Only The Truth
Jeanne Desautel Foster
Copyright 2010 by Jeanne Foster
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One
On a late April day in Alexandria, Virginia, just across the river from the District of Columbia, twenty-two-year-old Jessie Renfro sat at her desk wondering if spying for the Confederacy was the right thing to do.
Such a peaceful day made it easy to imagine violence and killing were not marring the beauty of this American continent. On a day like this, she could almost forget she was a partner in death. But the ugly truth was inescapable. Men were dying by the thousands, and she had a hand in it.
“I wish I had never left Baltimore,” Jessie said aloud. “If only it were possible to return to my old life.”
While she mused, her employer, a Union officer on General Joseph Hooker’s staff, strolled casually into the schoolroom. “Good afternoon, Miss Renfro. I see my children are finished with their schoolwork. How are they doing?”
Although he stopped by often to talk with her, the colonel had done no more than flirt with the governess, and she had encouraged his attentions, at least as long as he continued to fill her ear with gossip from Union army headquarters.
“They are doing well. Your eldest son is very bright. I believe he takes after you.”
Colonel Arnold Pilchard lifted his shoulders with pride. Jessie had easily found his weaknesses. He liked redheads and was vain about his intelligence. She decided this was a good opportunity to fish for information. “You know so much about everything, especially military strategy.”
The colonel preened like a peacock under her flattering attention. “Strategy is my field of expertise, but I wouldn’t say I know everything.”
“Oh, Colonel Pilchard, I believe you know as much about running the Army as your general does,” she said.
From experience as a debutante and a spy, Jessie knew flattery with certain men could cause them to repeat information they should keep to themselves.
“I don’t mean to brag, but you are right. The general usually listens to me. However, just the other day . . . .” Colonel Pilchard paused, possibly doubting the wisdom of revealing this tidbit.
Jessie leaned across her desk, closing the space between them. She hoped the admiration she put in her green eyes was doing its job. “Did he not take your advice about an important battle strategy?”
“As a matter of fact, he didn’t,” the colonel said with a twitch of his blonde mustache.
“My goodness, why not?”
“If you knew General Hooker, you wouldn’t ask that question.”
Jessie had learned that Hooker, the newest commanding general of the Army of the Potomac, was not highly respected. Evidently he was arrogant and stubborn.
“What do you mean?”
“He lacks confidence in his advisors. Here we have a great chance to end this war, and he is too cautious to press his advantage.”
“What is he going to do?” Aware that showing too much interest in his information could be dangerous, Jessie busied herself arranging the papers on her desk.
“You probably know Lee’s army is blocking the way to Richmond west of Fredericksburg.” Colonel Pilchard seated himself across from her, leaned back, and crossed one leg over his knee.
“Well, I told General Hooker that since we have twice as many men as Lee, we should attack them head on and drive them back to Richmond.”
“What a wise suggestion! And is he going to do it?” Jessie closed an atlas and pushed it aside.
“No! He is determined to play a defensive game and hang back in the woods.”
“I’m sure you could do better.”
Jessie smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes.
“I know I could, but he is afraid of losing too many men, so he hopes Lee won’t attack. He actually hopes Lee will see our superior numbers and retreat!”
“How foolish!”
The colonel agreed and soon left the schoolroom, giving Jessie the opportunity she needed to write the information on a piece of vellum stationary and slip it into her high-topped shoe.
It was not without qualms of conscience that she did this. She didn’t like having blood on her hands and had read the lists of the dead with horror, especially the list from the first battle, the one that changed her life. In 1861 war had seemed glorious and the Southern cause one to die for.
When her father and her friends marched off, she had watched them with pride, knowing some might die for this worthwhile goal but never imagining the number would swell to thousands within two years.
“Why is war necessary? We’re all Americans,” Jessie had asked when her father first spoke of going to Virginia to fight for the South.
“It’s all a matter of who is in control of whom.” Her father had explained. “If the South chooses to make a new country, Lincoln has no right to prevent it.”
So he had gone to war and had died at Manassas, the first battle, leaving his daughter with no money and a need to support herself, first as a governess and then as a spy. Now here she was two years later slipping out of the house, telling a maid she was going to run some errands, and heading for downtown Alexandria.
While browsing through a dry goods store, she bent down to tighten her shoelace, pulled the note from her shoe, and hid it in the palm of her hand before transferring it to a book she carried. She returned the book to the lending library that afternoon, the last errand before heading home. Within a quarter hour, another lady checked out the book and sent the message to General Robert E. Lee’s headquarters.
***
Major William Richard’s battalion had marched south from the Rappahannock River all day and had reached its campsite late in the afternoon. William, an officer in General Hooker’s Army of the Potomac, was glad to see his old school friend Captain David Doerr in a nearby bivouac.
“Good to see you, David,” William said. “I wish I could stop and visit, but I need to see to my men.”
“Come back and have a cup of coffee with me when you’re done,” his friend urged. William agreed and walked away, looking tired as his long legs carried him away from the campfire.
The warmth of the May weather and the dust of the road had worn him down, and he was looking forward to a good night’s sleep before whatever action tomorrow might hold. When he came back, they sat and remembered the carefree days when a deer or rabbit was all they shot. It had been a peaceful spring day, so calm it reminded them of when they had hunted together.
And they were still hunters—hunters of men. The two men were talking about their experiences, comparing and sharing, when a commotion from the south made them jump to their feet.
“What is that?”
Almost before William had spoken the words, running men—their soldiers—fled past them. From behind the pack they heard steady rifle fire. William grabbed his pistol from its holster and helped his friend rally the men around them to form a line and fire back. They did fire, and then they ran as fast as they could to find another place to take a stand.
