by Lyn Cote
The doctor had just complimented her on her nursing skills, but he still thought a “lady” shouldn’t be present at surgery. She hid a wry smile, allowing Matthew to lead her into the kitchen, a hazardous venture. She steeled herself, knowing she must not let his effect on her show. It would be embarrassing for both of them.
This was the first time they’d been alone for days. She waved him to take a seat. The kitchen smelled of roast beef and onions—Hannah must have their supper in the oven. She went to the stove to see if there was any coffee left to put off sitting across from him. There wasn’t any so she prepared the percolator for more and stoked the fire under the pot. She found her traitorous eyes gazing at his profile, admiring his straight nose and firm chin.
“I thought I asked you not to go off alone,” Matthew scolded.
“I don’t remember thee saying that.” She clutched two faded blue potholders in her hands.
“I did. Where did you go?” He looked her in the eye.
She avoided his gaze and moved to the dry sink, refolding a couple of kitchen towels there. Again, the time had come for honesty. She took a deep steadying breath. “I went to Ransford Manor to attend the Daughters of the Confederacy meeting that Lirit invited me to on Thanksgiving.”
“You what?” He stood up, scraping the wood floor with the chair legs.
She lifted her chin and held her ground. “Thee heard me, Matthew.”
“Are you a glutton for punishment?” He looked at her as if she were completely deranged. “Wasn’t the Thanksgiving debacle enough for you?”
“I had something I had to do.” She went to the table and sat down, her knees weak with the memory of walking into that den of lionesses with Lirit Ransford sneering at her.
Not taking his eyes from hers, he sat back down across from her.
She tried not to stare into his dark eyes, nor at the cleft in his chin that beckoned her to press her finger to it.
“What was so important that you went out alone and unprotected when Orrin Dyke was still at large?”
“I had to try to reach them, to appeal to them. I came here to teach school, but I have another mission to carry out, Matthew.” The coffeepot was beginning to rumble, simmering.
“What mission?” His arm was on the red-and-white-checked oilcloth, his hand just inches from hers.
Its nearness made her own hand unnaturally sensitive, as if already feeling his skin against hers. “My family’s Friends Meeting House was used as a field hospital and my sisters and I nursed wounded during and after the battle of Gettysburg.” She passed a hand over her forehead. “You know how dreadful that was,” she appealed to him, a shiver coursing through her. “So many died without telling us who they were and where they were from. My sisters and I gathered mementoes from their uniforms and pockets, keeping them in separate envelopes. I brought them with me to Virginia.”
His hand clasped hers, sending warmth through her. His voice was low and rough. “I don’t understand what you thought the women in Fiddlers Grove could do with them.”
Despite his words, she glimpsed understanding in his eyes. “They have relatives and friends all over the South.” Her voice lifted, filled with passion and the hope of comforting others who had lost beloved men just as she had. “They can begin the work of getting the mementoes to the loved ones who would so long for them. It may take years but…I hope they will take on this work of charity. It would mean so much to those left behind.”
He stared at her and said nothing. His thumb gently stroked her palm. They listened to the coffeepot bubbling on the cast-iron burner.
She finally broke the silence. “I had to try, Matthew. Thee sees that, doesn’t thee?”
“Did they stone you or just tell you to get out?”
The bitterness in his voice stabbed her. She tightened her hold on his hand as if it were a lifeline. Oh, Matthew, when will thy hurt be healed? “The ladies looked stunned at first. Just the mention of Gettysburg shook them. I left the box of mementos with them and I hope they will take on this task. It has been a burden on my heart.”
He wouldn’t look at her, but he didn’t withdraw his hand. “You’re too good for this time, this place.”
“I am not good, Matthew. Only God is good.”
“No, you are good.” He drew her hand to his lips and placed one brief, tender kiss there.
Verity closed her eyes, her every sense focused on the spot his lips had touched. Please, Matthew, tread lightly. Caring for each other is not to be. Not here. Not now. But she had to fight herself to keep from pressing her hand to her cheek. The percolator was nearly boiling over. She leaped up to take it from the burner. Oh, Matthew, I can’t care for you.
