Two days later, on Second Day morning, Verity stood beside her father-in-law in the bright but chilly sunlight. Joseph was positioning old cans in a line on the fence around the small empty paddock beside their barn. The horses that had been tethered to trees nearby nickered loudly. Verity stood, wringing her hands. She was already keyed up.
Union troops would arrive in Fiddlers Grove today, the same day that she had planned to attend the meeting at Lirit Ransford’s house. And now Joseph was trying to get her to use a gun. “Joseph, I didn’t approve of thee bringing guns with thee.” How can I stop the violence? Where has Matthew gone this morning? Why isn’t he here to meet the troops?
“You’ve said that about ten times already,” Joseph replied mildly. “It’s good I did bring a few firearms. And I’m going to make sure that I still can hit what I aim for. And you should, too.” He walked backward, putting distance between him and the target.
He motioned for Verity to follow him. “During target practice, everyone must stay in back of the person who is firing. When I taught my boys how to handle a rifle, I was always careful about gun safety.”
“Joseph, thee knows that I cannot do this. I cannot fire a weapon.”
Joseph fixed her with a dark stare. “When we were attacked while raising the barn, what if Matt and Samuel hadn’t had their guns? I should have had mine with me. It won’t happen again. I’m not young enough to defend us with my fists. Cold steel and lead will have to make the difference.”
Verity didn’t know how to persuade him. “I can’t do this.”
“What if I’d been shot and they had tried to kill or hurt you and Beth? And I mean more than just beating her.”
Verity couldn’t meet his fierce eyes. She knew he was referring to rape. The idea that any man would use that kind of low, vicious violence against her, much less her sweet little daughter, made her mind go blank.
So she stood there wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, Joseph, I can’t. I can’t, no matter what. It is against all of my beliefs. I will have to depend on God’s mercy.” She hurried away, her heart still pounding at the thought of holding a gun, much less firing it.
Faithful Barney beside her, Beth awaited her on the back porch. Not surprisingly, she had been clingy and weepy ever since the attack the other day. When Verity reached her daughter, Beth put her arms around Verity’s waist and hugged her as if she’d been gone for days to a foreign shore, not just a few yards away in plain sight. “Mama, I’m glad Grandpa has a gun. Is that bad?”
Verity smoothed back stray tendrils of her daughter’s hair. Guilt had stalked Verity relentlessly since the attack. Did she have the right to put her father-in-law or her daughter through this? “No, it isn’t bad.”
“If the bad men come back, Grandpa will shoot them before they can hurt us. Won’t he?”
Each question was a razor slicing into Verity’s sore heart and raw conscience. My daughter shouldn’t have to ask these questions, Lord. No child should.
Verity stroked her daughter’s hair. “Beth, thy grandfather came along to protect us. He is doing what he thinks is best in order to keep us safe. But in the end, God is our shield and defender, the Ancient of Days. We must trust in God.”
Beth did not look comforted by this response. Oh, Lord, teach my child to lean upon Thee and not her own understanding.
Verity went inside to check on her remaining two patients on pallets in the parlor. A low fire burned, warming the room. The army doctor was to come today and remove the bullets lodged too deeply for Verity to access. Verity had cleaned and rebandaged the wounds several times to keep down the infection. But the two men were weak and listless.
Hannah was helping one patient drink water. The mantel clock chimed eleven times. How would she stand the tension four more hours until she ventured out into this town that hated her? Would she be able to enlist the help of Lirit and her friends for her personal mission or would the arrival of troops put an end to that? Would the festering evil in the South kill her heartfelt hopes and prayers?
Three o’clock loomed. With feet like blocks of lead, Verity set out. She carried the precious box in her oak basket. Feeling unprepared, she arrived at Ransford Manor. Passing between the imposing Doric columns, she knocked on the broad double doors. In spite of the fact that the shiny black doors and white columns were peeling, the setting was quite impressive—and quite daunting.
Elijah answered her knock. “Good day, Miss Verity.” He looked as if he wanted to ask why she’d come here today. He no longer wore a bandage but he still had a swollen eye from the skirmish over the barn raising.
She gave him a brave smile. “Good day to thee, Elijah. Mrs. Ransford has invited me to the tea.”
His eyebrows rose. Finally he stepped back and she entered. The house smelled of old polished wood and candle wax. The hall had been swept and polished since her last visit. The chatter of women came from the room to the right of the staircase. Verity was certain that they couldn’t be talking as loud as it sounded to her now.
“I’ll tell the mistress of the house that you are here,” he said in a hollow voice.
Verity’s heart fluttered like a captured bird.
“That’s all right, Elijah.” Mrs. Ransford stood in the doorway to her parlor in a faded pink dress in the antebellum style, and wearing a gold locket at her throat. “Mrs. Hardy,” the lady greeted her with a mix of hostility and mockery, “you decided to come today after all.”
