Her Captain's Heart Read online

  At last Joseph called, “I think it’s out!”

  Matt’s arms hung at his sides, burning as if they’d caught fire. He emptied the bucket of water he’d been about to pass on over his sweaty head. His legs folded under him and he slid to the wet ground to sit. Panting, he looked around, exhausted.

  It was a strange scene in the bright daylight. Over a dozen men, women, and children had helped fight the fire. They were either sitting on the ground as he was or they were leaning over with their hands propped against the tops of their knees. All were gasping. But farther in the distance, Matt was aware of people standing by, just watching.

  This stunned him. Usually a whole town pitched in to help fight a fire. It could spread so easily that it endangered them all equally, no matter whose home it was. As he stared, a few of the figures moved away and disappeared. And as soon as they could stop gasping for breath, their nearest neighbors departed without a word of farewell or a backward glance.

  Soon it was just Matt, Joseph, Verity, Elijah, Samuel, Hannah and the other former slaves who’d come to help. He gazed at the ruins of the barn and the charred remnants of the wood frame for the school. And then the stench hit him.

  “I smell kerosene,” Samuel said between gasps and coughs.

  Matt nodded, rubbing his chest as if to loosen his constricted lungs. “It burned fast.”

  “What does thee mean?” Verity panted.

  “I mean—” Matt turned his gaze on her “—someone poured kerosene on the barn, wood and school so the fire would destroy as much as possible before we got here.”

  Rage and sorrow warred in Matt’s heart. It had started again.

  Verity’s face fell. Beth slumped against her mother on the ground, shivering and crying silently.

  He stared at Verity. Her bonnet had slipped down to her shoulder. Her damp auburn curls had come undone, flowing over her slender shoulders. She looked paler than usual and her sodden clothing clung to her thin, wraithlike form. Just like his frail mother, all those years ago.

  She shouldn’t be here, facing this. It’s too much for a woman. He’d have to protect her and her family. They were his responsibility. I don’t want to see her hurt. He stopped there; going further would slice too close to the bone.

  “Where are the horses?” Joseph asked, his face frighteningly red from the exertion. Matt had seen his father look like this before his death—it was a symptom of heart trouble. He worried that another event like this could be deadly for Joseph.

  “The horses?” Matt looked around. Had their horses been stolen? Or had they perished in the fire?

  “We’d have smelled the burning flesh if they’d been in the barn,” Samuel said. “They should be safe.”

  “And we’d have heard them panic, too,” Joseph added.

  How about Beth’s stray? Matt scanned the yard and saw the dog peering out from under the porch. Relief rolled through him like a tide.

  “We thank all of thee for thy help,” Verity said, looking around.

  “Someone was bold enough to start this fire in broad daylight,” Joseph said.

  “And it probably wasn’t just one person,” Samuel added.

  Elijah said with rich irony, “Do we need to discuss why someone wanted to burn down the barn, school and wood?”

  Verity noted the sarcasm in Elijah’s voice. “I knew they didn’t want a school here,” she said, “but don’t they understand freedom of opinion?”

  “No,” Matt snapped. They hadn’t fourteen years ago. Seeing dismay in her eyes sharpened his pain. This honest woman deserved better.

  Samuel snorted. “General Robert E. Lee himself said that slavery had evil effects on both the slaves and their masters. You are quite right, ma’am. Some people here know nothing of freedom of any kind. Though slavery is gone, they cling to its vestiges in a blind passion.”

  “This is about reenslaving black people,” Elijah stated. “They know that education will make that impossible.”

  “I do enjoy a good philosophical and political discussion,” Joseph commented dryly, “but my back aches too much right now. We should be discussing what to do about our barn.”

  “We will have to build a new one,” Verity said, rising and helping Beth up.

  He’d known she’d say that. “We will. And we’ll build the school, too.” Matt turned to Elijah, determination flaming through him. “How many of your people would come to a barn raising this Saturday?” No one’s running me out of town again or hurting this woman and her family. Samuel said he’s grown fangs, and it’s about time I showed this town I have, too.

