With this Pledge Page 2

  Lizzie dabbed the corners of her mouth, checking for icing. Then she lowered her voice, mindful of the open jib window. “I’m thinking of moving outside for a while so we can enjoy the sunshine.”

  “If you want, ma’am, I could fix you all a picnic lunch and you could eat out there.”

  Lizzie nodded. “That’s a wonderful idea! I’ll use that as an enticement for them to remain attentive until then.”

  The promise worked like a charm. Following a delightful lunch, the children helped clean up the picnic without complaint. Winder needed a little prompting, rambunctious boy that he was. Still, he pitched right in when asked. Lizzie sat on the blanket beside Sallie watching as Winder and Hattie chased each other beneath the shade of the Osage orange tree. A wave of affection for them swept through her, nearly stealing her breath. She’d known Hattie before the girl had turned two. And Winder she’d known since birth. She loved them as though they were her own.

  The warmth within her faded by a degree. Someday, Lord willing, she and Towny would have children of their own. A flicker of guilt accompanied the thought of Towny. But as she always did, Lizzie tried to set it aside. After all, women married for a whole variety of reasons—money, prestige, social standing, security. So was marrying for the hope of having children really so bad?

  She studied the bare ring finger on her left hand and thought of what Towny had said in his last letter almost a month ago. The next time he saw her, he’d written, he had something special to give her. She wondered if it was his mother’s ring. Having known his mother, Marlene—God rest her soul—Lizzie found the thought endearing. Then again, having known Towny’s parents and the close relationship they’d shared, she only hoped that if Towny planned on giving her that ring, she would prove worthy of it.

  It would be wonderful to see him again after all these months. Would he be much changed? Would he consider her so? Had his intent to marry her waned in any way? Did he ever entertain the same questions about their future as she did? A warm breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and Lizzie checked the chatelaine watch pinned to her shirtwaist. It was later than she’d thought. She ushered the children back into the schoolroom upstairs and was closing the door behind her when Tempy caught her attention.

  “A letter come for you, ma’am. From your Lieutenant Townsend.” Tempy handed it to her. “I hope he’s all right. He’s such a good man.”

  Your Lieutenant Townsend. Tempy had taken to calling Towny that in recent months, but the term still struck an odd note within Lizzie. “Thank you for bringing this to me. And yes, he is a good man.” She checked the date stamped on the envelope. Only a week ago. Mail delivery had been quick this time. She wondered where he was.

  “He’ll make you a good husband too, ma’am.”

  “Yes. Yes, he will,” Lizzie answered. She’d told herself the same thing many times.

  Tempy tilted her head and studied her in the manner she sometimes did. A manner that always caused Lizzie to ponder whether the woman could read every blessed thought in her head. And, even more, if Tempy questioned whether Lizzie herself was as well acquainted with those thoughts as she should be.

  “Well, enjoy your letter.” Tempy dipped her head and took her leave.

  Lizzie closed the door and laid the envelope on the table’s edge. It would have to wait for now. The first hour passed swiftly as they reviewed grammar lessons, then transitioned to penmanship. Hattie and Sallie both possessed a beautiful hand. But Winder’s cursive, bless him, looked more like chicken scratch. Lizzie sat with him while he painstakingly practiced each letter, then she whispered, “Well done,” and tousled the hair on his head. She did love a good challenge. Next they moved to arithmetic. Lizzie wrote addition problems on a slate, and each child took a turn solving two or three. Arithmetic was Winder’s favorite subject, and to Lizzie’s joy he excelled in it. Finally she set them to working problems on their own and reached for Towny’s letter.

  She opened the envelope. Only one sheet of paper within. Her gaze scanned the page, and her eyes widened. He’d been brief, but not evasive. Quite the contrary. Lizzie felt her face go warm.

