by Lyn Cote
“What do you want a dog for?” he asked.
“Beth needs a friend. And since I am quite aware of the anti-Northerner bias here, I know she may not find a child who will befriend her. Strays always make the best pets.” She crooned more loving words to the dog while Matthew huffed in displeasure. Men often behaved like this to cover a tender spot. Had Matthew had a dog when he was a boy? Or had that been denied him?
Matthew made a hasty gesture and the stray slunk behind a bush.
She rose, gave Matthew a pointed look and repeated, “What brought thee out here?”
“So Hannah is going to be our housekeeper?” He walked along beside her, ignoring her question as he ignored the stray.
I won’t forget my question, Matthew Ritter. “Yes. I don’t think that the Ransfords are paying them.”
“Dace probably doesn’t have anything to pay them with. It’s funny—not really funny, but odd. Before the war, he had money and could have paid his people. Now he’s supposed to pay them and he doesn’t have any funds.”
She quickened her pace to keep up with his longer strides. “It’s an interesting twist, yes. Is that what thee discussed with thy cousin?”
“The surveyor staked out the site for the school. I can start hiring workers as soon as I get the wood and nails.”
“I see.” She decided her inquiries about his visit to his cousin didn’t go far enough. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Why did thy family leave Fiddlers Grove?”
Matthew walked on, acting as if he hadn’t heard her.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the stray dog was still warily following them. She paused and coaxed, “That’s right, boy. Come home with us. I have a little girl who will love thee and then will love thee some more. And I have delicious leftovers that thee will enjoy.” She decided to try Matthew once more. “Did thee visit thy cousin?”
He began whistling and kicking a rock along, completely ignoring her question.
So he must have, and the visit didn’t prosper. Verity glanced back at the stray, still keeping up with them, and was touched by how dogs and humans both longed for family.
After supper, Verity and Beth sat on the back steps and watched the dog creep forward on his belly. Beth had put out a pan of leftover scraps and then retreated to the porch so that the dog would venture out to eat it. When he finished the scraps, she put out a pan of water between the porch and the flaming spirea bushes.
“Take a step back,” Verity said in a low voice. Matthew had ignored the dog and gone to his cabin for the night. There was something in Matthew that needed healing, but she could see that he didn’t want to admit that yet. The war had damaged them all. Why hadn’t the South just given the slaves their freedom? Slavery had never made sense to her. Why had so many thousands had to die to end it? Why had her husband had to die? And why did thinking of Roger still hurt so?
Beth obeyed, stepping back and waiting. The dog snuffled the ground, crept over to the bowl of water and began to lap it—still with one wary eye watching Beth and Verity.
“I’m going to call him Barney,” Beth confided.
“Oh, a very good name. He looks like a Barney.” Verity squeezed her daughter’s shoulder.
The beat of horses’ hooves entering the yard scared the dog and he streaked into the bushes. A stranger dismounted and stepped up to her back porch. “Your servant, ma’am.” He swept off his gray, worn Confederate officer’s hat and bowed to her.
Verity recognized him then and a tingle of warning shot through her. He was Matthew’s cousin, whom she had met at St. John’s on Sunday.
“Mama, the doggy ran away,” Beth lamented, rising.
The gentleman bowed to her. “Ma’am.”
“Dacian Ransford, how good to see thee.” Swallowing with difficulty, Verity offered him her hand, which he shook briefly. Then she looked down at Beth. “Dacian and I will go into the kitchen, and then thee can coax the dog out again. Remember to speak softly, move slowly and offer him thy open hand to sniff. But don’t hurry him. He’s been a wanderer for a while and is afraid of being hurt.”
“Yes, Mama.” Beth knelt down near the water dish, watching the bushes.
“Please, Friend, won’t thee come and sit?” Maybe he wouldn’t want to come into her home. If whites didn’t sit with blacks in Virginia, did ex-Confederates sit with Yankees?
He nodded and motioned for her to take the lead, his expression polite, even curious.
Sensing his watchfulness, she became wary. She walked into the kitchen and went to the stove, where a pot of water simmered. She forced herself to go on as if ex-Confederate officers often visited her. “May I offer thee a cup of tea?”
“That would be quite welcome, ma’am.”
Verity motioned him toward the chair nearest the door. She felt his gaze on her as she made his tea. After a few awkward moments she handed him a cup and broke the silence. “And to what do I owe this visit?”
He held the cup up to his nose and sniffed it. “Real black and orange pekoe.” His voice was almost reverent.
“Yes, I prefer it to Darjeeling.” She put some oatmeal cookies on a plate and sat down across from him. Was he going to fence with her, as his cousin had done on their way home today?
“You are a lover of tea then, ma’am?”
She nodded and had no trouble believing that this man appreciated the finer things of life. After all, she’d seen his wife. But after four years of the Union blockade, the South only had items it could produce on its own. Now that the blockade had ended, Confederate money was worthless. Why is thee here? What could thee possibly want from me?
She took a sip, trying to ignore his intense concentration on her, though it sent a shiver down her spine. She could wait for him no longer. “Pardon me, but I do not think that thee came to discuss tea with me.”
