Christmas at Harmony Hill (13 page)

She was the one who didn’t belong. Not Sophrena.

T
he ice storm rid Gideon of the last of his fantasies about winter in the south. The ice-coated trees groaned like old men when the slightest wind pushed through them. At times a loud crack gave warning of a branch or even a whole tree coming down. The only safe place was inside a building. The tents were no shelter. Most were flattened by the storm, but at least Gideon’s hadn’t ripped under the weight of the ice.

The next day the sun came out and turned the world into a sparkling wonderland that crunched underfoot with every step. By Monday the ice was gone, but the cold air lingered. Snowflakes floated in the air and stuck tight wherever they landed.

“Better than ice,” Jake assured Gideon as he dropped an armload of misshapen tree limbs by the fire. “Leastways we can keep a fire with all the branches brought down by the ice.”

“Good in everything,” Gideon muttered with no good feelings at all. “Except wet as it is, it’s as apt to put out the fire as keep it burning.”

“I see you’re in fine humor.” Jake twisted his mouth to keep
from smiling. “So I’m guessing no word from your pretty washerwoman?”

“Not a word. You’d think she could write to me.” Gideon scowled at the fire.

“Could be she has. The girl seemed fair struck on you. Why, one could never guess.” Jake no longer bothered hiding his smile. “Her sweet words of love are no doubt on their way to you.”

“Maybe she’s forgotten all about me.” Gideon squatted down by the fire and let his head droop down.

“I doubt there’s much chance of that with her carrying evidence of your loving.” Jake gave Gideon’s shoulder a shake. “The mail’s just stuck on the other side of the river. They’re saying the boats are afraid to come down to Nashville. Not with the Johnny Rebs as thick as fleas on a dog around here.”

Gideon threw one of the branches on the fire. The flames disappeared in an explosion of smoke billowing up from the fire.

“Whew.” Jake coughed and waved the smoke away from his face. “What are you trying to do? Send her smoke signals?”

Gideon ignored Jake and the smoke. Breathing smoke was part of being in camp. He stared at the flames flickering back to life around the damp wood. “You think we’ll be stuck here all winter waiting for fighting weather to come back in the spring?”

“I wouldn’t mind that so much. We’ve wintered in worse places, but I’m thinking we’ll be marching out against them before the week’s out.”

“You said that last week.”

“I didn’t count on an ice storm. Nor did Pap Thomas, but he’ll have us moving soon.”

“I just want it to be over. All of it. Done and through.”

“Don’t we all, lad. Don’t we all.”

Heather put aside the letter she was writing to Gideon. She’d written one every day and Sophrena had posted them for her, but
she’d heard not a word in return. If only she could hear from him to know he was all right. There’d been no news of battles. Sherman was continuing his march to the sea with little opposition from all reports, but Gideon wasn’t with him. Gideon was in Nashville where the opposition was gathering, according to the news the Shaker doctor shared with her when he came by on his visits.

The Shakers didn’t ignore the happenings in the world. Sophrena said the news was read aloud in the family meetings. Meetings that Sophrena was missing because of Heather. Perhaps another reason for the sadness Heather had glimpsed on her face at their Sunday meeting.

Heather had tried to ask her about it, but each time Sophrena deflected her questions with words of denial.

“The dances can appear strange to those who have never seen them,” she’d said when she came back to the cabin after the meeting.

“I feared my presence might be a hindrance to your spirit,” Heather said.

“Nay, it is not you who hinders me.” She had turned away to bustle about setting out their meal. Bread and meat and applesauce. Cold foods that needed little preparation on the Sabbath.

Now Heather pushed up from her chair to stand by the fire.

Sophrena looked up from her sewing. “Are you all right?” She asked the same question a dozen times a day.

Heather sighed and stared down at the fire. “I am fine. My back aches and I can’t seem to take a deep breath any longer and my feet are puffy, but Brother Kenton says all that is to be expected.”

“So he did,” Sophrena agreed. “That does not make such problems any easier to bear. Perhaps you should lie down.”