  Dearest Lizzie Beth,

  I’m counting the days until I see you again and sincerely hope that that number will be a small one. I’ve taken to dreaming of you in recent days and those dreams are so real I can almost feel you beside me. To say I’m eager to make you my wife would be a dilution of my fierce affections. It would be like saying that Tennessee summers can be a mite warm. Yet as warm as we know those summers to be, they are nothing compared to the fire that burns within me for you, and that seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

  Lizzie looked up to see if the children were watching. Then she realized how silly that was. As though in watching her read the letter, they would somehow be made privy to its contents. She fingered the high collar of her shirtwaist and continued.

  Tucker’s Brigade is being ordered farther south, but I pray we make our way back to Franklin soon. Hopefully by spring. I want us to be married as soon as possible, Lizzie. That is my wish and I hope yours is the same. I apologize for my brevity, but I must see this posted before we move out. Please pass along my kindest regards to the McGavocks and their children. When you see my father, please inform him that his son is well, is fighting for the land he cherishes, but misses home and all the treasures it holds. Namely you, my dearest Lizzie.

  Most affectionately yours,

  Towny

  Any question about whether he’d changed his mind about their pending nuptials had been erased. And once again Towny had managed to surprise her. She’d last seen him in January, when he’d asked her to marry him. To say she’d been surprised then as well was an understatement. One minute they’d been walking back from town after a visit with her family—discussing the war and how he’d managed to secure a brief furlough home—and the next thing she knew, he’d turned and grabbed hold of her hands.

  “I know this seems sudden, Lizzie, but I’ve been thinking about it for some time. I think I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you that day at the mercantile. You with your brown hair in pigtails, eating a peppermint stick. You would hardly look at me, until I did a somersault with no hands.” His boyish grin held traces of youth. “Once we’re husband and wife, I know we can make a good life together. We already know each other at our best and worst, and that gives us a great advantage over most couples. So please, say you’ll be my wife? At least consider it?”

  She had agreed and then sought her mother’s counsel, only to discover that Towny had already asked her father’s permission for her hand, which he had heartily given. Her parents were overjoyed. And looking at it practically, she’d realized Towny was right. They did already know each other very well. And they were both twenty-eight years old. It was well past time for her to wed. No one else had sought her hand in marriage, and she had no reason to think that would change, especially with the war claiming the lives of so many men.

  But the real reason she’d agreed to marry Towny—the reason she’d not shared with him—made her feel false inside. She wanted children of her own, and the time for that to happen was swiftly passing her by. She smoothed a hand over her midsection. Soon Hattie and Winder would be grown, and she’d have to move on to another house to raise someone else’s children. Either that or become a burden to her parents. So . . . she’d said yes.

  And she was terribly fond of Towny. She could honestly say she loved him. Not, perhaps, in the way she’d always imagined she would love a husband. But love could grow from friendship. Or so she’d been told. And she and Blake Rupert Townsend—or Towny, the nickname she’d bestowed upon him as a boy—had been the best of friends since childhood. So she’d given him her pledge. And Towny would make a fine husband. She’d thought so for many years. She’d simply never imagined he would be hers.

  Lizzie folded the letter and put it away, then checked the time. She’d allow the children another five or ten minutes to complete their tasks. In th
e meantime, she’d fetch the novel she’d left in Winder’s bedroom down the hallway. She intended to start reading it to them tonight before bedtime. She’d saved it specially for this time of year.

  “Miss Clouston,” Sallie said before Lizzie shut the door.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Could you help me with this one before you go?” The girl pointed to her slate.

  “Would you help me,” Lizzie gently prompted. “And yes, I’d be happy to help you. But I want you to try to figure it out first on your own. I’ll prompt you if you begin to do it incorrectly. And feel free to work the problem aloud, if that helps you.”

  She smoothed a hand over Sallie’s long blond hair and gave her an encouraging nod, then tugged a strand of the equally long golden hair of Clara, the porcelain doll the child took with her everywhere. Sallie grinned and set to work, whispering faintly to herself. Following a recent buildup of Federal troops in Nashville, Sallie’s parents had asked the McGavocks if they could bring Sallie to Carnton for a few days to keep her distanced from the war. It was nice to have an additional student to teach, and since Hattie and Sallie were close cousins, they were enjoying every moment together.