The next day Matt stood in the yard where the new barn would rise in a matter of hours. His spine was straight and his jaw was like iron. The local men who were able to work stood around the barn site with a dozen soldiers who were meant to stay until both the barn and school were built. The soldiers had decided to help, since sitting around in the chilly wind didn’t agree with them. Plus the sooner the buildings were up, the sooner they could get back to Richmond.
So let trouble come, Matt thought as he walked toward them. If anyone tried to stop them today, they’d end up in the Richmond Union stockade for a very long time.
This wouldn’t be a normal, festive barn raising. Verity and Hannah were still tending the wounded in the parlor. The food prepared on Friday had been given away, so the men had brought their own food with them in pails. And they’d left their women at home.
The men still bore swollen bruises and half-healed cuts from the last skirmish in this yard. Matt still ached from Orrin’s fists. And they all kept looking over their shoulders as if expecting those against them to come and start fighting all over again—in spite of the presence of Union troops.
Matt was pleased that for once, Verity had listened to him and agreed to stay inside along with Hannah and Beth. Alec was still laid up, but soon he’d be able to go home on his own. Orrin Dyke had run for it and was still at large, but now with a price on his head. Perhaps luck would be on their side this time. Matt looked around and shouted, “Let’s get started!”
“Let’s pray,” Joseph suggested.
Matt prickled with irritation, but the men around him looked relieved. He bowed his head with them but looked up instantly at the sound of a horse approaching. His cousin was riding toward the back door as cool as can be. I’m ready for you, Dace. Matt’s hands balled into fists.
But Dace merely halted and tethered his horse to the back porch railing. He waved at Matt and then sat down on the top porch step.
Matt stared hard, not knowing what to make of Dace’s appearance. Then he turned, calling, “Let’s get this barn up!” Hammers and saws sounded in the quiet morning. The men began singing “Down by the Riverside.”
When Matt looked up again, he saw that the vicar of St. John’s had come, too, and was leaning against the railing, talking to Dace. And then the preacher from the community church—the one who’d ordered them to leave—sauntered up and joined them. The men around him kept working, but they stopped singing. Matt felt their keen watchfulness, matched by his own heightened sense of perception.
Then Jed McKay, Mary Dyke’s father, rode up on an old nag, followed closely by Mary in a buckboard. “I can’t believe my eyes! Have you three gone plumb crazy?”
“Pa—” she said.
“Be silent, girl! Women are not to speak in public. Says so in the Good Book. Preacher,” McKay said, glaring at his pastor, “why are you here? You ain’t got anything better to do?”
“I’m here to make sure no violence is done today. We may not like this school, but I don’t want Union troops in Fiddlers Grove any longer than necessary.”
“Yes,” the vicar agreed, “the school is going to happen with or without us. Why fight it?”
“Fight it? I’ll fight it with my last breath!” McKay bellowed.
Matt saw Verity just outside the ba
ck door. The two clergymen and Dace rose and tipped their hats at her. Stay there, Verity. Matt didn’t want her drawing fire. Readiness for battle set his nerves on edge.
McKay shook his fist. “The U.S. Congress rammed the Thirteenth Amendment through before the South could do anything about it. So the slaves are free. But are y’all in favor of the Fourteenth Amendment? Do you really want blacks to be full citizens? Like white people?” McKay demanded.
“Thee cannot hold back the future,” Verity insisted. “And what is wrong with letting children in this town learn to read?”
McKay pointed a finger at her without looking her way. “Orrin Dyke was the only one in town that was willing to stand up to this Yankee schoolmarm. And y’all let her run him out of town! Can’t you people see that she’s just not like us?”
“Orrin started a fire in the house,” Matt yelled. “Attacked Mrs. Hardy and me, Jed McKay.” He closed the distance between them. “He’s a wanted man. That’s why he’s run away! He’s a coward. Is that what you call a good man?” Matt let all his disdain flow in each word.
