With this Pledge Page 26

  Everyone nodded, eager for the least bit of news. Roland nodded too when she looked his way.

  “‘Dear Lizzie Beth,’” she started, then peered up. “That’s what Lieutenant Townsend has called me since we were children.”

  “You’ve known each other that long?” Sister Catherine claimed a seat in the Windsor chair near Roland.

  Lizzie nodded, her gaze returning to the page. “‘I hope this finds you and everyone at Carnton faring well. The wounded who were treated there have spoken often about the hospitality afforded them by Colonel and Mrs. McGavock, and they consider themselves most indebted to the family’s generosity.’”

  She paused briefly, and Roland was certain she was skipping a line or two. Probably personal references meant for her eyes only. His gut twisted as he imagined her with the lieutenant.

  “I promised to keep you abreast of what was happening, if the opportunity allowed. And since I learned moments ago of a courier leaving for Franklin within the hour, I am hastily penning a few lines with the hope that they reach you. Customarily, I might not share the details of our situation here so freely. But in the earnestness of time, I will write the words that come to me without any doctoring. We are encamped on the outskirts of Nashville, as we have been for nearly two weeks. There is vicious skirmishing and sharpshooting day and night. Federals have been killed so close to Confederate lines they could not be carried back, so they remain where they fell, frozen as hard as a log.”

  Laughter rose from the corner, but the slightest look from Sister Catherine silenced Taylor and Smitty stone-cold.

  “‘Federal batteries daily shell the Confederate trenches,’” she continued. “‘But we must take it without reply because General Hood has ordered no return of fire in order to save ammunition.’”

  Her grip noticeably tightened on the page.

  “The Federals have been busy these last three years constructing defensive works around Nashville. They’ve built forts along that curved front. The largest of them is called Fort Negley, and it looks particularly formidable. I saw it from a distance the other day. From where I stood, I could not help but think what a fool’s errand it would be to try to scale that defense. We have been told that additional Northern troops arrived by river yesterday, escorted by a fleet of iron-clad gunboats. So the river barrier is also well defended.”

  Lizzie’s eyes narrowed.

  “The bloody tracks of our men can be plainly seen on the ice and snow. I had read of such things occurring during the Revolutionary War, and we have certainly borne our share of suffering thus far. But here, as was in Franklin, are scenes eclipsing in suffering all that I had ever imagined.”

  Her lips formed a thin line, and Roland didn’t have to close his eyes to visualize what Lieutenant Townsend was referring to.

  “The Federals have taken charge of Belmont Mansion—Mrs. Adelicia Acklen’s home—and word is she and her family have sought shelter at Mrs. Polk’s house in the city.”

  Roland felt a touch of home at the mention of Mrs. Polk. The late President Polk’s estate bordered his own in Yalobusha, so he’d known President and Mrs. Polk the majority of his life.

  “‘The Federals are using Mrs. Acklen’s home as their headquarters,’” Lizzie continued. “‘And her water tower as an outpost by which they can see for miles. It seems there is nowhere we can move that their eyes are not upon us. In many ways, it feels like we are destined to relive what happened in Franklin. Though I earnestly pray not.’”

  Lizzie wiped the corner of her eye before continuing. “‘But it is a freeing thing, in a way, to be ready and willing to die.’” She stopped again, clenching her jaw tight.

  “To have accepted that your death could come at any time. If war has taught me one thing, Lizzie, and it has taught me many, it’s that living with the knowledge that death is imminent frees you to embrace life in a way you didn’t before. Because you realize the precious fleetingness of it, and of how very little time we all have here. Which is all the more reason not to delay once you find what you want with all your heart.”

  She sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “‘I must close for now,’” she finally continued, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

  “Time is short. A pea-soup fog is settling in, swallowing the whole of the city. Swallowing us all. Please convey my best to the household there at Carnton, to my fellow soldiers convalescing within its walls, and give my earnest love to my father, when next you see him. Remember us all in your prayers, for they are the foundation upon which we stand. In closing, I . . .”