  Sallie finished working the problem and peered up.

  “Well done!” Lizzie whispered, and the girl’s eyes sparkled. “By working it aloud, you were able to do it all by yourself. Now see if you can complete the rest, and I’ll be back shortly.”

  Lizzie closed the door, then waited a few seconds to make certain Winder didn’t start jabbering at the girls the way he sometimes did when she left the room. But blessed quiet reigned, and she sighed. Days like these were what governesses lived for.

  She headed for Winder’s room across the hall, then remembered she’d left the blanket they’d used for the picnic folded on the front porch. Best get that first. She descended the staircase to the main floor and heard the clock in the family parlor chime. Two o’clock. She might dismiss the children early today and they could all take a walk down to the Saw Mill Creek, or maybe even into town to get penny candy at the mercantile. They could stop by her parents’ house for a quick visit too, and—

  The front door flung open and Lizzie stopped short, her heart skipping a beat. A soldier strode in. A general, she thought, judging by his uniform. Scarcely pausing, he focused on the staircase and strode in that direction.

  “May I help you, sir?” She didn’t recognize him, yet he did look familiar to her somehow.

  Without a word, without even looking at her, he started up the staircase. Lizzie glanced into the side rooms for Colonel or Mrs. McGavock but didn’t see them. So she followed the man upstairs, where he hesitated only briefly before heading into the guest room and stepping through the open jib window onto the second-floor gallery porch that spanned the back of the house. He walked as far as the northwest corner of the porch, then stopped and stared out across the fields.

  Lizzie stood just inside the guest bedroom, at odds about what to do. Her main concern was for the children’s safety—and clearly they were not at risk. But what was the man doing, simply barging into a home like this without asking permission? Without even a greeting? Perhaps he knew Colonel and Mrs. McGavock, but still . . . common decency should prevail.

  Seconds ticked past. She finally went as far as the window and peered out, wanting to see what he was looking at. And her heart thudded a heavy beat.

  Scarcely a mile away, Federal troops were gathering en masse around the Carters’ house. Thousands of them. She’d never seen so many soldiers in one place. She stepped out onto the porch for a better view. Earlier that morning, she and Mrs. McGavock had seen several hundred blue coats headed up Columbia Pike. That wasn’t unusual, considering that the US Army had occupied the town of Franklin off and on for nearly the past three years. They’d held the city of Nashville too, almost since the war started. So both she and Carrie McGavock had simply assumed the soldiers were on their way there. Either that or to nearby Fort Granger, a Federal outpost some two miles away. But what Lizzie saw now . . .

  Why so many soldiers? And what were they doing? Constructing fortifications of some kind, it looked like. In a crescent shape just south of the Carters’ home. She hoped Fountain Carter and his family were all right. Something glinted in the sunlight and she took a few steps closer, then stopped. Even without field glasses, she could see numerous cannons being situated along the crest of the hill.

  The general suddenly turned, his features fierce, and retraced his steps. Lizzie followed him downstairs, where he strode through the open front door and down the front steps, and mounted a stallion. She paused in the doorway and stared after him as he rode south across the fields.

  “Was that a soldier?” she heard behind her. She turned to see Tempy, folded picnic blanket in her arms.

  “Yes. But I don’t know who it was. He never gave his name. He simply barged in without even knocking!”

  Footsteps sounded, and Colonel McGavock emerged from the farm office.

  “What was General Forrest doing here?” he asked.

  “General Nathan Bedford Forrest?” Lizzie responded.

  At his nod, she looked back outside. No wonder the man had looked familiar. She’d seen his likeness many times in the newspaper. “I have no idea, Colonel. He simply walked in, went upstairs, looked out over the porch, then walked back out again. He never said a word. But I know what he was looking at. Federal troops are gathering around the Carters’ house. Far more than what Mrs. McGavock and I saw this morning.” She instinctively lowered her voice in case the children were listening from above. “It appears as though they’re putting artillery into place.”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed, and he headed up the stairs. “Please keep the children inside for the remainder of the afternoon, Miss Clouston. And focused on their studies.”

