“Lizzie,” he whispered against her lips, then gave a soft groan. “I wish I could be the man you need. The man you deserve.”
She cradled the side of his face, seeing the struggle in his eyes. “But you are that man. I see it in you.” She saw it in the way he treated George now too. And Tempy. He was changing, whether he saw those changes or not.
Tentative and unsure, she brushed her lips against his, relishing the way his stubbled jaw felt against her skin, rough and distinctly male. He drew her closer and kissed her slowly this time, patiently, as though trying to memorize what they felt like together. He kissed her cheek, her jawline, then the curve of her throat, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Yet she didn’t want him to stop. He pulled back and took hold of her hands, his own shaking. Or was it hers?
“The night you told me about you and Towny no longer being betrothed . . .” He looked down at their hands. “You told me the reason you’d said yes to him was because you wanted children.”
Lizzie felt the weight of that shame all over again. “It’s true. I do want children, with all my heart. But it was wrong of me to say yes to him when really I was only—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “There’s a very good chance, Lizzie, that I can’t father children anymore. Not after what happened to me on the battlefield. Dr. Phillips told me when he was here for Christmas.”
As the words sank in, Lizzie felt her mouth moving, but nothing came. In a flash, their conversation from the night she’d told him about Towny returned. And filtering what she’d said then through what she knew now brought a fresh wave of guilt, and she winced. Especially when thinking of his already having lost his precious daughter. “Roland, I’m so sorry.”
“I am too.” He exhaled. “But . . . at least now you know.”
He let go of her hands and reached for the reins.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm, what he’d told her still taking hold. The seconds seemed to slow to a crawl. With Towny, she’d had what felt like a guarantee of children, and yet she hadn’t loved him the way she loved Roland. But now with Roland—without whom she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life—she had the near guarantee of never bearing children. After all they’d been through, Roland especially, it didn’t seem fair. Particularly when she took into account his willingness to humble himself, to admit he was wrong. To change. Granted, she knew those changes would not be easy, and the road to freedom would be fraught with still more challenges. And losses. Like Levi. James Shuler. Captain Pleasant Hope. All the soldiers whose blood still stained the hallways and rooms of Carnton. Martha, Mary, and John—the three precious children the McGavocks had buried far too young. And Roland’s own Susan and Lena. Lizzie’s eyes watered. Life was so uncertain. It came with no guarantees. Hadn’t she learned that by now?
But as soon as that thought came, another countered it. And she heard Sister Catherine Margaret’s voice. The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? And deep inside, Lizzie began to smile.
“Lizzie, it’s all right.” Roland’s voice held resignation. “Believe me . . . I, of all people, understand what it means to have a child. Children are gifts from God. And I could never rob you of that. So it’s all right.”
He snapped the reins, but she pulled them taut. He looked down.
“If you and I have learned anything, Roland, it’s that while life itself holds no guarantees, we both trust in the One who holds our lives. So there’s nothing to fear. When couples marry, they don’t know what their life together will hold. Whether they’ll have children or whether they won’t. Like Mrs. Gibbons and her husband.” She softened her voice. “Or whether a husband and wife will have a child only to lose that precious soul before the child can even grow up.”
She detected a wavering in him, then he shook his head, and she could well imagine how this had been eating away at him. And here she’d thought he’d changed his mind about her. She turned on the bench seat, the question she needed to ask him making her heart thud a painful, uneven rhythm.
“Do you love me?” she whispered.
“It’s not that easy, Lizzie. I simply can’t—”
“Do . . . you . . . love me?” She could scarcely breathe for watching his face, trying to read the contents of his heart.
“More than my own life,” he finally said. “But to think that I might prevent you from enjoying as full and meaningful a life as you deserve is—”
“There are children enough in this world who have no parents. Especially with the war. So if we—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. But his slow smile said he was going to.
“If we marry and try to have children”—the look he gave her sent her pulse racing—“but can’t . . .”
She touched his face. “Then we’ll love the children God brings into our lives through other ways. But we’ll always have each other.”
He brought his face closer, his gray eyes searching hers. “You’re certain.”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
His smile reached all the way inside her. He kissed her again, but with a possessiveness that hadn’t been there before, and she responded to it. To him. After a moment he broke the kiss, as breathless as she was.
“Would you marry me, Elizabeth Clouston?”
She pursed her lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He laughed and gathered the reins. “Is there anyone’s permission I should ask first? Your father’s, perhaps?”
She smiled. “I’m sure he would like that. But I think Winder’s will be more important.”
As they drove around the bend and up the drive, Carnton came into view, and the wash of color in the night sky looked like a backdrop God had painted especially for them.
Roland pulled the wagon around to the back of the house, and Lizzie froze. A unit of Federal soldiers was escorting the men from the house. She felt Roland tense beside her.
“No.” She heard the word come from her lips, but it sounded so far away.
“Stay here, Lizzie.”
She reached for his arm.
“Stay in the wagon. And whatever happens, do not interfere. Do you understand me?”
She shook her head.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Now promise me you will not interfere.”
She hesitated.
“Promise me.”
