

  There had been enough division over the last years. But he had good reason for his gut reactions.

  He enjoyed the pie for which Meriday was given credit. Raylene was always quick to point out her friend’s skills.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Bell?”

  Meriday had asked the question, and he glanced up. “No, thank you, miss. Dinner was exceptional, and the pie was delicious. When Lillian wakes up, I think I’ll sit on the porch with her.”

  The boarders thanked their landladies for the meal and excused themselves.

  “I can help with chores if you need a hand,” John Jay offered.

  “It would be much appreciated if you’d take all the scraps out to Lula Mae,” Meriday suggested.

  “Oh, yes’m, my pleasure,” he replied.

  Lillian was stirring when Tanner approached the basket where she’d been sleeping.

  Meriday brought a bottle from the kitchen. “Here’s her milk, Mr. Bell.”

  “Thank you, miss. I could have done that.”

  “I was already in the kitchen, so I was happy to warm it.”

  Tanner changed her and carried the baby in her basket out to the porch. He settled comfortably on a wicker rocker, held her and fed her the bottle. Lillian gazed up at him with wide, trusting eyes as she sucked noisily and made bubbles around the rubber nipple. So helpless, so vulnerable was what he thought often as he studied her. Humans were the only newborns he’d seen that were completely helpless. After only a few minutes, calves and horses stood on wobbly legs and followed their mothers around. Ducklings could swim within a day or two. But this child was completely dependent upon him and would be for years to come. He was grateful beyond everything for Raylene and Meriday. If not for them, he didn’t know what he would do.

  The screen door opened and Abraham exited the house. He nodded to Tanner and headed down the stairs and toward the street. A minute or so later, he was gone from sight. Where did the man go? As far as Tanner remembered, Abraham had never rented a horse or a vehicle. The man wasn’t the least bit feeble or lame, however, so he likely walked wherever he went.

  He patted Lillian’s back until an air bubble came up, and then held her and talked to her. After a while, she got drowsy, so he laid her in her basket and nestled her blanket around her. Where had this blanket come from? It looked like knitting or whatever was done with yarn.

  The door opened and Raylene came out of the house. “Would you prefer to be alone?”

  “No. Please come join me.”

  “I do enjoy a mild afternoon on the veranda.” She seated herself in one of the cushioned chairs nearby. A few minutes later, she glanced at him. “I was wondering about something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Lillian will need a christening gown for her dedication. Had you thought of that?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “It’s a long white dress for the special occasion.”

  “Oh,” he said with a nod.

  “It would be my pleasure to make her one, if it’s all right with you.”

  “You have so much to do already, Mrs. Cranford. And you’re taxed with her care during the day. She can wear what she usually wears, can’t she?”

  “Caring for her is not taxing,” she insisted. “And to be frank, it would be a pleasure to make something lovely and meaningful. It’s a very tiny dress, and it wouldn’t take long at all.” She glanced at him hopefully.

  This was obviously something she wanted to do, and she was asking his permission. A baby dress wasn’t important to him, and Lillian would never know the difference, but strangely enough, this woman cared. “That would be nice. Thank you for thinking of it.”

  The smile she offered him changed the too-serious expression he was accustomed to and softened her features. The sunlight, filtered by the porch roof flattered her shiny fair hair and cast a pleasing light in her blue eyes. As much as he didn’t want to recognize the fact, Raylene Cranford, with all of her uppity airs and her irksome drawl, was a fine-looking woman. An unfamiliar feeling quickened in his chest, and he took a deep breath, but didn’t look a
way.

  Her smile faltered. “The christening dress won’t displease you then?”

  “No,” he replied. “The dress will be nice, I’m sure. Can I cover the expense?”

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I own far too many items of clothing and have something barely worn I can use for the fabric.”

  Her cheeks pinkened considerably, leaving him to assume the clothing item she spoke of was intimate feminine apparel. Thinking of her petticoats and underthings wasn’t a safe direction for his thoughts. “Very well. Thank you.”

  “Would you like a glass of tea or a cup of coffee?” she asked a few minutes later.

