“Okay, let’s walk through this again.” He looked down at her, keeping an eye on the washboard road. “It wasn’t a coincidence that Preacher Bounds gave Levi that page of his Bible. And that Levi ended up at Carnton though he wasn’t even part of Loring’s Division. Right?”
She nodded.
“I tell you, somebody here has to have known that boy. We just haven’t—”
The back of the wagon slid hard to the right, then dropped. Roland grabbed hold of Lizzie as she fell forward, and he pulled her back against him. The sudden weight of her body on his sent shock waves through him. Some pleasurable, some not. But feeling the fullness of her curves, he decided the former outweighed the latter.
“Are you all right?” he asked, her face inches from his.
Her breath came heavy. “Yes. Are you?”
He laughed. “I’m okay.” I could stay like this for quite a while, in fact, he thought to himself.
“Need help with that wheel, traveler?”
Roland looked up to see an older man walking toward them.
“We have company,” he whispered, then helped lower her safely to the ground. He climbed down behind her, grabbing his cane, the exertion taking a toll.
The older man held out his right hand, then saw Roland’s and quickly shifted to his left. The old-timer had a strong grip. “You got yourself a busted wheel there, partner. But lucky for you, this town has the best wheelwright in all of Tennessee. ’Course he’s closed on Wednesdays, seein’ as that’s his huntin’ day.”
“And where would his place be?”
“Not far. Just a few streets over.”
Roland nodded. “And the wheelwright’s name?”
The man grinned. “Virgil Owens, at your service.”
Roland laughed, and heard Lizzie do the same. “I should’ve seen that coming, sir.”
Roland arranged for the wheelwright to fix the wagon the next day. He and Lizzie thanked him for his help, unhitched the mares, and headed in the direction of Dr. Thompson’s house.
On the way Roland suggested they stop back by the mercantile. “My mother always says it’s part of Southern politeness to take something to the hostess when you visit a house.”
Lizzie chose a pretty blue vase, and he asked the clerk to wrap it up. He saw an older woman enter the store. She came and waited right behind him, so he stepped to the side.
The clerk looked up from wrapping the vase. “Mrs. Gibbons, what are you doing back so soon?”
The woman gave a shy smile. “I got halfway home and realized I’d forgotten peppermint sticks. I always take those when I go. The children love them.”
The clerk looked in Roland’s direction, as if asking whether he minded if she assisted the lady, and he nodded his approval. He saw Lizzie looking through a stack of books and wished he could give her everything she ever wanted. Not just a book but a life, whole and full. She deserved that and so much more.
“Thank you, sir, for allowing me to help her.”
“No problem.” Then it occurred to him. “We didn’t see you when we were in here before. We’re from Franklin, ma’am, and we’re trying to find anyone who might have known a boy by the name of Levi. We’re trying to locate his family.”
“Did you say Levi?”
Hearing a voice behind him, Roland turned and saw the woman, Mrs. Gibbons, paused by the door. She slowly walked toward him.
“Yes, ma’am, I did. Did . . . you know him?”
“Did I know him?” she repeated, her brow furrowing.
Despite the distress in her tone, the recognition in the woman’s expression rekindled his hope. He looked over at Lizzie to see she was already making her way back toward him.
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “A young boy by the name of Levi was involved in the battle at Franklin at the end of November. He was brought to an estate called Carnton, where . . .”
He looked at Lizzie, and she picked up where he left off. And when Mrs. Gibbons grasped Lizzie’s hands, tears filling her eyes, he was certain they’d found what they’d come looking for.
“My dear, sweet Levi . . .” Mrs. Gibbons struggled to speak. “My husband and I have been helping his family for a few years now. Levi’s father died some time back and left a wife and six children. Levi is . . . was the oldest, and the only boy.” She took a shaky breath. “I’ve taught the children for the past few years. My husband and I never were able to have children of our own, so God gave me those precious children to love and care for. At least that’s the way I look at it.” A tender, heartbreaking smile eclipsed her face. “And Levi was an especially bright boy. One of those students a teacher gets only once in a lifetime.”
