by Lena Hart
Suddenly James laced his fingers through hers, and the action helped pull her out of her thoughts of war and slavery.
“So, Miss Madeline, I would love for you to continue my instruction over an evening meal.”
Madeline smiled, remembering how he’d said those very words to her after she had given him a proper scolding for his backward views on women’s ability to be productive citizens of the country.
That had been the start of his courtship.
He had been as brave then as he was now because she had made no secret of her initial dislike of him. He had been too arrogant and cocksure for her liking. But, in the end, it had only taken one night in his company to learn that he was also honorable, generous, and very well-grounded.
“I would love to spend the evening with you, Jimmy. But tonight, my friends and I are having supper with Mrs. Ophelia and her family.”
His face fell but he offered her a smile. “How about I walk you there then?”
Madeline grabbed her bag and looped her arm around his.
“What are your plans tomorrow morning?” he asked as they left the school.
“We don’t have classes tomorrow, so I’ll take that time to work on new lessons for next week. Why?”
“I have to ride into town for supplies tomorrow morning. Perhaps you can ride with me?”
Madeline moved closer to his side. Memories of such casual strolls made her forget that there was still three years and lots of questions unanswered between them.
Tonight, however, she would let herself forget.
“I would love to.”
The sun had barely crested the horizon when James rode up to her cabin.
The soft rays of light that peeked through the morning clouds fell over his profile where he sat high on his single horse wagon. He was exceptionally handsome this morning, with a warm smile ready on his lips.
“Morning, Ladybug. Are you ready?”
Madeline nodded and he jumped down to help her up into the high seat. She didn’t mind the dirt or dust that clung to her dress as she settled on the wagon bench beside him.
Their drive into town gave them a chance to talk a bit about his work trade with Reverend Linc and reminisce of their life and time together in Philadelphia before the war. James also talked about the two years he had spent building homes for veterans who hadn’t had a place to go after the war.
It appeared he had spent those two years going city to city, building these homes. As much as Madeline admired him for his level of devotion to his fellow soldier, a small, selfish part of her wondered why he hadn’t felt just as devoted to coming back to her and building their home together.
“I threw myself into the work when I thought you had married another,” he said, as if reading her bitter thoughts. “I figured there was nothing for me to do, other than to help make as many of my comrades as comfortable as I could before I returned to Canada.”
Madeline glanced over at him. “You consider all the Union veterans your friends?”
“I do,” he said adamantly. “I have fought alongside the most fearless, the most honorable men I know.”
She pressed her lips together, wondering if he would feel the same way if he knew that not all of his fellow soldiers held the level of honor as he or his friends. Madeline was not foolish enough to believe that just because one Union soldier had disgraced her, that they were all a bad bunch. She was, after all, in love with the most honorable of them. Yet, she also wasn’t naive enough to think that they were all honorable, good men.
Not anymore, anyway.
Madeline steered the conversation back to his work with the associations and groups that were organized to provide assistance to the former Union soldiers.
“In these veteran homes and hospitals, are Negro men accepted?”
His lips tightened and she knew her answer.
“Only in a few,” he admitted. “And in those few, there aren’t many colored soldiers. However, the Grand Army of the Republic is one of the bigger organizations formed to assist all Union vets, no matter their color.”
That piqued her interest. There were a few men in Dunesville and in her class that had served in the war and she had once overheard their conversation of reduced government pensions, among other things. Some had been denied, while other hadn’t even received the payments they had been granted.
“Would this organization assist with inquiring about pensions and medical care?” Madeline asked.
James shrugged. “I believe it depends on the individual’s situation. I’ve seen men who’ve lost their legs get denied pensions or access to proper care. The organization could petition on their behalf but the usual response from the government is housing them in a hospital that’s more akin to an asylum. And believe me, that’s the wrong kind of help.”
Madeline contemplated what he said, feeling the fine threads of despair weave through her at the grim outlook of getting assistance for the men of Dunesville.
“What of those who need basic medical attention or even just medicine? Who or where do they turn to?”
“There are a few hospitals around the country, just not enough in my opinion.” He fell silent for a moment before he spoke again. “Then there’s the issue of those who become overly dependent of the pain medication and are left worst off than they were before. Not to mention those who have the kind of illness that no medicine or surgery can fix…”
“What happens to those men?”
“They get put in the homes.” This time, he slid her a curious glance. “Why do you ask? You know of someone who needs assistance?”
Madeline sighed. “I know several, actually. Some are in my class.” Suddenly, an idea struck her. “Do you think you can come to my class one evening and discuss some of these services available to them? I can announce it in both my sessions that there will be a special meeting just for veterans.”
James slowly nodded. “That’s a fine idea. Let me know what day you decide and I’ll see if the reverend can make an announcement about it during Sunday service.”
“Okay, I’ll look at the schedule as soon as we return.”