  Her voice trailed off, tears slipping down her cheeks. Silence hung heavy in the room as she folded the paper and slid it back inside the envelope. Heavy footfalls sounded on the staircase, distant at first, but growing louder the closer they came. Indistinct conversations from the other bedrooms fell away.

  “Gentlemen . . . and ladies.”

  Although Roland couldn’t see him, he recognized the colonel’s voice.

  “I have received a telegram.”

  The silence seemed to stretch forever.

  “The Federal Army attacked this morning. The fog was still so thick, they were able to get their entire corps in place before our men even knew they were there.”

  Lizzie looked over at him, and Roland discreetly took hold of her hand. She clung to him.

  “When the fog lifted, twenty thousand bluecoats were already bearing down hard on our men.”

  Though she made no sound, Lizzie bowed her head, her shoulders gently shuddering.

  Roland tightened his hold, and as he watched her, he felt two undeniable confirmations within him. First, though the battle at Nashville was likely still being waged, the war was over. And second, he was in love with Elizabeth Clouston.

  CHAPTER 27

  The rest of that day and into the next, they waited. That evening, Lizzie sat in the kitchen with Tempy and George, cups of lukewarm tea before them. No one drinking. Was Towny dead or alive? Lizzie kept seeing his face, his smile, the way he’d bend down and make his eyes even with hers, trying to read her expression. And the letter he’d written. She swallowed hard.

  Not knowing whether he’d made it through the battle was even worse this time, because she’d seen the many ways he could have been killed. Or if he was alive, she’d seen the aftermath of the horror he’d lived through. How much of that could someone endure before something broke inside them? We weren’t made to do this to each other, Lord.

  She’d finally gotten Hattie and Winder to sleep upstairs in her room, but only after reading another portion of the Scrooge story to them, as Hattie called it. She’d promised Lieutenant Shuler she’d begin reading the story to him and the other soldiers, and felt bad that she hadn’t. The same way she felt about not yet beginning the lessons for Tempy and George. But considering the circumstances, she knew they understood. And she knew better than to think the soldiers would be interested in being read to at the moment.

  George scooted his chair back, then leaned forward and rested his muscular forearms on his thighs. “How’d you come to believe the way you do, ma’am?” His dark eyes seemed fathomless in the flicker of the oil lamp. “’Bout us, I mean. Is your family like you?”

  “No, they’re not. I was raised in a household with slaves.” Lizzie felt Tempy’s attention as heavily as she felt his. “My father is a druggist, and people used to come to him for doctoring on occasion. I liked the idea of helping to make people better. So I decided I would become a druggist like him. Either that, or maybe a doctor.”

  George’s mouth tipped on one side.

  “But as you well know,” Lizzie continued, “that could not happen, because I am a woman. So you might say that the doors that were closed to me due to my gender are what first opened my mind to what injustice was. Even though I had no idea what that word meant as a child.”

  An almost imperceptible frown crossed his face.

  “Then I began to see other instances of unfairness around me.”
She glanced at Tempy. “I’m ashamed that it’s taken me this long to actually step out and act on what I believe. And I’m sorry we have to do it in secret.”

  George shook his head. “No, ma’am, don’t you be shamed by that. What you’re gonna do for me and Tempy, it’s a brave thing. Even if we gotta meet behind closed doors.”

  Lizzie thanked him with a look. Then, having answered his question, she felt entitled to ask one in return. “How long have you known Captain Jones?”

  He leaned back in the kitchen chair, the legs creaking. “I was given to the cap’n when I was a boy. Cap’n was just a boy hisself. We’s ’bout the same age, him and me.”

  Lizzie felt surprise register in her expression. She’d not expected that longevity between the two men.

  “Mr. Jones, the cap’n’s father,” George continued, “he bought my whole family. He told my papa years later that he only come to market to get two slaves that day. But when he bought my father and another man, he learnt my father had a family, so he went back and bought us all. My mama, me, my sisters. Even my granny.” He smiled. “Brought us to his big ol’ place in Yalobusha, Mississippi, and we been there ever since.”

