To Wager Her Heart Page 17

“Forgive me, Mr. Rutledge, if the question seems impertinent. But we here at Fisk hold our teachers to the highest possible moral conduct. Our scholars look to them for guidance and as an example. Hence, they need to meet certain qualifications. Which I’m happy to expound on for you, should you desire.”

  “Thank you, sir, but that—”

  “First,” the man continued, “are the individuals willing to sacrifice for the cause of Christ? Second, are they physically equal to the task? Third, do they have the drive that will compel them to go beyond what is expected . . .”

  As the man talked on, Sy wished he’d waited out front of the teachers’ barracks as Alexandra had suggested, instead of following a student’s advice and coming to look for her.

  “And lastly, do the applicants have the required experience? In other words, have they proven their mettle?” A satisfied smile swept the man’s face. “And I am pleased to say that Miss Jamison has met all of those requirements and more, sir.”

  Sy nodded. “As I would have assumed, sir.”

  Seconds passed, and Sy sensed White’s continued attention. Then he remembered that the man had asked him a question.

  “Ah . . . Miss Jamison is a friend, Mr. White.”

  “A friend?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve come by this evening to visit with her for a while.” Call it pride, but he wasn’t eager to admit to this man that he’d come for lessons.

  “I trust you will conduct this visiting in a public place, sir.”

  It wasn’t a question, and Sy suddenly felt as though he were speaking to the woman’s father. “Yes, Mr. White. Of course we will.”

  “Very good. As men, we must always be vigilant to guard the reputation of a woman in our charge.”

  “Words I heard from my father from a very young age.”

  “A wise and godly man, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir. He was.”

  White looked over, his brow knitting. “God rest his soul,” he said quietly, then turned as Alexandra approached. “Ah . . . Miss Jamison. I’ve been enjoying the company of your fine friend Mr. Rutledge. Who has a keen interest in Fisk as well, as it turns out.”

  Alexandra looked between them, more than a hint of curiosity in her gaze. “Is that so?”

  Sy simply nodded.

  “Well.” She gestured. “If you’re ready for our—”

  “Visit,” Sy said quickly. “Yes, I am. I’ve been looking forward to it. And I’m certain we can find a public place that will be suitable.” He tossed Mr. White a look as they walked away, and the man fairly beamed.

  “I see Mr. White’s already instructed you on at least a few of the rules here,” Alexandra said as they left the dining hall.

  “That he did. Shy man, though. He needs to learn how to interact with people more.”

  He enjoyed the lilt of her laughter. He whistled for Duke, and the hound came bounding.

  Alexandra reached down and gave the dog a rub. “Mr. White can be quite straightforward. And even demanding.”

  “I could see that.”

  “But he’s also a wonderful man, Sy, who cares very much about this school and its students.” She glanced around them and dropped her voice. “I’ve also learned that he recently put up his own personal savings to help keep Fisk afloat. Even so, I’m afraid the school is still in dire financial straits. But as Mr. White and some others prayed in chapel this morning, we need to trust that God will make a way.”

  Sy watched her as she shared what she’d learned about Fisk, beginning to see who she was a little more clearly. Her decision to teach here made more sense following what he’d learned about her fiancé. How he’d been riding in a freedmen’s car, helping those workers. And it hadn’t escaped Sy that, at the mercantile, the amount of money she’d laid on the counter to pay for her purchases was the exact amount he’d given her. Then there was Alexandra’s mother in town the other day, and how the woman hadn’t returned her daughter’s wave. Yet it had sure appeared to him as if she’d wanted to.

  Having met Barrett Jamison, Sy could easily guess what—or who—was responsible for her hesitation. Yes, he was gradually putting together the pieces of the puzzle named Alexandra Jamison.

  “Why don’t we sit here.” She motioned to the steps of the teachers’ barracks where he’d started out. “Which reminds me . . . How did you know to come to the dining hall this evening?”

  “I got here a little early, and a student saw me waiting. He told me where I might find you.”

