A Log Cabin Christmas (22 page)

I
n the days that followed, Jed’s health improved rapidly, his strength returning in waves every day. Each evening he fell soundly asleep after working steadily alongside Cora and Horace to take care of their home. As the snow melted and daytime temperatures rose, they all spent much of their days collecting firewood to replace what had been ruined by the flood.

When all the trees were picked bare as high as they could reach, the two men felled one of the sycamores farthest from the cabin, dragging it in parts to the yard.

The ring of the ax splitting new firewood didn’t seem out of the ordinary to Cora as she cut thick slices of bread to complement their lunch.

“The way that boy’s going, we’ll have enough heat to last two winters.” Papa chuckled to himself as he plunged the dipper into the barrel of drinking water, sipping right from the ladle.

Cora spun around, knife still in hand, and glared through the window. Jed stood next to the stump in the yard, resting his forearm on the long ax handle as he gently rotated his shoulders and stretched his back. Marching to the door, she flung it open and pointed her knife at him. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

Jed had stripped off the red-checked shirt he’d borrowed from her grandfather and even rolled up the sleeves of his white undershirt. He swiped an arm across his forehead and quirked one eyebrow. “Whatever it is that I’m doing, I’m sure there’s no need for violence.”

“What does that mean?”

He nodded toward her hand, the corner of his mouth lifting in an ever-so-slight grin. “I don’t know. You’re the one holding a knife.”

Cora looked at the blade then back at Jed before realizing he was teasing her. “All right then.” Lowering her hand to her side, she put her other fist on her hip. “You know you shouldn’t be out here chopping wood.”

“I know. There are several cracks in the chinking that need to be fixed. Horace said we could start that tomorrow.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Papa. “Did you ask him to daub the cracks?” Jed began to speak, but she cut him off. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re working far too hard for someone who could barely walk five days ago.”

“I feel good.” As if to prove his point, he picked up a piece of the tree, centered it on the stump, and split it evenly with one slice of the tool, barely favoring his left arm. “This is good for me. Well, this and all your good cooking.”

His attempt at flattery would get him nowhere, but she wasn’t going to argue with the fool either. If he wanted to injure himself again, that was his choice. No matter the nagging concern that forced her to look back at him once more before returning to the meal preparations. Or was it the way his handsome features glistened under the midday sun?

Certainly she felt only concern for him, as someone who had been under her care. The way her heart fluttered at the sight of him hard at work was nothing more than a natural apprehension. Wasn’t it?

The long hours of labor and so many late nights caring for Jed finally caught up with Cora that afternoon as she washed the dishes. She yawned loudly and often, battling the heaviness of her eyelids. Finally conceding to rest her eyes for a moment, she dropped into her rocking chair and had just dozed off when Jed stomped his boots clean just on the other side of the door.

Through one eye, she glared at him as he stepped into the home. When he looked over and caught her gaze, his smile fell. “Were you resting?”

She shook her head, fighting the desire to succumb to sleep once again. “Not quite.”

He fastened a button below his chin. He’d put the red cotton shirt back on over his undershirt, although his cheeks still glowed from the exertion. “Don’t let me keep you from whatever you were doing. I just needed …” His voice cut off as he lowered himself to a seat at the table. A wry grin spread across his face. “Well, I guess you were right. I don’t have as much stamina as I thought.”

She opened her mouth to say she’d told him so but bit her tongue instead. Pulling her knitting from her basket, she asked, “Where’s Papa?”

“He was just going to finish stacking the wood that I cut and then go down into the cellar to bring up more smoked ham.”

They’d been alone many times, but Jed was nearly fully healed, and her stomach fluttered uncomfortably. She pressed her hand to it while consciously averting her gaze. She knew his features by now. Knew the way his hair fell across his forehead and his hands curled into fists. Knew that gleam so often in his eye that meant he was teasing her.

But sitting alone with him as he pulled out the fair scrap of sycamore he’d been carving for days felt strange and new, and not even a distant relative of the concern she’d felt for his wellbeing. And not altogether unwelcome.

