To Wager Her Heart

by Tamera Alexander

  “I’d love that! Thank you.”

  “Would you like to start with tomorrow’s? On the Roman Empire?” Ella pointed to her satchel.

  Alexandra nodded, feeling both honored and excited. Ella handed her the notebook, then crawled into bed.

  Alexandra opened the notebook and began to read, then sensed that she was being stared at. She looked over at her roommate.

  “Go ahead,” she mimicked. “Whatever it is, you can ask.”

  Ella hedged for a moment. “Where did you receive your education? Did you attend a school here in town?”

  “I had a governess until I was twelve. That’s all the education my father thought I needed. In a way, though, he countered his own opinion, because soon he enlisted me to help him in his practice as an attorney. At first it was simply office work. Filing, writing letters, and such. But after copying countless contracts, taking minutes for his meetings with clients, and reading his law books—”

  “How old were you when you began reading his law books?”

  “Ten.”

  They both giggled.

  “I was curious to know what the legal terms he used meant. Then I became fascinated with the lawsuits the books cited. And then the law itself. It’s actually quite interesting. What about you? I mean, I know you received your education here at Fisk, but . . . You have such a keen mind, Ella. You’re so intelligent. And musically talented as well. Have you always had such a thirst for learning?”

  Ella lay down, then turned onto her side to face Alexandra.

  “Yes, I’ve always had that thirst, as you call it. But that wasn’t what drove me to learn. And even though my life has changed drastically since I was a little girl, I find that the memory of what I’m about to tell you still serves to motivate me even now.”

  Feeling as though she’d been allowed entrance into a room where few were permitted to go, Alexandra closed the notebook and lay perfectly still. And listened.

  “My mother, Sarah Hannah Sheppard, was a slave. She belonged to Phereby Donelson, here in Nashville. Andrew Jackson’s grand-niece.” Ella’s voice was strong and even, yet held tenderness. “When Miss Donelson married Major Sheppard, Mama eventually became her head nurse and housekeeper, which was an esteemed position for a house slave. Mama was generally treated kindly. When she was seventeen, she met my father, Simon Sheppard, and married him right in the parlor of Miss Phereby’s mansion not far from here. Almost seven years later, I was born.”

  Ella’s voice took on a smile even though the gesture didn’t reach her face. An occurrence Alexandra was becoming accustomed to with her friend.

  “When I was a little girl, about three years old or so, Miss Phereby taught me to spy on my mother—it was common practice, I later learned. She bribed me with buttered biscuits and sweet cakes. Then she took what I’d told her and used it against Mama, and threatened to punish her. Mama knew that Miss Phereby would likely do it again, and might even use me as a real pawn against her one day. And that, eventually, our own relationship could be torn asunder.” Ella inhaled, then slowly let out her breath. “Some of my earliest memories are of my mother’s tears over the cruelties of slavery, as she realized that its degradation fell heaviest upon the young Negro girl.” Ella’s voice grew softer. “So one afternoon Mama settled me on her hip and set out for the Cumberland River. She’d decided it would be better for me to meet a watery grave than to be a slave.”

  Only then did Alexandra realize how tense she’d become, and how very still the room was.

  “As Mama reached the banks of the river, Old Mammy Viney saw her and called out to her. Somehow the old woman knew what my mother was about to do. Old Mammy Viney told Mama she’d seen a different future for me. She said, ‘Look, honey, don’t you see the clouds of the Lord as they pass by? The Lord has got need of this child.’”

  Something in Ella’s voice, or maybe in what Mammy Viney had said, further stirred Alexandra’s heart.

  “So Mama turned back from the river and gave up her plan to ‘spare’ me. She took courage, instead, she said, and walked back to slavery to await God’s own time. For as long as I can remember, Mama has told me that story. So even though I’ve always held a curiosity within me to know new things, it’s knowing what it’s like to be enslaved that motivates me to learn. That motivates me to do everything I can to help Fisk succeed. Because I don’t ever want to go back to that. We can never go back.”

  Alexandra swallowed, not bothering to wipe away the tear that trailed her temple.

  “I study the histories of civilizations past, like Rome,” Ella continued, “and see how slippery a slope it can be. As Mr. White so often preaches, and rightly so, ‘Anyone devoted to his books is on the road to freedom, while anyone ignorant of books is on his way back to slavery.’” Ella took a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled. “Education is the key to unlocking not only a person’s future, Alexandra, but to helping to create a new world. For everyone.”

  Alexandra nodded, but a long moment passed before she could speak. “The Lord does have special plans for you, Ella Sheppard,” she whispered. “Very special plans. And, along with everyone else here, I’ll do whatever I can to keep Fisk open.”

  “Jesus is with us in this, Alexandra. I know he is. He must be.” She briefly closed her eyes. “But . . . whatever the Lord wills . . .”

  Long after Alexandra heard Ella’s soft, rhythmic breathing, she stayed awake reading her roommate’s lecture notes about the Roman Empire, and thinking about all Ella had said. She was right. They had to find a way to keep Fisk from being closed. Same for the rest of the freedmen’s schools around the country.