  She nodded, situating her skirt over her ankles. “For our lesson this evening, why don’t we discuss what you—”

  “Whoa!” He held up a hand. “First, tell me about your first day of teaching.”

  A slight frown creased her forehead.

  “What was it like? How many students were in your class? This was a big day for you, wasn’t it?”

  “Well . . .” She paused, and then a smile he wished he could bottle up and carry in his pocket spread across her face.

  “All in all, it was . . . an exhausting but wonderful day. I was so scared this morning, though. You should have seen me. I was shaking! Mr. White had told me to prepare for thirty-five students.” She exhaled. “Seventy-two showed up! And they’re all ages, Sy. I even have a grandfather, his daughter, and her daughter in my class. A grandfather and a granddaughter who will share the same primer, can you imagine?”

  He watched her as she talked, and her enthusiasm somehow reached down inside him and gave his heart a firm tug. He really enjoyed watching her—the way her eyes twinkled when she laughed, how she kept absentmindedly twirling that strand of hair that had escaped a pin, the way she pursed her lips when she paused and looked off in the distance. He could all but see the thoughts forming.

  And the more he saw of her, the more he wanted to see.

  She described her day from start to finish, leaving out few details, it seemed. And she would’ve kept on going too, he wagered, and with no complaint from him, except the daylight was starting to fade. Suddenly she paused.

  “I’m sorry for having gone on so long. We best get to your lesson, Sy.”

  “Just finish telling me what you and Mr. White decided on. With teaching that many students.”

  “We’re dividing the students into three classes. The first will meet for the morning, the second for the afternoon, and a third class will meet in the evenings. That will be the biggest one of all.”

  “And you’ll teach all three? Sounds like a challenge. But nothing you can’t handle.”

  “I will, but I’ll have help. There are already classes that meet at night, but the evening class I’ll teach will be a little different. It was my idea, actually.” She smiled shyly. “We’re recruiting some of Fisk’s students to assist me. The idea is that, as I teach the class, I’ll also be patterning how to teach to those students helping me. So they’ll be assistant teachers, if you will. Which Mr. White says reinforces one of the fundamental principles of this school—to educate freedmen so they, in turn, can educate each other.”

  “That sounds like Mr. White.” He smiled, admiring how quickly she’d adopted the mission of this school. Admiring her.

  “What?” She looked at him.

  “This was your dream, wasn’t it? The one you told me about at Uncle Bob’s cabin that day.”

  She fingered the edge of her sleeve. “Yes. It was David’s and my dream to teach. He had a position at West Tennessee State School in Memphis. It’s a university.”

  “Your fiancé was a scholar then.”

  A warmth moved into her eyes that made him envy a man he’d never met.

  “Yes. David would teach anyone and everyone. Whoever wanted to learn. I wanted my university degree, and he had been teaching me for a while. The only formal education I’ve had is what I received from my governess.”

  “So who says you can’t still pursue that? Can’t you get a degree?” He looked around. “You are working at a school, after all.”

  She hesitated. “Yes, b
ut an education at Fisk isn’t free, remember. And anyway,” she added quickly, “I believe God led me here to teach. As David had been doing. As we would have done together.”

  Sy heard the silent ending of her sentence: if not for what happened at Dutchman’s Curve. He felt a defensiveness rise inside him.

  “Well, it’s getting late.” She took a breath. “Perhaps we should move on to what brings you here this evening. To begin with, I’ll detail the customary etiquette between gentlemen conducting business affairs. Some of it may seem elementary, but I’ll cover it quickly, and you can stop me if you have any questions. If there are cultural differences, which I’m certain there are, those will surface as we discuss things back and forth.”

  He nodded, listening as she continued, but still wondering about her fiancé, David. A man who wouldn’t have needed these lessons, for sure. A man who would have fit perfectly into her world.

  Or . . . what her world had been.

  As daylight gave way to dusk, he spotted a young woman approaching them at breakneck speed. She looked first at him, then at Alexandra, curiosity clear in her expression. A student, he first thought. But judging by the way she carried herself—with maturity and purpose—he leaned more toward teacher.

