Mockingbird's Call

by Diane T. Ashley

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-60260-769-9

  Copyright © 2010 by Diane Ashley and Aaron McCarver. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  One

  Nashville, Tennessee

  March 1861

  “But I don’t want to go to Virginia.” Jared Stuart’s jaw clenched, and he looked at his dinner plate, ignoring the creep of his spectacles down the bridge of his nose. His stomach churned, but not because of the food in front of his blurred gaze. It was his rebellious words that made him ill. He knew his parents planned for him to attend William and Mary, the school where Pa had studied law thirty years ago.

  Jared’s words seemed to echo from wall to wall of the well-appointed dining room. He felt a cold hand steal into his own beneath the cover of Great-Aunt Dolly’s imported tablecloth. Victoria, the sister who was only a year his senior, knew of his wish to attend East Tennessee University in Knoxville. She had been his sympathetic confidante, her tender heart torn between supporting his desire to attend a small school and their parents’ stated plan to send him to William and Mary.

  “I don’t understand why you don’t want to go there.” Adam Stuart’s voice was not loud, but Jared could feel the frustration behind each word. “You know it’s the alma mater of many of our country’s founding fathers. Your own family has a history there. Your mother and I have all the connections it would take to ensure your success—”

  “That’s just it, Pa.” Jared looked up from his plate. He could see the flecks of green in his father’s brown eyes, a sign of banked anger. Resentment rose up and pressed against his throat. “I want to succeed on my own merits, not because I’m your son or Grandpa Landon’s grandson.”

  “Going to William and Mary won’t prohibit that.”

  “Adam.” Iris Stuart’s voice was barely a whisper. She shook her head slightly at her husband, and a curl sprang from her coiffure. She brushed it back with one finger. “Not now. We can talk about this later.”

  Great-Aunt Dolly, imperious in her black bombazine dress and her position at the head of the table, cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t see what all of the rumpus is about.” She lifted a wrinkled hand to her mouth and coughed for a moment before continuing. “Young people will always insist on their own ways in things.” She pointed an arthritic finger at his ma. “Why I remember when the boy’s grandma and I went all the way to New Orleans in the middle of a war just so she could see your pa. Didn’t take Rebekah long to convince her parents to let her have her way.”

  “That’s a different matter,” Adam Stuart protested.

  Great-Aunt Dolly shrugged a shoulder and looked at Jared. “You’re a grown man now, and you have a good head on your shoulders. Doesn’t matter to me if you want to go to school in Williamsburg, Knoxville, or even Schenectady. All you have to do is say so. I’ll make sure you have the money.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Aunt Dolly.” Ma folded her napkin and laid it on the table next to her dinner plate. “But I’m sure Adam and I can afford to send our only son to college.”

  Jared pushed his spectacles up on his nose, bringing Pa’s glare into focus. He refused to drop his gaze this time. He noticed the gray sideburns that framed his father’s face and wondered how Pa always managed to look so distinguished. His clothes were always neatly pressed, his necktie folded into crisp lines, and his shoes brightly polished. No matter the situation, the great Adam Stuart was always in control. He might have been about to make a speech at the capitol instead of sitting at the dinner table with his family.

  A part of Jared wanted to acquiesce to Pa’s wish, but he could not compromise on this. He had prayed about his decision before sending an application to East Tennessee University last month, prayed for a sign like Gideon’s fleece, something so clear he couldn’t mistake it. And last week he’d gotten his answer in a letter of enthusiastic acceptance sent by the college in Knoxville. Now all he had to do was convince his parents.

  What would he do if he couldn’t convince them? Take Great-Aunt Dolly’s money? He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He turned his attention to the diminutive little lady. “Thank you for your offer, but I have a little money saved. It’s enough to pay for a term.”

  Pa tossed his napkin on the table and shoved his chair back. “We’ll talk about this later.” He helped Great-Aunt Dolly roll her wheelchair back and out of the dining room.

  Victoria, her wide brown eyes shiny with unshed tears, squeezed Jared’s hand and leaned toward him. “I’m very proud of you for telling them the truth.”

  “I’m glad someone is.” Jared felt the tension seeping from his chest, leaving a regretful heart in its wake. He pulled his hand from his sister’s and stood up.

  How he wished he could walk out the door, get on a horse, and be transported to the campus in Knoxville. Instead, he helped his mother rise from her seat. Her eyes, an older version of Victoria’s, searched his face. Light from the candelabra caught a few strands of gray that were beginning to appear in the ringlets around her temples. He and Ma were nearly the same height, and he had been told that they favored each other strongly, even though his coloring—light brown hair and hazel eyes—came from his pa. “I’m sorry.”

  She patted his cheek before smoothing one of the loose curls, so like her own, that sprang from his head. “You’re a good son, Jared. Your pa and I know that.” She sighed. “And I am not unhappy to think of you in Knoxville instead of Williamsburg. There is so much unrest these days.”

