Christmas at Harmony Hill (11 page)

She wrote Beth and Gideon with no assurance that either would read her letters. She could imagine her father pitching her letter into the fire, and who knew if a letter would have the chance to catch up with the army. If Gideon wrote to her, his letter would go to the farm. Until he received a letter from her, he would have no way to know she’d been forced to find another refuge.

So she waited. For the baby. For Gideon. For the sorrow for her mother and brothers to lessen. For her anger at her father to stop stabbing through her. Now and again, she would remember her mother’s words asking her to forgive, but how could she when he’d barred her from her own home?

G
ideon straightened from setting up his tent and stared across the field. Snow. That really was snow spitting through the air and hitting him in the face. As if war by itself wasn’t bad enough, the weather had to continually find ways to add to his misery. So hot in the summer a man could die from lack of water. So cold in the winter that a chicken roosting house looked like a fine hotel. Plenty of houses around the city of Nashville, but Captain Hopkins ordered them to stay together and ready. An officer couldn’t be searching through a hundred houses looking for his men when it was time to go out against the enemy. The captain wasn’t one to mess with.

Gideon turned up the collar of his coat and pulled it tighter around him. He cast his eye about, to see if he could spot anything that might make a fire. Thousands of other soldiers settling into camp inside the city’s fortifications were no doubt doing the same.

The armies were gathering. Union tents blanketed the space around Gideon. Out beyond the fortifications, scouts reported the Confederates were massing troops on the hills around Nashville. Down the river, Confederate ships set up battlements to block the
Union supply boats. The booms of that confrontation came to them like distant thunder, but here, closer to hand, there were no signs of imminent action. General Thomas, the Rock of Chickamauga, was in command of the troops, and Pap never got in a hurry. That was fine with Gideon. He wasn’t the least bit anxious to be lining up to fight except maybe to get it over with. The battle would have to be fought, but when was out of Gideon’s hands. He, along with the other soldiers, was settling in to wait for the officers to give the orders.

At least food was in plentiful supply. Most everything was in plentiful supply with Nashville full of profiteers ready to take a soldier’s army pay with temptations across the board. The place teemed with chances for trouble, but Captain Hopkins kept a tight rein on his men and ordered them to stay in camp. That was fine with Gideon. Better to stay away from temptation and remember his Heather Lou. He wasn’t about to squander his pay on gambling, drinking, or any kind of rabble-rousing. Not when he was about to be a father.

The snow blew past him, leaving hard crystals of white gathered in the tent folds. After he and some others pooled their wood to get a fire going, Gideon sat beside it to write Heather. Just thinking of her made the fire feel warmer. The other men started a game of dice, but he paid them little attention as he wrote.

My sweet Heather Lou. I’m missing you something awful, but I’ll be seeing you soon. Nothing can keep me away from you. We made camp on the outskirts of Nashville. The place puts me some in mind of Washington. Not as big, but with plenty of things going on that wouldn’t be fit for your ears or eyes. Some fellow staggered by here all glassy-eyed a while ago and said a man could find anything he wanted over in that town. I‘m thinking he might have wanted too much. He wasn’t one of our company and a good thing. The Captain would have give him what for. He let us all know we were to
stay in camp. Said we were here to beat back Johnny Reb and not to be losing our pay, not to mention our honor, to them scoundrels what cheat at cards or try to entice a man into sinning with strong drink or painted ladies. You don’t have to be worrying none about me doing any of that, Heather Lou. You’re the only girl I want, but I sure am missing you. Old Jake just ain’t as good company in the middle of the night. Ha Ha.

Gideon squeezed the last line on the very bottom of the page. He looked at what he’d written. He hadn’t even told her he loved her. He turned the page around and began writing on the side edges.

It’s cold as anything here and my feet are wet. I need you praying for me. I’m not all that good at praying back for you, but I’ll give it a try. I remember how you used to tell me praying’s not hard. That the good Lord don’t need fancy words or even words spoke out loud. That he already knows a man’s heart. If he does, he knows I love you.

When he got all that written, he barely had room to squeeze in his initial at the bottom of the letter.

Jake, who’d been keeping the fire going, laughed when he glanced over and saw every inch of the page covered with writing. “You’re a man of many words.”

“I didn’t say it all.” With a sheepish grin, Gideon folded the letter. “But maybe I can write her again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow the captain will have us marching in circles just to keep us out of trouble.”

“Might be a good thing. Leastways it might keep us warm.” He stuck the letter in his pocket and held both hands out toward the fire. “I thought we went south.”

