Her Captain's Heart

by Lyn Cote

  Seeing Beth’s troubled expression made Verity feel nauseated. She sat back down. “I can’t believe…I just can’t believe it.”

  Beth hurried to her, her dark braids bouncing. “You’re not going to let them do that to Alec, are you, Mama?”

  Verity rested her head on her hand. She tried to understand why Matthew had remained silent while these two bureaucrats had scolded her for doing what God had sent her here to do. Surely there was something she and Matthew could do to avert this. Sending Alec and Annie and the other white children away was too awful to imagine. There must be a way to stop these men from ruining everything.

  Then an awful realization trickled through her like icy water. Why did she think Matthew would help her?

  Matthew had sat here in the same room and had said nothing to defend her. He’d remained as remote as a disapproving stranger. But then, Matthew didn’t support what she’d done here. He’d only tolerated it. At this thought, she pressed a hand to her pained heart. How did that mesh with the promise she thought he’d made to her in this very room on Christmas Eve?

  Matthew stepped inside the back door and hung up his jacket and muffler. In the warm, shadowy kitchen, he turned and saw Verity, obviously upset. He’d almost gone to his cabin for the night—he hadn’t wanted to face this. But he wasn’t a coward. He’d seen the light in the kitchen window and knew that she was up and worried.

  I can’t do anything about Wolford and Cates. I can’t change anything here for her. He felt like a failure. Was this how his father had felt all those years ago when he’d done right but was helpless to change Virginia or to protect his family from injustice?

  Verity stared up at him, hurt visible in her warm brown eyes. He folded his arms across his chest to keep from reaching for her.

  He searched for something to say, something to keep from discussing what she would want to discuss. What he could do nothing about. What he was helpless to alter. “Hannah’s gone home for the night?”

  Verity looked confused. “Of course. Did thee eat?”

  Food? Had he eaten? “No.” His stomach growled as if upon command. He looked past Verity, not wanting to meet her gaze. Facing enemy fire had been less taxing than remaining silent while Cates and Wolford had berated her. But how could he disagree with them? Everything they’d said was absolutely, point-by-point true.

  “Hannah left thee a plate in the warming oven.” Verity went to the stove and with the quilted potholders drew out a plate covered with a pie tin. “Will thee sit, please?”

  He moved to the dry sink first and washed his hands, wiped them over his face, washing away the dust of the day. He felt as if he’d lived a hundred years since morning. First Dace and then Wolford and Cates—what a great day.

  When Matt turned, Verity was pouring him a steaming cup of coffee. He sat down at the table and stared at the plate of ham, turnips, biscuits and gravy. Why was she still doing this for him? Didn’t she hate him for his unavoidable silence?

  She sat across from him and clasped her hands in her lap, leaning forward. “I have some good news.”

  Watching her try to smile for him sliced him to the quick. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Annie’s grandmother heard from the family of the first of the lost soldiers. That’s good news, isn’t it?”

  Even this didn’t lift his mood. He picked up his fork and began trying to eat, though he had no appetite. He stared at her, mute. I have no good news for you, Verity.

  “Where has thee been, Matthew?” She betrayed her nervousness by starting to pleat the red-and-white-checked tablecloth.

  He closed his eyes. The weight of powerlessness was nearly crushing the breath from him. After four years of blood and horror, the active war had ended, replaced by a guerrilla war of hard-eyed resistance. That’s what Cates and Wolford were fighting.

  He’d tried to hold back the sadness that had begun earlier when he’d spoken with Dace. Despair from their brief, harsh exchange had washed over him in wave after relentless wave. They were set on opposite sides just as they had been since the day the good people of Fiddlers Grove had thrown rocks through the windows of his parents’ house. In his mind, he heard again the shattering glass, flying, crashing.

  “Matthew,” Verity said, touching his sleeve, “those two men said I must not let the white children come to school. But I don’t know how to do that. If I send the white children away, it will be a betrayal of everything I believe to be right and just.”