  “Pa should be glad you don’t want to join the militia,” Victoria chimed in. She was such a sweet, unpretentious young woman. He often forgot he was her junior.

  Jared offered both elbows to escort the ladies of his family to the parlor for coffee and dessert. “I’m not going to change my mind, Ma.”

  “I know that, son.” She smiled at him. “You are too much like your father in that respect. Once he’s plotted his course, few people can convince him to reconsider.”

  “You can.” Jared straightened his shoulders, wishing they were as wide as his father’s. It seemed he’d spent his whole life measuring himself against Adam Stuart. And he’d always come up lacking.

  The list of his father’s successes was as long as the Cumberland River. After marrying Jared’s ma, Adam Stuart had spent more than two decades in the southeastern corner of Tennessee, fighting for Indians’ rights in the courtroom, and he won more often than he lost. Then he and Ma decided to take their fight to the halls of state government. They’d moved in with Great-Aunt Dolly and Great-Uncle Mac several years ago, expecting to stay for a few weeks while the legislature was in session. But those weeks grew into months. Ma started teaching at the Indian school on the west side of town, even though few Cherokee lived in Nashville since President Jackson had ordered their removal decades earlier. Jared’s older sister, Agnes, fell in love and married a man from Nashville. Then Great-Uncle Mac died and Great-Aunt Dolly’s health began to fail. So his pare
nts made the decision to stay in Nashville to care for her.

  They’d been in Nashville now for more than four years. Agnes had become one of the leading matrons of the city, and Pa’s law practice was thriving as he became the voice for his clients, bringing their issues to the notice of the Tennessee legislature. Even Victoria had gotten past her slight gawkiness and tendency toward diffidence. There always seemed to be a suitor or two lounging in the parlor, hoping to take her on a picnic or carriage ride. Jared had no doubt she would soon accept an offer of marriage from one of them and join her older sister in Nashville’s highest social circles. Everyone seemed to be succeeding. . .everyone but him.

  Jared missed the quiet days of life back home in Chattanooga. He missed the tree-strewn mountains and wide plateaus. He didn’t like the hustle and bustle that seemed to surround his family here. Nor did he want to follow in his father’s footsteps. The idea of testifying to a bunch of hot-tempered politicians made him physically ill. All he wanted was to go to college, maybe find a friend or two, and study.

  Was that too much to ask?

  ❧

  Jared caressed the paisley cover of the slender book of poetry he held. How would it feel to see his own name printed there? Excitement raced through him. His finger traced the name—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow—while he imagined sending his own work to a publisher and having it accepted. Would it be as soul stirring as this volume entitled Poems on Slavery or as heartbreaking as Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel? Could he write anything as effective as either publication in describing the horror and tragedy of slavery? Or would he find some other school of thought to explore in the manner of Socrates or Plato?

  “Jared, where are you?” His sister’s voice broke through Jared’s reverie.

  He glanced at the ornate longcase clock standing in a corner of the library. It wasn’t time for dinner yet. What could Victoria want? Why couldn’t his family allow him a little time of quiet to read? He heaved a sigh and arose from the deep leather chair that had once belonged to Great-Uncle Mac. He reached the door just as his sister pulled it open.

  She clucked her tongue. “I should have known you’d be here. Don’t you ever get tired of reading?”

  “How can I?” He swept an arm back to indicate the room behind him. “There’s so much in Great-Aunt Dolly’s library I haven’t read. So much to learn.”

  “Of course there is.”

  Her sigh indicated a lack of understanding. But then, most of his family did not share his addiction to the written word. They’d rather attend a play than spend time reading. He was the bookish one. Maybe it was because of his spectacles. Maybe it was because he understood better than they the importance of books, poems, and biographies. “Were you looking for me?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her cheeks reddened slightly. “Pa has someone he wants you to meet. They’re in the drawing room.” She turned and led the way down the hall.

  Jared wanted to groan. Probably another politician, someone to remind him how popular and important his father was. Well, he would give the man five polite minutes and then slip away to the library once more. He knew from experience he would not be missed.

  His father pushed away from the mantel as Jared entered the room. “I have brought someone home who is eager to meet you, son.” He nodded to the man seated next to his mother. “William, this is my son, Jared.”

  Jared noticed the stranger’s conservative suit, blond hair, and deep-set green eyes that seemed to be lit from within. A wide, attractive smile graced the man’s face as he stood and held out his right hand. “I have heard much about you from your father, young man.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” Jared mumbled, uncomfortable as always when he found himself the center of attention.

  “Your father tells me you are interested in attending my college this fall.”

  What new stratagem had his father concocted in his efforts to force Jared to attend William and Mary? He tossed a long-suffering glance toward his sister.

  She shook her head slightly in response. Was she trying to warn him now when it was too late? Why couldn’t she have said something before? Her betrayal was like a slap.