  Yesterday’s fire still smoldering in his gut, Matt rode into town and hitched his horse. He strode into the general store that had been in Fiddlers Grove since 1776. Ironic, Matt thought. He wondered if anyone in town understood what had been won in the American Revolution. If they didn’t, he was going to teach them today.

  By setting his barn afire, someone had commenced the next battle for freedom. Matt was going to make it clear to Fiddlers Grove that he and Verity would win this battle. The Freedman’s School would be built here.

  The old men sitting outside on the store’s bench rose, and followed Matt inside. The store was full of people and they instantly fell silent at Matt’s entrance—again. Of course, the burning of his barn had been the topic of discussion this time. The town gathered at the general store. That’s why Matt had chosen it as the place to announce his declaration of war.

  He halted in the middle of the crowded store. And as one, they all drew back from him. He looked around, fixing his glare on each and every one in turn. “You all know about yesterday’s fire. You probably know who set it. Now I have something else you all need to know. I’m going to telegraph the Yankee commander in Richmond today and ask for Union soldiers be sent to Fiddlers Grove if there is any more violent opposition to the Freedman’s School. Your town will be occupied like Richmond.” You’ve messed with the wrong person. I’m not getting run out of town a second time.

  “You’ve got nerve telling us Negroes got to have a school,” one old codger barked.

  Another joined in, “Telling us that Negroes are going to vote. Hogs’ll fly in Virginia first. You think you can tell us what to do—”

  “I can tell you what will be done here. I’ve been authorized by the War Department to do just that.” Matt felt the words fly from his mouth. Anger surged inside him as if it were a living thing.

  “We’re not going to ratify the amendments they’re pushing through Congress. We got rights,” the first codger objected, nearly dropping his pipe. “We’re going to stand up for those rights in the Constitution.”

  “Did you care about my parents’ rights when you forced them out of town?” Matt demanded, his frustration sparking inside him like a thunderbolt. “You lost the war and you’re going to lose this battle, too. The South will change or suffer another war. Or worse. Mrs. Hardy and I are federal employees. Messing with us could send you to federal prison. Think about it.”

  Shocked silence was his only answer. He stalked out to his horse and mounted, galloping toward the next town and the telegraph office. In his mind, he saw Verity’s frightened, smoke-smudged face. The image prompted him to dig his heels in and ride faster.

  On the cloudy Second Day morning, the day after the horrible fire, Verity set out on her errand. She had meant to discuss what she planned to do today with Matthew, but he had ridden away just as she was about to start out. So she’d left on her business, praying for courage all the way. Yesterday’s fire showed her that she must do something radical to reach out to the people of Fiddlers Grove. She had to take action, to stop the cycle of violence. She must turn the other cheek.

  Now she walked resolutely up to the Ransford door and knocked, using the tarnished brass knocker twice. She glanced around, trying to calm her quivering stomach.

  The door opened and an obviously shocked Elijah stared at her.

  “Good day, Elijah. Are the Ransfords at home to gues
ts?” Speaking these words sent another cascade of tremors through her. Did she have the nerve to do this?

  Elijah’s Adam’s apple bobbed a few times as if he were having trouble speaking. Finally he said, “I will inquire. Won’t you step inside, ma’am?”

  She smiled and stepped over the threshold. Elijah left her and she stared around the entry hall, noting that cobwebs hung from the candle lamp high above her. And dust collected in the corners of the room. Evidently the lady of this house did not dust.

  “Why have you come here?”

  Verity looked at Lirit Ransford, who was coming down the ornate curved staircase like a haughty princess in a fairy tale. “I bid thee good morning.”

  The pretty woman paused on the third step from the bottom. “I asked you why have you come here.”

  Verity refused to be daunted. After all, the worst that could happen was that Lirit Ransford would refuse the invitation.

  When Matt arrived at the Barnesworth house, a sharp jab of hunger made him realize that he’d missed the noon meal. After unsaddling his horse, he bounded up the steps into the kitchen that had begun to feel like home, hoping Barney hadn’t been given all the leftovers.