“I don’t want to lie down,” Heather said. “I just want it to be over.”

Sophrena put aside her sewing and came to rub Heather’s back. “It will be soon. Brother Kenton says that babies are very insistent on coming when it is their time. Even the Christ child.”

“My young brother wanted me to have a Christmas baby,” Heather said, smiling at the thought. Mary too must have felt burdened with the weight of her baby. And to think she’d had to ride a donkey all the day before the Christ was born. Then to end up in a stable.

Here Heather was with a fine roof over her head. A fire to keep her warm. A concerned woman beside her. She had no right to complain. She put her hands on the small of her back and stretched a bit. But then Mary had Joseph with her. While they had shared none of the normal marital relations, Heather imagined that he had cared for Mary with great tenderness. How could he do otherwise after the Lord sent him a dream to reveal the miracle of love growing within his intended bride?

Gideon would be treating her with the same kind of tenderness if he could be here with her. Perhaps a stable would be enough then.

Wednesday night, the captain told Gideon and the rest of his company to be ready come morning. The battle plan had been prepared. The general would relay the orders to the officers and they would move against the Rebels at last.

Gideon slept in his shoes with his hand on his gun. A man needed to be ready. If only he had a letter from Heather to carry in the pocket over his heart. And what of her? Had she gotten his letter of love? He counted up the days since she’d left. It should be almost her time. She could be going into battle herself. A different type of battle to be sure, but one that might be as treacherous.

Gideon wished he was better at praying as he waited for the dawn and the battle to commence. He needed the Lord to watch over his Heather Lou.

The first twinges of something different woke Heather in the early morning hours on Thursday. She lay still and stared up at the
darkness. Perhaps it was nothing more than the heaviness of the baby pulling at her back. But she had to bite her lip to keep from groaning and waking Sophrena. No need disturbing her sleep. Not yet. First she would see if there was any rhythm to her pains.

She had almost dozed off again when a new pain jerked her back awake. A similar pain. And suddenly she was afraid. She breathed in and out slowly. If it was time, then it was time. Her mother had never seemed afraid. Weary. Resigned to the pain to come, but not fearful. But then the births she’d witnessed were her mother’s fourth and fifth confinements. The first would have been different. The first would always be different. The unknown mixed with anticipation. Pain and joy combined.

Another pain pushed through her. Nothing she couldn’t bear. Just something that prodded her into a keen awareness of her body. A signal.

Had Mary the mother of Jesus felt such pains? Or had the Lord’s birth been as miraculous as his conception? The Bible said he was delivered of woman, so perhaps Mary had labored to give birth the same as any other mother bearing a child.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

That was the first thing Mrs. Saunders had done after Heather’s father fetched her to help with the birth. Knelt next to the bed and gripped Heather’s mother’s hands as she spoke that psalm and prayed for a safe journey through that valley for mother and child.

Heather whispered the psalm as she waited for the next pain.

Gideon lined up with his company before dawn. The air was thick with fog. Not the best time to march out against the enemy, but the fog would lift. This way they could get close before the enemy knew they were coming.

“A good thing,” the captain said before the signal came to march out of camp. “A blessing of the Lord on our battle plan. Soldiers,
we can settle things here and now this very day. Send those Johnny Rebs scurrying back to their rabbit holes down south.”

The captain’s words came through the fog clear and strong to Gideon’s ears, but he was too far back in the ranks to see more than shadowy shapes up where the captain was standing.

Jake had pulled him back as they lined up. “No need being first,” he’d whispered. “Give somebody else a turn to be the hero.”

Now they stood ready, their guns loaded, the attack planned. Their feet ready to march out wherever the officers pointed them. The captain went on. “So send up your prayers, boys, but step lightly with your mouths shut. No need letting them hear us coming. Leastways till we’re in firing range. Then we can wake them up right and proper.”

They marched out through the thick fog, trusting the captain to know the right direction.

“You praying, Jake?” Gideon whispered over toward the man beside him.

“That I am, lad, for the both of us. And the Johnny Rebs too.”