  He returned his attention to the man standing before him. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir—”

  His mother started coughing so loudly that Jared stopped in midsentence.

  He glanced at her, and her eyes were full of meaning, but he had no idea what message she was trying to convey.

  A look of confusion entered the shorter man’s expression. “You no longer want to attend East Tennessee University?”

  “East Tennessee?” He looked at his father, who was smiling broadly and nodding. He turned back to the visitor. “No, sir. . .I mean, yes, sir. . .I mean. . .” His words faltered to a halt. How could he express all the thoughts running through his mind at this moment?

  “You’ll have to forgive my son’s confusion.” Adam chuckled. “We have been having a long-running discussion on the subject, and I have always encouraged him to attend my alma mater.” He turned to Jared. “I met Reverend Carnes at the capitol today. He has come down from Knoxville to talk to the legislature about increased funding while they are in special session.”

  Reverend Carnes? Reverend William Carnes, the president of East Tennessee University? Excitement bubbled up in Jared’s chest. His father had brought the president of East Tennessee University home with him! This must mean Pa had given up his desire to make Jared attend William and Mary. He was acceding to Jared’s wishes. Now his mother’s silent message became clear. She and his sister had been trying to keep him from making a fool of himself.

  Reverend Carnes’s wide smile caused a dimple to appear in his right cheek. “Your father was kind enough to share his insights on which of our elected officials might be receptive to my appeal. After the hearing, he introduced me to several of the senators and representatives. Because of his expertise, I have high hopes that East Tennessee University will benefit from my trip to Nashville.”

  Their explanations had given Jared the respite he needed to collect his thoughts. “I’m glad to hear that. No one in the state is more knowledgeable than my pa when it comes to the inner workings of the Tennessee legislature.”

  Reverend Carnes reclaimed his seat and accepted a cup of tea from Jared’s mother. “I have to agree.”

  Jared sat down as well; all thoughts of slipping away were forgotten. Over the next hour, he grilled the university president on all the particulars of the campus. He was pleased to have his parents made aware of the outstanding moral and educational goals of the school. From the compulsory attendance at chapel twice daily to the challenging curriculum of the faculty, it was obvious that East Tennessee demanded the best from its students. And then there were the literary societies and even a literary magazine. It was the perfect place for an aspiring writer.

  By the time Reverend Carnes took his leave, Jared was practically floating in the clouds. As soon as the college president left, he approached his father and thrust out his right hand. “Thank you, Pa.”

  His father grasped his hand and pulled Jared into an embrace. “I love you, son. Don’t ever doubt that your ma and I have your best interests at heart. We believe in you.”

  He felt somewhat awkward as he and his father had not embraced since Jared had left his childhood behind. But this was a special day—one that Jared knew he would always remember. Emotion tried to overwhelm him, but he choked it back. “I won’t let you down.”

  Two

  Montgomery Plantation, outside Nashville

  Amelia Montgomery’s skirt threatened to halt her progress as she followed her mother through the slave cabin’s tiny doorway. She reached down with impatient hands and compressed the voluminous material so she could successfully negotiate the narrow entrance. While hoops allowed a ladylike sway in one’s progress, they could often be
quite cumbersome.

  What she saw inside took her breath away and filled her tender heart with sorrow. One rickety table stood in the center of the room with three tree stumps placed around it, apparently serving as chairs. A few tattered blankets were laid out on the dirt floor of the cabin. On one of the blankets lay a very young girl, probably only five or six years old, who was alternately coughing and moaning, obviously in the grip of some dangerous disease. A shallow bowl filled with water and a wad of rags indicated that the only other occupant of the one-room cabin, probably the mother of the little girl, had been bathing her forehead with cool water. Now she stood to one side as Amelia’s mother set her basket on the table and drew off her gloves.

  “Esau told me your little girl was sick, Nelly.” Amelia’s mother referred to the butler at the big house. She took an apron from her basket. “Amelia and I have brought some medicine for you to use that should have her feeling better in no time.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery, Miss Amelia.” The older woman’s face was so dark that Amelia could barely make out her expression in the dim cabin.

  It was a shame they could not leave the door open to let light inside, but it was much too cold and the little girl was much too sick.

  “What do you want me to do, Mama?”

  Amelia’s mother sank to the ground next to the blanket and placed her hand on the child’s forehead. “I need you to measure out a spoonful of the butterfly root tea we brought. If we can get her to drink some, it will help with the fever and coughing.”

  Amelia opened the medicine bag her mother had helped her prepare, withdrew the warm bottle, and uncorked it, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell.

  Mrs. Montgomery took the spoon from her as soon as Amelia filled it. She coaxed the child to open her mouth and tipped the spoon against her lips. The poor thing was so weak and sick she didn’t even react to what Amelia imagined was a very bitter dose.

  She took the spoon back from her mother. “Another one?”