To Wager Her Heart Read online

  Alexandra paused, listening. The house was quiet.

  She crossed to the door leading to the family dining room when she heard footsteps coming down the staircase. She peered around the corner, ready to bolt if it was her father.

  Dr. Phillips?

  Medical bag in hand, the doctor let himself out the front door, and Alexandra walked into the hallway, the carpet muting her steps. Her first thought was for her mother, and guilt prodded her. She should have visited sooner. Her mother tended to worry too much and took care of others before taking care of herself. Something that had always escaped Father’s notice.

  Voices drifted down from the second-floor landing, so she headed up—and met Melba at the top of the stairs. The woman’s eyes went wide.

  Alexandra lifted a forefinger to her lips and gave her a quick hug before drawing back. “Is Mother ill?” she whispered. “I saw the doctor leaving just now.”

  “She’s in your parents’ room, Miss Alexandra. And no, ma’am. She’s not ill.” She paused. “Have . . . you two talked at all in recent days?”

  “No. That’s why I’m here. I couldn’t leave town without seeing her again.”

  A frown creased the woman’s brow even as her gaze took Alexandra in. “Sure is good to see you again, ma’am.”

  “You as well, Melba. Which reminds me . . . Did you not receive either of my letters? I wrote twice.”

  “Oh, I got ’em, Miss Alexandra. But your mama, she . . .” Melba glanced in the direction of the master bedroom. “She said it wouldn’t be fittin’ to answer back, since it’d be goin’ against Mr. Jamison’s wishes. And I just couldn’t risk that he might—”

  “I understand.” Alexandra nodded. “I do. Truly.”

  “I heard what you doin’ over there at Fisk. I even know about where you’re goin’ tomorrow. Word of that sort sprouts legs real fast, ma’am. Me and the others will be prayin’ for you all.”

  “Thank you. You, of all people, Melba, understand my not wanting to get on that train in the morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do. Some memories, they never leave a person. But that don’t mean you gotta stay stuck back there with ’em.”

  Alexandra smiled. “I’m learning that. Do you know if my parents are aware of the trip?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am.” Her smile faded. “They know. But not from us.”

  “Well . . .” Alexandra breathed deep. “I best get this done.” She knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Come in, Melba.”

  Alexandra opened the door to find her mother sitting on the edge of the bed, but quickly realized it wasn’t her mother who was ill. Her father lay in the bed, eyes closed, skin pallid, unmoving.

  “Mother?”

  Her mother turned, then quickly rose. “Alexandra!”

  Alexandra moved to the end of the bed. “Mother, what’s wrong? Why didn’t you send for me?”

  Her mother made a shushing sound and gestured toward the hallway. “Please, let’s not wake him. Dr. Phillips was just here and gave him something to help him rest. Your father had a difficult night.”

  Alexandra didn’t move. “But what’s wrong with him?” she whispered again. “What did Dr. Phillips say?”

  Her father stirred, and his eyes opened. He tried to lift his head, but the act seemed too much for him. “Laura? Are you here?”

  Her mother immediately went to his side. “Yes, Barrett, I’m here, dear. It’s all right.”

  “I thought that . . . you’d gone away.” He coughed, the sound deep and raspy.

  “No, dear. I’ll never go away. Would you like a drink?”

  Her father shook his head.

  The scene was so surreal, so foreign, Alexandra moved to the side to see him better. And when he looked in her direction, she smiled.

  “Hello, Father.” She kept her voice soft. “I came by to say—”

  “No . . . ,” he whispered, his pale features contorting. He looked back at her mother. “I told you . . . She is not welcome in this house. And against my wishes, you—” He started coughing again.

  “No, Barrett, I didn’t. She came of her own volition. Alexandra didn’t know you were ill. But now that she’s here, perhaps the two of you could—”

  “She has disgraced us!” Her father tried to sit up, but fell back against the headboard. “I will not—” The coughing returned in a fitful spasm.