  “Thank you. I’m still full from dinner. Truthfully, I haven’t eaten that well in a very long time.”

  “We’re fortunate for our sufficiency,” she replied.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” he said. “But you obviously have nice clothing and jewelry, and…well, I wonder how it is you still own those things.”

  She smoothed a hand over her skirt. “My wardrobe, along with much more, is due to my mother’s foresight—or her fear, whichever one would call it. At the onset of the war, she packed trunks with valuables and sent them here to my uncle’s home for safekeeping. He stored all of her good china, most of the silver, probably half of our clothing.”

  “So, the china on the table today…?

  “My mother’s. The silver and linens as well. It would all have been lost had she not done that without my father’s approval. He thought she was foolish, but later in the war, Yankees repeatedly looted our home and stole everything of value. My father and Meriday’s father were killed defending our property and the horses. After that Meriday’s brothers and some of the other men joined the Union Army.”

  “What about your mothers?”

  “Meriday’s mother had died a few years previous. My mother hid with the remainder of us in the woods. We had to hide food, because there was always another regiment tromping through, taking our belongings. They emptied the smokehouse and the root cellars.”

  Her eyes held a haunted look. No one had been unscathed. No one had been spared suffering. He’d seen men on both sides do despicable things. Unforgivable things. As much as Tanner’s allegiance was to the Union, he empathized with the innocents caught in the middle.

  “When there was nothing left, they burned the house.” Her voice held an edge of anger. “We were forced to build a shelter in a burned-out corner of stone wall and spent the months until the war ended there, hungry and cold. Most of the others eventually left, but Meriday stayed with me and my mother. My mama died that winter.”

  He imagined this proud capable woman and her friend huddled in the cold without provisions, caring for a dying woman. He imagined them having to bury her mother and grieving. They’d surely been terrified every night and every day—and at no fault of their own, like thousands of others caught in the nightmare of that war.

  And now here she was, living in the midst of the Yankees because she had no one left and no home to return to. He understood her a lot better.

  “I’m sorry.” The words weren’t enough. Nothing was enough.

  “It wasn’t you who burned our home,” she replied. “Those Yankees thought we were slave owners, and they thought they deserved what they stole.”

  Many Northern states had already abolished slavery, while some Southern states wanted an amendment to the constitution to protect it. The decisions affected both national and global economies. He hadn’t known Raylene’s father, but knowing Raylene and having seen her relationship with Meriday, he had to think he’d been a good man. The wounds were too new, too raw, and nothing he said today would change what had happened in the past.

  Raylene folded her hands in her lap and her gaze went to Lillian, soundly sleeping in her painstakingly-cushioned basket. “Everyone lost too much.”

  “What was your mother like?” he asked. “Before.”

  She met his eyes briefly and then looked out over the front lawn and the lilac bushes laden with buds. “She was beautiful. Pale blond hair and blue eyes.”

  “Like you,” he said.

  She barely shrugged. “I got her hair, yes. But she drew people with her charm and her smile. She loved to laugh, and she loved to dance. I remember watching her from behind the oriental screens in the enormous room where she hosted galas. She was nimble and light on her feet, and her skirts swirled around her ankles when she and my father danced. His shiny black shoes and the cuff of his trousers would become lost in the cloud of her pastel dress and voluminous petticoats.

  “When she tucked me in at night, she smelled of violets. She always had a nugget of feminine wisdom to bestow upon me, something about how to become desirable and earn a man’s adoration. Her advice was obviously golden, because my father was besotted with her, and if he hadn’t been, a dozen others would have gleefully stepped up to marry her.”

  Raylene’s expression changed from wistful to self-conscious. She straightened the already perfect cuffs at her wrists and folded her hands in her lap.

  “She sounds extraordinary,” he said.

  She lifted her chin a fraction in agreement. “She was.” She looked over at him. “Tell me about your mother.”