Lizzie smiled, and Roland knew she understood what the woman was saying. He also knew that he’d made the right decision about not pursuing something more with Lizzie. Despite how much he loved her, he couldn’t abide the thought that one day she would reach this stage in her life, where Mrs. Gibbons was now, and look back with regret at what might have been if she hadn’t been with him.
Mrs. Gibbons sighed, staring briefly at the sack of peppermint sticks in her hand. “When Levi went and joined that war, it broke his mother’s heart. And so will this news. Although I wonder if, deep inside, Elsa already suspects her son is gone.”
ROLAND LOCATED A livery, and after he explained their circumstances to the owner, the man generously loaned them a two-wheeled pony cart and agreed to keep the other mare until they returned.
Roland and Lizzie rode a good distance outside of town and into the hills, following Mrs. Gibbons’s instructions, until they quickly ran out of road. They watered the horse in the stream they’d been following, then tied it securely and continued on foot, Roland leaning heavily on his cane. The surroundings were exactly as Mrs. Gibbons had described. The path, narrow but not too difficult to traverse, curved up ahead. And when they rounded the bend, the house came into view. Or shack, more like it. Run-down and ramshackle, the structure leaned to one side.
Lizzie’s steps slowed. “She said they were poor, but I didn’t expect this.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Roland reached for her hand, and she slipped hers into his. “No matter what happens, please know that you did what Levi asked you to do.”
Lizzie smiled up at him, but he knew she wouldn’t be at peace until she talked to his mother and shared what the boy had written, and until they found whatever it was that he had left buried.
When they reached the shack, Roland paused. Lizzie nodded and he knocked on the door. A minute later, the door creaked open, and a little girl stood staring up, her dress ragged, her face smudged with dirt. A woman followed close behind her, her expression wary.
“Can I help you folks?”
“My name is Miss Elizabeth Clouston, and this is Captain Roland Ward Jones, First Battalion, Mississippi Sharpshooters, Adams’ Brigade in the Army of Tennessee. We’ve traveled from Franklin and, with the help of Mrs. Gibbons, whose path crossed ours at the mercantile in town, we are here to—” Lizzie’s voice faltered. She looked up at him.
“We’re here,” Roland continued, “to tell you what an extraordinary young man your son Levi was. And to give you a letter he wrote to you, along with his final belongings that Miss Clouston has kept for you.”
Elsa’s eyes filled. She reached out for the door as though needing support, and Lizzie stepped forward and wrapped her in an embrace. Lizzie held her as she wept and spoke to her in soft tones, assuring her that her son did not die alone, and that he died with dignity and with love of family foremost in his heart.
Roland marveled at the language women shared, sometimes without speaking a word. Elsa invited them inside and offered them tea. They sat at the table and answered all of her questions as best they could.
“And before I forget . . .” Lizzie pulled the wrapped package of peppermint sticks from the pocket of her cloak. “Before we left Mrs. Gibbons in town, she asked us to give you these for the girls. She said she’d be by wit
hin a day or two to check on you.”
Elsa smiled. “Mrs. Gibbons has been a godsend.” She handed the package to the oldest girl, who doled out the sugary treats to her sisters one by one.
“There’s something else,” Lizzie offered gently. “Levi gave me a message for you. He said he was sorry over how he left things with you. And he left something buried beneath an old willow tree. He said, ‘It makes dying easier knowing you’ll have it.’” Lizzie took the woman’s hands in hers. “Do you know what he meant by that? Do you know which willow tree he’s talking about?”
Closing her eyes, Elsa nodded. “I can show you.”
A while later, shovel in hand, Roland dug at the base of the tree, Lizzie and Elsa with her five girls huddled around him. He hadn’t gone a foot down when his shovel hit something hard. He pulled a metal box from the dirt, brushed it off, and held it out to Elsa, but she shook her head. So Roland sat down on a boulder and opened it. A piece of paper lay across the top, and when he read it and then saw what lay beneath, he had no doubt about what Levi’s situation had been. But one look at Elsa told him she already knew.