  “Get Melba. Quickly!” her mother ordered.

  Alexandra started for the stairs, only to meet Melba in the hallway.

  “I got the medicine, Missus Jamison!”

  Alexandra watched from outside the door as they tended him. She tried to remember a time when she’d seen her father so vulnerable, so weak. And couldn’t.

  Finally, after several moments, the coughing subsided and her father’s breathing became less labored.

  “Melba, would you stay with him until I return?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Jamison.”

  Her mother ushered Alexandra out and closed the bedroom door behind them. She motioned for Alexandra to sit with her on a cushioned bench down the hall. “He should sleep for a while.”

  “Mother, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, but your father insisted that I not.”

  “A long time? Do you mean—”

  “Yes, your father has been ill for several months. Dr. Phillips says it’s his heart. That’s part of the reason your father moved his office here to the house. So he could rest when needed.”

  “But . . . you never said anything. Even when I was still here.”

  “That was your father’s decision. He is my husband and the head of this home. So as much as I disagreed with him in not telling you initially—and still do—I followed his wishes. I’m sorry if that hurts you, Alexandra.”

  “What hurts me is seeing my father lying sick in bed and my not knowing about it.”

  “My dear, that is part of living with the choice you made. If you had been here in recent weeks, you would have known. And don’t think for a moment that you’re the only one paying a price for your decision.”

  Alexandra searched her expression, and remembered only too well the incident with Mrs. Johnson and Maribelle at the butcher’s shop. “Have you and father been ill-treated by people in town?”

  A bewildered expression swept her mother’s face. “Of course we have, Alexandra. Did you think us so esteemed by other families that they would simply lay aside their own opinions for your father and me? It has been difficult. We have lost dear friends, some of whom we’ve known for many, many years. On the other hand . . .” Her mother paused, her gaze discerning. “I’ve discovered that many of the women who shun me now I don’t miss in the least.” She gave a soft, surprising laugh.

  “Will Father get well? What does Dr. Phillips say?”

  “He says there’s reason to believe your father could live several more years, provided he rests and doesn’t overtax himself. However . . . Dr. Phillips was also quick to explain that there’s much they don’t know yet about the heart. So time will tell. But for certain your father becoming distressed, as he did just now, is not good for him.”

  Alexandra bowed her head. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.”

  Her mother lifted her chin. “I’m glad you did. I wanted to go to you that day we saw each other in town, but I couldn’t. Not and honor my promise to your father. Whom I love with all my heart.”

  Alexandra brought her mother’s hand to her lips and kissed it, tears close. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, my dear.”

  “And you’re doing well? I mean . . . aside from taking care of Father.”

  “I am doing well. Truly.”

  And she looked it. Her mother looked strong and healthy. And happy. And she exuded a confidence, a contentedness that Alexandra hadn’t seen since . . . well, perhaps ever.

  “Your father needs me, Alexandra. And that’s something that hasn’t happened i
n a very long time.” Her mother smiled. “How are you faring, my dear?”

  “I’m doing well too. Very well,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

  The bedroom door opened. “He’s askin’ for you, Mrs. Jamison.”

  “I’m coming, Melba.” Her mother rose. Alexandra did too, and they hugged. “You take care of yourself on this . . . singing tour.”

  Alexandra heard no accusation in the comment, only resignation. “I will. And, Mother? If anything happens here—” The words caught in her throat.

  Her mother nodded, her own eyes misty. She walked toward the bedroom, then paused. “You’ll be busy on your travels, I know. But as you have opportunity, I’m certain Melba would enjoy hearing from you while you’re gone. And would even appreciate knowing where you are.”

  Hearing what her mother wasn’t saying, Alexandra nodded. Her mother quietly closed the bedroom door, and Alexandra reached the stairs before she remembered and turned back. She hesitated only a moment before opening the door to her own bedroom.

  Everything appeared to be as she’d left it.

