Her Captain's Heart

by Lyn Cote

  In the moonlight she stared at him. “I know thee doesn’t want me here.”

  “It’s not that,” he said, feeling heat rise in his face. He was getting too used to this woman’s daily presence, to her direct way of speaking in her velvet voice and the way her face dimpled when she smiled. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” His words felt as if they’d come from deep inside. Silence. He hadn’t meant to say that.

  “And I don’t want thee to get hurt, either, Matthew.”

  Her softly spoken words burst through him like a summer sun.

  She went on, “Let’s not waste any more words on this. I’m employed by the Freedman’s Bureau, just like thee. I’ve been told to continue with my teaching and I’m going to. We must work together.” She laid her hand over his.

  His reaction was instant. Without meaning to, he turned his hand up and grasped her hand in his. Her palm was callused but her small hand was soft. It had been so long since he’d touched a woman’s hand like this, alone in the shadows. More than just a gloved-hand clasp. More—

  The kettle whistled and he rose, pulling his hand from hers. Soon he was setting a steaming cup before her.

  She lifted her cup and inhaled. “I keep hoping that the people here will see that there’s a better way.”

  He snorted and sat again. “They are blind. For some reason, they cling to slavery even when it has been abolished and even when it cost them countless lives and everything else. It makes no sense.”

  “It does in a way.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “The farther one lives away from the truth, the deeper the darkness one lives in. Jesus is the light of the world. If thee doesn’t have Him, thee lives thy life stumbling around in the darkness of sin.”

  I know about darkness, Matt thought to himself.

  “I like Samuel,” Verity said.

  He looked at her in the faint natural light. He smiled, her steadfast commitment to hope and compassion lifting his gloomy perspective. “I do, too.”

  “Thee and I have been put together and must work together. Please, Matthew, don’t worry about me. That is not thy job here. God has provided angels to watch over us.” She rested her hand on his again. “Now, what does thee think we will be facing in the weeks to come? Tell me honestly.”

  No matter what she said, protecting her was his job. No honorable man could do differently. He sipped his tea, but didn’t move his other hand, not wanting to break their connection, even though he knew he should.

  He watched the moving shadow of branches on the wall. “I think that we’ll have to expect vandalism at the building site, at the very least. Once the school is begun, you should not go into town without me or Joseph with you. Or be here alone.”

  “Thee thinks then that I might be physically attacked.”

  The woman was cool, he’d give her that. She sounded as if they were merely discussing an interesting matter in the newspaper. “Yes, I think that is a very real possibility.” He wanted to clasp her hand tighter, but worried she’d pull away if he did. What was happening? They shouldn’t be sitting here, their hands touching. They were colleagues, but that was an odd situation, too. How often did a man and woman—not married to each other—work together?

  She nodded. “I will do as thee says.”

  His eyes widened at this and he snorted again.

  She chuckled softly. “I can listen to reason, Matthew. But still, I will be praying there will not be such opposition. I still hope that God may soften the hearts here and that His light will shine in this present darkness. I will keep thee apprised of my movements and try not to expose my child or myself to needless danger. But we must not make a rock into a cannonball in our minds. If God be for us, who can stand against us?”

  Matt’s mouth twisted down, but he hid it behind the cup. Against us? Only most of Fiddlers Grove, including my own blood. She drew away her hand and he was suddenly cold.

  A week later, Verity prepared to greet her new pupils on her front porch. The day was cool—autumn was stealing over Virginia. She had set up a desk and had a stack of slates, a box of chalk and a fresh ledger to enroll her students. She smiled. “Good morning, students.”

  In the distance she heard the rumble of men’s voices. Yesterday Matthew had hired several former slaves with carpentry experience. Today they were unloading the wood that had arrived from Richmond this morning. Well, Lord, we’re beginning our school today. Help me to start on the right foot. And please protect us.

  The children on the porch dressed in worn clothing were very leery of her and her stomach fluttered. Would someone try to stop her today? She cleared her thick throat.