“He was a substitute,” he said softly.
Elsa nodded, her chin trembling.
“A substitute?” Lizzie repeated.
“We had a couple of them in our regiment. They take someone else’s place and fight in their stead. From the looks of it, there’s close to three thousand dollars or more in this box. A small fortune. What Levi was paid for taking another man’s place.”
“Money I would give away in a beat of my heart,” Elsa said, her voice small, “if I could have my son back. I said as much that night when he told me what he’d done. I told him that he could take all that money with him. That I didn’t want a cent of it.” Her features contorted with grief. “Oh, my dear, sweet son . . .”
“There’s a note for you in here, ma’am.” He handed it to her. For Mama was written in Levi’s familiar hand across the front.
CHAPTER 42
The next morning Lizzie rose early, eager to check on Elsa and the girls, so grateful to Dr. and Mrs. Thompson for welcoming not only her and Roland into their home last night, but Levi’s family as well. She simply hadn’t been able to leave them there yesterday afternoon, not after everything that had happened. Roland had only smiled and nodded when she’d told him she needed to see their journey through a little farther down the road before they returned to Franklin. “Why am I not surprised,” he’d whispered.
She heard chatter coming from the kitchen, and when she opened the door the sight did her heart good. The Thompsons’ cook was busy with breakfast at the stove, and Mrs. Thompson and her eighteen-year-old daughter, Alice, were already engaged with Elsa over cups of hot coffee. The five girls sat lined up on a bench, sipping milk from tin cups.
Mrs. Thompson looked up. “Good morning, Miss Clouston. Join us!”
Not ten minutes later, Roland entered. Alice Thompson perked up considerably, Lizzie noticed, not blaming the girl one bit. Lizzie was more in love with the man now than she’d ever been. And she sensed deep down that he felt the same way about her. Yet something was holding him back.
Following breakfast, Roland fetched the mares from the barn. Lizzie met him out front and they, along with Elsa and the two oldest girls, walked the short distance to town to get the wagon. As Roland suggested at breakfast, Elsa brought the metal box with her, and they deposited its contents with the bank they’d seen the day before. It had taken some encouragement, but he’d finally convinced Elsa to accept the gift from her son.
“Being a son myself,” he’d told her, “I know how much I want to take care of my mother and my sisters. So please, let your son do the same for you.”
As they approached the wheelwright’s shop, Lizzie glanced over at the girls on either side of Elsa. Marianne and Martha held tightly to their mother’s hands, their eyes wide as they took in the town around them. She wondered at how their lives were about to change. Over three thousand dollars. The going rate, apparently, for having someone fight in your stead. Only then did she think of Levi and James in the hereafter together. Not quite certain how eternity unfolded once a person died, she sent up a silent prayer that perhaps the two boys could meet up and share their stories.
“Well, who do y’all have with you today!” Virgil Owens met them as they walked through the open doors of the barn, wiping the grease from his hands onto an old cloth.
Roland tied the mares to the post and made quick introductions, and Lizzie noticed how the girls hid behind Elsa’s skirts.
“Got your wagon all ready to go, Captain Jones. Went out and mended the wheel this mornin’, then Miss Bessie right here”—he pointed to an old mule in one of the stalls—“she pulled it back to the shop. You had some boards comin’ loose in the back bed too, but I won’t charge you for that. Fixin’ them was my own doin’.”
Roland paid the man. More, Lizzie noticed, than Mr. Owens had charged.
Mr. Owens bent down to eye level with Marianne and Martha. “You little ones like critters from the woods?”
The girls looked up at their mother.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Owens,” Elsa offered. “We don’t get to town much, so they ain’t used to swappin’ names. Leastwise with strangers.” She smiled. “This one’s Marianne. And this one’s Martha.”
