She glanced again at the initials on the return address as she handed the envelope to him, curious. It was written in a most feminine hand script. She’d thought about his mother or his unmarried sisters, but their last name wouldn’t begin with the letter P.
Roland read the return address and smiled. “Well, this is certainly a surprise. Mind if I read it now?”
“Be my guest.”
He tore open the envelope and scanned the brief missive.
“Good news, I hope?” she said after a moment.
He nodded, glanced inside the envelope, and pulled out another piece of paper, from which slipped several paper bills. Lizzie counted the money as he picked it up.
“Twenty-five dollars,” she said, hearing the incredulity in her voice.
He looked over at her. “A gift. From a very kind and older woman.” With a gleam in his eye, he handed her the letter, then pulled it back slightly. “But only if you read it aloud. I like hearing you read.”
The playful gesture reminded her of James, and judging from the look in Roland’s eyes, he was thinking of him too. She unfolded the letter—and felt her jaw slip open. “Mrs. James K. Polk? As in the former president of the United States?”
Roland laughed. “Well, actually she wasn’t the president. Her husband was.”
Lizzie swatted his arm.
“But yes, as in that Polk. My family’s plantation in Yalobusha borders theirs. Our families have known one another for years.”
“And she’s sending you money?”
He gestured. “Read the letter.”
“‘To Captain R. W. Jones of Mississippi. Dear Sir . . .’” Lizzie gave him a look. “‘I received a letter yesterday from Mr. I. M. Avent at my plantation in Mississippi informing me that you had been wounded in the battle at Franklin and perhaps needed some currency to suit this region. Dr. Brinton, the medical director at Nashville, has kindly offered to convey to you any communication I wish to send. I herewith enclose $25 and beg that you will write to me the amount you need.’” Lizzie paused, looked over the top of the letter, raised her eyebrows, and mouthed, Beg?
With a smile, Roland waved for her to continue.
“‘I will take pleasure to remit to you the sum you require. I will be pleased to hear from you. And if I can serve you in any way, I hope that you will not hesitate to call on me. I am, very respectfully, Mrs. James K. Polk.’” She stared at the letter. “You know the wife of a former president of the United States.”
“And you know someone who knows the wife of a former president of the United States.”
They both laughed and then sighed at the same time.
Lizzie handed him the letter, their fingers brushing as she did. A shiver went through her. She’d come with a purpose other than delivering the letter. She’d come with a question. But just for a moment, she wanted to enjoy being in his company. Being a woman sitting with a man on a porch, watching the sun set. Far from any semblance of war or pain or anguish or death.
She turned ever so slightly and looked at his profile in the waning light of day. He was so handsome and kind. Far from perfect. But so was she. She had yet to broach the topic of slavery with him again, and wasn’t eager to bring it up now. But she’d been praying about it, asking God to work in Roland’s heart much as he had been working in hers. Yet beyond that chasm of a difference between them lay another one. And in some ways, this one was far more frightening to her.
She was certain that, at least at the first, Roland had been interested in her. But in the weeks that had passed and in all the life that had been lived within these walls since that horrible night, had his feelings for her changed? Maybe they had. She no longer caught him looking at her as she used to. Or maybe he’d just accepted, as she had until recent days, that they would only ever be friends.
“It’s beautiful up here,” he said, his tone reflective.
“It’s one of my favorite places at Carnton.”
Behind them in the house, she heard some of the soldiers returning to their rooms and knew she needed to forge ahead. “I finally heard from Towny,” she said, and Roland turned toward her.
“He’s alive.” It wasn’t a question.
She nodded, smiling. “And doing well. He says he doesn’t know how he made it through.”
Roland looked back across the battlefield in the distance. “I know that feeling.”
“He came here to tell me that he was all right. But he also came to tell me something else. He and I are . . . no longer betrothed, Roland.” She felt his attention again but didn’t look at him. It would be easier to say this if she didn’t. And impossible if she did.
“Towny and I have been friends forever. You already know that. When he asked me to marry him and I said yes, I wasn’t completely honest with him. After the battle here, one of the nights when he came to see me, he could tell something was wrong. That I wasn’t . . . responding the way a woman should to her future husband.” Her face heated at the admission. Her throat went dry. And Roland’s close attention wasn’t helping. “When Towny pressed me for the truth,” she continued. “I told him.”
“Lizzie, you don’t have to—”
“No, I want to. I want to be completely honest with you.” She turned to look at him then, and the emotion in his eyes was nearly her undoing. She felt a rush of warmth and wondered if he did too. But when his gaze dropped to her mouth, she didn’t have to wonder anymore. The desire she felt, she saw mirrored in his eyes. But she needed to finish. She looked away, struggling to focus.
“I don’t want you to think ill of Towny. Or to think he simply decided to break his pledge. That’s not what happened. You see, what he didn’t know when I accepted his proposal—what I was too afraid to admit—was that the reason I said yes wasn’t because I truly wanted to marry him.” Her voice fell away. Emotion rose in her chest, and she took a quick breath. “I want children.” She gave a gentle shrug. “And I knew Towny would be a good father. That’s the reason I said yes. I’m twenty-eight years old, and the opportunity for me to become a mother won’t always be here. I knew Towny and I weren’t right for each other. In that way. And now he’s realized it too.”