Slamming her eyes closed against the curious feelings brewing within, shewas soon lulled by the consistent rasping of knife against wood and gentle motion of her chair.

Jed flinched as the knife in his hand scraped his thumb, nearly drawing blood. He had to focus on the little figure emerging from the lumber, despite the way the sun shone through the window, turning Cora’s hair to the color of honey. He admired the graceful lines of her cheek as her face was turned away from him, yet he couldn’t make out the words she mumbled.

“Hmm?” He leaned toward her, still unable to see her face.

She took a deep breath, nearly a sob. “Just hold on. Hold on. The doctor will see you soon.”

Jed jumped to his feet, moving silently across the room. When he reached her side, she swung her face toward him, her eyes closed and silver trails slipping down her cheeks. And then she wailed so loudly that he leaped back, nearly tripping on his own boots.

He’d heard that terrible sound before. The night that he’d tried to leave for Washington—he’d thought it was the wind.

Her breath hitched, and more tears streamed down her face, but still she didn’t wake.

What if she woke up and was angry that he’d been there? He shot a glance toward the door. But what if she awoke and was frightened to be alone?

Considering all the nights that she’d stayed by his side as his fever raged in front of this same stone hearth, he owed her at least the same. So he pulled over the bench and sat right next to her as her gentle features twisted in pain and something akin to fear.

Utterly helpless, he did the only thing he could think to do. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed gently. Her fingers were long and soft, the opposite of his callused, chapped hands. But she clung to him, clenching his hand with each stuttering breath.

The longer she clutched his hand, the easier her breathing became. Her tears dried, and the pinched features of fear relaxed until she slept, finally at peace with the world inside her own mind.

Jed lost track of time as he whispered prayers of serenity over her, hunched so close that his lips brushed her hair. When Horace opened the door, Jed jumped enough to jolt Cora from her rest as well. Her eyes darted between Jed’s face and her two hands, still clinging to his. Hopping to her feet, she dropped his hand and pressed her palms to her face. Her eyes open wide, she just stared at him before shaking her head slowly.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered. Without warning, she bolted,disappearing behind the bedroom door, refusing to emerge even to join them for supper.

Jed sat across the table from Horace that evening, his eyes staring only at his plate, focused on the memory of the way Cora’s cheeks had burned with embarrassment. He’d wanted to scoop her into his arms and hold her until she confided what made her cry in her sleep. But he hadn’t done it. For propriety’s sake and her composure, he’d stayed rooted to the floor.

His stomach fell, and he set down his fork. If her pride got in the way, she might never let him close enough again to learn what was really going on in her head.

“Was she crying in her sleep?”

Jed jerked his head up to look the other man in the eyes. Nodding slowly, he said, “Yes, sir.”

Horace rested his chin against his chest, his shoulders sloping to his elbows, the furrows above his eyes growing deep. “I don’t know what to do. It’s every night since she came back from Carnton—since she came back from tending to those men.”

“Those men?”

White hair bobbing, Horace mumbled, “She went to Carnton after the battle. The house had been turned into a hospital, and Carrie McGavock sent word that Cora should go help if she could.” The old man’s hands shook as he folded them on the table next to his plate. “Her grandmother would have known what to do now, but all I can do is stay awake at night listening to her sobbing and pray that God will give her rest.”

“I understand.” Jed’s eyebrows pulled together. “Have you tried touching her arm or holding her hand?”

“She won’t let me near.” The sadness in Horace’s eyes was a punch to the gut for Jed. “It’s like she can feel that I’m close by, and she thrashes out like a trapped raccoon.”

Jed swallowed the fear that he might hurt the old man’s feelings and pushed forward in the hopes of helping Cora. “She let me hold her hand today.”

“I know.”

“I’ll hold it again tonight.” He glanced over his shoulder at the bedroom, longing to give her some semblance of peace in her sleeping hours.