“Winter must have trailed along with us,” Jake said. “But think of it, lad. If us northerners are suffering, think how much more
those southern boys are feeling the cold. They’ll be sprouting icicles, but not us. We’ve seen plenty worse. A little spitting snow is hardly worth noticing. Now, is it?”

“But snow.” Gideon shivered. “And if that wind would just quit blowing.”

“Would be a blessing.” A distant boom made Jake raise his head and listen. “Sounds like they’re still going at it.”

Gideon looked to the west. “Sundown will quiet them down soon.”

“Never had any desire to do my fighting on a boat.” Jake looked back at the fire. “Prefer my feet on the ground.”

The Rebels had won the fight on the river the day before, but now Union ships had gone out to break through the barricade.

“At least they’re fighting and not just freezing their toes off for nothing.” Gideon pulled off one of his shoes and rubbed his toes. The sock was damp.

Jake frowned over at him. “You got to keep those feet dry, lad. Foot rot can ruin a man.”

“Don’t I know it.” Heather had kept him in dry socks while she’d been with him. Carried them inside her dress pressed against her bosom. But now Heather was gone and his every sock carried the damp chill of the day.

He held his foot out toward the fire as another boom sounded. If he was on those boats, he might have more to worry about than foot rot. At least so far on this day, nobody was shooting at him.

“I can still march.” He propped his shoe up by the fire. He thought it best to take off only one shoe at a time. A man could put one shoe on in a run, but not two.

“That’s a good thing, because they’ll be finding us a hill to charge up. Seems like we could fight on some nice flat ground with strong rock fences to take cover behind now and again.” Jake leaned forward to poke at the fire.

“Captain says the Rebs aren’t dummies. They take the high ground when they can, same as we would if we had the chance.”
Gideon looked away to the south where the Confederate army was digging in on that high ground.

“I know. Always a hill a man has to charge up.”

“Maybe this one will have trees.” He could hope, Gideon thought.

“Could be.” Jake picked up a twig and chewed on the end. “Trouble is, even if there are trees, a man can’t stay behind them. Not and hang on to any honor.”

“Honor.” Gideon echoed. “A fine-sounding word.”

“That it is,” Jake agreed. “But it’s beginning to wear a wee bit thin for some of us that have marched behind it up too many hills.”

“We’ve gone up our share.” Gideon stared at the fire and wished night would fall so the booming would stop. Too soon he’d be hearing more of those cannon booms once General Thomas gave the order to move.

Jake threw his twig in the fire. The end he’d been chewing sizzled, then burned and was gone. “A man can lag behind and not be the first man up the hill when he’s got a baby he aims to see.”

“Sounds like something my Heather Lou would say.” Gideon leaned down and rubbed the toe of his sock. It felt a little drier. “She ask you to tell me that?”

“No, lad. I come up with the advice all on my own.” Jake stared at the fire a long minute before he pushed up from the block of wood he’d been sitting on. “And good advice it is. A man doesn’t always have to be the hero.”

“A soldier without honor doesn’t have much.”

Jake looked down at him. “You could be right, lad, but a dead man has even less.”

“Heather would tell you different. She’d say a man can always look to eternity.”

“That he can. And a fine place we’re promised it will be, but I’m thinking on dwelling here in this world a bit longer. If we can bear the weather.” Jake grinned as he grasped Gideon’s shoulder and gave it a little shake. “Keep that in mind when the time comes, lad, and stick with me. I’ll get you through.”

“You gonna get me through this weather?” Gideon asked.

“That could be a little harder.” Jake stared off toward the western horizon. “My bones tell me it’s going to be worse before it’s better. We’ll be fighting in the snow.”

But it wasn’t snow that fell on them a few days later while the generals were plotting their strategies. The snow changed to rain and then froze. The ice coated every surface and knocked down a fair number of tents. Captain Hopkins relented and let the men make their way across the ice-covered ground to barns, sheds, houses, any building with a roof to keep the ice from coating them the way it was everything else.

When daylight came the next morning, Gideon looked out at a glittering icy world and knew nobody would be fighting anybody but old man winter on this day. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry. It might be good to just get it over with.

T
he weather was cold for early December. Heather even spotted snowflakes when she stepped out to the privy. She didn’t walk about the village. Sophrena thought it better if she didn’t wander around in her condition. Heather wasn’t sure if that was because of concern for her or worry that the Shaker people might be offended by the sight of her growing shape that not even the fullest skirt could hide.