“Though, I’ll warn you now, I don’t know everything,” he added. “And because Nebraska was only just admitted into the Union last year, there may not be enough services readily available for the residents of this state. But whatever I can’t answer that night, I’ll write down and send out an inquiry to a friend who’s an active member of GAR.”
Madeline beamed at him, a feeling of immense triumph and love coming over her. “That would be such a great help. Thank you.”
Suddenly, the wagon went over a large rock and Madeline was jostled in her seat. She found herself leaning against his side, but didn’t move away. Instead, she looped her arm around his and moved in closer, careful not to disturb his hold on the horse’s rein.
“We work well together, don’t we?”
Just like old times.
James leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Yes, we do.”
As members of the vigilance committee, they had made a great team. Madeline shut her eyes as memories of working side-by-side began to fill her. They had organized meetings, wrote letters to Washington, and exhausted all avenues to raise funds to help individuals and families adjust to a new life of freedom.
They had been like two halves of a whole and it hadn’t come as a big surprise when she had realized on one of their most trying and grueling nights that she was devastatingly in love with him. Though her family had tried to warn her against such a union, she couldn’t help who she fell in love with. They had been in Philadelphia, after all, and though they had gotten the occasional looks and whispers, she and James had generally been left alone.
The people of Nebraska, however, were not as tolerant.
When they arrived into town, Madeline realized just how far from Philadelphia they really were. She wasn’t sure if it was her oversensitivity, but she couldn’t remember ever being gawked at th
is much.
James, on the other hand, didn’t let it bother him. At least he gave the impression that it didn’t. He strolled through town with her close at his side, as if it were perfectly normal for them to be walking hand in hand. And when they weren’t holding hands, he would occasionally have his hand at the small of her back.
Madeline tried to adopt his nonchalant attitude, but it was hard for her to ignore the outraged glares and disgusted sneers. In one particular instance, she tried to move away from him, but his hand only tightened around hers. She realized then that his display of possessiveness was largely a bold response to the townspeople’s obvious disapproval.
Madeline sighed. As much as she loved him and wanted to possess the same devil-may-care attitude, a more rational part of her knew they were only inviting trouble.
“Jimmy…” she began in a low voice so only he could hear. “We’re not in Philadelphia anymore.”
“I know exactly where we are, love.”
And his tone said he dared anyone to challenge them.
Chapter Seven
“I ask no monument, proud and high, to arrest the gaze of the passersby. All that my yearning spirit craves, is bury me not in a land of slaves.”
At the last verse of the poem, Madeline closed the book and looked up at her students.
“I like that, Miss Madeline,” one of her female students called out. “A Negro woman wrote that?”
Madeline nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Frances Harper was an abolitionist and writer who regularly spoke and wrote against the horrors and degradation of slavery. When she wrote Bury Me in a Free Land, however, it was in the hopes that the images she invoked from her words would portray a country that was not holding up its ideals of freedom and liberty for all. Can anyone remind me where this sentiment of justice and liberty for all was first written?”
“In the United States Constitution,” one of her male students called out eagerly.
Madeline smiled. It had only been a week now since she had incorporated government and politics into her lessons, but she was glad to see she had some who were just as interested in the subject as she was.
“You’re correct, Luis. When the Constitution was drafted after the country won its independence from the British, it was meant to unite the states and citizens under one law.”
Madeline spent the next couple of weeks weaving in United States history and government into her students’ reading and writing lessons. She enjoyed the change of pace, and it appeared so did her students. Their abilities to apply some of her readings within the context of what was happening in the country now, or what had occurred in the past, never ceased to amaze her.
Such moments even led to passionate discussions about politics or current social issues. She recalled one such discussion that had started in regards to the advancement the country was making in recognizing colored men and women, but had then led to another debate on whether change was happening fast enough.
“I don’t agree with the others, Miss Madeline,” one of her female students had voiced adamantly. “If Miss Mary Jane Patterson is one of the first Negro women to graduate from Oberlin College, how can we say the country isn’t embracing change?”
“That’s just one school in Ohio,” another of her female students pointed out. “What about the others who won’t allow Negroes near the door?”
“Yes, but doesn’t it always start with one?” Her usually quiet student Anita joined in. “Miss Patterson being the first only means there’s a chance for one of us to be the next.”
Madeline nodded in encouragement then added, “You’re right. There have been others before Miss Patterson to graduate and go on to be lawyers and professors. In fact, the first colored woman to be hired as a college professor was Sarah Jane Woodson. Can you imagine the doors that has opened for us?”
The usually cynical Mr. Barnes sucked at his teeth. “I don’t get this country. One minute, they passing laws to keep us out of their schools, the next they hiring one of ours to teach at their college. This country needs to make up they damn mind. Either they want us here or they don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter what they want,” Mr. Gary, another male student about Mr. Barnes age, called out. “We have every right to be here. They gonna just have to get used to seeing my black behind, ’cause I for one ain’t going nowhere.”