He chuckled. “One can always tell a Northerner. Always the direct approach.”
“I am afraid that thee is correct.” She held her cup high. “But I hope I have not been impolite.”
“No, I think it best that I come to the point.” He paused and sipped his tea. “I’ve heard about your plans to teach at the Freedman’s school my cousin is planning to build here.”
She nodded. Was this the real reason he’d come? It didn’t seem to ring true. He continued to study her face.
“Ma’am, your goal may be laudatory, but I do not think you will meet with success. Not enough time has passed since the hostilities ended. Passions are still running high here.”
She set down her cup and leaned back, considering him. Why not be bold? “And it is not easy bearing defeat.”
He grinned ruefully at her. “The direct approach. Again.”
“In one way I agree with thee, Dacian Ransford.” She traced the rim of her cup with her index finger. “The times are unsettled. But it is in turbulent times that great change can be made. And great change is what the South needs.” He started to speak, but she held up a hand, asking for his indulgence. “I don’t know if thee realizes it but this war has changed the South and the North and the West. Or maybe it has shown how the world is changing,” Verity continued in measured tones, folding her arms around her to ease the chill her own words gave her. “The East and the West Coasts are now linked by railroad. The Atlantic Ocean has been spanned by telegraph cable. The North abounds with factories, industry and all manner of inventions. Our lives on the farm are passing away.” She stared at her tea.
He set down his cup. “That may be true, but what if many in the South do not want to change?”
She looked him in the eye. “Wasn’t that the issue that this war settled?”
“Touché.” He acknowledged the hit with a slight nod. “We must change. But I fear that there are many who will not.” He continued to study her face.
“I am not taking the danger to myself lightly. But I must remind you that I am used to going against common prejudices. I am a Quaker—or I should say, I was a Quaker until I married. I bel
onged to and was raised by people who did not go along with whatever was popular at the time. We did not mind dressing and speaking and thinking differently. We even defied the law that said we must return runaway slaves to their masters. My family were abolitionists even before the American Revolution. I was an abolitionist before Uncle Tom’s Cabin was published and the cause became popular.”
He looked over the rim of his cup at her. “I can only repeat that the South is unready for such sweeping change.”
“I told thee I did not expect to be welcomed here with open arms. But the change will come whether people want it or not. There will be a school in this town for black children and freed slaves. The Thirteenth Amendment has passed and former slaves are now freemen.”
Dacian looked pained.
She continued, “The Fourteenth Amendment will give them citizenship and the right to vote. The North is absolutely committed to making sure that slaves were not set free only to be enslaved in some other form. If former slaves are citizens, they can vote and defend themselves.”
“The South will never ratify the Fourteenth Amendment,” he countered, his voice hardening, “and I am afraid that educating Negroes will meet with limited success. Most do not have the intelligence.”
She shook her head, sorry to hear his words. “I am afraid that the two of us will always disagree upon that issue. I have known educated black men and women and they are equal to us in intellect. Black skin does not announce inferiority.”
“I’m afraid that the two of us will always disagree upon that issue,” he said, using her words. “But I do see that the Freedman’s Bureau will have its way here. And I do thank you for thinking of the white children, but I doubt that any white parent would allow their child to go to such a school.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She liked the man’s honest face and wished he would see things differently.
He nodded to himself as he rose, as if he had decided something. “I think that you have come with the finest intentions, but the South is not ready.”
“Then I fear for the South.” She rose also and folded her hands, looking up into his eyes earnestly. Let him hear me, Lord. “The North will not have lost thousands and thousands of lives to achieve nothing. If the South will not change willingly, the Radical Republicans will jam these changes down Southern throats. President Johnson, a Tennessean, has been able to hold off the inevitable for a time, but his protection will not last. The Radical Republicans hold power in Congress and they will not hesitate to use it.”
“I have never before discussed politics with a woman.” He gave her a wry half smile. “But I do not doubt the correctness of your assessment. You see, ma’am, the war continues.” He bowed to her and walked toward the door.
She followed him, sorry to see a good man so misguided. “I bid thee good evening then. Please know that whatever I do, I do because I want to help, not hurt.”
The man halted. “I have no doubt that your motives are the best. But even the best motives can’t bring about what you wish. Thank you for the tea.” He spoke as a friend, a deeply concerned one.
And she wondered why. Why did he sound as if he knew her?
He studied her face for another moment and then shook her offered hand and donned his hat. He was out the door, on his horse and gone quickly.
As Verity stared after him, Joseph walked inside. “I didn’t expect us to start getting visitors so soon. Does that mean you’re making progress?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” Verity turned over in her mind all she had learned not from words, but from all the other unspoken language. She felt that she had now met all the major players in the drama of which she was a part, except for Orrin Dyke. And she’d set events in motion by speaking to the vicar at St. John’s. But I came to set those events in motion. The people here might be reluctant, but God’s work could not wait forever.
The next morning when Matt sat down at the kitchen table, his foul mood vanished instantly when Hannah set before him a bowl of pearly white grits with a small pond of yellow butter in the middle. Salivating, he helped himself generously and nearly smacked his lips. Grits. Manna. Matt savored their texture and taste on his tongue. He hadn’t had grits since his mother had passed away. “Thank you, Hannah.”
