In the Morning Sun (Hearts at War Book 2)

by Lena Hart

  Madeline shared in his short chuckle, though she nervously glanced around the small cabin again. Since tornadoes were frequent in these parts of the country, it made that possibility an uncomfortable, and frightening, probability.

  But Madeline set that worry aside for now. Tomorrow would mark her first day as a teacher and she needed to concentrate on her students, their education, and getting through the next couple of months before the election.

  “Thank you, Mr. Duncan. This will do just fine.”

  Eldridge nodded, a relieved smile breaking across his dark, handsome face.

  “We passed by a school on our way here. Is that the one I’ll be having my classes in?”

  “Indeed, it is,” he confirmed. “We were lucky to receive funding to rebuild a new school and church after they were…”

  “Burned?” His lips tightened and she gave a small smile of reassurance. “We know all about the vandals that came here and destroyed what you all worked so hard to build, but it hasn’t stopped us from coming here and helping.”

  Another wave of relief flashed across his face. “I’m glad to hear that, Miss Madeline. It was hard finding educated individuals like yourselves to return to Dunesville after that. This community is important to me and my family and we’re trying to keep it as safe for our people as we can.”

  The love and loyalty for what was a thriving community glowed on the man’s face. His enthusiasm for the safe haven his family had developed for so many people only added to Madeline’s anger that anyone would try to destroy it.

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about me abandoning you, Mr. Duncan.” She offered him a teasing smile. “It’s going to take a tornado to sweep me away from here.”

  He returned her smile and took her hand. “Please, call me Eldridge.”

  Madeline tensed and stared down at her hand clasped in his. It had been a while since a man had taken her hand that way—with gentleness and affection. But she didn’t want his affection.

  She wanted nothing from him.

  Madeline jerked her hand out of his grasp and his eyes widened in surprise. It was immediately replaced with embarrassment and a sudden awkwardness settled between them.

  Regret at her impulsive reaction brought an apology rolling off the tip of her tongue but Madeline swallowed it. What was she to say? That the new Madeline preferred not to be touched, that as much as she liked and respected what he was doing for his community, she didn’t want anything other than friendship from him?

  The old Madeline wouldn’t allow her to be so ill-mannered, so she asked the one thing that mattered.

  “What time should I report to the school tomorrow?”

  “I believe my mother, Mrs. Ophelia, will discuss that with you all tonight after supper,” he said, clasping his hand behind his back. “But everyone is excited for the school term to start again. The children, especially.”

  “Children?” Madeline frowned. “I specifically requested to teach the adults.”

  At Eldridge’s curious expression, she dropped her gaze down to the button on his coat. Being allowed to teach only the adults had been a big part of her decision to join the mission. Though she may not have been formally trained to teach anyone, she wasn’t prepared to deal with children.

  “I…I had plans in my curriculum to teach government and politics,” Madeline added. “That’s where my expertise lay.”

  “To be frank, I don’t really know the details of the teaching assignments, but I don’t see why that should present a problem. There will be a noon and evening class schedule for the men to accommodate those who have to work through their noon meal, so you’ll have your choice of one.”

  Madeline released a sigh of relief. Noon or night, it didn’t particularly matter to her, so long as it didn’t include being near the little ones. Though she knew her preference bordered on ludicrous, she couldn’t change how she felt. There were times just the sight of a young child would send her into a panic, or fill her with immense grief. The only way for her to control her reaction was to keep her distance.

  After giving her a few more instructions on her accommodations in her temporary residence, Eldridge finally took his leave.

  Finally alone in the cabin, Madeline sat down on the edge of the bed, surprised by its comfort, and took in her surroundings once more. She hadn’t imagined her first step toward a new life would come to this—sitting alone in a dim, one-room cabin—but distance from her sister and her past made it worth it.

  There was just one person in her past she couldn’t seem to let go.

  Lifting her travel bag onto the bed, Madeline took out the stack of letters from her suitcase. All of them were from her Jimmy, and every last letter was sacred to her.

  Tugging at the thin ribbon around the bundle, she pulled out the top envelop and laid the stack beside her on the bed. It was the first of many letters he had written her and the one she turned to whenever she needed his words to lighten her spirits.

  She took out the letter dated five years ago on November fourth, three months after his enlistment and began reading.

  My dearest Maddie, I have wanted to write you much sooner as I’ve missed you more than you can imagine. Though I do not regret my decision to join the Infantry, as I have met with the most honorable and courageous of men, I do regret that we did not wed before my departure. Our last night together is all I can think on. It has firmly bound me to you, as it has bound you to me. You are all that is good and pure of heart, and it is your smile and your passion that sustains me in a place where defeat and despair is rooted in so many. I know in my heart we fight for a great cause, and that this war will soon be over, but I can barely wait for the day when I can truly make you mine. Keep me in your thoughts, my love. I remain always and very truly yours.

  Madeline shut her eyes against the sting of tears that burned behind her lids. She knew it was pointless holding on to such mementos, but James Blakemore was the one thing she couldn’t seem to leave behind.