She held Roland’s gaze and felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She waited for him to respond, but he just stared. Then he faced forward again, the muscles working in his jaw.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his graveled voice rough with emotion. “For you and Towny. You’re both such . . . fine people.”
Lizzie blinked. This wasn’t the response she’d expected. Or had hoped for. Or the one she’d thought was coming, based on what she’d seen in his eyes just a moment—
“It’s getting late. We’d better get back inside.”
Hesitating, she touched his arm. “Roland . . .”
He stilled. Then shook his head. “Lizzie, I—” He covered her hand on his arm, his own warm and strong. He looked over at her, and she felt the distance between them lessening—and was certain it wasn’t only of her doing. She caught the scent of mint on his breath. His gaze moved to her mouth and she swallowed, every imagining she’d ever had about him coming back with a force—and vividness—that took her breath away.
He rose. “We’d better go inside.”
He reached for his crutches, and she felt as though she’d missed something. She wanted to ask him, but when he motioned for her to precede him into the house, she realized she’d gotten the answer to the question she’d brought. And his answer was no.
CHAPTER 39
For the umpteenth time Lizzie glanced at the clock on the table, counting the minutes until lunch. The children finished their reading assignments, and she escorted them toward the stairs. Winder didn’t look into his bedroom when they passed, and Lizzie took that as a good sign. She gave his hair a quick tousle, and he looked up and smiled, then tucked his little hand into hers as Hattie chattered away about making cookies with Tempy. When they reached the entrance hall, Winder ran ahead through the dining room and down to the kitchen.
Hattie looped her arm through Lizzie’s. “Tempy said she’ll teach me how to make them all by myself.”
“Well, if Tempy is teaching you, then those cookies will be the best—”
Three hard raps sounded on the front door.
Lizzie pressed a kiss to Hattie’s forehead. “You go on down, dear. Please tell Tempy I’ll be right there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she turned, Lizzie spotted Roland and George through the dining room window. They were walking toward the barn. In the past month, Roland had made remarkable improvement. He still walked with the aid of crutches, but his legs were getting stronger. Soon he’d only need a cane. Yet the sooner that happened, the sooner he’d go to prison. So despite his apparent lack of romantic feelings for her, she selfishly hoped he wouldn’t get too well too quickly. She would miss his company terribly, along with their conversations.
The knocking sounded again, and she crossed to answer the door. The McGavocks weren’t expecting any company that she knew of, and as her hand closed around the knob, she had a sinking feeling. Please, not another Federal patrol. They’d received word two days ago of convalescing soldiers being taken from other Franklin homes, but the patrols hadn’t returned to Carnton. Yet.
She opened the door and to her relief saw an older man standing on the threshold. He was a few inches shorter than she and thin as a reed, with a bandaged forehead and a large Bible in his hand.
He tilted his head in greeting. “Good day to you, miss. E. M. Bounds calling.”
He said the name as though she should recognize it, but she didn’t. “Good day, Mr. Bounds. Are you here to see Colonel McGavock?”
His eyes gained a sparkle, and he fingered his salt-and-pepper beard. “Actually, it’s Preacher Bounds, ma’am, and I’m responding to a request sent from Captain Roland Jones. If he’s still convalescing in this home.”
At the mention of Roland’s name, the pieces fell into place. “You’re the preacher the captain wrote to! The one he said might be able to help us locate a boy’s family.” She gestured for him to enter. “It’s been so long, we thought perhaps you’d moved on with the army.”
The man stepped into the entrance hall, his smile encompassing his entire face. “My apologies for being so tardy in responding, but I didn’t receive the good captain’s message until recently. I was wounded during the battle here some time back, then was briefly incarcerated in one of the Federal prisons.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t be. The Lord has ordered my steps, and he opened many doors in prison for me to share his grace and love. Though none of them a cell door as he did for Saint Paul, I must add.”
Lizzie smiled, appreciating the man’s humor. “My name is Miss Clouston, and I’m the McGavocks’ governess.”
“A pleasure, Miss Clouston.” He tipped his head. “The captain didn’t go into detail as to what he wanted. All he said was that he required my help. But if there’s anything I can do to aid Captain Jones, I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.” He leaned in. “In fact, as soon as I received his note, I began petitioning heaven on his account, so I have full confidence that God is already at work, whatever the need.”
“A young boy, you say?” Preacher Bounds studied the pieces of paper in his hand. “By the name of Thaddeus. A fine name,” he added thoughtfully.
“Yes, that’s right.” Lizzie leaned forward on the settee. “He was among the first of the wounded to be brought to the house that night. It was in this room, the best parlor, that he died.”
Sitting beside her on the settee, Roland heard the hope in her voice and prayed that Bounds could be of help. He knew how much she wanted to find the boy’s mother, and he wanted to be the one to help her see this through while he could. He wanted to be so much more to her in other ways as well, but he knew now that would never happen.
“He couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old,” she continued. “And that brief note and those lists are among the items I found in his pockets, along with a knife, some scriptures, and a rock.”