  Her words didn’t surprise him. He chewed mechanically. She wasn’t the kind of woman to give up, even if peace were something she could never achieve in Virginia. He looked past her, out the dark window.

  She tilted her head so she could keep eye contact with him. “In the letter of the law, Mr. Wolford and Mr. Cates are probably right. I was sent here to educate freed slaves and their children. But what happened here was different and special. All over the South, there are lynchings, riots, terrible things happening.” Her voice became impassioned. “Here in Fiddlers Grove, we have relative calm. And black children and white children are attending the same school, the school thy cousin told me would be burned down. What we have done here is what should be done all over the South. And they want me to end it. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

  He swallowed and looked her in the eye. “If you refuse to do what they say, they will fire you. And then they’ll dismiss the white children themselves.” He heard his words, stark and harsh. But it’s the truth. We can’t avoid the truth, Verity.

  She twisted his sleeve. “Can’t thee think of anything I can do to stop those two men from doing this?”

  His fork stopped in midair. “No. There is nothing you can do. Sometimes problems are too big to do anything about.” You’re a grown woman. Didn’t you see this coming?

  “How can you say such a thing, Matthew?” she pleaded.

  And then the words that he’d held back for years came pouring out. “When I was twelve, the issue of slave states versus free states spilled over into local politics. A free black man had been captured by roaming slave-catchers. And even though there were witnesses who knew he was free, he’d been forced back into slavery in this county. My father was a lawyer and he gathered the evidence, took the local planter who held this free man as a slave to court and the man was set free.

  “Two days later, a mob came at night. They were wearing cloth bags with eyeholes over their heads. They broke all the windows in my parents’ house, set the barn on fire and shouted death threats.” He looked into Verity’s eyes, now shining with tears.

  “We packed and left the next day.” He put down his fork. The old outrage pushed him up out of the chair. He snatched up his things and walked out into the cold night. Some things just can’t be fixed, and this place will never be home again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, Verity answered a polite knock at her back door. There she greeted Elijah and asked him inside. Before she closed the door, she glanced outside toward Matthew’s cabin, wondering if he was coming back to the house today. The only sign of life around the cabin was the white trail of smoke from the chimney. Her longing to see Matthew added to the dull ache within her, an emptiness.

  With a knowing eye, Hannah had informed Verity when she’d come down that Matt had come in for an early breakfast and gone directly back to his cabin. Verity smarted over the way they’d parted last night. He’d been so closed off to her. What can I do about this? The answer came swiftly. Nothing.

  Elijah hung his hat on the peg by the door. “Hannah told me about the Yankees telling you to send the white children away. I feel very bad about Alec and the others. Those poor children are only pawns.”

  “And don’t Miss Verity look frazzled?” Hannah went to the stove, warmed Verity’s cup and poured Elijah and herself coffee. Then the three sat down at the table together and Verity felt the comfort of their friendship. No longer did Hannah feel unnatural sitting down with her. How much longer would she be here with these dear friend
s?

  “I met Mr. Cates and Mr. Wolford last night. Matthew brought them to my cabin,” Elijah said, gazing at her with obvious concern. “They want me to take a leadership role in the new Union League here. But I might not be around much longer.”

  Hannah halted and stared at her husband. Verity lifted both eyebrows in silent question and looked from Elijah to Hannah and back.

  “I received a letter this morning after you left, Hannah. Mr. Dacian read it for me. Our Samuel is on his way here with his intended wife, Abby, and her two children,” Elijah announced with evident pride, a sudden rise in his voice, a smile lighting up his whole face.

  Hannah threw both hands high. “Thank you, Jesus!”

  “Samuel found her, then?” Verity asked. Finally, some good news. She smiled, though the persistent hurt dug its claws into her. “I’m so glad.”

  Hannah rose and the two embraced.

  Choking back tears, Elijah continued, “Samuel tracked down the slaver who bought her. And for a price, he told Samuel the name and town of each of the planters who had bought slaves from him that year. Luckily, the man had kept very precise records.”