“Yes, I have come.” Verity hoped her trembling wasn’t visible.
Lirit’s gaze swept over her with scorn. “Then come in and meet the Daughters of the Confederacy. They will be overcome with joy to meet you in person at last.”
Ignoring the heavy sarcasm, Verity entered the parlor. Numbness started spreading through her limbs, fear freezing her. She looked from face to face. The hostile expressions on each told her that they had not expected or desired the Yankee schoolmarm to show up for tea. Verity took a deep breath and said, “Good afternoon, ladies. I have something I’d like to share with you.”
A large woman with a blotchy complexion rose and snapped, “You are not welcome here. Please have the courtesy to leave.”
Verity knew the moment had come. It was now or never. “I am here at Mrs. Ransford’s invitation and I have something to share with all of thee—”
“Of all the nerve!” A second woman in a worn lavender dress rose and faced Verity. “We don’t want to hear anymore about that Negro school you want to build here. Please leave.”
“Thy hostess invited me here and I am going to stay until I’ve said what I came to say.” Verity cast a glance at her hostess, who gloated in the parlor doorway, plainly enjoying Verity’s hostile reception. Verity straightened. The time for truth-telling had come. “I’m sure that Lirit Ransford invited me here this afternoon for tea so that I would suffer public insult. But I have something of importance to tell thee—” Verity’s voice gathered strength “—which has nothing to do with my Freedman’s school. I’m not leaving until I have spoken to all of thee.”
“Personally I cannot wait to hear what y’all have to tell us,” Mrs. Ransford taunted.
Verity ignored her, though her heart skipped and thumped against her breastbone. “I do not think any of thee know that I come from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.”
Their reaction was instantaneous. The mere mention of her hometown and the horrific battle that had cost thousands of Union and Confederate lives cast a grievous pall over the room. The large woman with the blotchy complexion slumped back into her chair.
The other woman in the lavender dress also sank down. “How can you bring that up? So many of us…How could she?” she whispered.
Verity tried to catch her breath and soften her voice. “I do not mention this to hurt anyone. But my sisters and I, along with our congregation of Friends, worked to save the lives of soldiers during that terrible battle. In the midst of all the killing, our men went out onto the battlefield and carried wounded off to our meeting house, which we set up as a hospital. My sisters, the other women of our meeting and I worked tirelessly for over two weeks trying to save lives on both sides.”
Suddenly Verity couldn’t go on. The appalling memories of Gettysburg made it impossible to speak for a moment. Cannon blasting, drums pounding, rifles firing; men screaming, cursing, the earth shaking under her. And blood, blood, blood everywhere. Before she disgraced herself by fainting, Verity collapsed onto the empty chair nearest her. She couldn’t feel her feet, but her heart danced wildly.
The only sound was of two women weeping quietly.
“Why did you bring this up?” a woman who wore spectacles whispered. “Do you think that your nursing should impress us?”
Shaken to her core by memories, Verity was beyond being insulted. She had begun; she would finish the course. “As my sisters and I cared for the soldiers both Union and Confederate, we tried to gather their names, their hometowns and any other information we could about them. We gathered their mementos, insignia from their uniforms and pieces of identification or personal possessions. We wanted to be able to let their families know what had happened to them.” Verity’s throat constricted again and she tried to swallow the horrible memories of the overwhelming smell of blood and dirt and sweat. “But some of the soldiers—” she forced herself to go on “—were never able to give us their names and some no one recognized. So we put their belongings into envelopes and marked on them anything, any clues that we might have about their names and where they came from.”
With numb fingers Verity fumbled open the covered oak basket that sat on her lap. She lifted out the topmost bulging envelope. “This soldier died without regaining consciousness. We found this watch.” Fighting to draw breath, she held it up. “Inside the inscription reads, ‘To Jesse from his loving parents.’ And we found this picture in his pocket.” She held up a daguerreotype of a young woman. “He wore the insignia of the South Carolina militia. And we heard him speak the name ‘Louisa’ several times.”
“I don’t understand why you are putting us through this,” said the woman in the lavender dress, who was weeping.
“I know what it feels like to lose a husband in battle. But I was fortunate enough to receive a letter from my husband’s commander telling me about Roger’s final days of life and how he died. The commander sent me his watch, and other personal effects. But not all women—wives, mothers, sisters, daughters—were as fortunate as I was. My sisters and I saved these precious envelopes for after the war. We did this in hopes that we would be able to find the women, the families to whom these keepsakes would mean so much. But we are at a loss with regards to finding these people.” Verity felt a headache begin behind her eyes.