“Well, howdy-do. But I ain’t no stranger, ma’am. Everybody in town knows ol’ Mr. Owens. Been here all my life.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out something, which he showed to Elsa. Her eyes softened with grateful approval. “This one here’s for you, Miss Marianne,” he said. “And this one, Miss Martha, he’s all yours.”
The girls stared at the carved wooden animals in their palms, their smiles growing wide. Mr. Owens beamed, his pleasure seeming to outdo theirs.
“We need to be heading back,” Roland whispered.
Lizzie nodded and helped situate Elsa and the girls in the back of the wagon. She climbed up to the bench beside Roland.
Virgil Owens reached up and shook his hand. “Godspeed on your trip back to Franklin, Captain. You too, ma’am.”
Lizzie smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Owens. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, the pleasure be all mine.” He paused, his gaze moving toward the back of the wagon. “Them little critters belonged to my own two girls. They’re gone now. Both of ’em passed on with their sweet mama some twenty years back. I been savin’ them critters. Got more of ’em in the drawer. But it’s high time I start givin’ ’em away.”
Lizzie reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I wish you all the best, Mr. Owens. I’m grateful our paths crossed.”
He sniffed. “Thank you, ma’am. And same to you.”
Roland gestured. “Mrs. Colton and her five girls will be moving into town soon. They’ll be needing a wagon. May I send them your way?”
“Yes, sir, you can. I’ll be happy to help.”
As Roland negotiated the turn, Lizzie heard Virgil speaking to Elsa.
“Y’all come on back, Mrs. Colton, and I’ll help you with a wagon. I got more of them critters too, for the rest of your girls.”
“Thank you!” Elsa called, waving as they pulled onto the street.
Lizzie sneaked a look at Roland. “Do you think that maybe he and—”
“What I think”—he kept his attention focused forward—“is that you helped Levi change his family’s life in ways he never dreamed.”
THEY TALKED MOST of the way back to Franklin, and Lizzie didn’t want this time with Roland to end. But by that evening, when they reached the outskirts of town, he’d grown more reticent. And when he turned onto the road leading to Carnton, she felt that familiar distancing between them again.
She wrestled with how much of her heart to share with him, all while feeling the swing of a pendulum inside her. Tempy’s counsel resonated above it all. The only thing worse than havin’ no choice is havin’ it and throwin’ it away. Lizzie didn’t want to lose this chance. Didn’t want
to lose him.
“Thank you, Lizzie—”
She looked over, surprised that he’d spoken, but even more so at the strained emotion in his voice.
“—for sharing all of this with me. For allowing me to be the one to take you.”
“Allowing you?” She shook her head. “I was just sitting here thinking about how I can’t imagine not having taken this trip with you.” She studied his profile as she’d done for miles now. “Much as I can’t imagine not having met you.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “I feel the same about you.”
She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, hoping to ease whatever was bothering him. He covered her hand with his, then brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm, his lips warm and tender. Her body heated, and with that heat came unexpected courage. She moved closer to him on the seat, and he exhaled.
“Lizzie, we need to talk.”
“That’s all we’ve been doing. Is talking.”
He laughed, but it held no humor. He looked down at her, his gaze first on her eyes, then her mouth. He swallowed, then reined in the horses. “There are things I need to say to you. Now. While we still have time.”
“I have things I want to say to you too. Because as we both know, there’s no guarantee of—”
He set the brake and pulled her to him. He kissed her, not gently like the kisses on her palm a moment earlier, but with a hunger that stoked a fire inside her. He dug his hands into her hair, and when she parted her lips for a breath, he deepened the kiss. She had the sensation of falling, yet welcomed it, gave herself to it. Because with his arms around her, his mouth on hers, she felt a certainty she’d never felt before. But part of that certainty stemmed, she knew, from what he’d shared with her on the trip. Not only about sharecropping but about his struggle with reconciling the actions of two men he greatly esteemed. She’d had to do her own bit of reconciling in that regard.
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