At first William was with Captain Doerr’s men, but somewhere along the line they became scattered and went in different directions. The bullet that got him deflected off the Bible in his breast pocket before zipping into his left arm. He did not have time to see how bad the damage was; he only knew it hurt like fire, and then he felt the blood dripping off his fingers and knew he was in trouble.
As it was getting dark, the chase eventually faltered and William found a safe place behind a wide tree where he could examine his injury. He knew he should tie off the blood flow, yet he could not make his right arm respond.
“William, can I help you?” Captain Doerr, who had sustained a minor wound, had come back to look for William.
“It looks like you've lost a lot of blood already. Let me put a tourniquet above the wound before you bleed out.”
Men continued to move past them in a search of their lines, wherever that was. His friend helped William to his feet and led him off. They continued until they found a doctor who could assess their wounds and tell them what to do.
“Yours is nothing to worry about,” he told Captain Doerr. “But, Major, you'll be lucky if you don't lose your arm.”
“I hope you don't have to amputate, doctor. I need this arm,” Williams said, realizing how comical he sounded. “Sorry, I’m beginning to feel dizzy.”
The doctor nodded knowingly. “Loss of blood. Take the major back to the medical tent. I'll see to his arm in a while.”
As William lay on a makeshift pallet waiting for the doctor, he marveled at how his life had been saved by the hard-backed Bible his sister Margret had given him before he left for war. God had certainly taken care of him so far.
Although he had been in several battles, this was his first injury. Lord, please let me keep my arm, he prayed, even as he tried to fight off the faintness that eventually led to unconsciousness.
When he woke up an hour later, the doctor was cleaning and bandaging his wound.
“You are very weak from blood loss, but we saved your arm.”
“You’ll be going back to a hospital in Washington to recuperate,” the doctor added.
But William thought of his sister Margret’s peaceful home in Gettysburg and decided it would be the best place to get well. He broached the subject with his commanding officer when he came by for a visit.
“Looks like the war is over for you, Major,” the general said.
“Don’t count me out, sir. If I can recover in my sister’s home and under her tender care, I'll be back in a month.”
The general looked stern at first; however, he seemed to like the picture this request evoked, for he could not help smiling at the major. “We’ll send two men to escort you home, and I hope you’ll be back by the first of June.”
***
Depression ruled in the capital of the United States when the news of the battle arrived. Lee had defeated the new general, the man on whom great hope had been staked. Jessie listened with an expression of feigned concern as Colonel Pilchard explained it all to his family.
As he had expected, General Hooker had not taken the colonel’s advice and had waited, hoping that if he held back from attacking, the Confederates would retreat. But to Hooker’s great surprise, Lee had sent half his men to draw the federal forces toward Fredericksburg while keeping the rest ready to attack farther west.
Hooker had established his command post in a mansion at a crossroads called Chancellorsville situated in thick woods. The two armies met on the first day of May with Hooker on the defensive. Lee again divided his forces, sending General Stonewall Jackson to attack the exposed right flank on May second. The Union soldiers were surprised in their camps and routed.
While the colonel and his family discussed this news gloomily over supper, Jessie sat thinking her own thoughts —much more cheerful than theirs. But the colonel’s next words took her breath away. “We can’t understand how Lee knew Hooker wouldn’t attack. It was as if he expected it.”
His eyes strayed toward Jessie once or twice while he spoke. She used her best acting skills to look innocent and sympathetic.
“Maybe he knew Hooker’s personality,” Jessie suggested. The colonel nodded thoughtfully.
“Could be. Anyway, it’s good that Lee decided to pull back after the battle. He could have come after us, and we would have been in trouble if he had.”
Jessie, believing her information had contributed to the defeat of the Union army, felt pride mixed with fear—pride for saving the lives of Southern men but fear that she might be found out and captured. Her copper-colored hair made her much too conspicuous. Neither a governess nor a spy should be noticed. It was better if people forgot you were there.
However, men definitely noticed Jessie. One Southern agent in Washington had called her “the beautiful spy.” She didn’t mind—indeed she was proud of the nickname —but it was possible her appearance was becoming a drawback.
Her looks had other unforeseen consequences. Mrs. Pilchard was becoming jealous of the attention the colonel gave the governess, and Jessie feared this could cause her pipeline of information to dry up. Even though she had caught the older woman giving her evil looks, Jessie was nevertheless startled when the schoolroom door flew open one day and Mrs. Pilchard swept in, her face showing her anger.
“I will have no more of your wiles in my house, young woman. You are a danger to the peace of my home. I want you to leave immediately!”
“What do you mean?” Jessie cried. Her heart hammered with fear that her spying had been discovered.
“You have been enticing my husband.”
Although relieved to hear this was all the woman meant, Jessie was still concerned. It is probably best for me to leave this home before I am found out; however, I must play this out carefully.
“Your accusation is completely unfounded,” Jessie replied in carefully measured tones.
“That may be true—at least in your mind. But you’re much too alluring with that red hair and those green eyes to be living in my home. I should have turned you away when I first saw you standing at my doorstep.”
“I assure you, nothing has happened between your husband and me,” Jessie said with as much dignity as the situation afforded her.
Mrs. Pilchard’s shoulders lifted as she swelled with indignation.
“Of course, nothing has happened. And nothing will happen! I do not intend to allow further temptation in Colonel Pilchard’s path. You have an hour to pack.”
There had been nothing for Jessie to do but gather up her belongings and go back to Washington where Delia Redmond, a fellow Marylander who served the South by placing governesses as spies in the homes of Union officers, might have another assignment for her.
“You have become too noticed here in the city,” Delia said after she heard Jessie’s story.
“I fear some clever officer will put two and two together and you will be arrested.”
The surge of sickness in Jessie’s stomach reminded her of the terror of death by hanging that always loomed. As usual she pushed it away, refusing to think about it.
