Chapter
TWENTY-ONE

The next morning following breakfast, Alexandra met Ella at the gardener’s shed as planned. Not ten minutes later, four male students whom Ella had enlisted to help arrived as well. She and Ella had discussed waiting until that night, but decided it was best to carry out their quest in the light of day. Where anyone could see. Alexandra only hoped they weren’t going to all this trouble for nothing.

Because what if there wasn’t anything buried in that lot after all? What if someone else had remembered that same newspaper article and had gotten there before them? What if someone in town saw them and objected?

The what-ifs fired at rapid speed, and with every forward step Alexandra prayed not so much for the success of their endeavor but that “whatever the Lord wills,” Ella’s oft-repeated prayer, would be done.

Ella made certain that the men—DeWitt, Johnnie, Rodgers, and Jeb, all in their late teens and strongly built—knew precisely what they were setting out to do, so there would be no misunderstanding.

They agreed without hesitation.

Ella distributed shovels and trowels, and they set off. The air had smelled of moisture earlier in the night, and the overcast skies hinted at a dreary day. When they finally reached Porter’s, the clouds made good on their threat and a light mist fell in a patchy drizzle.

The six of them stood before the old auction stand.

“Where do we start, Miss Ella?” DeWitt asked.

Ella walked a few steps and sank her shovel into the dirt. “Let’s all spread out and simply start digging. If you think you’ve found something, call out.”

Alexandra moved a few paces away, knelt, and shoved the trowel into the earth, then scooped and emptied. And scooped and emptied. And scooped and emptied. Her damp hair kept falling in front of her face, and she kept shoving it back.

After digging down about a foot with no results, she moved over a couple of feet and began again. Then, a few minutes later, did the same thing. As the others were doing.

Every few seconds she peered up, expecting to see someone standing on the street watching them. And wondering what she would say if someone approached and asked her what they were doing. She would tell them the truth, she guessed. We’re digging for iron to help change the futures of those who were chained in the past.

She dug with a fresh intensity and focus she didn’t know she had. And by the time she’d dug her eighth hole, her palms ached and her back screamed.

“Miss Sheppard!” one of the students called out, excitement in his voice.

Alexandra looked behind her and saw DeWitt, the only one of the four students she’d met before tonight, holding up a chain. She abandoned her own efforts and joined the group. And soon, each of their shovels and trowels were striking iron against iron.

Alexandra gripped a half-buried chain and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Here, Miss Jamison.” Jeb moved in beside her. “Let me help you with that, ma’am.” He pulled and the earth reluctantly released its hold.

“Let’s make a pile over here.” Ella pointed. “We’ll take all we can carry, and then come back if we need to.”

Alexandra lost track of time as they kept digging and unearthing rusty manacles and chains, now piled in a heap beside a hole at least six feet wide and four feet deep. The misty rain had ceased, and it looked as though the sun was trying to peek through the clouds.

“Do you think that’s all of them, Jeb?” Ella stood at the edge peering down, her damp skirt and shirtwaist filthy.

Jeb and DeWitt plunged their shovels into the up-churned earth again and again, until DeWitt finally turned back.

“I do think we got the last of them, Miss Sheppard. No sign of any more.”

“Good, then.” Ella nodded. “Now let’s all get these holes filled back up. Leave it like we found it. Then we’ll be on our way.”

Nearly an hour later, holes filled and the sun growing more insistent, Ella turned and lifted a rusty chain from the pile and draped it about her slender neck. For as long as Alexandra lived, she knew she’d never forget that image. Tears in her eyes, she watched as DeWitt, Johnnie, Rodgers, and Jeb followed their teacher’s lead. Then she did the same, feeling her friend’s gaze.

The chains were cold and rough and dug into skin and muscle, and were far heavier when manacles were still attached. The young men worked especially fast to pick up the chains and place them around their own necks, as though wanting to lessen the load she and Ella would carry.

Each chain weighed about four pounds, maybe a little more, Alexandra estimated. And by the time she’d draped five of them about her neck, the tears that had only risen to her eyes moments before now spilled over. Not so much from the physical pain. But from the fact that scarcely more than a handful of years ago, these people standing with her—these warm, intelligent, caring people—would have been subjected to this. And for all she knew, they had been.