  Stuffing the letter back into the envelop, Madeline got up from the bed and began settling herself into her new, temporary home.

  The first day of class was a massive disappointment.

  Madeline sat in the empty classroom, her hands locked together and resting on the desk. She waited over twenty minutes before she accepted the fact that no one was going to show. With a small sigh, she rose to her feet and began to gather her things.

  “I was afraid of this, though I had hoped at least a handful would show.”

  Madeline looked up from her packing to find Mrs. Ophelia Duncan walking into the classroom, her lips pinched with disappointment. Aside from the grays in her neatly-pinned hair, Madeline would never have guessed the head mistress of the school to be in her late fifties. It certainly wasn’t evident on her smooth brown face or in her patient brown eyes.

  “Perhaps they weren’t sure of the time,” Madeline offered in response to the empty classroom. She hated to think anyone would pass up the opportunity for a free education.

  “I doubt that. We’ve announced these classes for the past few weeks now, even during the Sunday service. Notices have also been posted around the community.” Ophelia sighed.

  Madeline could feel the weariness of that small action from where she stood. Last night, she and her missionary mates had shared dinner with Ophelia and from that short time, Madeline had gotten to learn just how much love the Duncan family had for their community.

  “Noon may then be a difficult time for them to step away from their work or chores. Perhaps the evening class will be different.”

  “You’re right. Maybe the turn out would be better then. Would it be asking too much if you could lead the evening class? At least until we can figure out a schedule that works for everyone.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all.”

  That evening, Madeline returned to the school and was relieved to find a few men sitting behind the old desks, waiting for her. It was only a handful—some rangin
g from young men about her age to a few who could have been old enough to be her father, had he made it to sixty.

  She smiled a greeting toward the men only to be met with grim, tired expressions.

  “Good evening, class. My name’s Madeline Asher and I’m here to teach you reading, writing, and government for the next six months.”

  Madeline didn’t know where her sudden nervousness had come from, but suddenly her hands were clammy and her throat begged for water. She had never taught a group of people before, and the sudden realization that she had absolutely no idea of what she was doing nearly overwhelmed her.

  However, the longer she stared out at their expectant faces, the more she realized she needed to get over her nerves and see to her duties. These men had the chance to shape the future of this nation. The laws weren’t going to change in the next three months to give the women the right to vote, and with the presidential election barreling down on them, she needed to do the next best thing—equip the freedmen of Dunesville with the knowledge they’d need to cast an informed vote this coming November.

  “Miss Madeline? Are you all right?”

  Madeline pulled herself out of her daze and offered her class a quick smile. “Yes, thank you. Why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves?”

  One by one, each man said his name, and told whether he was new to the community. It appeared many of the more enthusiastic men were, in fact, newcomers to Dunesville.

  “By show of hands, how many of you know the alphabet?” Madeline asked.

  One hand came up.

  Madeline bit the inside of her lip. Well, at least now she knew where to start. She took a few minutes to explain what the alphabet was and why it was important to learn. Some of the men listened to her intently and with genuine interest. A few others, however, were not as invested. She tried to ignore that unfortunate fact, yet the more cynical their expressions turned, the more she began to lose her confidence—and her resolve.

  So she decided to tackle the most stubborn bull of the group head on.

  “Mr. Barnes, what would you like to learn to write first?”

  Surprise flashed in the older man’s dark eyes before it was replaced with sharp skepticism. “Miss Madeline, I appreciate all that you’re trying to do here, but truthfully, I see no point to it. These white folks don’t give a lick about our vote. They gon’ put whoever the hell they want in that big ole’ house and there ain’t nothing we can do about that.”

  Madeline glanced around the room as some of the men murmured in agreement. She could understand their frustration, especially with news of the Black Codes taking root and spreading across the South. Those unsanctioned laws made it difficult for Negro men and women to function as equal citizens of the country.

  But Madeline couldn’t let the attitude of one influence the others. Not when there was so much at stake.

  “Mr. Barnes, we can only make a difference if we take a stand and let our voices be heard. I’m trying to give you the tools you need to march to that voting poll and cast your ballot for the candidate you believe has an interest in your rights as an American citizen.”

  Mr. Barnes scoffed and settled back in his seat, his thick arms folded across his wide chest. “Darling, I’m too old and too tired to believe in those fairytales you spinning. You can stop with all that voting mess. I’m not about to get lynched for putting down a name on a piece of paper for some white man who’s feeding us nothing but lies.”

  He received more murmurs and nods of approval and Madeline’s heart sank. They were losing faith in the system and her class without really giving it a chance.

  “Think about this, Mr. Barnes. If the election weren’t so important, there wouldn’t be people out there right now trying to keep you out of it. As a newly freed man in this nation, you can’t let your fear or frustration keep you from practicing your constitutional right. At the very least, don’t let what all those brave soldiers fought for become a lost cause.”