Brother Kenton said the baby growing was good, but sometimes Heather noted the hint of a frown that accompanied his words. She’d witnessed her mother’s labor to push Lucas and Jimmy out into the world. She’d gripped Heather’s hands so tightly during some of the pains that Heather’s fingers had been bruised and sore for days. Mrs. Saunders, the neighborhood midwife, had encouraged her with soft words and gentle hands. That’s who Heather had imagined helping her birth her baby. Her mother and Mrs. Saunders. But that was not to be. Instead she would have to depend on Sophrena, who appeared uneasy with the very thought of a baby, much less the messy job of bringing that baby into
the world. She might just faint dead away and Heather would be without help at all.

When Heather had those thoughts, she squared her shoulders and cradled the round form of the baby growing within her. If that happened, she was strong. Hadn’t she followed after an army? Hadn’t she done that for love? Love made hard things easier and she loved this little being inside her. She loved him so much she could do whatever had to be done to give him life.

Besides, Sophrena was like Heather’s mother. She was like Heather herself. The same blood ran through them all, a powerful connection in spite of Sophrena having removed herself from the family fold. Heather felt the connection every time she looked directly into Sophrena’s eyes. Sophrena felt it too. Heather was sure she did, no matter what she said about the way Shakers believed in a different type of family.

The snow turned to ice and pecked against the windows. But inside the cabin, the fire was warm and the lamps were lit. Food was on the table. All supplied by the Shaker people and carried to the cabin by Sophrena. The two of them sewed together. They ate together. They prayed in silence together, each in her own way, but to the same heavenly Father. They slept in the same room, their breaths mingling in the night air like Heather’s and Beth’s had before she had gone with Gideon.

It mattered not that they talked little and then only of the Shaker beliefs or of how winter was coming early or of the stitches they were making in the unending baskets of sewing. The bond was growing between them nevertheless. She would not desert Heather in her hour of need. Instead she had deserted her way of life to care for Heather. What could make one do that other than love?

And Gideon would come back to Heather. Her prayers would keep him safe and love would bring him back into her arms.

With ice tinkling against the window glass, they ate their night meal Sophrena had had the foresight to fetch early before the ice accumulated. Then as had become their custom, they returned
to the chairs by the fire and went back to their sewing until the retiring bell.

On her first days in the village, Sophrena had explained the purpose of each ringing of the bell as it signaled the proper times for different activities. Rising in the morning and retiring at night. Times of rest and prayers. Meals. It tolled for the gathering to worship in their meetinghouse. Heather had come to depend on the bells to give her days rhythm. Up in the morning, eating and praying and sewing, to bed at night.

But all she was really doing was awaiting her time. Pondering this child in her heart as surely the mother of the Christ had once done so long ago. Wondering what lay ahead. Heather’s child was not the miracle the Christ child was, come to save a sinful world. But her child was a gift to cherish. A miracle of love for her.

Heather no longer helped Sophrena with hemming the Shaker clothes. Instead she hemmed small squares of cloth for the baby’s wrapping blankets and made him gowns of the soft cream-colored fabric one of the sisters had woven especially for that purpose and brought by the cabin earlier in the week.

“A sister or brother needs something to wear no matter how small that sister or brother might happen to be,” Sister Doreen told Heather with a peek over her shoulder, as though worried someone might be listening who would find fault with her words. She let her gaze settle on Sophrena as she went on. “Don’t you agree, Sister Sophrena?”

“Yea, the babe will need clothes.” Sophrena looked up from fingering the material with a smile that seemed to put the other woman at ease.

Sister Doreen was short and tending toward roundness. The hair that peeked out below her cap was white, but her eyes carried the twinkle of perennial youth. She never came by the cabin without a gift and without bringing cheer through the door. Something Sophrena seemed to need even more than Heather as the days passed. Although she never complained of being isolated with Heather in
the cabin, she had to be missing the companionship of the Shaker sisters she had lived with so long.

This night, with the ice enclosing them and shutting away the world outside the cabin, Sophrena seemed more relaxed in her talking, as if she didn’t have to worry about an improper word being overheard. They spoke of the weather and of how Gideon’s division would be in the south where the air would be warmer.

“Rain is not good either,” Heather said.

“But kinder than ice, I would think,” Sophrena said without looking up from her sewing. She had finished the basket of assigned sewing and was stitching a gown cut from Sister Doreen’s soft cloth. Her stitches were much quicker than Heather’s and the gown was taking shape under her skilled fingers.

“My Gideon never seemed to know how to keep dry.” Heather frowned. “His feet especially. I took care to keep him in clean socks while I was with him, but now I am not with him.”

“A good thing.” Sophrena looked over at her. “In your condition. It is good you are here. Perhaps we can knit him some socks and send them to him.”

Heather dropped her sewing and stared at the fire, barely hearing Sophrena’s words. “But I miss him so much.”

If only she could get a letter from him to know he was all right.