  “I want the boys to move to the left side of the porch, and the girls to move to the right side.” No child moved until Beth did, and then the children obeyed her instructions with a bit of mumbling and giggling.

  “Every morning I expect you to come to school on time and sit on the correct side of the porch or room—”

  “But we ain’t got any chairs,” one little boy pointed out.

  “Then thee will sit on the floor,” Verity said, catching movement from the corner of her eye. She tried to see what or who had moved within her peripheral vision.

  “Ain’t a school supposed to have chairs?” the same little boy asked.

  “Be quiet, you,” one of the girls hissed. “Ma told us to be good and not sass the teacher. I’m tellin’ if you don’t stop—”

  The boy stuck out his tongue at her. “Tattletale—”

  “That’s enough,” Verity said in her most authoritative voice. Perhaps she had just imagined the movement—she gave up trying to find the source. “I am now going to enter thy names in the ledger.” The children began telling her their names all at the same time. “No one is to speak unless I give them permission. Thee must raise thy hand and, if I give permission, then thee may speak.” At the sight of a boy shoving another, she added, “And if anyone touches or hits someone else, they will be punished.”

  These words silenced and petrified the children. Verity walked to the desk and seated herself behind it, dipped her pen in ink and said, “We will begin with the boys. First boy, step up here please and state thy name.” The first boy didn’t move until he was shoved from behind and then he approached her with lowered eyes.

  “Your name, please?”

  “I’m Thaddeus.” He set one bare foot on the other.

  The same girl hissed, “You suppose to say, ‘ma’am’.”

  “Ma’am,” Thaddeus added.

  Verity carefully wrote his name down. “What is thy surname?”

  The little boy looked at her in some confusion. “I don’t got one of those…ma’am.”

  “What is your father’s name?” Again, something barely moved at the edge of her vision.

  “Josiah, ma’am.”

  “Since he has been freed, has he added a second name to that?”

  “I guess it’s Ransford. He used to belong to Mr. Ransford. But my mama, she lived on the Ellington plantation.”

  “Then thee is Thaddeus Ellington Ransford.” Verity finished writing his name while trying to glimpse who was moving in the surrounding oaks. The raised voices of the men who were now sawing wood floated over to the makeshift school.

  When she looked up she found the little boy beaming at her. “Thank you, ma’am, I like that name. It’s big.”

  “Then thee will have to live up to thy name, won’t thee?” Verity smiled at Thaddeus. “Now please go and sit at the end of the line.”

  Thaddeus puffed up his chest and strutted to the rear of the line to sit down. After Thaddeus’s example, each child presented himself and gave his name and who his parents had belonged to. They were thrilled when each of them was given a new “big” name.

  Verity had nearly finished enrolling students when the talkative little girl, Sassy Ellington Ransford, hailed her. “Ma’am, ma’am, why is that white boy sittin’ in the tree watchin’ us? Can he do that?”

>   Verity looked where the girl was pointing and glimpsed fair hair amidst the oak leaves. So that’s what she’d been seeing—Alec. Was he spying on her or the men building the school? Or did he just want to learn? Verity looked at Sassy. “There is no law against sitting in a tree. Now we will begin to learn the alphabet. At first I will teach you to say the sounds in order and then we will begin learning to write each one.”

  “What’s an alphabet?” Thaddeus asked out of turn.

  “What did I say about raising thy hand and waiting for permission to speak?” Verity was secretly enjoying the freshness of her eager students, but she had to instill the discipline that was so important to learning.

  Thaddeus’s hand shot into the air. After her nod, he asked, “What’s an alphabet…ma’am?” He cast a triumphant look at his sister.

  “The alphabet is the basis of written language. Each letter represents or stands for a sound. In order to read, one learns the letter for each sound.”

  Another boy raised his hand.

  Verity nodded. “Yes?”

  “Are you going to teach us Latin?”

  “Latin? Why would thee need to learn Latin?” she asked in surprise.

