by Lyn Cote
With only a few strides, Orrin covered the distance between them. “Get out of town or you’ll wish you had.”
“Try anything and you’ll end up in jail.” Where you belong. Matt stared at Orrin’s cruel face and thought of how his mother had cried as they drove out of town. And the recent memory of Alec’s battered body bumped Matt’s hostility up another notch. Bully. Go ahead and try something. Give me a reason to—
Orrin raised his fists. Matt moved into fighting stance, ready to defend himself, relishing the chance to release his anger on this very worthy target.
“Orrin,” Hanley declared, “I have no quarrel with you. But I don’t want any fighting in my store.”
Orrin bristled. “I won’t have any Yankee coming here and trying to give the coloreds uppity ideas. There will be no school for them in this town.” He ended his statement with a crude epithet. The women and a few older men gasped at this public impropriety.
“There are ladies present,” a very deep and completely unexpected voice chided from the doorway.
Just as Matt had instantly recognized Orrin’s voice, he knew who’d spoken. He swung around to the entrance. “Samuel.” And that was all he could say. It took all his strength not to hurry to Samuel and throw his arms around him. Samuel. Friend.
Wearing good clothes and a rifle on his shoulder, Samuel removed his hat and nodded. “Matt, it has been a long time.”
Over fourteen years. Matt’s throat constricted, but he forced out the words, “Samuel, glad to see you.” It was a completely insufficient response to Samuel’s homecoming. But with half the town gawking at them, Matt didn’t trust himself to say anything further.
Orrin spat out a stream of nasty curses. “You ain’t welcome in town, either,” he yelled at Samuel, his face and neck now a bright ugly red.
Samuel merely stared into Orrin’s eyes as if daring him to do more than curse. He looked as if planting a fist in Orrin’s nose would be pure pleasure.
The outraged white man swung away from Matt and charged Samuel.
Samuel casually slid the rifle on his shoulder into his hands and aimed it at Orrin.
Matt couldn’t believe it. He’d not thought it possible for the tension in the room to increase, but it spiraled upward to a frightening pitch. A black man pointing a gun at a white man. All the men surged to their feet, ready to strike down this effrontery.
“There will be no pitched battle in my store!” Hanley barked. “Do you hear me? I won’t have it!”
Orrin ignored him and snarled at Samuel, “You get out of town. If you come here for your ma and pa, get them and leave. Quick.” Orrin shouldered past Samuel and stormed out the door.
Samuel lowered his rifle and completely ignored Orrin’s parting words. “I was on my way through town to Ransford’s when I saw you through the window, Matt. How are my mother and father? Have you seen them?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.
Swallowing with difficulty, Matt could hardly keep hidden all the emotions dancing through him. “Your parents are fine. You will find Hannah at my place, the Barnesworth house. She just started as our housekeeper.”
Samuel nodded his thanks. “What has brought you back to town, Matt?”
“I am here from the Freedman’s Bureau to build a school. I am hiring carpenters and others in the building trade.”
“That is good news. I know how to swing a hammer. I don’t know how long I’ll be in town—I have unfinished business I need to take care of—but you can count on me for some work.”
Matt offered Samuel his hand, to the shock of those in the store. Clearly they weren’t ready to accept white and black men shaking hands yet. Well, they might as well start getting used to it.
“Are you headed home now?” Samuel asked.
“No, I have business here and perhaps in Richmond.”
“I’ll be off to visit my mother, then. I’ll see you later, Matt.” Samuel nodded politely and strolled out the door.
Matt acted as if he didn’t notice the hostile glances sent his way. He turned back to the storekeeper. “Mr. Hanley, do you want my business or will I have to ride to Richmond?”
Chapter Six
That evening Matt found himself both eager and reluctant to go home. Riding home under the flaming red maples, he knew he’d have to face Samuel again. With Hannah at the Barnesworth house as housekeeper, Matt couldn’t imagine the widow not opening wide the home to celebrate the return of Hannah’s son. So he’d have to deal with Samuel’s homecoming and in some way hold everything from the past deep inside. This predicament came, of course, as a result of coming back here. No wonder so many veterans were heading west. In one way, he wished he were halfway to Colorado right now.