  He found Verity sitting at the table, writing. He was immediately captivated by her small hand holding a pen. He recalled how tiny her hand had felt in his. Hannah stood by the stove, frowning. He stopped and waited for them to acknowledge him.

  “I think Joseph will be able to bag us a wild turkey,” Verity was saying. “And I brought pumpkins from Pennsylvania, so we’ll have pumpkin pie.” She looked up and welcomed Matt with a smile.

  He’d never seen a smile more welcoming than Verity’s. “Hello. I’m sorry I missed lunch,” he began.

  “Don’t you worry yourself,” Hannah said, reaching into the pie safe. “I kept something for you.” She handed him a plate covered with a spotless kitchen cloth. “Wait till you hear the news.”

  He sat down, momentarily distracted by the sight of the plate heaped with ham, cornbread and jellied apple slices.

  “I got dustin’ to do if y’all excuse me.” Hannah said, sounding disgruntled. She left them abruptly.

  Matt looked to Verity. “Anything wrong?”

  “Hannah doesn’t approve of what I’ve done.” Verity didn’t give him any time to respond. “Where was thee off to this morning?”

  Hunger and thirst came first. “Is that coffee?” He pointed to the pot on the stove.

  “Yes.” She made to rise.

  “I’ll get it.” He went to the stove. “I’m used to waiting on myself.”

  “Thee is an unusual man, Matthew Ritter.” She grinned.

  Glad he’d made her smile for a change, Matt shrugged and sat down. “I sent a telegram to the commander in Richmond, telling him about the fire and alerting him that we might need troops if any more violent opposition occurs here.”

  Verity drew in breath, looking shocked. “Does thee think there will be more violent opposition?”

  He paused to swallow the salty ham. “Yes, I think there’s a good chance, especially since we’re going to rebuild. I went to the general store before I left and warned everyone there what I was doing. The former slaves and their children are going to have a place to learn to read and write.” His words bolstered his feeling of strength. “I didn’t fight four long years—” watch good men die “—for my cousin to keep everything as it was before the war.”

  Verity looked worried. He chewed more slowly, trying to figure out what was going on. He recalled that Hannah had been upset with Verity. “Now, what did you do that Hannah doesn’t like?” he asked, almost grinning. How bad could it be?

  “This Thursday is Thanksgiving.”

  Thanksgiving? His family hadn’t really celebrated this holiday. President Lincoln had it made a national observance in, what—’63? He nodded. “What about it?”

  “Now that it’s a national day devoted to giving thanks to God for the many blessings, I thought—”

  Hannah walked into the room and asked in a huffy tone, “You tell him about that Thanksgiving dinner you planning?”

  “Yes,” Verity said, “I am.”

  “Did you tell Mr. Matt what you done this morning?” Hannah opened the oven and peered inside.

  Hannah’s words snatched away Matt’s appetite. “What did you do?”

  Verity looked him straight in the eye. “I invited thy cousin and his wife to share Thanksgiving dinner with us.”

  He felt his jaw drop. His fork clattered to the plate.

  “And they accepted,” Hannah pronounced, shaking her head with eyes heavenward.

  Matt stared at Verity. Was the woman out of her mind?

  Twilight was coming earlier now. Matthew had avoided Verity all day and had spoken to her in one-syllable words since her announcement. She walked toward his cabin, her soft shawl snug around her. They must discuss Thanksgiving. She must make him understand why she was doing this. But when she knocked on the closed cabin door, there was no answer. “Matthew, may I speak with thee?”

  No reply.

  She pulled her shawl even tighter around herself. The night would be a chilly one. She looked up and saw a trail of smoke coming out the chimney. “Matthew?” she tried once more.

  No reply.

  She stood there a few more moments and then walked back to the house. I intended to discuss the invitation with thee, Matthew.

  Couldn’t a family disagree on an issue yet remain friends? She’d married outside her parents’ faith. Though they would have been happier if she’d wed another Friend, they had accepted Roger as a good man, as her choice of husband.