A chorus of laughs went around the room. But as usual, Mr. Barnes didn’t miss this opportunity to get in the last word and further ruffle feathers.
“Well, I guess your black behind will learn soon enough just how much rights you got in this country, ’cause I hear Nebraska’s about to bring on poll taxes and reading tests for this coming presidential contest.”
Mr. Gary waved him away dismissively. “That’s just the kind of stories they bring up from the Deep South to keep us from voting.”
And with that, another debate was started with some of the students in the class confirming Mr. Barnes claims of such poll taxes and reading tests, while the other half argued that such unlawful restrictions wouldn’t find its way into the Nebraska voting polls.
In those instances, Madeline almost never got a word in, or intervened, and that was fine with her. She gave her students the space to debate each other and express their thoughts and opinions, even if it meant going over their class time. But now that they were at the end of their third week since classes had begun, and her students had demonstrated sharp abilities to examine and evaluate, Madeline believed they were ready for the next phase of their lesson.
Independent reading.
“Miss Madeline, can you read us that short story you told us about?” Anita asked eagerly during one of their class sessions. “The one by Mrs. Frances Harper?”
“You mean ‘The Two Offers’?” At Anita’s excited nod, Madeline sighed. Harper’s story of a woman forced to choose between two marriage proposals had been a favorite of Madeline’s, not only because it had made history by being the first short story published by a Negro woman, but because it had given Madeline the courage to walk away from her own arranged marriage two years ago.
As it turned out, that had been the best decision she had made for herself. Now, she was free to marry the man she loved. But when she thought of the last few weeks, and the time she and James had gotten to spend together, it was with both exhilaration and agitation. Though she relished the mornings and occasional evenings they spent together, she had to admit there was a restlessness in her she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She appreciated his consideration in taking things slow between them, yet part of her yearned for more.
She just didn’t know what exactly it was she longed for.
“I’m sorry Anita, but I don’t have a copy of that story with me,” Madeline said, returning her attention to her class. “But I do have a stack of books that were found in the church with tons of stories you will enjoy.”
“What are you going to read to us today, Miss Madeline?”
“Actually, today, you all will select a book to read on your own.”
A few murmurs of dismay stirred through the class and Madeline laughed.
“Don’t give me those terrified looks. You all are learning at a fast pace and I want to keep challenging you. Besides, the most effective way of learning to write well is by reading often.”
“But what if we don’t know the words?” one of her shy students, Harriet, surprised Madeline by asking.
“I’ll still be here to help you along. All I ask is that you try your best. Now, I would like each of you to come up one at a time and select a book from the pile.”
Madeline waited as each student came up to choose a book on her desk. The last of her students made it back to his seat when Ophelia stepped into her room and waved her over.
“You may start your reading,” she said to her class as she started toward the headmistress. There was a graveness in her face that left Madeline tense, but she plastered a smile on her face for her students’ benefits.
When Madeline reach
ed Ophelia, the woman motioned her outside.
“I hate to pull you away from your class, Madeline, but there’s been an incident.”
Dread tightened in her stomach. “What’s happened?”
“Sherry and Eldridge…they were attacked and robbed this morning on their way to town.”
Madeline’s hand flew up over her mouth. “Oh my God. Are they all right?”
“Eldridge wasn’t hurt too badly and was able to tell us what happened. But Sherry…” Ophelia’s lips tightened in a flat, grim line and Madeline’s heart lodged in her throat. “She was badly beaten, she had to be taken to the hospital in town.”
Madeline sent up a quick prayer of thanks that her friend was still alive, though her heart ached for Sherry and the pain she must be enduring. Memories of her own attack that long ago night came rushing back to Madeline and she remembered the pain she had been in when she had woken up in a hospital.
“Has the attacker been caught?”
An anger Madeline had never seen before suddenly flashed in the older woman’s eyes. “No. We can only pray Sherry makes a fast recovery and justice will be found soon.”
“Yes, I’ll keep her and Eldridge in my prayers,” Madeline murmured, a slow anger sprouting over her feeble wall of composure at the possibility of justice evading her friend’s attacker, as it had evaded hers.
“I also wanted to ask one more thing from you, Madeline…”
“Of course. Anything you need, just let me know. I want to help.”
A flash of relief filled Ophelia’s dark eyes. “Good. I believe between you and Teresa, we can still keep Sherry’s classes going.”
Madeline tensed. “You mean you want me to teach the children?”
“Yes, although you and Teresa can alternate, of course, so there’s no undue pressure.”
Madeline shook her head. She wanted to do what she could to help but this… This was asking too much.
“Mrs. Ophelia, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can. I’ve never taught children before and I… I don’t think I would be the right—”