To Matt’s surprise, Dace said, “The barn and the school are going up. Go home, McKay.”
Jed turned on Dace. “What I want to know, Ransford, is why you’ve been in her pocket since she came to town. If you’d just taken a strong stand against this woman, the men in this town would have rallied behind you like they did when you got up our company to fight. Why have you tolerated this? In fact, you’ve encouraged her. You even sat at table with her!”
“The answer is quite simple,” Dace replied. “She saved my life.”
Jed McKay stared at him, openmouthed. The men in the yard turned toward Dace and then gawked at Mrs. Hardy.
“What does thee mean?” Verity asked, sounding shocked.
Matt tried to make sense of Dace’s words. Dace couldn’t be serious.
“Mrs. Hardy,” Dace said, holding out his hand, “I have not wanted to tell you because I thought it might make you feel uncomfortable. But I was one of those sad men you nursed in your Quaker meeting house during the Battle of Gettysburg.”
Verity gasped and her hand went to her throat in surprise. “Thee?” Tears welled up in her eyes.
Matt tried to grasp this—Verity nursed Dace?
“Yes. At first I wasn’t sure that it had been you, but after my first visit, I knew. I could not mistake your lovely caring voice. It was life to me one very long, pain-filled night.” Dace’s voice sank and became rougher.
“I—I’m sorry I didn’t recognize thee,” Verity stammered, taking Dace’s hand.
“How could you? I was one of hundreds. But I remember lying there and hearing the doctor tell you that I needed very careful nursing through the night or I’d die. And you stayed with me, bathing my face and cleaning my wound over and over. I’m sure if you hadn’t, I would have died that night. I was too weak even to ask your name or to thank you.”
“I’m glad I could help you,” she said.
Dace’s words brought back harsh memories forever etched on Matt’s mind and heart. He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands.
Jed McKay cursed loud and long. “What does it matter? She is bringing wrong ideas into this town! You give blacks school-learning and the next they’ll want is the vote. Haven’t you read about the riots in Louisiana and Tennessee? The Negroes there demanded the vote! You mark my words—you’ll have blacks voting and running for Congress in Virginia if we don’t put a stop to this right now!”
Matt stood straighter. “You’re right, McKay. And the sooner the better.”
A stunned silence filled the yard. McKay glared, red-faced and white-lipped. “We don’t want or need Yankee schoolmarms teaching blacks to be ‘colored gentlemen.’” He made the terms sound like vile insults as he dismounted. “We can keep blacks in their place in this town if you stand with me today and run this Quaker and Matthew Ritter out of town! Who stands with me? Who stands for what is right?”
The troops almost casually reached for their rifles and turned them on McKay and the other two whites. The black men brandished their tools as weapons, ready for anything.
Then Samuel stepped forward. “Any man that can be happy to have his daughter married to a brute like Orrin Dyke is a man I can disagree with—cheerfully.”
“You’ve got that right,” Matt seconded.
“No one asked you to open your mouth, boy!” McKay roared. He charged Samuel. Dace leaped forward and grabbed Jed’s arms. The old man struggled against him.
“Orrin is a brute.” Mary Dyke’s thin, frightened voice shocked everyone into silence. “I told my father that Orrin beat me and he told me to mind my man and I wouldn’t be ill-treated. He was wrong. Orrin didn’t need a reason to hurt me and my son.” Mary’s voice shook with feeling. “I’m glad Orrin’s gone. I hope he stays gone.”
“You dare to speak against your husband in public?” McKay demanded.
“I dare because of this woman.” Mary nodded toward Verity. “I didn’t think women could make a difference, or could stand up to men. But she did. She stood up to the women, too, and showed them what she was about. I didn’t know a woman could do that. If Mrs. Hardy can stand up to all of you, so can I.”
Then Jed yanked himself free of Dace’s grasp, mounted his horse and rode away without a backward glance. All eyes watched him until he disappeared from sight.
Mary approached Verity, the men giving way to her. “I’ve come to take my boy home, ma’am. Thank you for giving him shelter. I knew he was safe with you. May I see him please?”