“What you expect us to do?” the large woman asked, no longer sounding hostile but now only quietly distressed.
“I am hoping that thee, all of thee, will take on the task of finding the families of these men as a work of charity. I know that thee all have relatives and friends all over the South and can also contact people who fought with thy husbands. I’m hoping—my sisters and I are hoping—that thee will be able to return these mementos to the rightful heirs.”
There was again silence, except for the weeping. Then Verity felt tears dripping down her face. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. She found her handkerchief and wiped her face. “Will thee accept this work of charity?”
From outside came the sound of horses. Lirit moved to the window. “Yankee troops have come,” she said in a flat tone. “Matt Ritter’s riding with them. We should have known that he’d come back and take revenge on us.”
Verity tensed, feeling the progress she’d made with the women slipping away. Dear Father, please, no.
Late that afternoon in the chill early darkness, Verity walked the last few steps to her house. Feeling a hundred years older than she had this morning, she saw that their paddock was occupied by several strange horses. She trudged up the steps and inside, hearing male voices in the parlor where the last few wounded lay. She took off her bonnet and hung it on the hall tree. After the emotional scene at the tea, Verity felt worn out. And now she must face Union troops, an army doctor and Matthew. She clearly understood why Matthew had to summon these troops. But was there any way she could avoid a local backlash?
She moved into the parlor, her head aching. The army doctor was kneeling beside one of the patients, examining an open wound on the patient’s shoulder. Unfortunately, this sight no longer had the power to shock her.
Matthew was standing nearby. At sight of him—his dark good looks—her heart sped up. She tried to temper this reaction, but it was in vain. “You went to meet the troops?” she asked, trying to ignore the unseen pull toward him.
“No, I went to Richmond to swear out a warrant for Orrin Dyke’s arrest,” Matthew said, not meeting her eyes.
“His arrest?” She folded her arms around herself and tried to smooth back her unruly hair.
“Yes. Isn’t that what you’d expect? He attacked me, set fire to the house and threatened to kill you. All of those are punishable felonies.”
Her hair was straying from her sagging bun, and she was pushing in her loose hairpins. When she realized she was doing this for Matthew, she lowered her arms and cleared her throat. “Thee is right, of course. Orrin Dyke broke the law.” It was odd how her mind had become muddled here, as if the normal rules of crime and punishment were still suspended by the war.
“A few of the soldiers came back with me and they’ve gone on to arrest Dyke at his house,” Matthew said.
Fighting her desire to gaze at Matthew, she nodded. It would be a relief to have Orrin Dyke behind bars. She wanted to tell Matthew what she’d done today, but she suspected that he wouldn’t be pleased. It was strange how they always seemed to be at odds, even though they were on the same side.
Now she knew from what Samuel had said the other night that Matthew’s family had been driven out of Fiddlers Grove because they had been abolitionists. This must have been what had caused the bad feelings between Dace and Matthew, and it was understandable. Terribly sad, but understandable.
The army doctor rose and bowed to her. “You are a fine nurse, ma’am. I only need extract the balls from these men and they will be on the mend.”
“Thank thee,” Verity replied. “My sister Mercy worked with Clara Barton throughout the war. On her few furloughs, she taught us to treat war wounds.”
“Women like your sister did so much for us doctors.” He moved to shake her hand. “Please offer my compliments to her.”
Verity shook his hand and smiled.
“Ritter, why don’t you take Mrs. Hardy outside?” the doctor said. “I’m sure that this woman here is capable of assisting me.” He nodded toward Hannah.
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 back 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.
She sparked his anger. He stopped her and gripped her slender shoulders. Her face shone pale in the moonlight. “You only survived one battle,” Matt growled, “and you weren’t in the midst of it all…” How could she know what it had been like, having to face over and over the possibility of pain, dismemberment and perhaps anonymous death.
He thought of the prebattle ritual of writing his name and town on a slip of paper and having a friend pin it to his collar. That way, if he fell, he wouldn’t die nameless. The men from whom Verity had collected belongings must not have done this. Or their slips of paper had gotten torn off or lost. God, no one should ever have to do that. No one.
A gust of wind billowed her dark skirt. “I know. I don’t know how thee did what thee did, survived what thee survived. But I know enough to know that it cost thee much, too much. And through it all, thee remained a good man, a kind man. How did thee manage that?”
He heard the sorrow and compassion in her voice, and he could hold off no longer. He pulled her into his arms. “Just put it behind you. Just say it’s over.”
“But it isn’t over.”
He didn’t ask her what she meant. He drank in the sensation of her breathing against him, of her bonnet touching his face. He pressed his cheek to her forehead, wishing she were wrong. But she was right—it wasn’t over. The school wasn’t built and Orrin Dyke was on the loose. The hate just went on.