  Alexandra paused midsentence and followed his gaze, then her face lit. “Ella!”

  The two women exchanged greetings, and Sy stood as Alexandra made introductions. He was grateful when she referred to their reason for meeting having to do with “discussing business relations” instead of tutoring.

  It was obvious from observing them that the two were friends. What surprised him was to learn they’d only met each other the previous afternoon. And they were roommates, to boot.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Sheppard.”

  “The same to you, Mr. Rutledge. And hello to your fine canine friend as well.” Miss Sheppard’s gaze slid to Duke, then back up to Alexandra. “Forgive me for interrupting your discussion. I’ll see you inside shortly, Alexandra.”

  A hint of expectation lingered in the woman’s voice. Alexandra apparently heard it too, because she hesitated.

  “Is everything all right, Ella?”

  Miss Sheppard nodded, an excitement about her that not even approaching nightfall could mask. “We’ll talk inside,” she said softly, then went on in.

  Alexandra sat once again on the top step and promptly continued where she’d left off. But Sy sensed her focus was with whatever news Miss Sheppard had to impart.

  “Alexandra,” he finally said when she paused to stifle a yawn some moments later. “It’s late. Why don’t we pick this back up tomorrow evening?”

  “Yes.” She gave him a quick smile. “That might be best. It has been a long day.”

  He stood and offered his hand to help her up. It felt good to hold her hand in his, however briefly.

  “One more thing before you go. I promised to keep you updated if I learned anything about Dutchman’s Curve.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “I went to see a judge earlier today. Long story short, I spoke with him, or tried to. In the end I didn’t get any new information. But I did leave feeling as though there was more to be learned.”

  She nodded. “Thank you for sharing that. And for keeping your word.”

  “And thank you for taking the time to meet with me tonight. What you shared was very helpful.”

  “I’m so glad. Until tomorrow night then.” She turned to go.

  “Oh . . .” He reached into his shirt pocket. “I almost forgot. I saw this today and thought of you.”

  She stared at the tiny bag he held out.

  “Come on,” he urged. “It won’t bite.” And I won’t either, he thought, sensing her wariness.

  She shook her head. “You shouldn’t be buying me things, Sy. It isn’t proper.”

  “I already bought you a lot of things. All that stuff from the mercantile.”

  “Yes, I know. But I needed those things due to . . . extenuating circumstances.”

  “So . . .” He shrugged. “Since we’ve already burned that bridge.” He nudged the sack toward her.

  She looked up at him and smiled, then shook her head.

  So he set the little bag down by her feet, patted his leg for Duke, and started back to town.

  Chapter

  SIXTEEN

  Alexandra watched him walk away, already knowing what she was going to do. How could she not? She knelt, picked up the bag, and peered inside. Unable to see the contents in the fading light, she tipped the bag end-up into her palm.

  Out fell . . . three coins?

  Then she caught a whiff of chocolate and smiled. “You’re paying me in chocolate dimes?” she said loudly enough so he would hear.

  He turned and bowed at the waist like a proper gentleman. “I always pay my debts, Miss Jamison.”

  Though she couldn’t see his features, she knew well enough the roguish grin he was wearing.

  “Thank you, Mr. Rutledge.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Jamison.”

  She turned and entered the barracks, letting the door close behind her. But she stood at the edge of the window watching him and Duke until the shadows enveloped them. Then she unwrapped a chocolate coin and popped it into her mouth—and savored the silky sweetness on her tongue as she hurried down the hallway.

  As soon as she opened the door Ella turned, looking as though she’d been pacing the small bedroom.

  “Oh, Alexandra, I have such hopeful news!”

  Alexandra tossed her a coin, and Ella caught it, frowned, then smiled and did exactly as Alexandra had done.

  “Mmmm . . .” Ella leaned her head back. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had chocolate?”

  “No, I don’t. But if you don’t go ahead and tell me the news, I’m not going to give you another one.”