  What had happened between the cousins? She sensed it must have something to do with the issue of slavery. Matthew’s family had left when he was twelve. Samuel had run away at fifteen. What deep past wound had she opened up with this invitation?

  The wind tugged her shawl, her hair. Pulling her shawl tighter, she bent her head into the wind and prayed for wisdom, blessing, love and healing to come to this town.

  Chapter Eight

  Thanksgiving morning

  All morning Verity had helped Hannah in the kitchen with the Thanksgiving meal. She had just come up and changed into her best black dress before her guests arrived. Her guests, or her enemies?

  Matthew had come in for breakfast before the rest of them and then vanished. Why, she wondered as she sat in front of the trifold mirror. She sighed at the wan reflection of her worried eyes. In the house that she’d grown up in, there had been no mirrors. As a child, the only time she had seen what her face looked like was when she glimpsed her reflection in the local creek on a sunny day.

  This vanity had been her wedding gift from her husband. When she had objected that it was vanity indeed to look at oneself in a mirror, he had laughed and said that he wanted her to see how beautiful she was. And what a fortunate man he was.

  She had been scandalized. It had taken a year before she could look into the mirror as she undid her hair every night and brushed it before braiding it again. She gazed at the daguerreotype of Roger on the vanity and pressed her fingers to his image. The sight of him gave her the confidence to face the situation she’d created. She knew a part of her would always love Roger, the father of her dear daughter. But thee is gone, Roger. I will not see thee again till I see thee in eternity.

  She lifted the blue velvet box from one of the drawers. Opening it, she drew out and fastened the silver locket her husband had given her on their first anniversary. Maybe his giving her silver for the first anniversary had been an omen that they would never reach their silver anniversary. No, I don’t believe in omens. That’s just foolish superstition.

  She needed armor today. The locket and the love it symbolized would protect her heart. I must be bold like the apostle Paul. The Lord has not given me a spirit of fear.

  Fingering the cool oval locket, she heard the approach of a carriage. Would the Ransfords come in a carriage instead of walking? Recalling the haughty m
anner Lirit Ransford had displayed three days ago when Verity had invited her, she wouldn’t be surprised.

  The rag-doll feeling came over her again. It was as if she were being moved by outside forces. Was this because being a confronter was not what she wanted to be? Sighing, Verity rose and walked to the top of the stairs. The scents of sage, nutmeg and cinnamon hung tantalizingly in the air. Verity wished her appetite would come back and banish the panic roiling in her stomach. Beth stood next to her on tiptoe, looking over the railing on the landing. Verity offered Beth her hand. “Let’s go welcome our guests.”

  Her daughter gave her a quizzical look. Verity took Beth’s small hand and led her down. The girl had picked up on the undercurrent of tension that had run steadily in this house the past two days. As they walked hand in hand down the stairs, Verity wondered if Matthew would come or stay in his cabin. She and Beth stepped down into the entrance hall just as Hannah opened the door. An icy wave of apprehension washed through Verity.

  She put on her brightest smile. “Good day! Welcome to our home.”

  Hannah said nothing as she stalked away toward the kitchen. Her stiff back announced to all her attitude toward this “nonsense.” Beth hid behind Verity’s skirt. Verity stroked her fine dark hair, trying to reassure her. “Dacian and Lirit, I’m so happy thee have come to share our Thanksgiving meal.”

  Dacian closed the door against the stiff breeze, took off his hat and hung it on the hall tree. “Good day, Mrs. Hardy.” He bowed. “And I’m happy to meet your pretty little daughter.”

  “Yes, Beth, this is Dacian Ransford and his wife, Lirit.” Verity offered him her trembling hand. Beth curtsied.

  “I don’t know why you think you may address me by my given name,” Lirit Ransford snapped.

  “I beg thy pardon,” Verity said, controlling the quaver just beneath her words. “I was raised a Friend and we never use titles. Of course, if thee prefers, I will call thee Mrs. Ransford. I don’t wish to cause—”