In the hours since the confrontation at the store, Matt’s memory had kept up a steady flow of memories of Samuel, only a year older than he. Matt recalled swimming in the creek on golden summer evenings, going rabbit hunting in crisp winter mornings with Sam—and Dace. Then a nervous deer peered out from the line of poplars along the road and darted in front of Matt, flaunting its white tail.
Holding his horse from shying, he had the same sensation of trying to hold back dozens of questions to ask Samuel. Where had he been? Why hadn’t anyone spoken about him when Matt returned? These questions disturbed his already shaky equilibrium. They had been a threesome—Matt, Samuel and Dace. Seeing Samuel only pointed up that Dace was still lost to him, probably for good, forever. Why did that twist his insides?
No matter—Matt couldn’t avoid going home. He cantered down the lane, nearing the Barnesworth house. Long before he saw the crowd around his back porch, he heard the jubilation—snatches of song and loud voices. He slowed his horse to a walk and approached the back porch.
“Good evening, Mr. Ritter,” silver-haired Elijah greeted him.
Matt smiled and lifted his hat in hello. “You must be happy tonight. You have your son again.”
“Yes, sir, I am praising the Lord for it. Now Hannah and I can be easy about him.”
Matt wondered if Elijah would feel easy when he heard that his son had pointed a gun at Orrin Dyke today. And publicly offered to work on building the Freedman’s school. But it wasn’t the place or time to address this. Matt turned his horse toward the barn.
“Good evening, Matthew,” the widow greeted him as she stepped out the back door. She was carrying large pans of cornbread and a pot of butter toward the tables set up under the oaks. “You’re just in time for Samuel’s welcome-home meal.”
What would she look like dressed in some color other than black? That bright copper hair clashed with the somber black. Pushing aside this nonsense, he touched the brim of his hat and headed toward the barn. He’d been right. The Quaker welcomed the celebration and insisted on hosting it.
This made him regret how unwelcoming he’d been the night she’d arrived. He took his time unsaddling and rubbing down his horse. He enjoyed the smell of horse and the routine, as well as the quiet of the barn, which contrasted with the jubilation so near.
But finally he had to go to the pump in the yard and wash his face and hands in the cold, bracing water. He headed for the long table under the oaks that had just begun to turn bronze. Verity had decimated their flock of chickens to provide for so many guests. The table was completely covered with bowls of sweet corn, greens, platters of cornbread and fried chicken.
He went to stand behind the empty chair at the head of the table. It gave him a funny feeling—he’d never taken this seat, the position his father had always occupied. But he was the man of this unusual household. Beaming, Verity stood to his right with Beth and Joseph and across from her were Samuel’s family. Samuel was standing to Matt’s left. Matt resisted the temptation to consider himself a part of these families. I’m alone and I might as well accept it here and now.
At Verity’s quiet request, Elijah said a prayer of thanks for the return of his son and the food God had provided. And then Hannah sat down next to Samuel, taking her husband’s h
and as though drawing from him the power to do this—to sit at a table with white people.
This gave Matt the boost to begin asking the questions he’d wanted to ask. “Samuel, no one has told me how and when you left home.”
“When I was fifteen, I ran away.” Samuel helped himself to the bowl of sweet corn and passed it on. “I’d heard of an Underground Railroad stop that I thought I could get to before anyone discovered me missing. So I took off one spring night.”
“Without telling his parents,” Elijah added with a mix of pride and reproof.
“It must have been quite a shock for thee,” the widow said.
Her soft voice reminded Matt of velvet. He looked down at his plate and wondered where his appetite had gone.
“It was a shock,” Hannah said, and then pressed her lips together as if holding back tears.
Samuel looked sorry. “I know, it was hard of me. But I thought it best I just go, and I was young and heedless. All I wanted to do was get to freedom and I didn’t care about anything else.”