“I-I promise.”
He climbed down, grabbed his cane, and walked toward them. But it was the officer approaching him—the one she recognized—that siphoned the air from her lungs.
“Captain Jones, how nice of you to join us.” Captain Moore punched Roland hard in the gut, and Roland went down on one knee.
Lizzie jumped down from the wagon, then saw Roland look back at her. She stood where she was and didn’t move. Not when the captain grabbed Roland’s cane and threw it aside. Not when they bound his hands behind his back. Not when they marched him away.
CHAPTER 43
JUNE 9, 1865
She hadn’t told him she loved him that day—the afternoon the Federal patrol took Roland and the rest of the soldiers at Carnton to Nashville. He’d said it to her, but she’d been so stunned to discover what was happening, she hadn’t had the presence of mind to respond. Until he’d been walking away, roped to the other prisoners, down the long drive. She’d whispered it to him over and over then. But of course he hadn’t heard her. And she’d regretted it ever since.
Lizzie sat on the little Poynor chair in Winder’s bedroom—where she most always sat when writing Roland—and read back over what she’d penned to him. She wrote him every day. But for almost three months now she’d received only one response. And that nearly a month after he’d been taken. She kept the cherished letter with her constantly, tucked in her skirt pocket—his handwriting and words long committed to memory. She clung to the hope he was still alive, and that the Federals had taken him and the
other men to a hospital and not a prison. His letter hadn’t specified, and she’d internally—lovingly—scolded him for that oversight countless times.
She folded the stationery and slid her letter to him into the envelope she’d already addressed to the War Department, not knowing if her letters were even being delivered. With a last glance at the floor to the left of the hearth, the space Roland had occupied, she rose, memories of their conversations swirling inside her. Memories of him loomed everywhere she looked.
She crossed to the open window where the surgical table had stood, the blood-stained wooden floors bare of carpet, a nicety that was still unattainable. And unimportant in light of all else. A warm breeze blew in from across the Harpeth Valley. The McGavocks and the children had long since been reinstalled in their bedrooms. She’d slept in Winder’s room with him and Hattie for the first two weeks, helping them readjust. She’d set her cot up right where Roland’s had been. And as she’d lain there at night, staring at the room from a perspective he’d certainly grown to know well, she’d thanked God for bringing him to Carnton that fateful night.
She looked beside her at the chest of drawers and at the copy of A Christmas Carol that stood shoulder to shoulder with Winder’s other self-proclaimed favorites, as did her copy of Sense and Sensibility. She ran her hand along the binding of Jane Austen’s novel, under no illusion that Winder was ever going to read the story. But since Winder’s discovery that Roland had read it, the boy proudly announced he would too.
She felt something protruding slightly from the pages of the Austen novel and looked more closely. Likely, it was a scrap of paper Roland had used to mark his place. She tugged it from the book, and her heart squeezed tight at the sight of the familiar handwriting.
Dearest Lizzie,
I don’t know when you’ll find this note. But since you shared with me that you reread this novel on occasion, I am certain you will. And when you do, know how appreciative I am that you shared this story with me. Not only did it provide hours of enjoyment, but reading the story through your eyes and knowing how much you love it was like being given a window into your soul. And may I say most unabashedly, it is a most beautiful view.
In deepest friendship,
Roland
Lizzie smiled even as tears rose in her eyes. Especially as she read the postscript.
P. S. I especially enjoyed Fanny getting her comeuppance. Still, I would have preferred the stockade.
Slowly her smile faded. Please, Lord . . . As much as she wanted to believe this was a sign that Roland would return to her, she knew that countless women had held similar hopes for their men over the past four years, only to have those hopes dashed. She tucked the note into her pocket, praying it wasn’t one last memento of the wonderful man Roland had been. But of the wonderful man he was.
Eager to mail her letter in town, she checked on the children in the family parlor, then sought out Mrs. McGavock. She found her in the kitchen. Lizzie stopped at the base of the stairs. Tempy was back in the larder, judging from the sounds of crates and boxes being moved.
Lizzie cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Mrs. McGavock?”
Carrie looked up from where she sat at the kitchen table, her expression—once so easy for Lizzie to read—now cloaked and distant. “Yes, Miss Clouston?”
Lizzie motioned behind her. “Hattie and Winder are up in the family parlor reading. With your permission, I’d like to walk into town to mail a letter. I won’t be gone long.”
“That will be fine, Miss Clouston. Thank you for letting me know.”
Lizzie held her gaze, mourning the rapport they’d once had. She knew this awkwardness between them was a result of what she’d done. She’d counted the cost when deciding to teach Tempy and George. But counting the cost of a decision and living with its repercussions were two very different things.
“We do not appreciate you doing this behind our backs, Miss Clouston,” the colonel had said, displeasure weighing his tone. “And no matter the evidence that the North will indeed be victorious, your actions are still illegal. But equally concerning, from my perspective, is that you have placed yourself, Tempy, and George in a most perilous situation should anyone discover what you have done.”
Carrie, her own expression one of surprise, had remained surprisingly silent.