  When Alexandra finished reading, she turned from her back onto her side, wishing for sleep and knowing morning would come all too soon. And yet the gentle echo of someone else’s voice kept sleep at bay even as it lit a hope inside her. So who says you can’t still pursue that? Can’t you get a degree?

  She stared into the darkness. Yes, who indeed.

  Two days later, following her afternoon class, Alexandra hurried to Mr. White’s office, overjoyed to share with him the progress her students were making. Anyone who said Negroes weren’t capable of learning need only visit Fisk University to have their ignorant opinions proved wrong. Her students were not only learning, they were excelling in ways that—

  “You are set on ruining us, Mr. White!”

  “I am doing no such thing! I am following the will of God Almighty and the way he has provided to save this school!”

  Alexandra stopped stone-still in the hallway, only feet from Mr. White’s office. The door was closed but the raised voices carried. And considering how shabbily these barracks had been constructed, she’d be surprised if the argument couldn’t be heard from outside the building.

  Clutching her papers to her chest, she hastily turned to go when the floorboard creaked beneath her boot. She cringed at the possibility of being discovered by Mr. White and whoever the other man was with him.

  “Save the school? We’re nearly out of money, Mr. White. Not to mention food! And what we’re eating now is execrable! Our teachers are sick! Their health is considerably weakened. You’re pushing them all beyond their limits!”

  “God demands nothing less than our best, Mr. Spence! Or have you forgotten that?”

  Alexandra felt a weight sink in her chest. President Spence? And the two men were arguing so viciously!

  “You must discard this foolish concerting scheme, George.” President Spence’s voice lowered to a more normal tone. “Your personal ambition is clouding your judgment. In my heart, I cling to the thinning hope that you truly do mean well for this school. But as its president, and the one who answers to the American Missionary Association, I cannot sanction moving forward on this ill-founded idea of yours. You want to take all of the remaining money in the school treasury to take your group of singers to the North? And what will those of us remaining here do for funds? The association does not support this idea. Nor do they support
the tour. They are against your plan as much as I am.”

  “Which goes to show how little faith you all have. These singers are the best I’ve ever heard. Their talent is—”

  “Standing these students up before white audiences is more likely to make them targets than stars, George, and you know it!”

  “What I know, sir—”

  White’s deep voice thundered. And Alexandra, her heart racing, hurried back down the hallway—only to hear the front door open. She froze. Caught either way.

  “—is that the Good Lord put these voices and this talent in these students. Then by his divine providence he brought these students together at Fisk University, the least, some would say, of any of the freedmen schools. Surely any God-fearing man can see that the Lord is paving the way before us, Mr. Spence! He is parting our Red Sea.”

  Though the volume of their voices had diminished, the anger in them had not.

  “The missionary board and I view this endeavor as excessively risky and born out of your own self-interested opportunism, Mr. White. And I’m telling you, if you persist in forcing this issue—”

  “You are a weak man, Adam Spence! And I am weary of it!”

  Wincing at the brutal exchange, Alexandra watched for whoever had come in a moment earlier to walk around the corner and find her seemingly eavesdropping on the president and treasurer of Fisk University. Oh, why had she come by here now? She should have gone straight to dinner. She was seeing Sy right afterward for their final meeting, so she didn’t have much time to—

  The door to Mr. White’s office opened.

  Seeing no other choice, Alexandra bolted around the corner—and ran straight into Sy himself.

  Chapter

  SEVENTEEN

  Well, good evening, Miss Jamison.”

  Alexandra motioned frantically toward the door. “Go! Go!” she whispered, hearing Mr. White and President Spence continuing their exchange in the hallway. “Hurry!” She shoved him toward the door, nearly dropping her papers.

  He grinned. “What are you—”

  “I’m telling you for the very last time, Mr. White! If you pursue this idea, I’ll be forced to—”

  Still urging Sy toward the door, Alexandra saw understanding dawn in his eyes, and in a blink he had the door open.

  He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out, then closed the door noiselessly behind them. But Alexandra didn’t stop. She hurried down the steps, took the path at a run, then ducked around the corner, Sy matching her stride for stride as she watched for anyone who might have seen them.

  But it would appear that everyone else was already at dinner.

  She finally stopped and pressed back against the building, working to catch her breath. “Oh my goodness.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “That was one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life!”

  “What was going on back there?”

  “I came to see Mr. White to share with him . . . how well my students were doing when . . .” Between deep breaths, she recounted the conversation she had overheard. “I heard him shouting, saying that God has provided a way to save the school. Then President Spence shouted back that they’re nearly out of money—and food! And that what we’re eating now is execrable! Which”—she made a face—“I would have to agree with. Still . . . when I heard the front door open, I was certain it was another teacher, or a student, or even Mrs. Chastain. And they’d see me and think I was listening.”

  “Which . . . you were.”

  She nudged him. “Not intentionally!”

  He smiled.

  “Which raises the question . . . What were you doing in there, Sy?”

  He briefly glanced away. “I was coming to speak with Mr. White.”

  “About?”