No women had yet been hanged for spying, but some had been arrested and even put in jail. Jessie believed in her cause but did not know if she could handle the humiliation of imprisonment.
“Washington is a little dangerous for me right now. Maybe I should leave town before anyone figures out what I did.”
“I have the perfect place to keep you out of the way of any suspicion. It’s a home in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, far enough from Washington that they will not have heard of you.”
The idea of going to Pennsylvania, into solid Union country, did not appeal to Jessie. She would rather stay in the border states where not everyone was a Yankee.
“Will there be work for me—for the South, I mean?” she asked.
Delia shrugged and adjusted her shawl on her shoulders. Jessie tried to read her friend’s face while hoping there was no espionage work to be done in this out of the place town. She needed a rest.
“Probably not, but General Lee may need someone to send him information on the activities of Union troops in Pennsylvania.”
“That’s so far north!”
“Yes, it’s far enough from Virginia—not likely the general will come that way. But you never know what he has in mind.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Jessie agreed, glad for a chance to be far away from any battles.
Delia began pacing the room, tapping her forehead as if she were counting off problems. “You do still have the letter from President Davis I gave you authorizing you as an agent of the Confederacy?”
“Oh, yes, I have sewn in into the lining of the purse I carry with me all the time.”
Jessie opened her silk reticule and showed her friend how perfect the new stitching was.
“Don’t lose it. You may need it before I see you.”
Delia gave her young friend an appraising look. “I was thinking, though, it might be a good idea to make you look less attractive. You wouldn’t draw so much attention, and you will be more likely to be hired.”
“Well, this is the first time in my life I have thought of my appearance as a problem!”
“Most of the ladies of my acquaintance prefer their governesses to be unobtrusive figures in their households. I wonder what we can do to help this situation.”
Delia eyed Jessie from a short distance, squinting her eyes, and holding up her hands to form a frame through which she could assess her young friend. Finally she said, “I know! We’ll give you a disguise. I’ll make you plain.”
A brown hair rinse and awkward spectacles with gray glass appeared at Delia’s command, with the aid of her maid. An old-fashioned and lumpy wardrobe in shades of brown, grey, and black, castoff from Delia’s housekeeper, soon replaced Jessie’s silk and linen gowns. Her slim figure was disguised to the point of adding twenty pounds to her appearance.
Jessie looked at herself in a long mirror and marveled at how far she had fallen since her father’s death, since she had depended on her father’s social position and the money she assumed could never run out. The heartfelt sigh escaping Jessie’s breast betrayed her feelings.
“This disguise is another lie I must live! What have I become?”
Delia put her hands on her hips and gave the young woman a reproachful look. “After living in the Pilchard household as a spy, reading secret papers, worming information out of the colonel, and eavesdropping on private conversations, I’m amazed you have scruples about wearing a disguise.”
Jessie laughed at the picture her friend painted. “You’re right. What’s one more lie?”
“Remember the cause,” Delia said. “Remember that your father died for the South. If I were you, I would say the end justifies the means.”
Unsure if she really believed that last statement, Jessie wanted to make clear why she was a spy.
“I’m doing this for my father. He thought being an officer in the Confederate army would allow him to restart his life. Instead, he lost it. I’m avenging his death, or making it worth while.”
Delia’s patted Jessie’s shoulder in her usual unsentimental way.
“Yes, well, well, I understand. The poor man. Who would have dreamed he could have run through your family’s money? And then to die and leave you poor!”
“He didn’t plan to be killed!” Jessie protested. ”When the money was gone, he worried about keeping me in society.”
As if tired of the discussion, Delia shrugged. “At least he spent some of his money educating you. And he assumed you would marry well. He never dreamed you would refuse every marriage offer you received.”
“That’s another reason I agreed to be a spy. My conscience tells me I deserve to risk my life. If I had been more sensitive to my father’s problems, I would not have let him spend so much money on me. I would have accepted one of the marriage proposals if I had thought it would save my father’s life.”
“I understand your reasons, but do you really hate the lying involved in spying that much?”
“I hate it because I hate lies, but my father died fighting the Union. He might have been killed by the relatives of the people I deceive. They are the enemy. I try my best not to care about them.”
Two
Jessie sat on a straight-backed chair in the foyer of a large eighteenth-century home on the northern edge of Gettysburg. From where she sat, she could easily overhear the conversation on the other side of the half-opened door that separated her from the lady of the house.
“She certainly is homely!”
This voice belonged to the tall blonde woman who had met Jessie at the door and studied her through hooded eyes before walking away with little attempt at courtesy. The second voice sounded much kinder, giving Jessie hope she might find employment in this home.
“Louise, please don’t be so cruel! The lady certainly can’t help her looks.”
The voices dropped in volume until Jessie could no longer make out their words. But soon footsteps coming from the inner room and the increasing audibility of the voices warned Jessie she was about to meet the lady of the house. The words filtering through the closed door made it plain the tall woman was still discussing her.
“She is certainly a drab creature, but if you insist on hiring a teacher, she would be better than the last one. I don’t think this woman will be looking to get married quickly.”
“I hope some day you will marry and have a home of your own,” the kind voice replied.
There was a silence, and Jessie’s ears perked up with curiosity. The footsteps had stopped. “Your brother is the only man who interests me, Margret.”
“And you know I would be happy to have you for a sister-in-law, but you shouldn’t pin your hopes on William and miss the opportunity to find someone who is right for you.”
Louise’s voice took on a bitter edge. “Most of the young men are off in the war. And those at home don’t seem interested in me.”
Jessie felt an unexpected stab of pity for Louise. No wonder she had been so hateful when she greeted Jessie. She had a problem with jealousy.