So Samuel had left two years after that awful night that had forced Matt’s family to leave town. Matt noticed that the widow had stopped eating and was looking at Samuel as if trying to figure something out. Then it occurred to Matt—what had happened to make Samuel take the dangerous flight from slavery? What had happened to drive Samuel to care for nothing but freedom?
Matt listened as Samuel told about the Underground Railroad stop and traveling north by night with a “conductor.” The table was quiet as everyone listened to Samuel, who now sounded more like a Northerner than a Virginian. And he had an aura of confidence, which Matt had noticed earlier as Samuel pointed his rifle at Orrin.
As if he’d read Matt’s mind, Samuel said, “I’ve told my parents of our meeting at the store this morning, and about the school you’re building.”
Verity sat up straighter and sent Matt a questioning look. He avoided her gaze.
“Yes,” Elijah joined in, “I think I can get you a few more hands. The Ransfords can’t afford to pay their servants and field hands. The mas…” Elijah took a deep breath and corrected himself, “Mr. Ransford has tried to get everyone who hasn’t left already or who has come back to sign work contracts. But he can’t and won’t pay until December after harvesting and selling the crop.”
“How are times here, Matt?” Before Matt could reply, Samuel added, “I’ll answer my own question. I have never seen this town look so bedraggled.”
“Virginia bore a great deal of hardship throughout the war,” Elijah said, nodding soberly.
“And don’t I know it. So many battles were fought on this soil.” Samuel cleared his throat and said with obvious pride, “I served in the Union Army.”
Every slaveholder’s worst fear had been realized when the Union Army had let free and runaway blacks enlist and fight. And Matt knew the black division had served bravely. Samuel should be proud. “So that’s where you got your rifle.”
Verity didn’t look pleased at the mention of rifles.
“Yes, and I learned how to use it, too,” Samuel said, a hint of iron in his voice.
Matt could not stop himself from adding, “Well, you’d better after you pointed it at Orrin Dyke.” Hannah stopped eating and looked frightened, and Matt regretted what he’d said.
Samuel patted his mother’s hand. “I was just letting people know not to tread on me. Or mine. I’ve grown fangs.”
Matt knew that he and Samuel were the only armed men standing against Orrin and his ilk. He was fairly certain that Samuel would have to do more than just point his rifle before that school was built.
“It must have been very hard for thee not knowing where thy son was all those years,” Verity said, her voice laced with sympathy.
Matt realized that whatever this woman said, it always came from deep in her heart. A precarious way to live.
Hannah nodded, brushing away a tear. Elijah said, “After the war, we stayed here because we didn’t want to make any changes until we located Samuel. And we had hopes that we might hear something from or about Abby.” Elijah looked at his son.
Abby? Matt hadn’t thought of her for years. A pretty girl, she was the daughter of the Ransfords’ blacksmith. Samuel had already been sweet on Abby at thirteen. What had happened to Abby?
The widow looked inquiringly at Samuel, but Elijah answered, “Abby was the girl Samuel wanted to marry.”
Hannah spoke up for the first time, as if forcing herself to say words she hated. “During the war, she was sold. A slaver came through buying slaves, we think, to take to Mississippi.”
“But Abby might have been sold anywhere between here and Mississippi,” Elijah added. The table had gone very quiet and Samuel’s expression had hardened. To Virginia slaves, Mississippi had been synonymous with hell. The slaves had feared being “sold South” more than anything else because with no way to visit or send word, it tore apart their families forever.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Matt replied. But even though he knew right where Dace was, his family had been broken forever.
“Matt, I’ll try to help you get the school built,” Samuel said, “but I plan on going South to find Abby.”
Hannah drew a deep breath. “Miss Verity, we thank you for sending the letter trying to find our son. We didn’t know that he was already on his way here.”