  “’Cause edjicated people knows Latin. I come to get edjicated.”

  Verity hid a smile. “One must learn English first. Latin comes later.”

  “Are you certain sure?” Sassy asked, and then covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  Verity nodded and then unfolded a large piece of heavy cardboard on which she’d printed the letters of the alphabet. She sensed movement in the oak tree again. A gust of wind shivered the oak leaves and she saw that it was indeed Alec, leaning forward to see her chart. How sad to have to sit in a tree to learn.

  In the distance, she heard Matthew’s voice giving directions and she paused to listen. For a brief moment, everything felt perfect. Father, bless the building of this school and these students. Bring healing to Fiddlers Grove. Please.

  Then she recalled the sounds of breaking glass in the night. Would a rock through their kitchen window be the end of opposition?

  Chapter Seven

  During the quiet after supper, Verity walked outside in the twilight to Matthew’s cabin. She needed to discuss something with him. In the still green yard, Beth was playing catch with Barney. As Verity passed her daughter, Beth announced with beaming pride, “Mama! Look! Barney brings the stick back to me every time!”

  “Wonderful!” Verity waved, continuing on her way over the uneven ground. By now the grass would be turning brown in Pennsylvania and her father and brothers-in-law would have harvested the crops. Here there was just a nip of autumn in the air this evening. Rubbing her arms to warm them, she wished she’d donned her lamb’s-wool shawl. She wouldn’t be able to hold class on the porch much longer. Fall and winter came later in Virginia than Pennsylvania, but they were coming. Virginia was not so far south that they wouldn’t get a hard freeze and perhaps some snow for Christmas.

  The thought of Christmas pricked her heart. It would be her first Christmas away from her large family. Though they’d never celebrated the day with a tree, they’d always taken off from work and had a festive meal and small gifts. And Verity had enjoyed the pine boughs, wreaths, mistletoe and red ribbons her neighbors had decorated their houses with. She was knitting a special present for Beth this year, hoping it would ease the pain of being so far away from six doting aunts.

  Another thought tugged at her heart. Matthew had family here but his remained a family divided. The wind was loosing her hair from its bun—as it always did. She shoved her hairpins in tighter. She wished she could help Matthew and free him from the dark shadows of the past he still carried. Like most men, Matthew did not even admit to emotions.

  But she was not fooled. He must have come here to reconcile with his cousin. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t answered her questions about Dacian that day they’d walked home together from the Ransford plantation. This heavy thought weighed upon her, slowing her steps. It was odd how feelings could affect her physically. How could an emotion actually tug at her?

  She arrived at the small cabin near the barn. The door was ajar, so she called, “Matthew, may I come in?”

  He appeared at the door. “What’s wrong?”

  The assumption that she sought his aid had become his usual response. She gave him a half smile. “I need to discuss something with thee, something I didn’t want Beth to hear. May I come in?”

  His reluctance to allow her access to his sanctuary showed plainly on his face, but good manners dictated he must give way to a lady. He stepped back. “Of course.”

  She entered the cabin. His rifle stood at the ready next to the door. A rope bed covered with a worn army blanket was tucked against the wall. A candle burned on a small round table with two straight-back chairs. A soldier’s room. An open journal lay upon the table with a steel-pointed pen and inkwell beside it. That interested her. Matthew kept a journal.

  “What did you want to discuss?” he asked, sounding uncomfortable.

  She pulled out the chair nearest her, unused to Matthew’s private territory, and primly sat down. Matthew took his place beside the journal, which he moved aside. Evidently the ink was still wet, because he didn’t close it. She wondered if her name appeared on its pages and then forced her mind back to the matter at hand.

  She drank in the comfort of his nearness in this still strange place and then drew in a deep breath. “Alec sat in one of our oak trees all through school today.”

  “And?” he asked.

  She pursed her lips. “I can’t decide if he was there out of curiosity. Or out of a desire to learn. Or because his father sent him to spy on us.”

  Matthew studied her and then began to tap the table with the little finger of his left hand.