How would she have treated me if I had not been disguised? What luck I followed Delia’s advice! Pretending to be an ugly schoolmarm was a brilliant idea.
Now, waiting to see if Mrs. Margret Beuther would accept her as governess to her daughters, Jessie felt doubly dishonest. The two women, Louise and Mrs. Beuther, were about to enter the foyer, and she had to be in control of herself to carry out this deception. A short lady with brown hair tucked inside a neat lace cap preceded the tall woman into the hall. The lady had a kind face lighted by an inner peace, and the welcoming expression reassured Jessie, who immediately stood in her presence.
“You are Miss Renfro?” The lady held out a welcoming hand. Jessie noticed she was expecting a child. “I am Mrs. Beuther, and this is my husband’s cousin who lives with us, Miss Louise Garner.”
Jessie patted her hair in its severe bun, feeling for straggling strands of hair, and straightened the spectacles sliding down her nose. “Yes, I am Miss Jessie Renfro. Thank you for sending for me. I’m grateful you are considering me as teacher for your children.”
“Delia Redmond has recommended you highly.”
Mrs. Beuther sat down near Jessie and signaled her to resume her seat. Miss Garner remained standing against the wall.
The older lady leaned forward as she spoke. “We have had a hard time keeping governesses. We lost our Miss Mottley two months ago when she married our pastor. And only last year our Miss Forrest married one of our neighbors.”
A snort from behind Mrs. Beuther drew Jessie’s eyes to Miss Garner, who snickered as she interrupted.
“Don’t build false hopes, Miss Renfro. Single men are scarce around here these days.”
Jessie felt her cheeks redden at the sarcasm in Louise’s voice. She drew herself up, lifting her shoulders in her natural way—the way of a pretty and confident young woman of society who would tolerate no rudeness—and bit out her answer.
“I am not looking for a husband.”
Miss Garner scanned Jessie from head to toe and then curled her lip in scorn at what she saw. Jessie glanced again at the mocking face. This Louise would be an attractive woman, with her blonde hair and pale blue eyes, if it were not for the sour expression pulling at her mouth.
Jessie shifted in her chair and lifted her slim shoulders in the prideful manner Delia had told her she must hide. Her chin, jaw clenched with rising temper, lifted, and her eyes flashed behind the shaded lenses.
Mrs. Beuther, perhaps sensing Jessie was offended, cast a warning look at Louise and quickly changed the subject.
“Let’s discuss the position, Miss Renfro. Delia told you I want you to teach my girls, but I have changed my plans. Instead of a governess, I need a teacher for a school.”
“What do you mean? What kind of school?” Jessie sat up very straight and laced her fingers together in her lap.
“I am going to open a school for the children of our farm workers, church members, and other neighborhood children. Our farm lies just to the north of us, and the children can easily walk to our house for school. Are you able to teach a variety of ages in one class?”
Jessie twisted her lips and thought a moment about this proposal. “Yes, I am, but I was not expecting this. It’s May. Isn’t that a little late to start a school?”
“Perhaps, but some of these children have never been in school, and I want to keep them out of the fields a while. I have a deeper purpose here.”
“I see,” Jessie said, quickly calculating whether this change would affect her work. “How many children will there be?”
“Only fifteen—the oldest is twelve.”
Waving a hand toward the inner parts of the house, Jessie voiced the last question on her mind. “And the school will be in your house?”
“Yes, I have a large bedroom that we use for my girls’ lessons. When we lost our last governess, I looked at all the wasted space in that room and began thinking of educating the children of my workers and other children of the neighborhood who were not going to school.”
“I’ll do it, if you want me, that is. I can also teach piano if you would like—private lessons, of course.”
The lady clapped her hands together and beamed at Jessie. “I would love it for my girls, and other parents may want lessons for their children too. You may teach Faith and Hope on our piano in the afternoons.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Jessie said.
Jessie smiled as she learned the children’s names. She remembered a Bible verse she had heard in her childhood: “Now abideth these three, faith, hope, and charity.”
“Faith and Hope—your daughters?”
“Yes, their names are biblical. You will find the Word of God holds a prominent position in our home. In fact, I would like you to include the Bible in your class work.”
Mrs. Beuther patted her bulging abdomen. “If this new baby is a girl, we will call her Charity. You are a Christian, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” Jessie had never discussed her religion with an employer and wondered how this could affect her relationship with these people.
“We are members of a small church that meets just outside Gettysburg,” Mrs. Beuther said. “It’s not part of a denomination, but it’s the church our workers go to, and we believe God wants us to help support the congregation. We would understand if you would prefer to go to one of the larger churches in town.”
“If there is a church of my denomination, I would prefer it, if you don’t mind.”
Mrs. Beuther smiled and nodded. “Miss Renfro, you may attend any church you please. Are you prepared to stay today?”
Jessie let out a sigh of deep relief. In the brief moments of her interview with this kind lady, she had felt very comfortable but not at all sure she was what they wanted.
Of course, she needed the position both to hide and to report on troop movements, but if it had been a horrible place, she would not have minded being turned away. “Will I be living here?”
“Didn’t I say? Of course, you will be living here.”
“I am prepared to stay, if you want. I brought a small bag with me, and I will send for the rest of my personal things. Thank you for the position. I can start lessons as soon as you wish.”
“Wonderful! You know, Miss Renfro, I believe strongly in the sovereignty of God, and I think He has led you here for a special reason.”
“I’ve never thought about that,” Jessie replied. “But it does seem as if fate has brought me here.”
Mrs. Beuther shook her head and laughed, but kindly. “Fate is nothing but the working of God.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Jessie felt at a definite disadvantage. Her knowledge of theology was no doubt the weakest part of her education. These people would soon discover her ignorance, she feared.