“I’m very happy that thy son has returned.” Verity smiled. “And I will add Abby to my prayers. I’d like to make an announcement to all of you,” she said, raising her voice. “I will be starting the school on my front porch on Second day morning next. I hope everyone will send their children seven to twelve years old to register and begin learning to read. Any adults who would like to learn can register when we’ve got our school built.”
There was a moment of silence and then a burst of excited chatter. Matt frowned, but what could he say? The Quaker was in charge of teaching and he had a school to build. Then Matt recalled Orrin Dyke’s red angry face. Well, what would come would come.
The sound of breaking glass woke Verity. She leaped out of bed, pulled on her wrapper and stood in the hallway, listening. She could hear Joseph’s soft reassuring snores. She peeked into her daughter’s bedroom—Beth was sleeping the slumber of the innocent. Had she imagined the glass breaking in a dream? What should she do if—
She heard the back door downstairs open and shut. Heart pounding, she hurried down the steps and into the kitchen. There in the moonlight stood Matthew, looking as if he’d just dragged on clothing and run here. She fought the pull to go to him. Again he had his rifle in hand.
“I heard glass breaking,” she whispered, trying not to look at him.
“Me, too.” As he moved to the window, his footsteps crunched on shards of glass. He pushed back the white curtain with the barrel of his gun and looked out.
She stood there, still trying to make sense of being awakened. “Was it a bird hitting the window?”
“No.” He turned to her holding a rock in his hand. A large rock.
Verity gripped the back of the nearest kitchen chair. Rocks didn’t fly through windows on their own. “I’ll get the broom.” At the sound of more breaking glass, she whirled around.
With the butt of his rifle, Matthew broke the remaining glass in the window and brushed all the glass to the floor.
Verity stifled a cry. “Would thee light the lamp or a candle? I don’t want to miss any of the glass in the dark. And I’m barefoot.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise,” Matt said, his voice low. “A light will show our silhouettes and I don’t want us to be targets.”
“Targets?” She pressed a hand over her thumping heart.
“Yes, the rock thrower might still be out there.” He laid his rifle down on the table and took the broom from her.
“Did thee see anyone on thy way in?”
He urged her into the closest chair and then began sweeping up the glass. “No, but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t still out t
here.”
“I see.” In the low light she watched him sweeping, her bare feet perched on the ladder-back chair rung.
“A rock’s not such a big deal, you know,” he said gruffly.
She curled her toes under. Oddly, being barefoot made her feel more vulnerable. “I know thee is trying to reassure me, but that only leads me to ask, what does thee consider a big deal?”
He didn’t reply.
She couldn’t see his eyes well enough to get a sense of what he was truly thinking, feeling, hiding from her. “I see thee has brought thy gun into the house,” she said as he emptied the dustpan of shattered and clinking glass into the bin just inside the pantry door. “Perhaps we should discuss what thee truly thinks the town’s response to our school will be and make plans in case violence is used against us.” She tried to keep her voice even, but it trembled on the final syllable, giving her away.
Matt’s jaw tightened. The Freedman’s Bureau ought to have known better than to send a woman with a child into hostile territory. Just because Lee had surrendered didn’t mean that Virginia had.
“I’ll make us tea.” The widow tried to rise.
He stopped her. “You should go back to bed.” I do not want to talk about what we may be heading into.
“No, we need to discuss this. Thee has made thyself very clear that thee expects us to be on the receiving end of…” Her voice faltered.
“Receiving end of nastiness,” he finished for her. He went to the stove and lit it, setting the kettle on the burner. Maybe a cup of tea would settle her nerves and he could get her to go upstairs more quickly.
“Didn’t I warn you the night you arrived that you should turn around and go home?” he asked, feeling some savage pleasure at saying this. He sat down near her.
“It was a rock, not a cannonball. I will not be afraid. God’s work cannot wait just because of a few—”
“How do you know it’s just a few?” Maybe it was because she was a civilian that she couldn’t conceive of someone wanting to harm her. He’d had four years of Confederates aiming gun and cannon at him to blow him away. And he’d seen the lethal hatred in Orrin Dyke’s eyes.