Rodgers lifted the last chain and manacle, the heavy iron links already spanning the width of his broad shoulders and draped over both arms. “We have them all, Miss Sheppard.”

“Praise Jesus,” Ella whispered, her own voice thin with emotion. She looked at each of them, her gaze finally settling on Alexandra. “Let’s head home, friends.”

The young men walked a few feet ahead, their conversation dotted with laughter every now and then. But Ella walked quietly, not desiring conversation, it seemed. So Alexandra let the silence settle between them.

As they passed through town, passersby looked their way, and Alexandra felt certain one of them would say something. But most of them, upon looking, quickly averted their gazes. And even those who didn’t, didn’t speak. They simply watched, expressions somber, as the unlikely band passed by, the clink of chains marking every step.

A breeze picked up, and the air felt considerably lighter and cooler than before. And as Fisk came into view, whether it was the morning sun or the touch of fall in the air or the experience they’d shared together, Alexandra saw the rows of ramshackle buildings differently. Suddenly they didn’t seem so dilapidated anymore. Thank you, Father, for allowing me to be a part of this. As quickly as the prayer rose, it seemed to fall flat.

Because up ahead was a gathering of students—with Mr. White front and center, as though they’d been waiting. A look of concern—or was it anger—lined the man’s face.

Ella looked over. “It’s all right. I told him last night about our plan. He wanted to come along, but I convinced him it would be best if he stayed here. In the event anything went awry.”

“So we’re not in trouble?”

Ella smiled and gestured. “What do you think?”

Alexandra looked back to see the students running toward them, Mr. White leading the charge. And as whoops and hollers rose in the air, Ella wordlessly reached over and took hold of her hand.

Sy leaned down and looked through the lens of the surveying level on the tripod, then pulled the pad of paper from his pocket and made some notes. “Looks good, Ben.” He stepped to one side and gestured for the surveyor to peer through the lens. “Watch that elevation to the north, would you? And then that angle up ahead as we take the curve toward the creek. I want a gentle rise along that stretch. Not one that throws people back in their seats.”

Ben laughed. “Yes, sir. I’ll watch it, Mr. Rutledge.”

“Otherwise, everything looks fine. We’re making good time too.”

Ben glanced at the cloudless skies overhead, his tanned face a testament to decades of railroad work. “Weather looks like it’s going to cooperate, sir. Rains have moved out. That always helps.”

Turning to leave, Sy remembered something Alexandra had said to him about always shaking the hand of an older man out of respect for his age. So he offered Ben his hand. The older man paused, then smiled and accepted.

“I’m grateful to you, Mr. Rutledge, for hirin’ me for this job. It’s good to work. And good work is hard to come by.”

Sy tightened his grip. “You do good work, Ben. That’s why I hired you. It’s good to have you working on this project.”

The old surveyor smiled and set back to his task.

Sy walked the ridge, looking in the distance at the workers who were already laying track. And making good time of it too.

He’d only been back in town for three days, but it already felt like a month or more. So much for giving Alexandra time to miss him. Being out of town and away from her was one thing. But he’d underestimated how difficult staying away from her would be when he was so close. If not for the work, and plenty of it, he’d have been over at Fisk the first day.

At least his meeting with the three investors yesterday had gone well. They assured him they’d make their decision sooner rather than later, which was what he needed. As soon as they committed their capital, he would head to Charlotte, extend offers to the landowners—who would, if all went well, accept them without a glitch—and the building would commence straight away. They needed to get the dirt work done before the ground froze hard.

He’d be gone three to four weeks at least on that trip. And he wasn’t about to leave town again without seeing her. He was determined to give the woman time. He felt the touch of a smile. But his patience only went so far where his desires for her were concerned.

An eagle’s cry drew his gaze upward, and he paused and watched the majestic bird from beneath the brim of his hat as the creature soared across the cloudless blue sky. Such a sighting had been common in Colorado. Not so much here. And though he was eager to see his mountains again, he hadn’t accomplished what he’d come here to do. Not hardly.

“Hey, Boss!”

Sy turned to see Vinson walking toward him, determination in his stride.

“General Harding’s come to see you. But first . . .” Vinson held up an envelope. “Just got a letter from Fisk University.”