Her new employer did not seem bothered by it, though. Mrs. Beuther turned quickly toward Jessie.
“Oh, I need to tell you that we have received word my brother, Major William Richard, has been injured in the fighting at Chancellorsville in Virginia. He is being brought here to recuperate and should arrive this evening or tomorrow. The girls will be hard to teach until they have had some time with him.”
This news interested Jessie. An officer wounded in the battle she had helped the South win would be in the same house with her. It could be uncomfortable—or very useful.
“Of course, he is a Union officer?”
Miss Garner turned a face twisted with scorn at the newcomer. With hands on hips, she lashed out. “Did you think he would be a rebel? We are loyal Americans here! Are you?”
“Certainly,” Jessie answered, thinking it only a half lie. “How badly wounded is he?”
Mrs. Beuther’s face was not smiling now. She put the back of one hand across her brow and closed her eyes. “We only know it was serious. That’s all the news we have.”
“I’m sorry to hear of his injury!” Jessie said, feeling hypocritical as she realized that she may have contributed to his fate.
“I’m not grieving,” Mrs. Beuther replied. “The Lord has preserved William’s life, and I’m thankful I’ll have the opportunity to take care of him.”
Mrs. Beuther’s smile returned. “Louise, don’t you think Miss Renfro will be perfect for us? Won’t she do wonderfully?”
The younger woman turned from Mrs. Beuther, took a moment to assess Jessie once more, and then answered with a slightly derisive tone.
“If she is truly loyal to our country, I think she will be good enough.”
***
Jessie followed Louise Garner’s unfriendly back down the narrow halls of the large old house. The dark oak paneling smelled of oil, and the worn floors were polished to a dull sheen, evidence of the care Mrs. Beuther gave to her home. As she walked behind her companion, but Jessie couldn’t resist talking to her as she would to any young woman acquaintance.
“Tell me more about Mrs. Beuther’s brother. How was he wounded?”
Miss Garner stopped and turned to cast a suspicious eye on Jessie. It was as if she were assessing the motive behind this question.
“We don’t know much about the incident. He is in an infantry regiment, and he is the type of officer who chooses to be in the heat of the battle with his men. We suppose that is the reason he was injured.”
“He sounds like a brave man,” Jessie said in an effort to sound like a loyal Unionist.
Miss Garner could not keep herself from grinning with delight in response to hearing the major praised. “My, yes, even more than that. He is a strong leader who would die for his men.”
Jessie did not want to be any more hypocritical than she had to, so she cringed when she heard herself say, “I look forward to meeting him.”
The woman’s lip curled slightly, and she let her gaze pass slowly from Jessie’s tight brown bun to her weak-looking bespectacled eyes on to the shapeless gown hanging loosely on her slim body.
“Just don’t get your hopes up!”
Jessie was sure this was a good time to practice being reserved. Miss Garner was the type of hateful, snide woman she had easily dealt with in her days as a beauty.
She knew exactly the haughty words and tone to put her in her place, but this time she chose restraint.
“Here is the room Mrs. Beuther has set aside for you. The girls’ rooms are not far from here. The schoolroom is next door. You will dine with us, and tonight you will meet Mrs. Beuther’s husband, my cousin Frederick.”
“Thank you. Do you dine at seven?”
“No, seven-thirty. And don’t be late. My cousin demands promptness.” Louise snapped out her command, not knowing she was pushing Jessie to the edge.
Through clenched teeth the governess spoke in measured, careful tones. “I will be very happy to meet Mr. Beuther . . . and Major Richard when he arrives.”
“I should warn you not to take the example of our former governesses too much to heart.” Louise stopped on her way out the door and turned back to Jessie. “Both of them took more interest in matrimony than the work they were hired to do.”
Miss Garner turned and walked to the door. She had one hand on the doorknob as she looked at Jessie one last time. “And don’t get any ideas about Major Richard. He is far above you.”
“Horrible Yankee witch!” Jessie spat out as soon as she was sure Miss Garner was out of earshot.
She dug her fingernails into her palms and gritted her teeth to keep from screaming. What would Papa think if he could see her now? He had doted on his daughter, taking pride in her looks, her wit, and her accomplishments.
Surely if he could have foreseen that she would end up as a teacher, forced to hide her beauty, he would have stayed home to protect her.
“Oh, Papa, I need advice,” Jessie cried out within the privacy of her new room. “I wish you were here!”
Missing him badly, she flung herself across her bed and cried into the pink roses embroidered on the quilted cotton coverlet.
Eventually she stopped crying and forced herself to consider her situation. At least she was safely employed in a home that promised to be a haven from the world, and, in spite of that, here she was crying as she had never cried when faced with hatefulness in her former positions.
“That’s it! No more crying! Papa would have told me to shape up and do what I have to do.”
Three
You must be our new teacher.”
The stocky, slightly graying gentleman who took Jessie’s hand when she entered the dining room that evening showed little resemblance to his cousin. Where Miss Garner was cold and haughty, Mr. Beuther gave Jessie a warm smile of welcome.
Although she had tried to hurry, Jessie saw she was the last one to arrive; in fact, the family was already seated at the table. Mrs. Beuther was beaming at her from the far end of the table; the two girls were seated at their mother’s right, and Miss Garner was seated at her left. The remaining place next to Mr. Beuther at the other end of the table was for Jessie.
“I am sorry I’m late. I got lost in your halls.”
Jessie hurriedly seated herself, smoothing her drab gown across her lap as she sat down and pushed her spectacles back to the bridge of her nose. Everyone was looking at her with interest, and Jessie was excruciatingly aware of the lenses that obscured her eyes. She wondered what they must think of her.
“Don’t worry yourself.” Mrs. Beuther waved a hand as if to brush away Jessie’s concerns about her tardiness.