“Of course.” Verity motioned Mary up the steps and took her inside.
McKay should be horsewhipped for letting Orrin abuse his daughter and grandson. After a quick glance at his cousin, Matt turned away, choked up. “Show’s over! Let’s get moving! The sun goes down early these days.”
Matt felt good, really good. If nothing else, he’d come home and had run Orrin out of Mary’s life. With Verity’s help.
The long, eventful day was finally finished. Matt thought it might take him a long time to sort through his reactions to all that had happened today. He ached, but in a good way and for a good reason. The barn was up and only needed some finishing work, which Joseph had offered to do so the men could move right on to the school tomorrow. The workers had all gone home with pay vouchers and smiles. Now sitting at the kitchen table, Matt wrote out the last voucher to Samuel.
Samuel looked at it and smiled. “Matt, when we were boys, did you ever think that you’d be paying me—a free man—for building a school for black children and former slaves in Fiddlers Grove?”
Matt was caught up short. He hadn’t thought of it in that way. “My parents hoped for, worked for something like that.”
Samuel’s face sobered. “They were good folk. I’m sorry they didn’t live to see this day. To witness this miracle.”
“This was a day of miracles,” Verity said, walking into the kitchen.
Samuel rose. “Time I left for home. Good evening, Mrs. Hardy.”
Matt had also risen at her entry. As Samuel passed through the back door, he winked at Matt.
Matt felt himself warm under the collar.
“Would thee like to take a walk, Matthew?” Verity asked. “I feel the need of some fresh air to clear my head. So much has happened this day.”
He nodded. “Good idea.” The truth was, he wanted Verity to himself. The house was crowded with soldiers bedding down in the parlor, the dining room and the entry hall. Verity had insisted they sleep inside because of the cold.
She tied her bonnet ribbons and Matt helped her on with her cape. He was careful not to touch her shoulders. Touching her might unleash all he fought to conceal. He shrugged on his wool jacket and they stepped outside into the cloaking darkness of early December.
The moon was high and bright as Matt walked beside Verity. He listened to everything with new ears, it seemed. Their footsteps sounded loud in the quiet. Matt was very aware of the woman who walked
beside him, the rustling of her starched skirt. Though he longed to claim her hands, he kept his arms at his sides.
Finally she broke their silence. She did not turn toward him. “Thee doesn’t believe in miracles then?”
He was about to say he didn’t—then he recalled all he’d witnessed today. “I haven’t for a long time,” he said finally. “Is it a miracle or coincidence that Dace was one of the many you nursed at Gettysburg?”
“I call it Providence.”
“Providence?” Matt asked, and shoved his chilled hands into his pockets.
“Yes. Surely my reunion with thy cousin is no mere coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidence. Far in advance, God knew that I would come to Fiddlers Grove to open this school for freed slaves.”
Leaves were falling in cascades from tree branches, sounding like sighs and whispers. Once again Matt wished Verity wouldn’t wear such a deep-brimmed bonnet. He wanted to watch her vivid expressions. For a woman who radiated peace, she felt and showed everything vibrantly. “You believe that God had this all planned?” he asked, knowing what her reply would be.
An owl hooted in the moonlit darkness. “I do. God saved Dacian’s life that awful night, not my poor nursing. He saved thy cousin for this purpose. And God preserved thy life, too. Thee is a part of this, a part of God’s foreknowledge and providence.”
Her voice grew stronger, with the passion that he loved in her. And hated. Don’t care so much, Verity. That’s the way to pain. I’m afraid for you. He turned his collar up against the cold.
“I don’t know,” he hedged. “It all sounds wonderful when you say it like that. As if God has a grand plan with parts for each of us to play—”
“It’s the war, isn’t it?” she interrupted. “The war cost thee much.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Matt insisted, suddenly flushed. He didn’t want to go back to those years, a collection of days no living soul should have had to face. “I won’t.”
“As thee wishes. I’m sorry. I remember…” Her voice trailed off.