  “Is all of your family still there?”

  “Papa and Mama done passed on. Granny too, o’ course, years back now. My two sisters lived with they’s families in cabins just over the ridge. But they all left three years back. Took off after the cap’n went to war. They headed north.” His voice gained a flat edge, and he briefly looked away. “The rest of the slaves run off a few months back.”

  Lizzie remembered Roland telling her that several of his slaves had left. “Did you ever consider leaving too?”

  He held her gaze for what felt like a very long time before answering. “Yes, ma’am. I give it a lotta thought. The cap’n’s mother and his sisters, they ain’t the cap’n, but they think like him. They take care of what they own. And if a slave’s on a plantation, then he’s mostly safe. But if he’s caught runnin’ . . .” Muscles corded in his jaw. “They string him up. And if he got his family with him, they hang his children first, one by one. Then his wife, after they take turns defilin’ her right in front of him. The last hangin’ would be mine, so I could see what my choice to run done cost me. And those I love.”

  Lizzie’s eyes filled. She’d read newspaper accounts about runaway slaves for years. She’d seen the ads taken out for slave auctions. Had passed slave pens in town. None of it was new to her, and sometimes she regretted having the memory she did. But to hear George describe it, to see the anguish in his face, made the evil he described far more real. And vile.

  He sniffed, his eyes glistening. “So, yes, ma’am. I thought about leavin’. Many times. But each time I did, I thought of my sweet Sophia and our five children. And I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.” He looked down at his hands clasped between his knees, then gradually lifted his gaze. “The life we got there with the cap’n ain’t the life I’d choose. But it’s a life I can live with. For now, at least. Until a better life comes.”

  Lizzie couldn’t speak for a moment. Emotion stifled the words. “Five children,” she finally managed, thinking about what a blessing those children were, while also thinking of Roland losing his wife and the only child they had. And now, likely all he’d fought for.

  “There’s Little Frank,” Tempy piped up. “Oscar, Susanna, Jack, and little Patsy. They sound cute as little bugs in a rug.”

  George sighed, a hint of pleasure returning to his features. “We call him Little Frank, but he ain’t so little no more. He’s nine years and growin’ every day. The rest of ’em are too.”

  Lizzie loved the way his eyes lit. A father’s love. “I bet you miss them. And they you.”

  “They’re my life, ma’am. And I’m grateful to the cap’n for lettin’ us stay together. But from what I been hearin’, the South’s army’s been beat down pretty bad and the North is still strong. So I got to be ready.” He lowered his voice. “I know the cap’n won’t like it, if he knew. But I got to learn. I heard somethin’ a while back from a man who was speakin’ in the town square. Tall man with a voice as deep as a river. Said his name was George White. I ’member ’cause his front name is like mine. And I ’member his back name ’cause he’s a white man.” He laughed, and Lizzie and Tempy did too. “Bunch of other white folks run him off. But before they did, he said somethin’ that’ll stay with me all my days. How I say it won’t be as good as he did, but he said that anybody who treats books as dear to him is on the road to freedom, but anybody who ain’t readin’, who ain’t treatin’ ’em like they’s gold, is on his way back to slavery. And me and my family, Miss Lizzie . . . we on our way to freedom.”

  Lizzie had trouble finding her voice again, and George’s smile deepened as if he understood.

  “I will do everything I can, George, to prepare you and Tempy for—”

  She heard the colonel’s voice, followed by Mrs. McGavock’s, as they descended the stone steps from the main house to the kitchen wing. George and Tempy immediately rose. Tempy walked to the stove, and George slipped out the back door and headed toward one of the slave houses a short distance away. Suddenly feeling guilty and like she needed to do something too, Lizzie grabbed their teacups and took them to the washbasin.

  Mrs. McGavock rounded the corner and lightly touched Lizzie on the shoulder as they passed. “The colonel and I are retiring for the night.”

  Her eyes were red-rimmed, just as Lizzie figured her own were. “I hope you’re both able to get some rest.”