Mr. Beuther immediately chimed in. “My wife is right, Miss Jessie. I am very punctual and insist our meals begin on time, but I’m no tyrant. Please don’t fear me.”
Jessie stared at him in amazement and could not help comparing him to the proud masters of the houses where she had previously worked. They were different from any people she had met since becoming a governess; indeed, if it were not for Louise Garner, who at this moment was taking pains not to look at her, she would wonder if she had landed in heaven.
As if to emphasize the point, Mr. Beuther bowed his head and said grace before anyone took a bite of the meal. When the “amen” was said, Jessie peeped up through her spectacles and saw everyone happily preparing to enjoy the first course, a steaming tureen of soup. No more was said about Major Richard for a while, although it was obvious from the prayer he was uppermost in their thoughts.
“Miss Renfro, these are our daughters, Faith and Hope,” Mrs. Beuther said as she ladled soup into the bowls.
The oldest girl had blonde braids curled atop her head like a crown. She looked to be about eight years old, while her younger sister, whose braids were dark brown, appeared to be five or six.
“Hello, Faith. You are Faith, aren’t you?” Jessie smiled at the larger child, and then turned to the smaller. “And you must be Hope?”
The two girls nodded and grinned shyly, casting curious glances from the corners of their eyes at their new teacher.
“Don’t be afraid to talk to me,” Jessie said. “You must call me Miss Jessie. Tomorrow we will start school. Won’t you like that?”
“I hope so,” Faith said. “I didn’t know I was supposed to like school!”
“We’ll just have to try hard to make sure you do. What do you think, Hope? Are you excited about starting school in a class full of children?”
The little girl nodded her head eagerly. “Oh, yes!”
Jessie guessed they would be well-behaved and enjoyable pupils. It was obvious they respected their parents’ authority and knew how to behave around adults.
“The girls often dine in the nursery at an earlier hour; however, this is a special occasion,” Mr. Beuther said.
Miss Garner finally looked up with interest. “Yes, we are all very concerned about Margret’s brother and hope he will arrive tonight. We are all very excited.”
“Especially you, eh, Louise.” Mr. Beuther’s teasing words brought a hint of pink to Miss Garner’s haughty cheeks.
“Frederick!” Mrs. Beuther admonished. “Don’t tease Louise about William.”
Miss Garner was trying to look dignified, yet Jessie suspected she was actually pleased with the attention.
The rest of the dinner passed with pleasant conversation and many proofs that this was a warm and loving family. However, even as they chatted easily, everyone was listening for the crunch of wheels on gravel signaling the approach of Major Richard, and eyes were frequently turned toward the hands of the ancient grandfather clock.
But eight-thirty came and passed, and there was still no word or sign of the injured man. Eventually, Mr. Beuther decided it was too late for his daughters to stay up any longer. With deep sighs of disappointment and the extracted promise they would be allowed to see their uncle early the next day, the two girls went to bed.
“So, Miss Jessie,” Mr. Beuther said once the children had gone, “it seems Faith and Hope like you. It is our prayer you will be able to teach them and the other children what they need to know to be well educated.”
Jessie glanced at Miss Garner, smoothed her hair escaping from its bun and bowed her head modestly. “I’ll do my best.”
“My wife tells me you will be teaching the girls piano. I would like to hear a sample of your skill. Would you play something for us tonight? My mother left us a beautiful instrument.”
Mrs. Beuther cried out in delight. “Oh, yes, please do. Let us retire to the parlor for coffee now. You can play while we wait for William.”
In the parlor Jessie was delighted to discover the old Stein piano was in tune; moreover, it had a wonderful tone. Miss Garner paced impatiently up and down, paying no attention to the restful Beethoven sonata.
Jessie pushed her spectacles up on her nose and searched through the collected pages of music for something more lively. She had just begun a polonaise when Miss Garner cried out.
“Stop! Stop playing! He is here! He is here!”
***
William gritted his teeth at the stabbing pain in his arm. The trip from the battlefield down in Virginia, a few miles south of Washington, to his brother-in-law’s home had been agony, and he thanked God the torture was finally over.
“Help me out, Sergeant Carter,” he barked at the man who drove the military cart. “My arm has stiffened up so I can hardly move it.”
Leaning on the shoulders of the sergeant and the other soldier who had accompanied him home, Major Richard walked up the wide front steps and into the welcoming arms of his sister.
“William, William, praise the Lord you have safely arrived. I have been praying for you.”
“I know. I could tell prayers were being answered. But be careful how you handle me, sister, for I am in pain. Now find me a place to rest.”
As his brother-in-law gripped his hand with heart-felt welcome, William was suffused with the warmth of love emanating from this home. He struggled into the foyer, looking around at the familiar comfort of his sister’s home. He leaned for a moment against the door frame and contemplated the scene before him.
Margret’s cozy, stuffed furniture beckoned a man to rest his weary body in its welcoming arms. After weeks on the battlefield, living in tents and sleeping on the ground, it was heaven to be here surrounded by people who loved him.
At the age of twenty-eight, William knew it was time to be thinking about a family of his own. The war had made him hard—even cruel—he feared. The man he used to be was gentle, a man who trusted God and wanted to live in peace, as much as it was possible.
William remembered the anxiety he felt when the South reacted to President Lincoln’s election and seceded from the Union. Although he had never before considered entering the military, he had enlisted as soon as war was declared. He knew many felt the war’s purpose was to keep the Union intact; however, he had always felt it was his chance to help end slavery.
As he stood there, he suddenly noticed the young woman hovering near.
“Hello, Louise.”
“Do you need anything? May I bring you some water?” She twisted her thin fingers nervously as she awaited his answer.