  Except that David’s trunk had been placed once again at the foot of her bed and his picture adorned her dressing table. She treasured his smile, his eyes. She could still hear his laughter. She crossed the room and opened the trunk. What clothes she’d hastily packed the night of her planned departure had been removed. She ran a hand over the stacks and stacks of books and papers, the thin bundle of letters that David had written, and mementos she’d saved of their time together. She spotted a familiar title—The Fundamentals of Biology—that she’d wished she had when studying for the teacher’s exams, that Mr. White kept saying he would meet with her about.

  But she knew he’d been busy with preparing for the tour, as had everyone else. She’d taken the fact that he’d allowed her to continue teaching as a good sign.

  She picked up the textbook and skimmed through the pages, reading David’s handwriting in the margins along with notes she’d made. How she could use this now. Could use all of these books. For herself in her own studies, but also for the students at Fisk.

  Every choice comes at a cost, and yours is no exception.

  Thinking of her father that day in the study and now of him lying in the bedroom down the hallway, she gently closed the textbook and tucked it back into place, then closed the trunk. She walked to the dressing table and picked up the photograph and pressed a kiss to the glass.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, then set it back down, took one last look around the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

  Early the next morning at the Nashville station, Alexandra stood amidst the gathering of Fisk students, staff, and a contingent of sobbing parents—some even wailing—and attempted to focus on President Spence’s benediction for the tour.

  If she didn’t know the history between President Spence and Mr. White, she would think from hearing the president’s prayer that Spence was in full support of the tour. But apparently the two men had decided to present a unified front.

  As she’d learned that morning, for many of the parents the tour was less of a wonderful opportunity and more of an interruption to their children’s education. And a dangerous one at that. Mr. White couldn’t guarantee when the group might return, and the open-endedness of the venture left many of them uneasy. Alexandra among them. Especially when she thought of working toward her own degree.

  A blast of the train whistle, and she clenched and unclenched her hands. The trembling she’d somehow managed to stave off in recent hours broke through again. She’d slept little last night—same as Ella who stood beside her—and kept searching the crowd for Sy.

  She’d so hoped he would get back in time. But . . . she would have to do this without him.

  “O Lord,” President Spence continued, “if the thought behind this journey comes from thee, prosper the going out of these young people. Care for and protect them, and bring them back to us bearing their sheaves with them, and we shall give thee the glory. Amen.”

  A flood of amens followed, bracketed by hugs and more tears. But Alexandra was still focused on how President Spence had phrased part of this prayer. If the thought behind this journey comes from thee . . .

  In that single little word if she caught hint of the argument yet lingering between himself and Mr. White, and of Spence’s true feelings about this venture. It was difficult enough leaving on such a venture with everyone’s support. But knowing that Spence—and apparently many of these parents—weren’t in favor of this tour made it even more difficult.

  As families began hugging and saying their final good-byes, Alexandra scooted to the side to make more room. Still she searched the platform for Sy’s face, his dark duster and hat. She knew it was foolish, but she even looked for her mother. Or Melba. And though she knew so many of the people here, and smiled when her gaze brushed theirs, the sea of faces blurred in her vision. And an emptiness opened inside her.

  “Every dollar was raked and scraped for them to go.”

  Recognizing President Spence’s voice, she turned slightly and saw him speaking in low tones to an older woman off to the side.

  “It cost about a thousand dollars to get to this point, Mother. So now we have no money, no steward, no treasurer! It requires some courage to face the situation, which I now have to do. If money does not come in, we will soon have nothing to eat. Though I for one am glad to be rid of White for a while. And glad at all events that this music is finally to be tested, and the thing settled in one way or another. I do not care much which. If that is the Lord’s way, may it succeed. If not, may it fail. And they will have to get home as best they can. Meanwhile, I’m left here in the lurch.”

  If not, may it fail?

  Alexandra felt a surge of anger, which swiftly gave way to trepidation when she saw the singers start to board the train.