Sy tried to read the glimmer of emotion in the man’s eyes, but couldn’t decide if it was good news or bad.

“The man I interviewed with, Mr. White, he says I can start my schooling come January.” A muscle flinched in Vinson’s jaw. “He also says my tuition’s already been paid. And I know you did it. But I can’t take that from you.”

Sy gripped his shoulder. “You can and you will. Because I wouldn’t be here now, Vinson, if you and your parents hadn’t come to me and my mother that winter. We would’ve either starved or frozen to death, if not for your family.”

Vinson grabbed him in a bear hug, just like Vinson’s father used to do to both of them growing up. Then just as quickly he stepped back.

“I’ll do you proud . . . Sy.”

“I know you will, Vinson. Because you don’t have it in you to do any less. Just to be clear, though . . .” Sy eyed him, trying to curb a smile. “I still expect you to help run the Northeast Line. You’ll have to get your homework done on your own time.”

Sy headed in the direction of Harding’s carriage, hearing Vinson’s laughter behind him. He didn’t know what Vinson’s future held or whether he’d go back West after Fisk. He only knew he couldn’t hold the man back. No matter how much he depended on him.

“Mr. Rutledge!” Harding climbed down from his carriage.

“General Harding! Come to see the progress, sir?”

“Come to marvel at the progress, Mr. Rutledge.”

Sy managed a smile, accepting the man’s handshake. “We’re on the straight and clear right now, as you can see. So we’re making good time. But those hills are waiting, as is the creek. Still, at this rate, we’ll finish within the schedule I gave you.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Mr. Rutledge. I see that the Belle Meade Depot is already under construction too. When you undertake a project, you attack it straight on, with zeal! I admire that in a man.”

“Thank you, General.”

“And the stock cars you’re refitting for my thoroughbreds. How are those coming along?”

“Nearly finished. They’re at the train yard if you’d like to see them.”

“I might stop by while I’m in town this afternoon.” Harding turned toward the carriage, then paused. “My colleagues and I have been discussing extending the railway past the Belle Meade depot and on down south across my land and across some of theirs toward Mississippi. That translates to a lot of track, Mr. Rutledge. And though we won’t be ready to proceed until spring, from what I’m seeing right now, I believe you may be the man for the job.”

Sy knew his surprise showed on his face. He’d hoped for this, but for Harding to mention it even before this project was finished . . .

“Thank you, General Harding. I appreciate your confidence.”

As the carriage drove away, Sy marveled at how quickly things were falling into place. And that he might be here in Tennessee for longer than he thought. But what struck him even more was how little all that mattered when he imagined not having Alexandra Jamison in his life to share it with.

Glad it was Wednesday night, which meant no kitchen duty for her this week, Alexandra was studying for her upcoming teacher’s exam when the bedroom door burst open.

“I think he’s going to announce it!” Breathless, Ella gestured toward Alexandra’s boots by the foot of the cot. “Mr. White has asked the singers to gather in his office. Ten minutes from now. And he wants you there too!”

“Me?”

Ella nodded. “Your guess is as good as mine! I’d say it’s because you’ve been so supportive of Fisk. And of him. He admires you, Alexandra. Especially after what we did the other day, and because of all the new Bibles and notepads the money from selling the iron will buy.” Ella smiled. “He said he found a gentleman willing to come and get the iron and take it to the smelter for us too. At no charge. Which is another answer to prayer.”

Alexandra slipped her boots on and laced them as quickly as she could, then followed Ella down the hallway. Together, they hurried to Mr. White’s office, where they found the other singers already gathered, waiting in the area by Mrs. Chastain’s desk.

“Mr. White said to stay here,” Minnie Tate offered, her eyes round with excitement. “He’ll come get us in a moment.”

Alexandra looked around the room, already acquainted with everyone. The four men were huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. Greene Evans, who sang bass and worked as a groundskeeper to pay his way through Fisk, motioned them over.

“Miss Sheppard, do you have any idea what he’s going to tell us?”

Ella shook her head. “He hasn’t said a word to me.”

Alexandra listened as they discussed the possibilities, noting again what a sober and industrious sort of young man Greene was.

