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  “Well, at least that’s something we can agree on. Except that I find that specific argument not only baseless but demoralizing and wrongheaded.” Knowing she was dancing close to a line best not crossed, she wanted to help him see where he was wrong. “So tell me, if you don’t believe Negroes are inferior to whites, have you allowed your slaves to be educated? To learn to read and write?”

  His face flushed red. “Firstly, to have taught my slaves to write would’ve been against the law of the land, and you know that. Secondly, learning to write isn’t a skill that’s required in their daily lives. So to have taught them to write would have been for naught.”

  Heat rose in her chest, yet she kept her voice low. “Actually, it isn’t the ‘law of the land.’ If it were, that would mean it was applicable to the entire country. Anti-literacy laws were passed by individual states.” She knew she sounded like a teacher addressing an unruly child, but she didn’t care. “As for what’s required in a person’s daily life, I believe each person should be given the right to decide that for himself. I doubt either of us would take kindly to someone else deciding for us what we can and cannot do, or where we can and cannot go. Or whether we are allowed to learn to read and write. Or even how we should be treated. Is that the life you would want to live if you had the power to change it?”

  “I have always treated my slaves with decency and respect, Lizzie. I’ve never lifted a harsh hand to any of them.”

  “I’m not insinuating that you have.”

  “I care for George and his family. And for Ezra and Rachel, our house slaves. George and I grew up together. He and his family mean almost as much to me as my own blood relations.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a second.” And she didn’t. She’d observed his behavior toward George. She heard the earnestness in his voice even now, and the look in his eyes was nothing short of sincere.

  “Have you considered, Lizzie, the profound effect that abolishing slavery will have on our economy? The cotton market will collapse. Tobacco crops will dry in the fields. Rice will no longer be a profitable crop to raise. Tens of thousands stand to lose their jobs. Uprisings and chaos are sure to ensue.”

  She shook her head, hearing what he’d said but wondering if he had. “I’m not saying adjustments won’t need to be made. Difficult and widespread adjustments. But if something is morally wrong, Roland, we have a sacred obligation to make it right. After all, as someone wise once said”—she offered a smile to soften the words, praying he would receive them as she intended—“real heroes are the ones who do what’s right even when no one’s looking, and who give up something for someone else even when it costs them dearly.”

  He winced but didn’t look away. And neither did she.

  “You feel most strongly about this, don’t you?” he finally whispered, his voice surprisingly calm.

  She nodded, hopeful that some of what she was saying was getting through. “I do. Very much so.”

  He nodded. “So I’m curious . . . What do the McGavocks think about your beliefs on slavery? And your feelings about their being slave owners?”

  She blinked, knowing he already knew the answer. “Colonel and Mrs. McGavock are not aware of my beliefs. I am their children’s governess. They hired me to teach them, not to impose my personal views on the family. Besides, I’m not a landowner, nor do I hold influence in that realm. And as a woman, I don’t even have the right to vote.”

  “I see.” He studied her. “So what you said a moment ago, that when something is morally wrong and we have a sacred obligation to make it right—that only applies if it falls within our purview. Or what we believe our purview to be. If not, then we can turn a blind eye and do nothing. Are you saying that’s the scope of our ‘sacred obligation’?”

  An anvil to the gut would have been less painful. Lizzie put a hand to her midsection, her breath shallow and uneven. She wanted to respond but couldn’t. Not with the weight of her own culpability pressing down hard.

  “You know,” he continued, “perhaps you were right. Now may not be the appropriate time for this conversation. Allow me to bid you a good night.”

  “Good night,” she said and managed to hold back the tears until she reached the stairs leading down to the kitchen. There she sank down on the cold, hard stone, face in her hands, and wept.

  She’d wondered before what might have happened between her and Roland if she were not already betrothed to Towny. The one thing that certainly would have kept them apart—slavery—had been dealt a near deathblow yesterday. Yet as kind a man as Roland Jones was, as much as his first wife had obviously loved him, and even as well as he seemed to treat George, he was still a man who considered it morally acceptable to own another human being. And being married to a man who held that belief was something she could never abide.

  Not that he’d given her any indication that his personal interest in her ran along so deep a line.

  But what cut her to the quick was the lie she’d believed for so long. She’d been raised in a world where slavery was accepted, even celebrated, and for years she’d lived beneath the facade of being powerless and unable to bring about change. When in reality, she’d had the power all along. Not to change the world. That wasn’t her “purview,” as Roland had so plainly put it just now. But to change her corner of the world . . . here at Carnton. And she was more determined now than ever before to do just that.

  But what if Roland chose to tell Colonel and Mrs. McGavock? She honestly didn’t know what they would do, how they would react upon learning about her opinions. She wished now that she’d had the presence of mind to ask him. But if he did choose to tell them, she would simply have to deal with the repercussions. The thought of which turned her stomach.

  Minutes later, as she eased into bed beside Winder and Hattie, she curled onto her side, wondering if Roland had realized yet what he’d said when he’d listed the effects that abolishing slavery would have on the economy. He hadn’t used the word if or might. He’d said will, as in will happen. And that gave her a sliver of fresh hope. Because that told her that not only did he, too, believe the end of slavery was coming, but he was already thinking about what his life would be like without it. And that meant change was coming for George and his family.