Objections crossed Horace’s face as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud. It was improper. Her reputation could be ruined. What if she awoke while Jed was there and was even more embarrassed? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sir, I realize there are a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t, but if it could help your granddaughter rest peacefully … even for one night … would it be worth it?”

Horace heaved a loud sigh, the love for his only grandchild filling his eyes with compassion. “I suppose so.”

That night, after the chores were done and the cabin was closed up tightly, Jed waited on his pallet until a new cry joined the wind whistling between the logs. He knocked softly on the door of the bedroom and waited until Horace let him in, and then he sat on the floor between the two beds and reached for Cora’s hand.

She wrapped her fingers around his, her breaths slowing to a steady rhythm until she finally rested.

Y
ou attended West Point, but did you graduate?”

Jed laughed at her. “Of course I graduated. It was my dream to be a soldier, and I wasn’t going to squander it.”

“Why a soldier?” Cora picked up another handful of kindling, filling in larger cracks between the cabin logs.

As Jed stirred his bucket of mud and straw, which he would use to fill the smaller spaces and seal the openings, his eyes shifted down, his eyebrows drawn tightly together. “My father wanted me to run the farm—”

“In Maryland?”

“Yes, but my great-grandfather fought with George Washington, and I grew up hearing stories of those battles. Those men at Valley Forge were my childhood heroes, so when I entered the academy my only regret was that I wouldn’t have a noble war to fight as they had.”

Cora pressed another piece of wood into place, keeping her gaze on Jed’s face. “And now that you have a war?”

Jed shook his head, his hand never stopping, lest the mud harden beyond use. “It’s not romantic, but it is noble to fight for what you believe in.”

“What about the farm? What will your father do?”

“Grant and Bess were going to farm it.” A painful expression seared through his eyes. “Now, I suppose he’ll give it to my nephew. I’m a lifelong soldier.” Suddenly a yawn cracked Jed’s jaw. Leaning against the rough timber of the outside of the cabin, his eyelids drooped.

“Are you not sleeping well?” Cora asked as she pressed the last pieces into place. “You look terrible.”

Jed grinned at her. “I look terrible? If you’re not careful, you’ll look worse.” He stirred the sloppy mess, moving as though he would pitch it at her.

She ducked and screamed. “Don’t you dare!”

Taking a menacing step toward her, he waved the stick of muck in her direction. “Oh, wouldn’t I? I’ll show you what terrible looks like!”

She shrieked and ran from him, picking her skirts nearly up to her knees as she bolted around the side of the house. His breathing loud and close behind her, she knew she couldn’t outrun him. He had returned to almost full health and strength, so she hid around the corner of the cabin. When he rounded the building, still growling and waving the muddy stick, she jumped out and screamed.

He plunged to his backside in an instant, his bucket flying and covering him in the sticky daubing. Cora fell to her knees beside him, laughing harder than she could ever remember.

With his forearm Jed swiped at the black streaks that covered his forehead. “This is awful.” His face remained stoic, but the lilt in his voice gave away his good humor.

“Just don’t waste any of it,” Cora managed between fits of laughter. “You still have to fill in the cracks between the kindling.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he grumbled, his hand shooting out to wipe a black stripe down her cheek, his smile suddenly matching her own. “Now we look alike.”

She grimaced as she poked the mark on her face and then inspected her finger, her eyes squinting and nose wrinkling at the dark coating. “I suppose I deserved that.” He nodded mutely before they both broke out in laughter again.

When her stomach hurt too much to continue, Cora pushed herself up, taking in the sticky mess before her. “Do you think you can salvage any of that and finish fixing the wall?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Then clean up. It’s almost Christmas, and we still don’t have a tree.” She looked off to the eastern sun, her lips pulling into a straight line. “My mother always had a tree. She came over from England and said the Royal family had a tree every year. When I was young, she read an article about them putting decorations on their trees, so we’ve been doing that almost my whole life.”

“What else did you do to celebrate Christmas with your parents?”

Her gaze turned wistful, still not turning back to him. “My mother had a beautiful voice, so she often sang Christmas songs as we baked sweet breads.”