  “Mr. White wants to take the troupe of singers on tour up North. To raise funds for Fisk!”

  Alexandra’s thoughts flew. The idea seemed like an incredible undertaking, especially considering the already tenuous finances. How would Mr. White pay for such a journey? And would such a tour prove profitable?

  And yet, the hope in Ella’s face—and Alexandra’s desire to see Fisk continue—swiftly won out.

  “What a wonderful idea, Ella! You’re all such gifted singers, I’m certain the audiences will love you. The same as I did when I first heard the group!” She took great pleasure in tossing Ella the last coin.

  Ella caught it and, judging from her expression, savored it as much as she had the first one.

  “Now, Miss Sheppard! Tell me all the details!”

  “I will, but first you need to tell me yours. Who is this Mr. Rutledge? And why are you discussing ‘business relations’?”

  “Mr. Rutledge is a businessman from Colorado. It’s a very long story that I will not go into—” She held up a hand when Ella’s gaze turned probing. “But I will say that he did me a good turn, and now I’m doing him one. He’s meeting with a group of businessmen to negotiate some sort of a deal. And since he’s from Colorado, and apparently we do things quite differently here, I agreed to help him. I’ve assisted my father for years so I know a little about it. Mr. Rutledge will be here twice more. Then we’ll be done.”

  “And after that you won’t be seeing him anymore?”

  “That’s right.”

  Ella smiled. “Does Mr. Rutledge know that?”

  Alexandra looked at her. “Of course he does.”

  Ella just pursed her mouth and nodded.

  “Now tell me what Mr. White said!” Alexandra got comfortable on her own cot, and Ella did the same.

  “There aren’t that many details to share at present. Other than the troupe would consist of the ten singers, including me, and then Mr. White. I would also act as his assistant and be the pianist. It would be a lot of work, certainly. But it’s exciting to think about.”

  “Of course it is. And imagine, you’d be sharing that beautiful music with hundreds
, if not thousands, of other people.”

  Ella nodded. “Which would be important, but secondary to raising funds for the school. Because I don’t know how much longer we can keep functioning unless we bring in more money.”

  Alexandra thought back to the confrontation between Mr. Granger and Mr. White and wondered how many other vendors had given Mr. White the same ultimatum.

  “Who knows . . .” Alexandra tried to sound especially hopeful. “Perhaps this is the opportunity everyone has been praying for.”

  “I hope so.”

  The hour getting late, they both turned to reviewing their lessons for the following day. An hour later, Alexandra finished and closed her books, and readied for bed. She peered over at the title of the book Ella was still poring over.

  The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire. It made her lesson preparations on grammar, sentence structure, punctuation, and penmanship seem even more elementary. She recalled the deep discussions she and David used to have about history, the history of Rome included. He’d possessed such a wealth of knowledge.

  Lying in bed, she waited until Ella was finished writing her notes, which consisted of several pages of elegant script, before posing her question.

  “What’s the lesson you’re presenting tomorrow?”

  Ella stood from her cot and stretched. “What we can learn from the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, and how we can apply those lessons to current-day America.”

  Alexandra let her jaw drop open for dramatic effect, which drew the desired laughter. “I bet your discussions with the students are interesting.”

  “They are. And thought provoking. The scholars here, especially those about to take their finishing exams and earn their degree, are especially bright. It’s a challenge to stay one step ahead of them.”

  Alexandra started to ask something else, then stopped herself.

  “Go ahead,” Ella coaxed softly.

  Alexandra smiled. “I’m not sure if this is proper, but . . . Would you mind if I were to read your lesson notes from that class sometime?”

  “Mind? I’d be happy to share. In fact . . .” Ella pointed to two boxes beneath her cot. “Those are full of lessons from the last five or six years. Mostly my own, but some of them from professors I’ve studied under in the past. World history, geography, philosophy, biology. Enough to keep you busy for months on end. We can discuss them as you finish reading them, if you’d like.”