  Roland slept fitfully and awakened before dawn, his body slicked in sweat despite the chill in the room. He wished he could go right now, find Lizzie, and apologize to her. Tell her he didn’t know what had gotten into him but he was sorry. Yet he did know what had gotten into him, why he’d taken his anger out on her. At least in part. She’d held a mirror up to him, and he hadn’t liked what he’d seen.

  I doubt either of us would take kindly to someone else deciding for us what we can and cannot do, or where we can and cannot go.

  He raked a hand over his face. How many hundreds of times had he lain here in recent days feeling helpless? Unable to go anywhere or do anything. Having no control over his destiny.

  But it wasn’t that way for George and the other slaves on his estate, he told himself. He had always prided himself on running an efficient, humane estate. He took care of his slaves. But teaching them, even if it were not against the law, wouldn’t have been a good use of time or energy for either party. Slaves had no need of book learning. And though what he’d said to Lizzie was true, that he didn’t consider Negroes inferior to whites, they were different. He’d learned that from his father and grandfather. Slaves didn’t take well to schooling. They found the various subjects frustrating and needless, and forcing them to take part would soon become a source of contention. Lizzie didn’t understand that because she’d never owned slaves.

  Thirsty, he looked out toward the hallway, wishing George were within earshot instead of staying in one of the slave houses near the barn, so he could have better attended to his needs.

  Is that the life you would want to live if you had the power to change it? Even now in the early morning silence, Lizzie’s question dogged him.

  She’d spoken
to him last night like he was some recalcitrant youth. At the time it had sent the heat in his chest to a steady simmer. But in reflection, and as streaks of purple began coloring the horizon beyond the windows, the questions she’d asked began to seep deep inside. He still didn’t agree with her, but at least he understood better now how she’d arrived at her conclusions. While Lizzie Clouston wasn’t what some would consider young anymore, she still had an innocence about her. She simply didn’t understand what it took to keep the wheels of progress—the economy in this instance—maintained and moving forward. It was larger than any one person or group of people.

  If he’d broached the conversation differently last night, which he wished he had, he could’ve told her how vile he considered the all-too-common mistreatment of slaves. He in no way condoned that. But there was a natural order to things. There always had been. For all her book learning, she simply didn’t understand that.

  His lower right calf began to itch. He slowly pushed to sitting and reached down as far as he could. George had said that as the poultices did their work and the wounds continued to heal, they’d itch something fierce. And they did. Roland looked around for something to use to reach the itch, but he couldn’t find anything nearly long enough. So carefully, very carefully, he bent his right knee as far as he could. He carefully ran his fingertips over the wounds and sighed in relief. Drawing up his leg hadn’t hurt as badly as he’d anticipated. Again recalling what George had said about how movement went hand in hand with healing, he decided to try it again. And then a third time. He switched to his left leg and discovered he could move that one even more easily. Which made sense, it being less damaged.

  He lay back, grateful again to be off the floor, and gripped the sides of the wooden cot. He tried lifting his right leg straight up and made it about halfway before the pain said enough. He slowly lowered it and switched back to the left.

  By the time the sun came up and others in the room were awakening, he was bathed in sweat again and his strength was all but depleted. But he felt better than he had since the moment that stand of grapeshot had exploded right in front of him. Surely that portended something good.

  CHAPTER 31

  Lizzie slipped in through the back door off the gallery porch and quietly closed the door behind her. It was still early yet. The sun wasn’t up, and the house was quiet. Her first teaching session with Tempy and George had gone fairly well, and already she could see that Tempy was going to be a quick learner. But George, like a parched sponge ready to soak up water, was almost too eager to learn. While patient with others, he did not extend the same grace to himself, and he’d left their lesson frustrated and dejected looking. She felt for him. But having taught many pupils to read thus far—granted, all of them children—she firmly believed that once he loosened the grip on the reins, things would fall into place. But where to meet for their lessons had proven to be a challenge.

  After George managed to surprise her and Tempy in the kitchen days earlier, they agreed that somewhere outside the house would be best. After discussing it, they’d settled on the barn. Since sending the slaves away three years earlier, the colonel had hired hands who helped with the farm, and Lizzie knew their schedules. The barn was a hefty stone’s throw from the slave house where George was staying, so he could slip over through the trees with little chance of being seen. Plus, no one would question his entering the barn so early.

  As for her and Tempy’s excuse should they be seen coming and going, Tempy had come up with a believable alibi. With the soldiers convalescing at Carnton, Lizzie spent more time helping in the kitchen and sometimes gathered eggs from the coop behind the barn. Hence, the slightly heavier than usual basket on her arm. A thick cloth nesting fresh eggs hid her teaching materials on the bottom. Tempy carried a basket with something she’d retrieved from the springhouse. They had everything covered. Still, Lizzie wished they didn’t have to resort to subterfuge.

  Adjusting the basket, Lizzie crossed the entrance hall toward the dining room.