“What did you sing?”

“Oh, anything that came to mind. But ‘Joy to the World!’ was her favorite, and we would sing it over and over.” Cora bit her lip, her smile growing. “Mama and I would spend weeks baking on her brand-new step-top stove. No matter how cold the outdoors, we were warm as fresh pie in front of that fire. And oh, the pies we made!” Turning back to Jed, she didn’t try to hide her pleasure at the memories flowing forth. “When the pies were done my father always tried to steal a bite of the peach, but it wasn’t for him. Mama bundled me up in a cloak that covered me to my toes and wrapped scarves around my head. And then wecarried baskets full of sweets to our neighbors, stopping at each house on our street to wish them a happy Christmas.” She swallowed hard. “I do miss them sometimes.”

Jed’s deep, brown gaze turned soft, his eyes never wavering from hers. “What happened to your parents?”

Cora shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it right now. She only wanted to think on the happy memories, the times of laughter and joy.

Jed’s hand reached for hers, familiar like she’d dreamed of it fitting so perfectly into his own. When he squeezed gently, she sighed. “They died of yellow fever when I was twelve, so my grandparents took me in.” Jed pressed her hand again and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off before he could respond. “It’s not as painful now as it was once. I just wish I wasn’t such a burden on Papa.”

“A burden? But you take care of this whole house.”

She waved off the flattery. “He worries about me.” She pursed her lips and looked over Jed’s shoulder. “He doesn’t say that, but I know it’s true. He worries about what will happen when he’s gone. Who will take care of me?”

Jed squared his shoulders and spoke with a boldness unusual even for him. “Did you never have a beau? There must have been men who wanted to marry you.”

Heat threatened to burn her cheeks again, but she forced herself to respond to his question. “I was barely sixteen when the young men at church in town began leaving to fight.” She could offer him only half of a smile. It wasn’t as though she had never wanted to marry. It simply wasn’t an option now. The man that she could love and respect would be fighting until the war ended. Just like Jed, who would soon be returning to Washington.

And if she loved him, she’d become one of those women with a broken heart. One of the ones left behind. One who might never know the fate of her beloved. That was a worry she could never manage, one she could not carry on her own.

Pain filled her stomach, but she forced a happy expression and spun away. “Get yourself cleaned up. We have a tree to find.”

By the time Jed washed his hair with the thick soap Horace had loaned him, changed his clothes, and caught up with Cora, who was stuffing a burlap bag into the bottom of her sewing basket, all trace of her sadness had vanished. She’d tried to cover it at the time, but he knew he’d upset her by asking about a beau. He’d just been unable to stop the question from rolling out, even if he didn’t want to admit why it mattered.

“Are you ready?” she asked. He nodded, his stomach rolling at the bright smile she offered. “Good. Get the ax. We have quite a trip to make before it gets dark.”

“Why do we have to go so far?”

She laughed at him over her shoulder as she trotted away from the river headed west. “There aren’t many fir trees in this area, so Papa planted a small grove of them, but he didn’t want them to be too close to the river. He said it was bad for them to be in ground that is too wet.”

They trudged through the groves of sycamore and towering oak trees, both shivering with each step, despite the sun high in the sky.

“Are we almost there?”

Cora didn’t bother answering his question. She simply led the way between two trees that had blocked the view of a cluster of twelve or fifteen small firs, their tops about even with his shoulder. Jed squinted at them, not sure if his eyes played tricks as to their color. “Are they … that is, they look blue.”

She nodded enthusiastically, as she ran up to one on the right side. “They are. They’re called concolors and appear to be both blue and green. And just wait until you cut it down.”

Jed did as he was told, swinging the ax at the base of the young tree until it split and toppled to its side. As he leaned over it, he caught the scent to which he knew Cora had been referring. “It smells like oranges.”