  He couldn’t help a smile at thoughts of his mother. “Even though her hair was gray before she died, I remember her with wavy hair the color of honey. She was tall and carried herself with purpose, as though she always had something important to attend to. And she did. My father ran a livery and we had a several acres of land where they raised a few cattle and planted gardens. She worked in the garden early in the mornings, planting, then pulling weeds and later harvesting the vegetables.

  “My grandparents lived in a little house on the back of our property—my father’s parents—and she looked after them too. They ate all of their meals with us.

  “My grandfather taught her to fiddle. Of an evening, we’d sit on our porch, Vivian and I on stools, and the sound of those strings combined with the night to cocoon us in our own little world. Back then life felt so safe.”

  Raylene gave him an understanding nod.

  “After my grandparents passed on and my mother got older, her fingers became crooked. She didn’t complain, but we could tell they ached. She’d rub liniment on them and play her fiddle for us anyhow.”

  “She sounds like a loving, generous and determined lady.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  This was the first deeply personal conversation he’d had with anyone in a long time. Maybe it was perfectly normal to feel comfortable with this woman who was helping him care for Vivian’s baby. Raylene showed genuine compassion for Lillian—and for him. She was going to extreme measures to help. They quite obviously had their differences, but none of those stopped her from showing kindness.

  He pictured her in scenes as she’d described her mother. Coming from a society where feminine graces and attributes made women the center of attention, this life of hard work was the exact opposite of anything she’d known. The dinner table today said it all. Anyone else would have sold that china for firewood.

  Which reminded him of something he’d been thinking about. “I know winter is past, but Spring brings chilly nights in the mountains. I can bring a load of firewood, then split and stack it.”

  “I’ve already arranged for wood to be delivered this week,” she assured him. “I won’t let Lillian be cold, Mr. Bell.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I was thinking it would be helpful.”

  “It won’t be necessary. I can manage this house.”

  “Of course, you can. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I’m not offended.”

  Perhaps not, but their friendly conversation had become an awkward exchange. He would do well to remember she was proud and fiercely independent and wait until she asked for his help.

  “Who made this blanket?” he asked, leaning over to tuck the cover over Lillian.

  “It was in one of my mother trunks. I’d gue
ss it was perhaps mine and that she made it.”

  He glanced at her. She was gazing upon the sleeping baby. “An heirloom is a rare thing these days.”

  “The blanket should be used,” she answered softly. “Not stored away.”

  Lillian’s long christening dress was a pristine white confection, consisting of delicate layers of embroidered lace and tule, the likes of which no one in Twin Springs had ever seen before. On Sunday morning after the dedication, the females gathered around to admire her and her extraordinary dress.

  Raylene stood aside and observed the fawning attention paid for the sake of catching the admittedly handsome Mr. Bell’s eye. He’d dressed for the occasion in a pressed black suit and white shirt. With his wavy hair tamed, he was a dashing figure of a husband prospect.

  “I brought the baby a small gift.” Octavia Gaines fluttered her lashes and handed him a flat fabric-wrapped box. “I made it myself.”

  She wore a green dress that accentuated her curves, and she had fashioned her striking red hair into a loose braid and wound it around her head with springy curls at her neck. “I have a jar of jam for you, as well.”

  Raylene barely heard his thanks, because Mary Standifer had elbowed her way to the front of the gaggle clustered around him to ask if she could hold the baby. Mr. Bell placed Lillian in her arms as women in a rainbow of Sunday dresses closed around him, cutting off Raylene’s view. She headed out of doors and greeted both of the ministers before walking home.

  A basket lunch picnic had been planned as a fundraiser for purchasing new hymnals. Della Jenkins had told her basket picnics were once meant for young couples, with beaus purchasing their sweetheart’s lunches, but now, since there were fewer men, males and females good-naturedly purchased each other’s lunches to raise money to fund projects. She’d taken a basket lunch to the event once and had been humiliated that hers was the last one remaining. She’d eaten with Cully Richardson, a gangly twelve-year-old whose mother had taken pity on Raylene and given him the coins. He was a nice boy, but he’d been as mortified as she.

  She planned to leave directly after church this time and not open herself to that embarrassment again. People tolerated her, but she didn’t have friends in Twin Springs.