  “Miss Clouston. A word with you, please.”

  She jumped at the voice, then spotted Dr. Phillips descending the staircase. “Good morning, Doctor.” She set the basket on the floor inside the dining room, then met him at the base of the stairs.

  Voices drifted down from above, and she was certain one of them was Roland’s. Her first order of business that morning was to ask him if he intended to tell the McGavocks what he’d confirmed about her last night.

  “Miss Clouston, good day to you, ma’am.”

  “Good day. You’re certainly here early. I’d heard you might come this morning. I hope you’re well.” The tiny lines around the surgeon’s eyes were more pronounced than she remembered, and he wore a beleaguered look she’d seen on too many faces in recent days.

  “I am, Miss Clouston, for the most part. And hope you’re the same. But you’re up before the sun. When exactly do you sleep, ma’am?”

  Lizzie waved away the comment. “I manage. And as you say, I’m well too, for the most part. Ready for this war to be over.”

  His sigh seemed to carry the weight of the world. “As am I. And as I am coming to believe it soon will be.”

  She frowned. “Do you come with news?”

  He nodded. “Though not good news, I’m afraid. At present Hood’s army is scattered and desperately trying to escape wholesale destruction. He’s issued marching orders. The troops are to meet in Tupelo, Mississippi, where they’ll set up winter camp. But the men are worn down, hungry, and half frozen. What they’ve endured is simply too much for weary, mortal men to stand. Many see an inevitable end in sight and are deserting.”

  Even as the softest brush of hope swept through her, so did a sense of dread. “I don’t expect you to remember him specifically, Doctor, but by chance have you come across a Lieutenant Blake Townsend? The soldier you were treating when I met you both on the battlefield that day. I have yet to hear from him after Nashville.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I haven’t. But I’ve mainly been with Loring’s Division.”

  She nodded. She knew it had been a long shot. Please, Towny, be alive and well somewhere. The thought swept heavenward, and she made a mental note to relay the doctor’s update to Towny’s father at the first opportunity.

  Breaking with decorum, Dr. Phillips took a seat on the second to last stair, and she joined him. A warm sun shone through the arched fanlight window above the front doors, and though the temperatures were still chilly, the ice and snow that had held the land in their frozen grip had finally begun to melt, as evidenced by the runoff from the roof and upper porches.

  She listened as he spoke of what had happened during the battle in Nashville and in the days following. With every word, Lizzie felt the end drawing steadily closer.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Clouston. Perhaps I speak more freely than I should.”

  “Not at all, Doctor. I appreciate your candor. Although this news doesn’t inspire optimism for the Confederacy.”

  His smile held a sad quality. “If one desires optimism, one should not seek it amidst war.”

  Knowing he was right, she found her gaze drawn to a particularly dark stain on the bare wooden floor. “I’m weary of death,” she whispered.

  “And I’m weary of men devising new ways of killing one another.” He opened his palms and stared at them. “These hands have become far too proficient at suturing holes in men’s bodies and at removing limbs, Miss Clouston.” He looked over at her. “And I hesitate to tell you, but I have yet another to amputate.”

  She didn’t have to guess. “Lieutenant Shuler.”

  He nodded. “I told the young lieutenant just now. It’s his only hope against the gangrene that’s set in. He’s frightened, understandably, and he asked if you would be there to assist me. However, if you’re busy, there’s another doctor in town making rounds. I could send for him and—”

  “No.” Lizzie forced a reassuring look. She was not at all eager to repeat the experience, but h
ow could she say no, considering? “If Lieutenant Shuler wants me there, I’ll be there. When do you prefer to do the procedure?” Reading the answer in his expression, she nodded. “All right then. Give me a few moments to tell Mrs. McGavock and to see the children settled in the kitchen with Tempy. I’ll fetch an apron and join you. Upstairs, I presume?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Miss Clouston. I’ll see you shortly.” He started back up the stairs.

  “Doctor . . .”

  He paused.

  “Do you believe this will work? That it will save young James?”

  “I believe that taking that arm will give him the best possible chance. But as I learned long ago, Miss Clouston, there’s a reason we physicians still use the term practicing medicine.”

  LIZZIE CLIMBED THE stairs to the second-floor landing, her stomach in knots as details of the surgical procedure returned with all-too-vivid clarity. Why she would be struck with such nerves after already assisting and observing the surgery so many times, she wasn’t sure. Until she walked into the bedroom and saw James lying atop the freshly painted bedroom door that had once again been removed from its hinges. This time she knew the patient.

  Before, these men had simply been unknown wounded soldiers to her. Now she knew their names and details about their lives, their wives, their families. They’d become friends. Some of them dear friends. Her gaze reluctantly moved to Roland who, she discovered with caution, was already looking her way.

  To her surprise, his expression held only warmth and understanding, and she could all but read his thoughts—You can do this, Lizzie. I know you don’t want to, but you can do this.

  A rush of gratitude poured through her, covering every trace of lingering frustration from their conversation last night. His confidence in her inspired her own, and she mouthed a soundless, Thank you, thankful they’d laid aside their differences in opinion, at least for the moment.