“I know.” She laughed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

He agreed and joined in her Christmastime merriment as he hooked his arm around a branch to drag it back home. As Cora prattled away about the corn they could pop and string around their beautiful tree, Jed’s mind continued drifting to what would take place later that night. Long after the popcorn was wound around the tree, he would sit on the floor next to her and hold her hand until morning came.

But he couldn’t be there for her forever. After all, Christmas was a week away, and then he would leave. He had to go back to his post in Washington, but he didn’t want to leave her alone with her nightmares.

Just as he started to speak, his heart heavy with her internal agony, large flakes of snow began to drop before their eyes. Cora held out her mittened hand as though she could catch the white flecks before they melted. “Don’t you just love snow? It feels like it washes away everything wrong with this world. Like it could cover every ugly thing.”

Jed stepped toward her, putting his hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t turn toward him. “What is it that you want to be covered?”

She shook her head, hunching her shoulders away from his touch. “I saw a lot of things that I can’t seem to forget.”

“Is that what you dream about at night?”

She whirled toward him, her face a mask of vulnerability and pain. “How did you know?”

“I hear you sometimes.” He swallowed the lump in the back of his throat telling him not to tell her the whole truth, took a breath, and pushed forward. “And I hold your hand while you’re sleeping.”

Her knitted mitten covered her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked twice but couldn’t seem to stop the quivering of her chin. “I’m mortified,” she cried as she turned and ran.

Thankful he had the strength to catch her, Jed dropped the tree and chased her several steps, finally wrapping his hand around her wrist just firmly enough to stop her. “Please, don’t be ashamed. Tell me what it is you dream that makes you cry so hard.”

She shook her head, her gaze on his hand, still clinging to hers. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” He tucked a snow-flecked strand of her hair behind her ear, leaving his hand on her cheek and wishing that he could protect her from all the awful things of the world. “Have you forgotten that I’ve been in this war for four years? I’ve seen terrible things, too.”

Her chin rose until she looked into his face, if not quite into his eyes, tear tracks still marring her apple cheeks. “There were so many men. The uninjured soldiers kept bringing the wounded into the house until they filled every room. I brought them water and blankets and passed out supplies. And I was fine. The blood didn’t bother me until they brought in Danny Pa–car.” Her voice hiccupped on the last word, and Jed did the only thing he could. He pulled her into his embrace, tucking her head under his chin. She nuzzled into the shoulder of his wooly coat.

“What happened to Danny?”

She hiccupped again, her shoulders shaking under his hands. “His arm was gone.”

Jed smoothed her hair with one hand while rubbing circles on her back with the other, his cheek resting on top of her head. “Was he the only one with a missing limb?”

“Nooo … but he was the youngest. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen.” The damp spot on his coat swelled as she sniffed softly. “When I was wiping the dirt off his face, it felt like a brick in my stomach. He was someone’s son. They all were. Even the ones being buried behind the house were someone’s family.”

“Oh, honey,” he murmured into her ear. “I am sorry.”

Her arms slipped around his waist until she held him as tight as he hugged her. “After that, every drop of blood was another mom or wife or daughter who would never see the man she loved again. I couldn’t stop thinking about those faces until it made me physically ill.”

“And now? Is that what you see when you dream?”

She nodded into his shoulder, rubbing her cheek against his arm.

“I am sorry that you’ve seen such terrible things.” Resting his ear atop her head, he inhaled the lavender and rosemary scent of her hair. “Do you know that in the Good Book it says to cast all your care upon Him; for He careth for you?”

“Ye–es.”

“Do you think you could try to do that? Could you give these memories and nightmares to God?”

Her breath caught loudly as she drew in a breath. “I’m not sure.”

He didn’t have easy answers, so he whispered a prayer over her. “Heavenly Father, please give Cora peace. Help her to cast these terrible memories upon You. Take them far from her mind. And please give comfort to the families of those men who won’t be returning home. We pray in Your name. Amen.”

Long after his prayer ended, they stood among the trees holding each other as snow covered the ground all around them. Finally, when her grip on him loosened, she leaned back just far enough to look into his face. “Thank you, Captain.”