  One side of his mouth tipped. “Just because you eavesdrop on everyone else’s conversations doesn’t mean you get to know my personal business too.”

  She gave him a droll look.

  “I was coming to ask Mr. White about going to school here. How much it costs, how much you need to know before you can start.”

  Alexandra sobered. “Sy . . . are you thinking about—”

  “No! It’s not for me!” All humor faded. “I may not be the most educated man you’ve ever known, Alexandra, but I do have a fair amount of learning. Especially when it comes to things that can’t be taught in school.”

  He started walking in the direction of the teachers’ barracks, and she hurried to catch up with him.

  “I didn’t mean anything by my question, Sy. But when you said that, I simply assumed you might be—”

  He held up a hand. “Let’s just forget it, all right?”

  Recalling an afternoon at the old Harding cabin when he’d poked fun at her for wanting to do just that, she started to do the same. Then saw the firm set of his jaw and decided she best not.

  “You go on to dinner.” He gestured. “I’ll wait on the steps.”

  “Actually, it’s too late for me to go into the dining hall—everyone will be seated and served by now. But honestly, that’s not too terrible a thing. Because the meals here . . . leave a lot to be desired.” She grimaced, hating to say anything disparaging.

  “So I take it that’s what execrable means?” His smile resurfaced. “What President Spence said about the food.”

  She looked at him and, for the first time, noticed how kind his eyes looked when he smiled. Honest. Kind and caring.

  “Yes, that’s what it means. But I don’t think I’ve ever used that word in all my life.”

  “And I’m sure I’ve never heard it before in all of mine.”

  They laughed together. He glanced down the road, then back at her.

  “Do you have time to walk over to town with me? Get some dinner? There’s a place not far from here that serves barbecue. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s good. And they typically have musicians playing too. It’ll be my treat.”

  “I don’t know if I should . . .” Alexandra debated, her stomach arguing with her head.

  “It’s just dinner, Alexandra. Not a lifetime commitment.”

  She heard the humor in his voice and acquiesced. “In fact, I would enjoy having dinner elsewhere. Very much. Let me stop by the teachers’ barracks, put my papers in my room, and then we’ll go.”

  He enjoyed the way she closed her eyes after she took a bite of barbecue.

  “Oh . . . This is delicious!” She savored another bite. “It’s surprising how wonderful food can taste after eating the watered-down soup they serve at Fisk. Same for the porridge in the mornings.” Her smile faded. “Although I feel a little guilty eating this when all the staff and students are back there eating that.”

  He nodded to her across the table. “There have been plenty of times I’ve been without, so I know what that’s like. But the tour you told me Mr. White is planning should eventually turn the finances around. Is that right?”

  “If it comes to fruition.” She lowered her voice, glancing at patrons at nearby tables. “But President Spence vehemently disagrees with him, remember. Still, something must be done or the school will be forced to close.”

  He gestured to her plate. “For now, please . . . Enjoy your meal. You work hard, and you’re sacrificing a lot. And you’ll be back to that soup soon enough.”

  Still looking slightly guilty, she took another bite, then dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

  The group of four musicians playing in the corner by the front window were quite good, and Sy was enjoying their music. Appalachian, they called it, deftly blending guitar, banjo, fiddle, and dulcimer in unique fashion.

  “Do you like it? The music?”

  He looked back to see Alexandra watching him. “I do. Very much.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t have music like that back in Colorado.”

  “Yes, because we’re not civilized like you Southerners are.”

  She smiled, then her expression grew timid. “I saw you that night. At the concert with the singers from Fisk.”
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  “You were there?”

  “I came in late and sat in the back. I saw you leave right after the concert ended.”

  “And did you enjoy it? The concert?”

  “Oh, very much.”

  “I did as well. Be sure and let me know when they perform again. I’d like to hear them.” He wanted to add, Perhaps we could even go together, but didn’t feel at liberty to. Not with Dutchman’s Curve standing between them.

  He slathered butter on a piece of cornbread. “I think I’m ready for my meeting with General Harding and the other men tomorrow morning, but I was hoping you might’ve had a chance to think more about what we discussed last night. About things I could do to make my bid stand out.”

  She nodded. “I have thought more about it, and I do have some ideas. You may like them, you may not. We’ll see . . .” She set her fork aside. “As best I can judge, given the blueprints you showed me last night, your plans for the railroad and for the Belle Meade depot in particular are exemplary. You’re taking advantage of the best vistas the plantation has to offer, and we already know General Harding is impressed with the design of the depot. So as far as contributing anything else to that part of your proposal, I’m afraid I can’t. However . . .” Her blue eyes took on a gleam. “I do think there are ways to make your presentation more . . . unique. And memorable.”

  He smiled inwardly at her enthusiasm and the way her hands fluttered on occasion as she talked.

  She withdrew a piece of paper from the folder she’d brought with her. “My idea is to enhance the train ride from the Nashville station to the Belle Meade depot by offering certain amenities to the passengers. For instance . . .”

  She turned the page around so he could see it.

  He took it in, then looked back up at her. She’d obviously gone to a lot of trouble, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but . . .

  “This is . . . really something, Alexandra.”