Quite the contrast to Isaac Dickerson, who also sang bass, and who was fun loving and sometimes even flirtatious. Isaac possessed an extraordinary gift for extemporaneous speaking as well, and often spoke in chapel. Alexandra wagered he knew as much, if not more, about the Bible as any learned preacher in a Nashville pulpit.

“If Mr. White says yes to the tour, do any of you think your parents are going to object?” Thomas Rutling’s gaze circled the small group.

Isaac shrugged. “It’s hard to say. But I think we all know that the decision will have been baptized in prayer. Surely our parents will know that as well.”

They all nodded.

Phebe, who stood next to Ella, looked over after a moment. “Miss Sheppard,” she whispered, “I’m not certain my father will allow me to go on the tour. Even if Mr. White demands it.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Phebe.”

Phebe nodded, just as footsteps drew their attention to the hallway.

Mr. White appeared from around the corner and gestured for them to follow him. His customary stony expression revealed nothing. They all crowded into his office.

Alexandra was surprised to find no one else there. Not President Spence nor any of the board members.

“Thank you for coming to meet with me so late this evening.” White moved to stand behind his desk. “I’m sorry to interrupt your studies, but . . . I’ve come to the end of a very difficult and gut-wrenching season of reflection and consideration.” He gripped the back of his chair.

Alexandra felt a sinking inside her, and judging from the others’ expressions, they felt the same. So this was it. No fund-raising tour? Did this mark the beginning of the end for Fisk? After only five years?

If she felt this great a sense of loss, she could only imagine what the others were experiencing.

“As you all are aware, President Spence and I have not seen eye-to-eye on the idea of this troupe’s tour. Same for the board members from the American Missionary Association. I have wrestled with those men both in personal arguments—and with their opinions in hours upon hours of prayer.” White’s expression was one of enmity. “So many naysayers. So many who do not believe in the mighty power of our God, and who have refused to take the necessary steps to save this school.”

Alexandra felt a burning behind her eyes.

“And yet, I’m here to tell you that by God’s mercy and the much-needed determination of some of his most stubborn creatures, the Fisk Singers will be going on tour!”

For a moment, no one said anything. No one moved. Then Isaac Dickerson gave his deep-throated, funny little laugh, and they all began to cheer and hug.

Alexandra turned. “You’re going, Ella! You’re going!”

Ella beamed. “God is so good! There’s hope for Fisk yet!”

Alexandra laughed as she looked into the eyes of these extraordinary people, and she felt a depth of gratitude to Mr. White for having included her in this moment.

White held up a hand. “I have a few more words to say, please.”

The group fell silent and attentive.

“I’ve long believed that this troupe is an appointed agency of God for the salvation of Fisk University. And now we shall take the definitive step to prove it! Despite,” he added quickly, “those who still do not agree and have chosen not to support us. We will step forth in faith and depart Nashville for the North by train the first week of October! And with full faith in God’s ability to deliver, I believe our journey from town to town will be met with great success.”

Again, excited whispers skittered through the gathering, and Alexandra felt a thrill of excitement for them all. Sobered nods and amens rose in response, and she nodded in agreement, then found Mr. White’s gaze settling surprisingly on her.

“Miss Jamison, I, along with Miss Sheppard, my assistant, and everyone else here, are most grateful for your recent contributions to Fisk. Your skills in organization and leadership are exemplary, and are qualities that will greatly benefit this endeavor.”

Alexandra smiled. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be honored to support this group, and your tour, in whatever way I can.”

“I expected no less from you, Miss Jamison. Which makes this next announcement even more gratifying. You, too, will be joining us on the tour, as the trip’s preceptress. Arranging train schedules, hotel stays, and being our publicist as we venture North!”

More laughter and celebration. Alexandra felt congratulatory pats on her back. But her smile faltered even as her pulse edged up a notch. “I-I . . . don’t understand, sir. I h-have classes to teach and—”

“No worries, Miss Jamison! Your introductory classes will be completed by the time our train departs for Cincinnati on the first Friday in October! You’ll be traveling with us as a fellow ambassador for Fisk University . . . and for the Lord Jesus Christ!”

The room ignited again in excitement, but all Alexandra could hear was the grinding of metal on metal and the splintering of wooden passenger cars.