Free Her Captain's Heart by Lyn Cote

about is not even to be considered. If you build such a school, they will burn it down.” He stared hard at her, underlining his point with a scowl.
    Her face suddenly flamed with outrage. They were poor and defeated, but still rigidly committed to the past. She tried to use reason. “There is great want here. Wouldn’t men welcome the work of building a school and the cash it would bring?”
    â€œYou’re a Yankee. You don’t understand Virginia. White men farm, but Negroes do the laboring. They are the carpenters, plasterers, coopers and bricklayers.”
    â€œWell, that will change. It must, because no longer can Negroes be told what to do. They will choose what they wish to work at. Just as thee did. The old South is gone. It died at Appomattox Courthouse. Slavery has ended. And nothing will ever be the same here again.” The truth rolled through her, smoothing her nerves.
    He stared at her, aghast.
    Now that she’d said what she’d come to say, she felt calm and in control. “It may be of no comfort to thee, but the North has changed, too. No people can go through the four years that we’ve been through, suffered through, and be the same on the other side. Doesn’t thee see that?
    â€œA school would be good for the whole town,” she continued. “Why not let progress come? Why not let me rent thy church to use as a school until the new school is built? And the Freedman’s Bureau may pay thy church rent, money that I’m sure thy church could use. Why not leave bitterness behind and be a part of a brighter future?”
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    After the surveyor had finished, Matt made himself head to the Ransford plantation to have the meeting he’d dreaded since he’d arrived. With imaginary crickets hopping in his stomach, he knocked on the imposing double door and waited for the butler to answer. When the door opened, he managed to say, “Good morning, Elijah.” Looking into the familiar face yanked Matt back to his childhood.
    â€œDid you wish to see the master of the house, sir?”
    Even in his distraction, Matt noted the change from “the master” to “the master of the house.” Matt appreciated Elijah’s assertion of his freedom. He wondered again about Samuel. Did Elijah know where Samuel was? This wondering about Samuel chafed at Matt, but he couldn’t speak of Samuel here and now. “Elijah, I need to speak to…Dace on a matter of importance—”
    â€œElijah, is that Matt Ritter?” Dace’s gruff voice came from the nearby room.
    â€œYes, sir, it is.”
    â€œBring him on back, please.”
    Elijah bowed and showed Matt into the small study that Matt recognized as the room Dace’s father had used for business. Memories flooded Matt’s mind—coming in here and snitching toffees from the candy jar that still sat on the desk, the scent of his uncle’s pipe tobacco.
    After Elijah left them, Dace said, “I was wondering when you would come.”
    Matt sat down in the chair across the desk from his cousin, his only living blood relative, and looked him in the eye. Dace showed the telltale signs of war. He was gaunt, with deep grooves down either side of his face, and tired eyes.
    â€œWhat brings you here?” Dace said over the rim of a coffee cup, sounding neither pleased nor displeased.
    â€œThree matters, one from the past and two from the present. Which do you want to hear first?” Matt kept his tone neutral, too.
    â€œLet’s deal with the past first. I still like to do things in order.”
    This took Matt back to childhood also, to the many times he, Dace and Samuel had been planning on doing something daring like swim across the river at flood stage. It had always been Dace who planned out each test of their courage. “On her deathbed, my mother asked me to come back here and try to reconcile with you after the war.”
    â€œSo that’s why