  “So that means I’m already a grandma,” Hannah exclaimed, beaming as she wiped away tears with her full white apron. “I can’t wait to see them. Oh, praise the Lord. He hath done great things!”

  Verity pressed her lips together. Seeing such joy made her burden weigh more heavily upon her. I am happy for Samuel’s family. I am, Lord.

  Elijah’s smile was broad and full. “We will make plans for a wedding when they get here.” He paused. “I’m so sorry you’re having difficulties with those two Yankees.”

  Like a harsh broom, the mention of Cates and Wolford whisked away Verity’s gladness for Samuel and his family. She looked down at the tablecloth.

  “I know the men are against what you’ve done here,” Elijah said, “but I think that the League will do a lot of good here.” He paused and looked troubled. “We’ve heard rumors that Orrin Dyke is back in town.”

  Orrin Dyke. Better and better.

  “Well, I sometimes had a hard time believin’ that you had white children and black children together in a school in Fiddlers Grove,” Hannah said matter-of-factly, letting herself down on the chair and making it creak.

  “It was a miracle.” Suddenly sober, Elijah sipped his coffee.

  Verity thought of all God had done here in Fiddlers Grove. It should be happening all over the South, instead of the race riots and lynchings. Every awful and cruel thing that Mr. Cates and Mr. Wolford had said was taking place all over the South. They were only reacting to what, in their opinion, had to be stamped out and stopped, not what should be started. She couldn’t blame them. Race hate and resentment and murder were devouring the South. Just as the war had. Hate begot violence and violence begot hate and on and on. Verity’s neck hurt and she rested her head on her hand.

  Hannah spoke up, “You were doing just fine, Miss Verity. You had the school going and the children were learning and things were looking good here. Elijah and I even thought we might stay.”

  “I hated to leave my little flock, you see,” Elijah added.

  “But now when Samuel come, we’ll leave with him and Abby and the children to go to New York, where he owns a house and land. It seems what’s best.” Hannah patted Verity’s hand.

  “I don’t blame you,” Verity said. And she didn’t. How soon would she be asked to leave?

  “What are you going to do about the school?” Elijah asked cautiously.

  She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple, trying to overcome the helpless worry that not even prayer had shaken. “I don’t see my way clear yet. I keep hoping way will open.” How many times had she heard her mother say this phrase—Way will open. It meant God would open a way for them to accomplish what He wanted.

  God could show Verity a way to keep Alec in school—if that was His will. But how could that not be His will? Verity whispered, “Everything was going so well.” But God’s Spirit didn’t stir within her. She looked around at the kitchen she’d used for less than a year and felt just how hard it would be to leave this place. Leave Matthew.

  The very next school day what Verity dreaded happened. Mr. Wolford and Mr. Cates entered her school and walked up to her. “It is plain to see that you are not complying with the dictates of the Freedman’s Bureau.” Mr. Wolford turned and faced the children. “This school is not for you white children. Leave the books and everything on the desks and go home.”

  The children had fallen silent and were looking at the two men in utter shock. Alec stood up. “Miss Verity, ma’am, what do you want us to do?”

  Before Verity could reply, Mr. Wolford spoke up again, “Mrs. Hardy is no longer the teacher here. This is a school for black children only. You white children must leave right now. Put on your wraps and go home.”

  Alec looked stubborn. “We don’t know who you are. And you’re not telling us what to do. This is our school.”

  Mr. Cates started up the aisle toward Alec.

  “Alec!” Verity called out in fear. “Please do as these men say.”

  Mr. Cates stopped and turned back to Verity. “It’s too bad that you did not cooperate with us earlier. Your allowing these white children to attend school just let a few Rebs here get the U.S. government to pay for educating their children and they took advantage of it. But they don’t want black children to read or write, or black men to have the vote. You may have thought you were doing right, but you weren’t.”

  She clasped her hands together, holding on for the children’s sake.

  As if not quite believing this was happening, the white children silently rose from their desks, went to the pegs at the rear of the classroom and put on their coats. Alec looked flushed and angry.