  She studied him in turn. There was a deeper meaning in their unspoken exchange. Matthew had become important in her life here. His keep-away veneer remained persistent, but she was beginning to penetrate, glimpse the true soul that was Matthew Ritter.

  “Does it matter why Alec was there?”

  “It does. We’ve done nothing about his situation.”

  “I told my cousin about the beating.” He sounded as if this were one of the hardest things he’d had to do since arriving in Fiddlers Grove.

  Matthew, I know it’s hard for thee to talk about thy cousin. I’m sorry. “And what did Dacian Ransford suggest?”

  “He said that talking to Orrin might cause the boy more harm than good.” His deep voice made his words even graver.

  She sighed. “I wish the world were not such an evil place. Sometimes it nearly weighs me down.” She rested her forehead in her hand.

  Unexpectedly he patted her arm in an unpracticed way that made it even more powerful. A knot formed in her throat.

  “Verity, why do you care so much about Alec…about everyone?”

  She looked into his solemn eyes and tilted her head. Was this the first time he’d called her by her given name? It felt so. Her stomach fluttered. “How can I not care that a young boy is suffering abuse at the hands of the father who should be loving and raising him to be a good man?”

  “Orrin Dyke is not a good man.”

  The certainty in his tone did not lift her hopes. An unpleasant weight pressed on her lungs. Poor Alec. Poor Mary. “Thee doesn’t think that Alec is spying for his father then?”

  “I doubt it. He probably came just out of curiosity.” Matthew withdrew his hand, but his touch lingered, startling Verity.

  “I find it very odd that Virginians have no free schools. Didn’t they see education as necessary for a knowledgeable electorate?”

  He smiled in a way that twisted her heart. His smile mocked smiling. “The planters had the money and the power and they liked it that way.”

  “No doubt thee is right.” She shook her head and rose, wishing she could help Matthew heal his wounds. But it’s not my place. Some pretty young maiden will do that. “I will
continue to pray about this. What we can do nothing about, our loving God will see to. Only He has the power to change hearts and minds. That is beyond us.” Thee is beyond me, Matthew. Whatever I have been feeling is not to be pursued. My heart is still with Roger. And thy heart is caught in the pain of the past.

  “Finally something we can agree on.” Matthew had risen with her.

  “I think, Matthew, that thee and I agree on many things.” She said, smiling sadly. “I bid thee good night then, Matthew.”

  “Good night, ma’am.”

  She walked back to the house, burdened with the weight of all that had been unsaid.

  “Fire! Fire!” The yells interrupted the Sunday-afternoon worship service at the Ransford plantation where Matt, Verity and her family were attending. Jolted, Matt spun around, trying to identify who was yelling. It sounded like the voice of a boy. Was it a prank?

  The voice yelled again, “The Barnesworth barn is burning! Fire!”

  That goaded Matt into action. He raced toward home. Behind him, he heard footsteps and shouting, but he didn’t look back. He had over a mile to run.

  Winded, he reached home first. Flames were devouring the stack of wood for the school and the frame they’d finished putting up yesterday, as well as the barn. For one second, he froze. Then he ran toward the pump halfway between the house and barn.

  Verity and Samuel had arrived from the service. “We’ll get buckets!” Verity called.

  Matt began pumping. Samuel and Verity returned with fire buckets and wash buckets, handing them to those who’d followed.

  Samuel took the place nearest the flaming barn and threw the first bucket of water on the fire, making it hiss. Verity, Beth and the others swarmed around the pump, letting the water from the pump fill their buckets. Then they formed a fire brigade line and began moving the buckets to Samuel and then back.

  Soon a few of the nearest neighbors joined them. All was chaos—people shouting and coughing, the fire roaring like a giant beast. Their clothing and shoes became soaked with cold well water. Sparks and burning debris floated and swirled around their heads, stinging as they burned flesh. Matt pumped and pumped. His arms ached, threatening to cramp. Still, he pumped.