He knew Louise hoped he would marry her, but he had never felt any attraction to her. He studied her narrow face rimmed with pale blonde hair and gazed into her light blue eyes. He knew she would make an attentive wife.
“Yes, I would like some water after I am sitting comfortably in the parlor.” He turned to the men helping him. “Gentlemen, it’s through this door.”
His sister immediately spoke. “But William, surely we need to put you right to bed!”
The major gave his sister a smile that hid his pain. He shook his head and tried to pull away from his attendants. “No, I’m suddenly feeling much better.”
“Major, sir, I think you’re too weak,” the sergeant protested and refused to move far from his superior, even though William was gesturing for him to back away.
“Sergeant, let go of me!”
As William spoke, his legs buckled beneath him. His brother-in-law rushed to his aid and guided him toward a seat, evidently feeling he was the only person who could overrule William.
“Everyone stand back,” Frederick commanded, “and let the man sit down!”
Jessie’s fingers had frozen in place on the keyboard when the others rushed from the room. Although she was curious to see the injured man, to know the extent and the seriousness of his injuries, and to see what he looked like, Jessie felt a strong antipathy toward him. After all, he was a Yankee officer.
She stood up and started for the door, wanting to slip out unseen and return to her room, but before she could reach the hall, she heard the family returning and so hurried back to the shelter of the piano.
Mr. Beuther and two men in blue uniforms were helping Major Richard while Mrs. Beuther and Miss Garner, trying their best to fuss over the wounded man, were screening him from Jessie’s view. A surprisingly strong voice with an edge of irritation carried over their chirping.
“Margret . . . Louise . . . please stand back and let me try to walk to the chaise.”
Pain showed in his voice and Mr. Beuther gestured for the women to stop. Mrs. Beuther instantly protested. “At least I should see to your wound and clean you up. I must begin immediately to make sure there is no infection!”
“Soon enough for that, sister. It has been three days since I was wounded, and I have just traveled a hundred miles. Surely I can rest for a half hour before I put my body in your hands.”
“William is right,” her husband interjected. “He may be wounded, but he has had a hard trip today and could use some rest before he goes upstairs.”
Jessie hid behind the raised piano lid, hoping no one would notice her. She wanted to be invisible while she studied the newcomer.
“William, stretch out here.”
Mr. Beuther helped the two soldiers situate his brother-in-law on the chaise.
“And you might as well let Margret make over you a moment. You know she won’t be satisfied until she has seen to you.”
“Blast!” The injured man spit out the word with more force than Jessie would have believed possible for one in his condition. “Pardon my language, sister.”
While William put up with the blanket tucking and pillow plumping by his sister, Miss Garner stood awkwardly by, held back by his frown. Noticing that the wounded man paid Miss Garner little attention, Jessie guessed he did not share her feelings.
Finally, Mr. Beuther intervened once more. “That is enough for now, Margret. You have him comfortable. Now sit down and let him relax.”
“I believe you men said you must immediately return to your regiment.” Mr. Beuther turned to the two soldiers and sounded almost military himself as he spoke “We are so thankful to you for bringing our brother that we insist you have some food and a place to rest for the night before you return.”
The taller man was shaking his head when Major Richard interrupted from the chaise.
“You might as well give in, men. My sister and her husband will never accept a refusal. Get some rest and head back at dawn.”
“Yes, sir.”
The men followed Mr. Beuther out of the room while the ladies immediately turned their attention to the wounded man. Miss Garner, taking advantage of her cousin’s absence, hurried to kneel beside the major. She made an awkward attempt to pull his cover up to his shoulders, but he only pushed it back. The sound of her cousin returning sent Miss Garner back to her chair.
Across the room at the piano, Jessie sat quietly watching the family interplay, hoping no one would think of her. When the family members had settled in their various chairs, she was able to get her first good look at the wounded man.
She had supposed he was the elder brother of Mrs. Beuther, who looked to be in her early thirties; indeed, Jessie was expecting an older man more like Mr. Beuther, someone near forty with graying temples and the early lines of age creasing his eyes.
She was surprised to see dark brown hair with no traces of gray, a thick but neat mustache and beard, and deep blue eyes surrounded by black lashes. He was tall and slim, as far as Jessie could tell from his reclining form. The disheveled shock of dark hair falling across his forehead made him appear quite vulnerable.
The entrance of this handsome officer made her excruciatingly aware of her dowdy ugliness.
“William, you are terribly pale.” His sister could not help watching her patient. “Have you lost a great deal of blood?”
“Some—at first. Have you done something different with this room since I left?”
Mrs. Beuther ignored his attempt to change the subject.
“Where were you wounded?”
“At Chancellorsville.”
He grinned at his little joke, but Jessie noticed a grimace of pain mixed with the smile on his face. Mrs. Beuther let out a sigh of exasperation.
“Do you want me to come over and see for myself?”
“Peace, peace, dear sister.” The man held up one weak hand. “My upper arm took the worst of it and bled a great deal but has been put together rather well. My Bible deflected the bullet and protected my heart.”
Margret turned pale and then clapped her hands together. “Thank God I chose that pewter-backed Bible for you. Will you let me clean and dress the wound?”
“Before I go to bed you may begin to nurse me. For now, let me stretch out on your chaise where I can enjoy the peace of your home.”
Mr. Beuther squeezed his brother-in-law’s shoulder before crossing the room to his chair. “I understand, and later you may tell me about your ordeal. For now, do you feel like some music? We have a new teacher just arrived today who plays wonderfully. Miss Renfro, would you play that peaceful tune for my brother-in-law?”
Jessie ducked her head toward the keys and reluctantly obeyed the request. Feeling totally alone, she poured her emotions into the music and soon forgot her surroundings in the beautiful sound she was creating.