  “Of course, sir.” She and Tempy exchanged a look.

  Lizzie left the novel she’d planned on getting from Winder’s bedroom for later and returned to the classroom. She instructed the children to open their primers, then turned in her chair to glance out the partially open jib window toward the front of the house. But she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Hattie and Sallie, please turn to page seventeen. Winder, please turn to page eight. You may begin reading while I review your arithmetic problems.”

  Lizzie was halfway through checking Hattie’s work when she realized she’d been staring at the same problem for the past five minutes. She couldn’t seem to concentrate. What were so many Federal soldiers doing at the Carters’ house?

  A knock on the door made her jump. The door opened, and Mrs. McGavock stepped inside. Lizzie rose. Visits from her employer during lesson hours were rare.

  “Is everything all right, Mrs. McGavock?”

  But she could tell from the woman’s furrowed brow that it wasn’t. Mrs. McGavock quietly greeted the children, then discreetly motioned for Lizzie to join her on the balcony. Lizzie stepped outside and, for the second time that day, a sinking sensation pulled her heart down in her chest. In the distance, no more than two miles away, a massive sea of butternut and gray moved steadily forward. Like a great crest of an ocean came wave after wave of men, already in their divisions, it appeared, with flags flying. Lizzie’s pulse edged up a notch.

  She looked in the direction of the Carters’ house but couldn’t see it from the vantage point the front balcony afforded. “Surely they can see the Federal Army up ahead. Waiting for them.”

  Mrs. McGavock nodded, her expression grave. “The colonel isn’t certain what’s happening. But he did hear yesterday that the bridges across the Harpeth are all impassable due to the recent rains.”

  “So you think the Federals tried to cross but couldn’t?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie looked over at her. She considered Carrie McGavock a dear friend, but rarely did her employer use her Christian name. Lizzie checked the watch hanging from her shirtwaist. Half past three.
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br />   Mrs. McGavock turned. “I’d like for you to take the children down to the kitchen. Get them settled there with their studies, and perhaps give them something to eat.” She offered a faint smile. “A treat will help keep them occupied.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that right away.”

  Wanting to reassure her, Lizzie tried to maintain a smile. Many years ago a matronly aunt had told her mother, Lizzie’s a quiet thing, Sena. Sweet enough, but I declare if that girl can’t seem to hold a smile. Lizzie often wondered if that statement had been a self-fulfilling prophecy. Either way, it was the truth. She returned to the classroom, pressing a forefinger to her lips while Mrs. McGavock made a quiet exit. “Children, I want you to gather your books and slates. We’re going to have our afternoon lessons in a special room of the house.”

  Winder’s eyes widened. “Is it a secret room?” he whispered, his chin dropping a smidgen as he peered up at her. “Like in that triangle place you showed us this mornin’?”

  “No, it’s not a pyramid. Not even a secret room. But it is a secret where we’re going.” She gathered her things and gestured. For effect, she opened the door slowly and peered out, then motioned for them to follow quietly.

  The girls giggled as they moved down the stairs to the entrance hall, then to the dining room. The bi-fold doors separating that room from the farm office were open, and through the window, in the distance, Lizzie spotted the Southern army advancing.

  “Hurry along now,” she whispered and encouraged the children to precede her down the short flight of stone steps to the kitchen.

  “We’re goin’ to the kitchen?” Winder asked, obviously nonplussed.

  Lizzie shook her head. “Follow me!”

  Tempy looked up from where she stood at a worktable mixing something in a bowl. She must have caught the look Lizzie sent her because the woman only smiled at the children as they passed, then raised her brows when Lizzie retrieved an oil lamp from the hutch.

  “All right, children . . .” Lizzie nodded toward the larder and summoned a conspiratorial tone. “Remember I told you that the rooms in the pyramid have no windows? We’re going to go inside the larder and pretend that we’re in a pyramid!”