To Wager Her Heart

by Tamera Alexander

Ella frowned. “Precisely how long has it been since you’ve walked the railroad tracks?”

  Alexandra tried not to smile. “About . . . thirteen or fourteen years.”

  They both laughed.

  “I can assure you, Alexandra, any scraps of metal and nails are long gone by now. Taken either by a Johnny Reb or a Yankee. But it was a nice thought.”

  Alexandra returned the newspaper to the desk. It was still raining, but she edged the window up a little more, hoping for a breeze to cool down the stickiness in the room. She lay back down on her cot.

  “Have you heard from your mother yet?” Ella asked a little later, crawling into bed.

  “No, but your idea was brilliant. Far better than mine. Hopefully, I’ll receive a reply soon.”

  She’d originally asked Ella to pen a letter to her mother on her behalf, knowing her father would recognize her own handwriting but wouldn’t suspect Ella’s. But Ella had suggested—very wisely so—that the letter be penned to one of the servants in the household instead, with instructions that a message be safely conveyed to Mother when the time presented itself.

  The only servant in their household who could read was Melba. Alexandra had taught her years earlier. In fact, it was teaching Melba and watching the world open up for her that first made Alexandra want to become a teacher.

  She had posted the letter last week, trusting the woman without reservation to handle the request as she saw best. She only hoped her father wouldn’t intercept the servant’s mail as he had her own.

  Ella blew out the oil lamp, and Alexandra was reminded yet again of how she used to simply turn down her own oil lamp in her bedroom at night, leaving it burning low, not worrying about conserving oil.

  But here at Fisk one conserved everything, not knowing if there would be more the next time or not. Which, she’d learned, wasn’t an oddity to the people here; being missionaries or freedmen, they were accustomed to living frugally. Not that it made sacrificing any easier for them. But it did make her keenly aware of how much she’d once had. And of how, even having owned so much, she hadn’t really been aware of her wealth, or appreciated it as much as she should have. Something she vowed to change.

  She pressed her face into her pillow—and earned a sharp jab. Wincing, she rubbed her cheek, questioning her decision to supplement the meager feathers with hay.

  Perhaps she could ask Sy about the iron. Or . . . perhaps she needed to do what she’d promised herself she would do and stop thinking about the man at every—

  She sat up. “Ella! Are you asleep?”

  There was a rustle of bedcovers. “I was . . .”

  “I know where we can get iron!”

  A yawn. “You’re really craving a piece of that pie, aren’t you?”

  “No, Ella. I’m serious!” She struck a match and relit the lamp.

  Ella slowly turned over. “I can tell you’re serious, Alexandra, but—”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier.” She climbed from bed.

  “Wait.” Ella held up a hand. “You’re thinking of going now? And . . . Exactly where are you going?”

  Alexandra sat back down, wondering how Ella would respond when she told her. “It’s a place not far from here. It’s been closed for years now, though. It was called—” Suddenly she wasn’t sure she could say it. “Porter’s . . .”

  “Slave Pen,” Ella finished.

  “Yes,” Alexandra said softly. “I remember, years ago, after the war . . .” And she told Ella about the article she’d read in the newspaper.

  “Does someone still own it? The building? The land?”

  “I don’t think so. Mr. Porter died some years back. No family to speak of, and the building’s been abandoned since before the war ended. Same as other shops on that street.”

  A moment passed before Ella spoke again. “How do you know that what was buried is still there?”

  “I don’t. But I’m hoping that maybe it was forgotten.”

  Ella looked at her, a spark of possibility lighting her eyes. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  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 h
our 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 thoroug
hbreds. 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.