“As Captain Jones says, I do have a knack for remembering names, which comes in handy in my profession, as you might imagine.” He glanced in Roland’s direction. “I’ve met four soldiers by that name, but they’re all older. None of them as youthful as you’ve described, and three of them are already with their Maker, God rest their souls. Are there any other distinguishing characteristics that you can remember about the boy, Miss Clouston?”
Lizzie shook her head. “None other than those I’ve told you about already.”
Bounds stared a moment more at the pieces of paper, then sighed. “It hurts me more than you know to disappoint you, ma’am. Sadly, we have lost far too many of our young men in this war. While I’ve done my best to minister to every man and boy whom God has placed in my path, I fear I did not cross that of the dear lad you’re describing. Or if I did, I simply don’t have recollection of him. If I’d seen these lists or if he’d mentioned some of these things to me, I would most assuredly have memory of them, and of him.” He glanced again at the lists Thaddeus had made. “What a remarkable young man he must have been.”
Lizzie’s shoulders drooped, and Roland felt responsible. After all, it had been his idea to contact Preacher Bounds. The preacher rose, and he and Lizzie did likewise.
Disappointment furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Preacher Bounds. Thank you, sir, for coming out to see us.”
“No time or effort is wasted that is spent in service to the Lord, Miss Clouston. And from what Captain Jones shared with me while you left to fetch the boy’s belongings, you have most certainly been serving him here at Carnton.” Bounds handed her the pieces of paper and picked up his Bible from the side table. “As sad as this is, and the boy’s death is certainly to be mourned, I would also have you be encouraged. Because the God of all comfort knows who this boy’s mother is and he has been comforting her, and will continue to do so, in ways you and I cannot begin to ask or imagine.”
Lizzie nodded, her eyes growing moist.
Bounds took her hands in his. “Take heart, dear daughter. The Lord keeps track of all our sorrows and collects all our tears. For as David wrote in the Psalms, ‘Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?’”
Lizzie stared. “That’s one of the verses Thaddeus had with him. From the page of a Bible I found folded in his pocket.”
This time it was Bounds who stared. “Would you happen to have that page with you, ma’am?”
“Of course. I have it right here.” She pulled it from her skirt pocket. “I keep it with me to remind me to pray for his mother.”
Bounds took the page from her and carefully unfolded it. He stared for a long moment, then with a slight tremor in his hand, he opened his own Bible to a point roughly halfway through. There he slipped the page into the opening, the page identical in size and print to those of the Bible he held. Bounds looked up at her with a watery smile. “I remember this boy quite well, Miss Clouston. Except his name was not Thaddeus. It was Levi. Thaddeus was the name of my own dear son . . . who died at birth. I penned his name here, very poorly I might add, late one night, only hours after my wife and I buried his little body.” Bounds ran a hand over the name he’d written in the margin. “I wrote it alongside three verses that the Lord wrote, and continues to write, on my heart.”
Bounds held out the Bible, and Roland took it. The three verses were underlined.
“‘When I remember thee upon my bed,’” Roland read aloud. “‘And meditate on thee in the night watches. Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.’” He took a steadying breath, recalling the many nights he’d lain awake contemplating the Almighty and regretting how much he’d doubted the Lord’s protection and guidance in recent months. And wanting to trust him for the future all the more. “‘My soul followeth hard after thee: thy right ha
nd upholdeth me.’” Roland looked down at his own crippled right hand, and felt a swell of gratitude for Scripture and for the Lord’s generous strength.
Bounds swallowed. “I remember that night very clearly. Young Levi was frightened as he contemplated going into battle.” A melancholy smile turned his mouth. “I shared these verses with him from memory, and afterward he said he wished he could remember them forever. So I tore out this page and gave it to him.”
Roland looked at Lizzie, saw the hope shining in her eyes, and nodded.
“By chance, Preacher Bounds,” she asked, “did you happen to learn where the boy was from?”
Bounds looked between the two of them and smiled.
CHAPTER 40
“Colonel, the boy was from Thompson’s Station. Scarcely nine miles south of here.”
Sitting across the mahogany dining room table from Colonel McGavock, Lizzie nudged the lists that Levi had written closer toward him—a little too forcibly so, in Roland’s opinion. He read trepidation in John McGavock’s expression and tried to signal Lizzie to stop pressing so hard.
“We could get there and back in one day,” she continued. “And—”
“Actually, Colonel . . .” Roland leaned forward. “Considering the time it will take to canvas the community and to inquire about the boy, we would likely need to spend one night away. Though there is a slight possibility, if all goes well, that we’d be able to return within the time frame Miss Clouston has proposed.”
Lizzie shot him a discreet look of displeasure.
“In my experience, Captain Jones, if there’s a slight possibility that all could go well, it never does. And what lodgings, may I ask, would you procure for Miss Clouston and yourself?”
Roland heard no insinuation in the query, only concern. “My division was through that town last fall. Thompson’s Station is a small community, but there’s a boardinghouse and a tidy little inn. I’m sure I could find lodgings for Miss Clouston. As for myself, though Carnton has spoiled me, I’m accustomed to much less refined accommodations.”
With this Pledge Page 37