“However, there’s been so much upheaval of late,” he had continued, features somber. “Too much. Especially for children so young. And more is guaranteed to come. Understanding that, you may remain in your position. For now.”
Lizzie had been prepared for a swift dismissal. But that hadn’t happened. Yet.
“Missus McGavock . . .” Tempy walked from the larder, holding a piece of paper. “I’m readin’ the receipt of this cake from your mamain-law you give me. The cake she used to make for the colonel when he was a boy. But I can’t rightly make out what she’s sayin’ right here. Is that one cup o’ sugar? Or one cup o’ somethin’ else?”
Carrie looked from Lizzie to Tempy, a shadow of culpability sweeping her face. But despite the stiltedness of their current relationship, seeing the two of them together like this warmed Lizzie’s heart. Tempy deciphering a recipe written by the colonel’s mother. So small a thing. Yet monumental.
Carrie studied the page Tempy held out. “It’s sugar. But it’s written in a very poor hand.”
“That’s what I thought, ma’am. But I wanted to be sure.” Tempy turned. “Hey there, Miss Lizzie. Would you like a cup o’ tea, ma’am? Got some hot water on the stove.”
“No, thank you. I’m just headed into town.”
Tempy smiled. “Mailin’ the captain’s letter?”
Lizzie nodded.
“Hope you told him Tempy says hi.”
“I did.”
Tempy gestured. “Me and the missus are going over menus for the next couple o’ weeks. Gettin’ it all written down so she can look it over real good.”
Lizzie smiled and nodded again, then turned to go.
“Miss Clouston.”
At Carrie’s voice, she turned back.
“I hope you also included warmest regards to the captain from the colonel and me.” A tender, familiar smile touched Carrie’s eyes, and Lizzie felt the warmth of it in her own. “We pray for Captain Jones daily. And for his swift return. To you . . . my dear.”
Lizzie took a quick breath, hoping her voice would hold. “Thank you, Mrs. McGavock. So very much.” She nodded. “And yes, I included your regards. As always.”
“Very good.” Carrie sniffed and sat a little straighter. “Take your time in town, Miss Clouston. It’s a beautiful day. Enjoy it.”
Lizzie closed the kitchen door behind her and took deep breaths, the scents of honeysuckle and summer sweetening the air. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a very long time.
The kitchen door opened, and she glanced back.
“Miss Lizzie?” Tempy stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her. “I just want you to know, ma’am, that I done made up my mind ’bout what George said he’d do for me.”
Lizzie waited, honestly not knowing what Tempy’s decision would be. She hadn’t offered Tempy counsel either way. For the first time in Tempy’s life, the woman had the chance to choose her own path, and she deserved to do it without anyone intruding.
“I ’preciate George askin’ me to come and live with him and his family out there in Mississippi. And with all them precious kids they got. But . . . Carnton is my home. Has been most o’ my life.” Tempy looked down the brick walkway that led to the gate, then around the front yard. “I reckon I don’t have that many more years here, ma’am, ’fore the good Lord takes me home. And I love that Hattie and Winder. I’d like to see them growed up a bit more, if I can. ’Sides . . .” The sheen of tears filled Tempy’s eyes. “If I’s to leave here now, how would a person who’d knowed me ever find me?”
Warmth flooded Lizzie’s chest. She recalled Tempy mentioning that she had a brother and a sister. Lizzie grasped her hands. “I pr
ay you all find each other one day, Tempy.”
Tempy took a quick breath and nodded, then hugged Lizzie tight. Lizzie held on, drawing strength from Tempy’s firm embrace.
“You go on now,” Tempy whispered against her ear. “And mail that letter to your captain.”
Lizzie smiled and continued on her way. The hinges on the front gate creaked as it closed behind her. As of one week ago, the war had officially been brought to its formal end. But the day the war ended in her mind was when General Robert E. Lee surrendered to Federal General Ulysses S. Grant on the ninth of April. A journalist’s description of events in Appomattox, Virginia, had stirred vivid images. Grant arrived to the meeting in his muddy field uniform, whereas General Lee turned out in full dress attire, including sash and sword. Lee requested terms. All officers and men were to be pardoned and allowed to return home with their private property intact—most importantly, their horses, which were required for a late spring planting. Officers would keep their side arms, and Lee’s starving men would be issued Federal rations. Grant had hurriedly written out the terms and accepted every one. Then, as Grant and Lee walked from the house, a band had begun to play in celebration. But with a quick gesture General Grant had silenced them. “The war is over,” he’d been reported as saying. “The Rebels are our countrymen again.” Still, for the next two months, news of continuing skirmishes had peppered the front pages of the newspapers. For all practical purposes, the war was over. But that hadn’t ended the killing.
When Lizzie heard about President Lincoln’s assassination, she’d wept. But as Tempy told her shortly after, at least the president had seen the war that had enveloped his years in office come to a close. In an article written after his passing, Lizzie read that Lincoln had believed God was punishing the land for its hand in slavery. That America was atoning in blood for its complicity in the wicked act. And she agreed. And had repented many times for her own silent complicity in it all.
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