  Mr. White paused at the door to the passenger car and addressed those still gathered. “In God’s strength,” he called out, “this little band of singers will sing the money out of the hearts and pockets of the people! Cincinnati is our first stop, and I am confident that the power of the singing will tug at the hearts and generosity of their listeners.”

  Only a smattering of amens rose this time.

  The train whistle sounded again, and Alexandra spotted Ella working her way toward her through the crowd. Her roommate reached her and took hold of her hand.

  “We’re going to do this together, Alexandra. Just as we talked about.”

  Alexandra nodded, knowing she’d made the right decision in sharing her fear with Ella, who had only been supportive.

  “Something my mother used to tell me, and still does,” Ella whispered, taking a step forward in the queue and pulling Alexandra along with her. “No matter where you’re going, God is already there. He’s already on the train. He’s already waiting for us at the first stop in Cincinnati. There is nowhere we can go—by carriage, wagon, ship, or train—where he is not already there, holding us in the palm of his hand.”

  Alexandra nodded again, believing her. She only wished her nerves would show greater faith.

  She held tight to Ella’s hand and followed the dwindling line of passengers boarding the railcar, her heart hammering as though she’d just run a footrace full speed downhill. Nearly to the door, she took a deep breath—I believe you’re leading me to do this. I believe you’re leading me to do this—when she felt a sharp tug on her arm and turned.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  You came!” Alexandra knew the relief in her voice gave away any hope of a courageous pretense, but she didn’t care.

  “Of course I came.” Sy smiled. “Any gentleman knows it’s only proper that he see a lady off at the train station.” He sounded winded, as if he’d been running. He looked at Ella and tugged the brim of his hat. “Would you mind, Miss Sheppard, if I have a word alone with Miss Jamison?”

  Ella’s eyes sparkled, and she looked between them as though she
knew a secret they didn’t. “I wouldn’t mind in the least, Mr. Rutledge. I’ll save you a seat, Alexandra.”

  Ella climbed the stairs, and Sy offered Alexandra his arm. She grabbed hold and wanted never to let go.

  “Thank you for coming, Sy.”

  He smiled. “Duke and I got you a little going-away gift.” He nodded toward the foxhound, sitting a few feet away, guarding a beautiful brown leather briefcase. Sy led her over and picked it up. “We’re not very good at shopping for a woman, but we did our best to fill it with things you might be able to use.”

  “It’s beautiful!” She ran a hand over the soft leather, then started to look inside, but he covered her hand.

  “The briefcase can only be opened once you’re aboard, Miss Jamison.”

  Whether it was the warmth of his hand on hers or the thoughtfulness of his gift, or both, she felt a rush of emotion that had less to do with gratitude and far more with wishing she could kiss him. Right here on the platform. To feel his arms around her. His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered, causing her former imaginings to take on vivid life.

  The train whistle blasted.

  “It’s time,” he said softly, fingering a strand of hair at her temple. “It’ll be all right.”

  She nodded quickly. “I know.” But she didn’t move. She started shaking. But deep inside this time. “I’m frightened,” she mouthed, her voice barely audible. “Not for the tour, but of—”

  “I know.” The muscles in his jawline tightened. “But you’re going to be fine, Alexandra. I know you are. You’re strong. You’re brave. And you’ve ridden in a locomotive.”

  She attempted a smile, but couldn’t hold it.

  His grip tightened on her hand, and the next thing she knew, he’d set the briefcase down by Duke and was leading her away from the crowd. The whistle sounded again—two long blasts—and smoke from the engine billowed onto the platform.

  “Sy, where are we—”

  He turned and pulled her to him. His mouth covered hers, his kiss tender, his embrace wonderfully less so. And what she’d only imagined a moment earlier came to life and was headier and more delicious than she’d dared dream. She slipped her arms around his neck, wanting to be even closer. As if reading her mind, he cradled the nape of her neck and deepened the kiss. She melted against him.