When she finished, the injured man reached out an arm toward her, symbolically bridging the distance between them.
“My brother-in-law was right, Miss Renfro. That was beautiful. You must play again for me soon.”
Jessie stood and gave him a quick look and a glib lie. “I will be happy to do so, sir. And now, if Mr. Beuther will excuse me, I think it’s time for me to retire. It has been a long day for me, also.”
“Of course, Miss Jessie,” her employer said. “Get yourself a good night’s rest. We have sent word for the students to come tomorrow morning to begin school.”
Jessie retraced her steps, with only an occasional need to stop and orient herself in the long rambling halls of the old house. Eventually she found the door of the cozy room Mrs. Beuther had given her and entered to begin preparing for bed.
So much had happened in this long day that her mind had not had time to ponder. Now she took a moment to consider the spot in which she now found herself. Only a few days ago she had lost her employment, and now she found herself in this house where the people were kind-hearted Christians. However, she was a Southern agent in disguise among the very type of people who would surely despise dishonesty. And a handsome officer had joined the group now, another person before whom she must keep up her charade.
Oh, why didn’t I anticipate a situation like this before I agreed to Delia’s plan? Jessie sat in the chair at her dressing table, staring at her reflection in the mirror. I, who have always been an honest person, am caught in a web of lies!
She began letting down her hair, rubbing her scalp to ease the aching caused by the tightness of the bun she had worn. Her eyes were relieved to be free of the strain of looking through the tinted lenses, which she had carefully folded and set aside.
As she fell asleep that night, Jessie was thinking about the warm atmosphere pervading this home. They were all so kind and loving.
“All except Miss Garner,” she muttered with her last waking breath.
Four
“Good morning, Faith and Hope.” Jessie greeted her new pupils when they walked into the schoolroom for the first day of class.
The two girls stood just inside the door and stared shyly at the new teacher they had not seen since the evening before.
“I’m glad you came before the other students, so I can get to know you.”
Hope quickly discarded her reserve and ran toward Jessie, her dark braids bouncing on her back. Faith slipped forward a bit more shyly as if unsure of whether she would accept this new teacher. Jessie took Hope’s hand and walked toward the older girl. She patted Faith’s braided crown as she gave her a warm, encouraging smile.
“I hear some footsteps in the hall. I think the rest of the class is beginning to arrive.”
“Yes, Miss Jessie,” Faith answered as the door creaked slowly open. “It’s Edwin, Charlotte, and Tom Hobson. They live the closest.”
Jessie held out a hand to each of the Hobson children, who looked to be from six to ten years old, with Edwin the oldest and Tom the youngest. They were cleanly and neatly dressed, but it was clear to her their families were not well off. After them seven more children from three different families trickled in and were introduced by Faith. By eight-fifteen several more pupils had arrived, so she began the class.
“You must call me Miss Jessie,” she said to the children who stood beside their desks.
“Please be seated. I was just thinking—before you came in—that this is a lovely classroom Mrs. Beuther has provided. You must all thank her when you see her today!”
A little cluster of tables and chairs were set up together in a one part of the room, which was lined with shelves full of books. A globe stood on a small circular table, and a blackboard had been hung on one wall. On another small table was a large leather-bound Bible, which had the look of many years of use.
Jessie smiled down at the children and, wanting to put them at ease, began the lesson with less than her usual teacher’s manner.
Unsure how to begin this day, when she had not had time to prepare lessons, she glanced at the large Bible. She regretted not making regular reading of this book a habit.
It was clear she would have to spend time herself reading it in the evening, but in the meantime she would start with the beginning. At least she remembered the first few verses from classes she had taken when her father’s conscience prompted him to send her to church.
“Hope, why don’t we start by having you read the first verse of Genesis for me? After that, everyone who can read will do so, and I will assess your grade level.”
Jessie opened the Bible and turned it toward the little girl. She watched as the child followed the words with her finger.
“In the big . . . begin . . . ”
“Beginning.” Jessie prompted the child who wrinkled her brow and continued.
“Beginning God cre . . . creeted . . . .”
“Created. Pronounce each vowel separately.”
A soft tapping at the classroom door signaled the arrival of another pupil. When Jessie called to come in, the handle turned slowly and a dark head with curly black pigtails and a shy smile peeked around the end of the door.
Jessie’s smile froze halfway. The welcome bubbling to her lips sputtered and stalled.
“Hello . . . you . . . you . . . are you one of . . . .”
Faith, unaware of her teacher’s confusion and dismay, quickly made the introduction. “Miss Renfro, this is Eva. This is her first time to go to school.”
Faith led the new pupil to a chair next to hers, while Jessie struggled to gather her emotions under control.
“Oh . . . welcome Eva,” she said, her face in a forced smile.
All the while her brain was screaming, a black child? I’m expected to teach a black child?
I must get control of this. After all, I am under cover as an agent for my country. I have to pretend to be ugly, to be a Yankee, I can certainly pretend to be comfortable teaching this child.
“Eva,” Jessie said, smiling as naturally as she could. “We are reading the Bible. Listen as Hope finishes. Class, let’s go on with our reading.”
The morning passed quickly as Jessie grew to know her students and to determine their levels of accomplishment in the areas of reading, mathematics, and geography.
At midday—as if they had heard a bell ring—the students began to get restless, and she knew it was time for their lunch. Mrs. Beuther had told her a maid would come to take the children to the kitchen for lunch and a playtime outside.
Jessie would be free to do what she wanted, even eat lunch on her own if she wished. The maid arrived promptly and led the children away. Faith and Hope stayed behind to tell her their mother had said they could have a picnic in their uncle’s room at lunch time.
“You girls have been very patient,” Jessie said. “Last night you were so disappointed not to see him, and now you have waited until noon.”