Hannah chuckled. “The boy been North too long.”
“What’s that?” Beth asked, looking at the bowl. At her mother’s frown, she added, “Please, Aunt Hannah.”
“That’s grits and they’re good. You’ll like them.” Hannah turned back to the stove. “Now you eat up, little girl. You won’t have fun on an empty stomach.”
“I’m going to get Barney to let me pet him again today,” Beth announced as she helped herself to a small serving of grits.
“Who Barney?” Hannah asked, pouring more coffee around the table.
“It’s the mongrel Mrs. Hardy let follow us home yesterday,” Matt said, trying to sound disgruntled to tease the little girl.
“What’s a mongrel?” Beth asked, eyeing Matt.
“It means we don’t know who his ma and pa were,” Joseph said. “I think he’ll make a good watchdog after he gets used to us.”
Matt tried to lose himself in the mundane conversation, but his plans for the day kept nudging him. The thought of them nearly took away his appetite—even for grits.
“Barney is going to be a good dog.” Beth rocked in her chair. “He was scared of that man last night, but after the man rode away, Barney let me pet him.”
“I saw that Dace was here last evening,” Matt said, trying to sound uninterested. “What did he want?
“Thy cousin came for a short visit,” the widow said, glancing pointedly at her daughter.
Matt got the message. I can wait. He shoved all this aside and with great satisfaction took a second helping of grits. “So, young lady,” he asked, “how do you like grits?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet, sir,” Beth replied, stirring her spoon in her grits. “I like Aunt Hannah’s scrambled eggs, though.”
“Thank you, child.” Hannah nodded toward Beth.
Matthew cleaned up his plate and rose. “Well, I’ve got a lot to do today.” A fool’s errand and then probably a long ride.
“Aunt Hannah, can I have the leftovers for Barney, please?” Beth asked. “And may I be excused, Mama?”
Hannah nodded. Verity smoothed her hand over the child’s hair. “Yes. Stay in our yard.”
Beth agreed and with pan of bacon ends and leftover eggs, she skipped out the door, calling, “Barney!”
“I think I’ll sit on the front porch and whittle some and watch the leaves turning.” Joseph thanked Hannah for breakfast.
Matt did the same, and the widow preceded him out the back door. They paused at the top of the steps to the yard. “What did my cousin come to see you for—if you don’t mind my asking,” Matt amended.
The morning sunlight glinted in her hair. He liked seeing her without her black bonnet. He imagined rubbing her springy curls between his thumb and forefinger. He clenched his hands, as if to ensure that they stayed put.
She rested one hand on the railing and blinked at the bright morning sunshine. “I don’t mind telling thee, because it wasn’t a personal visit. Thy cousin came to warn me away. He thinks the South isn’t ready for change.”
Anger burned in Matt’s throat. He’d already told his cousin on no uncertain terms—
“Can thee think of any other reason he would come besides telling me not to expect the town to accept our school?”
“No, I can’t.” I won’t.
She studied him as if trying to figure out if he were being frank.
That grated. But he’d been pretty unforthcoming when they’d met on the road home from the Ransford place. She knew there were things he wasn’t telling her.
Should he tell her, now that she was staying? He kept noticing little things about her. Now it was her dainty ivory ears and he shifted his gaze past her to the mutt noisily lapping water t
hat Beth had just pumped for him. “I’ve got an errand to do. It’s time I get busy getting building supplies and hiring men.”
“I’ll wish thee good day, then. I still have some curtains to hang.” She went back inside.
As he walked toward town, he tried to picture himself telling Verity about his childhood with Dace and Samuel. A wave of guilt hit him as he thought of Hannah and Elijah—were they wondering why he had not asked them about their son, whom he had loved like a brother as a child?
He hadn’t found the right moment, or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what happened to Samuel. He wasn’t sure he could stand to hear it.
Soon Matt stepped into Hanley’s store. He’d been in town for well over a week now and it was time to launch his attack. Silence fell upon the crowded gathering place of the village. Matt went directly to Hanley as if they were the only two in the store.
Hanley greeted him from behind the counter with a wary nod. “What can I do for you today?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to order some lumber and building supplies for me so I won’t have to ride to Richmond.” Matt thought that giving the local storekeeper the chance to make some money might help with popular opinion about the school.
He heard footsteps behind him as someone entered the store, but he didn’t look back. “I also want to know if there are any carpenters in the area.”
“Is this for that school of yours?” The voice came from behind Matt.
It was funny how after all these years, Matt still knew Orrin Dyke’s belligerent and mocking voice. He turned slowly, feeling every eye on him. Matt stared at the big beefy man, who was a head taller than him. “Yes.”
“I’ll tell you straight to your face, then. We ran your family out of town once and we can do it again.” Everyone in the store and outside on the bench had frozen into place. A heavy feeling of expectation expanded in the silence.
“No doubt I am not wanted here,” Matt countered, his blood simmering at the mention of his family being forced out of town. “But I am going to stay long enough to build the school and prepare the former slaves to vote—”
