Her Captain's Heart. Lyn Cote

that he could not ignore Dace—not just because Dace was his only cousin, but also because Dace had the power to sway others. The Ransfords had run this town for over a hundred years. Matt came to a decision. He’d have to talk to Dace. There was always an outside chance that Dace wouldn’t be hostile to the school, wasn’t there?

      After the evening meal, Matt trudged through the wild wind into the white frame church with Verity and her family. The church sat at the end of the town’s main street. It was surrounded by oaks, elms and maples and was much larger than St. John’s. The wind tugged at Matt’s hat. A storm was certain. Matt looked forward to it, hoping for relief from the stifling, un-seasonal heat of the past few days.

      On the other hand, Matt dreaded walking into this church. Most of its members had been vocal enemies of his parents. And Matt wondered which of them had been responsible for that final night that had sent his family north. His gut clenched. He reminded himself that that was all past and his side had won the war. Not theirs.

      Again they entered during the opening hymn. They elicited glances, some surreptitious and some blatant. Toward the front, Mary and her son, Alec, sat with her father, Jed McKay, who looked like an Old Testament prophet. Orrin was nowhere in sight—an unexpected blessing.

      When the hymn ended, the preacher looked straight at them and demanded, “What are you people here for?”

      For once, the widow looked startled. “I beg thy pardon?”

      “We don’t want Yankees coming down here and telling us what to do with our people. If you’re here to do that, you might as well leave in the morning. We won’t tolerate any Yankee meddling.”

      Matt waited to see what the Quaker would say before he entered the fray.

      “Friend, I am not a meddler. But anyone who thinks nothing here is going to change after secession, four years of bloodshed, Lee’s surrender and emancipation is deluding themselves.”

      Matt’s eyes widened. The widow’s tone was civil but her words broadsided the congregation. He felt the angry response slap back at them. Whoa. The woman had nerve, that was for certain.

      Jed McKay leaped to his feet and pointed a finger at her. “We’re not going to let a bunch of Yankees tell us how to run things in Fiddlers Grove.”

      “What things are thee talking about, Friend?” the widow asked, as if only politely interested.

      Matt’s respect for her was rising. A grin tugged at a corner of his mouth.

      Jed swallowed a couple of times and then came back with, “We won’t have our darkies learning how to read and such. And they’ll never vote in Virginia. Never. Blacks voting is just as far-fetched and outlandish as letting women vote. Won’t happen. No, sir.”

      “Does thee not read the papers?” the widow countered in a courteous voice. “The Congress is waiting for the amendment for Negro suffrage to be passed by the states, and when it is, Negroes will vote in Virginia.”

      “Over my dead body!” Jed roared.

      “I believe, Friend,” the widow replied in a tranquil tone, “that there has been enough bloodshed. And I hope many will agree with me.”

      Matt drew in a deep breath at her audacity. Whoa.

      Her words left Jed with nothing coherent to say. He grumbled mutinously and then looked at Matt. “Ritter, you should never have come back here. That’s all I got to say to you.” With this, Jed sat down.

      “I think it would be best if you all leave our service,” the preacher said. “Now.”

      “Mother, can he make us leave church? I thought anybody could go to church,” Beth said in a stage whisper, tugging at her mother’s sleeve.

      Matt looked to Verity, leaving it to her whether they stayed or left. After all, this had been her idea. But he’d take on the whole congregation if she wanted him to. In fact, his hands were already balled into fists.

      “I bid thee good evening, then,” Verity said, taking Beth’s hand and walking into the aisle like the lady she was. Matt followed her to the door of the church. Then he turned back and gave the congregation a look that declared, Everything the lady said is true. We’ll leave now. I don’t listen to a preacher who speaks hate. This isn’t over.

      The wind hurried them all home, billowing the widow’s skirt and making Joseph and Matt hold on to their hats. At their back door he paused for a moment, thinking yet again that he should say something about Fiddlers Grove and his family, but he could come up with nothing he wished to say. So he bid them good-night and headed for the cabin. Behind him, he heard Verity and her father-in-law closing and latching the windows against the coming storm.

      Just before Matt closed the cabin door, he gazed up at the storm-darkened sky. Jed McKay’s words came back: “Ritter, you should never have come back here.” Opposition was a funny thing. Initially, he’d felt the same way as McKay—that he shouldn’t have come back. But now that he’d been run out of one church, rebellion tightened in his gut. No one’s running me out of town. Not again.

      The thunder awakened Verity. And Beth’s scream. Verity leaped out of bed. Lightning flashed, flickering like noonday sunshine, illuminating the room. Beth ran into the room and threw her arms around her mother. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”

      Verity recognized the hysteria in her daughter’s voice. Thunder always brought back their shared fear of loud noises that had begun with the cannon at Gettysburg and the terror of war. Verity knew from experience that words would not help Beth. She wrapped her arms around her daughter, hugging her fiercely. That was the only thing that ever helped. Verity’s own heart pounded in tune with the relentless thunder.

      Then the house shook. And exploded.

      Or that was what it sounded like. Felt like.

      Joseph charged into her room, trousers over his nightshirt. “I think we’ve been hit by lightning,” he shouted over the continuing din. “I’m going outside to see if anything caught fire.”

      Verity glanced out the window and shrieked, “The barn! The barn’s on fire!”

      Joseph ran from the room. Verity settled Beth in her bed and pulled the blankets up over the child. “Stay here, Beth. I must help thy grandfather!”

      Verity snatched up her robe, trying not to hear her daughter’s frightened cries as she ran. Outside, the storm shook the night. Lightning blazed. Thunder pounded. Barefoot on the coarse wet grass, Verity ran with her hands over her ears. It seemed impossible that anything could burn in the downpour, yet flames flashed inside the open barn loft.

      Ahead, Joseph and Matthew were opening the stalls to get the horses out of the burning barn. Between thunderclaps, the shrieking of horses slashed the night. Verity raced over the soggy ground. Somehow she had to help put the fire out.

      One of their horses bounded out of the barn. Galloping, it nearly ran her down. She leaped out of the way and fell hard. Another thunderbolt hit a tall elm nearby. Brilliant white light flashed, followed by a deafening thunderclap. She covered her eyes, as well as her ears. The ground beneath her shook.

      When she could, she looked up. In the open barn doorway, Joseph was waving both arms, beckoning her. She dragged herself up from the ground. Slipping on the wet grass, she hurried toward him. With the lightning flashing, she didn’t need a lantern to see what had upset her father-in-law. Mary Dyke’s son lay on the dirt floor of their barn.

      “What happened to him?” she called over the continuing thunder.

      “I don’t know!” Joseph shouted back at her.

      Matthew yelled, “I think he climbed the ladder in the hayloft and opened the door so the rain could douse the fire.”

      Verity looked up and saw that the fire was out. “What’s he doing here? In our barn?”

      “Don’t know,” Matthew said, “Joseph, help