  Beth rose and stood in the aisle. “Do I have to go too, Mama?”

  Verity didn’t know what to tell her own child.

  Wolford glared at Beth. “Is this child yours, young woman?”

  “Yes.”

  The two men exchanged glances and Wolford began, “The rules are quite—”

  “Beth,” Verity interrupted him, “go home to Hannah.”

  “Miss Verity, ma’am,” Annie whimpered at the door, “I don’t want to leave school. I like school.” Beth stood beside Annie, tears trickling down their cheeks.

  Verity blinked her eyes, suppressing her own tears. “I’m sorry, children. I’ll think of something.”

  The white children walked out the door and closed it behind them as the black children sat at their desks, stunned. The two men left without another word. Verity stared down at her desk. I must not upset the children more than they are already.

  “Ma’am,” Sassy said, waving her hand, “I didn’t want Annie and Beth to go. They nice white girls. I like them.”

  Verity looked up. “Yes, they are nice girls. And I know they like you, too, Sassy.” Verity’s voice trembled. “I hope that I’ll be able to find a way to make sure that Annie and the other white children can continue learning.” Verity rose and took a deep breath.

  “This is what happens after a war, children. I hope thee will remember that. The war will never be over until the hearts of men change. And only God can do that.”

  She recalled how Matthew had looked last night. Something inside him had shut down. She could see the same look now on the faces of the children. She tried to summon up as much strength as she could, smiling at her students. I couldn’t reach him, Lord. What do I do for Matthew, for the children? “Now let’s get back to our lessons. But I hope thee will never forget what war and hatred can do.”

  Matt jerked awake. He opened his eyes, feeling groggy. Then he heard gunshots in the distance and shouting—jubilant hooting. The house! The school! Heart pounding, he scrambled into his trousers and boots. He grabbed his rifle and charged outside into the cold night.

  No light shone in the house, but he saw flickering near the school. He ran over the frozen grass. His breath
puffed white in the cool night air. Ahead he saw something burning in front of the school at the far side of the property.

  He halted behind the windbreak of poplars and tried to make sense of the scene. A crowd of men yelling the Rebel battle cry with glee and shooting their rifles in the air surrounded the school while a cross burned in front of it. Then it all clicked in place. He’d read about the new Ku Klux Klan, Southerners wearing sheets and masks and burning crosses in front of the houses of anyone who opposed them.

  And then the significance of the symbol of their hatred hit him. They were perverting the symbol of Christ, mocking His selfless sacrifice. It didn’t matter that Matt had felt far from God through the awful bloody war. No one—no one—had the right to show such scorn to Christ.

  Flames of outrage roared inside Matt. He champed at the bit to charge forward and extinguish this insult to all that was holy. But he was outnumbered. He stood still, his rifle ready. If anyone moved to torch the school, he’d shoot them where they stood. Minutes passed. He gripped his rifle. Ready to aim. Ready to fire.

  Then in the darkness, a horse with two riders galloped close to Matt, heading toward his cabin. Matt was torn, but he recognized one of the riders—Dace. Matt raced after them. Why would Dace be coming for me?

  As Matt ran after them, the second rider—Samuel—looked back. And then Dace pulled up on his reins. Samuel sat behind him. Matt bounded up to him. “What is it?” Matt asked, breathless.

  “The cross burning’s just a diversion!” Dace shouted over the gunshots and yelling. “Dyke’s attacking your Quaker!” Samuel slid from the saddle and motioned toward Matt. He leaped up behind Dace. He threw his free arm around his cousin, holding his rifle high.

  The two of them galloped on toward the house. The commotion around the schoolhouse filled the air with noise. As they approached the house, Matt could see, by the scant moonlight, Orrin on the front porch, striking Verity.

  The big man was backhanding and forehanding her. Matt jumped from the saddle. As he ran forward, he caught a flicker of motion to his left. With instincts forged in battle, he turned and squeezed off a shot. An unseen man yelled. And then Matt was charging up the steps.