Why are you here? And how can I get you to leave? Soon?
As if she’d heard his unspoken questions, she began explaining. “I was told in a letter from the Freedman’s Bureau to come to this house this week and get settled before I start my teaching duties next week. But I was not told a gentleman would be at this house also.” The cool tone of her voice told him that she would not be casting any lures in his direction. In fact, he’d been right. She sounded as disgruntled to find him here as he felt in confronting her.
Good. But what had happened? Matt frowned as he added up the facts. He should have expected something like this—everything had been running too smoothly. The Freedman’s Bureau was part of the War Department. And after serving four years in the Union Army, he didn’t trust the War Department to get anything right. “There’s been a mistake.”
“Obviously,” Joseph said dryly.
“Would thee mind telling us what thee is here for?” Mrs. Hardy asked him.
He did mind, but he thought an explanation might help resolve the problem. “In general, I’m here to help former slaves adjust to freedom in any way that I can. Specifically, I am here to form a chapter of the Union League of America and to prepare the former slaves to vote. I expect the amendment that will give them that right will be passed in Congress soon. And I’m to get a school built.”
Mrs. Hardy quivered as if somebody had just struck her. “The school isn’t built yet?”
“Did they tell you it was?” Matt asked, already guessing the answer. His gaze lingered on those caramel eyes that studied him, weighing his words.
Suddenly he realized how wild he must appear to her. He was shirtless with bare feet and uncombed hair, and his rifle still rested in his hands. Yet she sat prim and proper, appearing not the least intimidated by him. One corner of his mouth rose. The woman had grit.
But now he had to deal with this mixup. This was the second unexpected wrinkle in his plans. The first had been his sharp feeling of regret when he arrived here. To fulfill a promise, after he’d joined the Freedman’s Bureau, he’d asked to be assigned to this part of Virginia. He’d expected to feel better coming here—he was, after all, coming home in a way. But upon arrival, he’d felt quite the opposite.
“If the school isn’t built yet, what am I to do?” she asked. “I’m supposed to begin lessons for former slaves and their children as soon as feasible. But how can I do that if the school hasn’t even been built yet?” A line of worry creased the skin between her ginger eyebrows.
His mouth twisted, a sour taste on his tongue. “It’s easy to see what happened. Somebody sent you a letter too early. I’ll telegraph the War Department and get this straightened out. You’ll just have to go back to where you came from until the school’s built.”
“We can’t go back,” she objected. “I have rented out my house for a year.”
I work alone, Mrs. Hardy. That’s why I took a job where I’d be my own boss. “You can’t stay. The school isn’t even started—”
She interrupted him again. “We’ve driven all the way from Pennsylvania.”
Joseph cut in, “We’re not going to drive all the way back there unless we’re going home for good.” He’d set his dusty hat on his knee, wiping perspiration from his forehead with a white handkerchief. The little girl stared at Matt like a lost puppy.
Matt frowned at them. They frowned back. He really did not want to deal with this. He rose and walked toward the front window to peer out. Again he detected that subtle shifting in the shadows in front of the house. He stepped near the window and raised his rifle so it would be clearly seen by anyone outside.
Returning here had been a foolish, ill-considered notion. Upon arrival, he’d realized that who he was would just make all the work he had to do here more difficult, more unpleasant, more personal. He muttered too low for anyone else to hear, “I should have gone to Mississippi, where I could have been hated by strangers.”
Mrs. Hardy cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. She moved to the edge of her seat. “I’m certain that the Freedman’s Bureau would not expect an unrelated man and a woman to live under the same roof. Even with my father-in-law living with us…” Her voice drifted into silence.
He couldn’t agree more. He heard the nicker of their horses outside again. Did the animals sense something that shouldn’t be here? He parted the sheer curtains with his rifle and gazed outside once again.
“I would say that I could find somewhere else in town to stay.” He brushed this possibility aside. “But I doubt any of the former Confederate widows would want a Yankee boarding in their homes.” And I wouldn’t like it either. He didn’t want to live with others. He hated having to make polite conversation. He hated it now. He continued peering out the window.
“What is distracting thee?” she asked.
He held up one hand and listened, but heard nothing unusual outside. Still, he asked in a low voice, “You’re Quaker, so you didn’t come armed, right?”
Joseph spoke up. “Verity’s family is Friends. Mind isn’t. I brought a gun. Do I need it now?”
Matt watched the shifting of the shadows out in the silver moonlight, concentrating on listening.
“A gun?” she said. “Why would we need—”
Rising, Joseph cut her off. “What’s going on here? Haven’t the Rebs here heard that Lee’s surrendered?”
The woman continued, “Thee didn’t tell me thee brought a gun, Joseph.”
Matt spoke over her. “Where’s the gun?”
The older man came toward him. “It’s under the seat on the buckboard, covered with canvas. I wanted it handy if needed.”
“Maybe you should go get it now.” Matt motioned with his rifle toward the front door. “I’ll come out and cover you. And stick to the shadows, but make sure the gun’s visible and be sure they hear you checking to see that it’s loaded.”
Verity stood up quickly. “Wait. Who does thee think is watching us?”
Matt shrugged. “Maybe no one, but I keep seeing shadows shifting outside. And your horses are restless.”
“That could be just the wind and the branches,” she protested. “I don’t want rifles in my house.”
“This isn’t your house,” Matt said, following Joseph to the door. “And some of the Rebs here haven’t surrendered. We’re from the North and they don’t want us here.”
She followed them, still balking, “I didn’t expect it would be a welcome with open arms—”
He didn’t listen to the rest. He shut the front door, closing her inside, and gave cover to Joseph, who collected his gun, making a show of checking to see that it was loaded.
When they reentered the house, the widow stood there with hands on her hips and fire in her eyes. “We don’t need guns. We are here to bring healing and hope to this town.”
“No, we’re not.” His patience went up in flames. “We are here to bring change, to stir up trouble. We’ve come to make people here choke down emancipation and the educating of blacks. The very things they were willing to die to prevent. We’ve brought a sword, not an olive branch. If you think different, just turn around and leave. No white person is going to want us here. Many will be more than willing to run us out of town. And if they could get away with it, a few would put us under sod in the local churchyard.”
His words brought a shocked silence. Then the little girl ran to her mother and buried her face in her mother’s skirts. Mrs. Hardy cast him a reproving look and began stroking her daughter’s head. Ashamed of upsetting the child, Matt closed and locked the door. Maybe he had been imagining something or someone lurking