  The colonel nodded, looking as tired or more so than Carrie. “We wish the same for both of you.”

  “Good night, Colonel,” Tempy said, wiping down the cast iron stove. “Rest well, Missus.”

  As they ascended the creaky wooden staircase, Lizzie and Tempy exchanged a look, and Lizzie couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow behind enemy lines now. But the McGavocks were not her enemies. They were like family. She loved them. They loved her. They were an important part of the people who made up her world, and she didn’t wish to hurt them or dishonor them in any way. She simply couldn’t live the way she’d been living. Not anymore.

  “I think I’ll head to bed now too, Tempy.”

  “Ma’am?”

  Lizzie paused at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Just so you know . . .” Tempy looked away briefly. When she looked back, her lips formed a thin line and tears flooded her eyes. “What George told you ’bout a man runnin’ with his family—”

  The sudden sharpness of Tempy’s breathing made Lizzie go absolutely still inside.

  “That weren’t just a story. He was tellin’ you ’bout one of his sisters and her family. And what happened to ’em on the way north.”

  Lizzie reached out for the worktable and gripped it hard.

  “I just figured you oughta know the truth. George, he’s a good man. Real good. But he’s got a whole bushel of hurt inside him. Anger too.”

  “With reason,” Lizzie whispered.

  “What you doin’ for me is good, ma’am, and I’m much obliged for that. But what you doin’ for him—” Her tears spilled over. “You changin’ a whole bunch of lives. For a whole lotta years.”

  Lizzie managed a smile, her eyes burning. “Good night, Tempy.” Lizzie reached out and gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

  Tempy patted her hand. “Good night, Miss Lizzie.”

  LIZZIE AWAKENED DURING the night to knocking on her bedroom door.

  “Lizzie? Lizzie, do you hear me?”

  She blinked, still a little fuzzy. “Mrs. McGavock?” She grabbed her dressing robe and hurried to open the door.

  Carrie held an oil lamp aloft, her face ashen despite the flame’s glow. “I need you to come with me, please.”

  Lizzie stared for a beat. The somber note in the woman’s voice, mirrored in her expression, caused her to question whether she truly wanted to go along or not. After checking the children, Lizzie trailed Mrs. McGavock downstairs to the
kitchen, then back upstairs to the farm office, buttoning the front of her robe as she went. Mrs. McGavock continued to the entrance hall. The clock in the family parlor struck three chimes as they walked onto the front portico.

  Tempy stood outside, along with Sister Catherine Margaret and Sister Mary Grace, peering into the night. Lizzie thought she heard gunfire in the distance, but the thud of a horse’s hooves drowned it out. She spotted a rider coming up the drive.

  “It’s the colonel,” Carrie whispered. “He couldn’t sleep. He was out on the back porch when he heard the gunfire and commotion.”

  “From what?” Lizzie whispered, but the words were lost as Colonel McGavock reined in the stallion by the porch steps.

  “It’s our men.” His breath came hard. “The Army of Tennessee, or what’s left of it, is in a full and apparently uncontrollable retreat. Men told me the blue coats are in pursuit and are shooting men in the back.”

  “Oh, John!” Mrs. McGavock grabbed Lizzie’s hand, and Lizzie held on tight.

  “Our boys are cutting through the woods and fields. Some are coming down Granny White Pike and Franklin Pike. Their only hopes of escape.”

  “Have you seen anyone we know?” Lizzie asked, hoping he would say yes. That he’d seen Towny.

  He shook his head. “A captain told me the main Confederate line broke so suddenly they had to abandon the artillery. They didn’t even have time to get the horses harnessed to move it with them as they retreated. They lost close to sixty guns, which is more than half of the army’s artillery. Gone now. To the Federals.” The stallion pranced nervously, as though somehow aware that their world was crumbling down around them. “Men told me they were being shot at from all sides. Somehow the Federals managed to turn the Confederate left flank. It was all the boys could do to escape.”

  A cold wind whipped around the southeast corner of the house, and Lizzie pulled the collar of her robe up tighter about her neck. Roland had been right.