  “If you ask me, it’s already a lost cause. They killed the only white man in power who seemed to be on our side. They already got us back in chains. And it’s a real shame, because this time, a lot of us just can’t see it.”

  At Mr. Barnes words, many of the other men grew vocal in their agreement. But it was the indifferent callousness of what he said that struck her—and made her see red.

  It’s already a lost cause?

  How could he say that? With all that she had lost—all that she and so many others had given up—she couldn’t accept that it had all been for nothing.

  With short, careful steps, Madeline went to stand in front of the desk Mr. Barnes sat behind. She dragged the desk back and slid it off to the side.

  “If that’s how you feel, Mr. Barnes, then you are free to leave my classroom.” Madeline turned to the other men in the room. “All of you are. I won’t waste my time with a bunch who cares nothing about their future, much less the future of their children. I particularly won’t waste my time with an ignorant, selfish bunch that can’t appreciate the opportunity they’ve been given.”

  A few hung their heads low, but Mr. Barnes continued to glare defiantly back at her. She knew there were still some who followed his belief and total disregard for the American democratic system. Though she could understand their apprehension, their fear, she couldn’t tolerate their disregard of those who had fought and died for them to have this moment.

  “You have a chance here, gentlemen, to honor your country and those who gave their lives so you could have this right. You also have an opportunity to honor your mothers, sisters, and daughters and be their champions for change. Those women look to you to be their voice in a country that says they can’t have one, simply because they are women—a decree passed on by men brought into this world by women. That, gentlemen, is the true shame.”

  The silence in the room was louder than a cannon blast—and just as unnerving.

  Madeline’s heart thudded in her chest as she continued to glare down at a quiet Mr. Barnes. She felt the eyes of the other men on her but kept her gaze on the one stubborn bull who had started her on her tirade.

  “So, Mr. Barnes, are you going to leave here and give those who mean to terrorize and oppress us exactly what they want? Or will you remain here with me and let me help you serve and honor what this country stands for?”

  The older man slowly rose to his feet and Madeline took a step back, a sinking sense of failure crawling up her spine. But to her surprise, Mr. Barnes grabbed the desk she had set aside and slid it back to its original place. He fell into his seat.

  “My name.”

  Madeline cocked her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

  “You asked what I wanted to learn to write first.” Mr. Barnes cleared his throat. “I want to write my name.”

  Chapter Three

  “That looks pretty bad, Jim. You sure you want to ride out tonight?”

  James glanced down at his bandaged hand and shrugged. Considering the various injuries he had endured since his enlistment, a knife to the hand amounted to nothing more than an inconvenience.

  “I still got one good eye and one good hand. I’ll live.”

  Clayton Palmer snorted. “You always managed to see the bright side of things.”

  James placed his signature on the last of the government documents and handed them to his attorney and fellow Union vet.

  “Well, I believe happier things come when we keep our eyes locked toward the sun.” That way, his shadows would always stay behind him. “Besides, I’m already a day behind on my journey. The sooner I’m on my way, the better.”

  Clay sighed. “I wish you would reconsider. There’s still so much work to be done.”

  “I’ve done all that I can do, Clay. I’ve signed more petitions then I can remember and sat in more assembly meetings than I can stomach. Perhaps when the bureaucrats in Washington are ready to enforce half of the promises they’ve made to their countrymen, to the men who fought for them, then perhaps
I’ll consider continuing the good fight. Until then…my work here’s done.”

  The solemn, half-hearted smile on Clay’s face was all the acknowledgement James needed. They both knew he had a point. They may not agree on the level of change that needed to take place, but they both agreed that it wasn’t happening soon enough.

  “In the short time I’ve known you, Jim, I always pegged you as a man with strong beliefs, but I’ve always wanted to know why…”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why fight? Why risk your life for a country you had no stake in? You clearly don’t plan to stay, so why?”

  The corner of James’s lips lifted into a half smile. He was not offended by the question because he had asked himself that very thing when times had been beyond bleak, and when those times had appeared damn-near hopeless. There were countless reasons, little of which having to do with him being in love with a colored woman and a lot to do with the fact that America was part of his roots.

  “I may not be American born but my great-grandmother was part African and part Iroquois,” James confessed. “Her tribe fought with the Americans during the revolution. I like to think I’m finishing that fight for all Americans to be free.”

  In many ways, his ancestry made him as American as any man here, and a land that embodied the spirit of freedom and new life shouldn’t continue to stain its legacy with the enslavement of people.

  If the knowledge that he was the descendent of a colored woman surprised Clay, his friend didn’t show it. His fair skin, dark-brown wavy hair, and light green eyes hid that part of his heritage, allowing him to move about this country as freely as any full-blooded white man. But in the eight years James had lived in this country, he knew that the knowledge of his full ancestry would put an end to those privileges he was granted.

  “Well, we’re going to miss you around here,” Clay said, apparently choosing to ignore that bit of damning information. “Fighting the good fight.”

  “It certainly was a fight well fought,” James muttered.