Christmas at Harmony Hill (16 page)

Eldress Corinne came and prayed over her. She left to gather some of the Believers for more prayer. Eldress Lilith came too, stood over Heather, and watched her desperate struggle. “Her sin must have been great to be so punished.”

Sophrena pulled in a breath. “She is little more than a child who fell in love the worldly way. Brother Kenton says the baby is large and turned wrong.” Brother Kenton had gone for more herbal potions.

“Yea, the marital union can bring much sorrow.”

“You shouldn’t speak so where she can hear you.” Sophrena stood up and stared at the eldress. “If you have no sympathy in your heart for our little sister, then it would have been better for you to stay away.”

“Worldly thoughts are leading you into sin, my sister. I only speak the truth as Mother Ann would.” Eldress Lilith’s eyes narrowed on Sophrena. “You will have much to ask forgiveness for on Sacrifice Day.”

“I will not be the only one who stands in need of forgiveness.” Sophrena met her eyes without flinching.

The eldress jabbed a finger toward Sophrena. “I will expect your confession on the morrow.”

“Yea, I will have much to confess.” Sophrena turned away from the eldress back to Heather. She had no time for the woman’s words. Not now. Not with Heather needing her every thought and prayer.

At last those prayers were answered. Brother Kenton brought Sister Doreen back to the cabin with him. “She knows about babies,” he said.

“That I do,” Sister Doreen said matter-of-factly. “Helped many a baby make his way into the world. Including nine of my own. I know the words to talk her through this and the ways to make it easier.”

At her instructions, they elevated the head of the bed to let the natural pull of the earth help. Then she pushed Heather’s knees up to make a tent of the sheet over her. “Brother Kenton, you be ready to assist the baby. It could be he will need air very quickly. You hold her hands, Sister Sophrena, and send her as much strength as you possibly can. I am going to be doing the same.”

She leaned over close to Heather’s ear and began talking so softly Sophrena could only catch a word now and again, but as if by some prayerful miracle, Heather’s body visibly relaxed. She began breathing in and out without gasping for air as she had been doing.

Sister Doreen glanced toward Brother Kenton. “Are you ready, Brother? Do you see the baby coming? Remember, you must be quick with your gentle help.”

“Maybe you should do it, Sister Doreen,” he said.

“Nay, you are skilled. Simply out of practice.” She turned back to Heather. “Now, child, it is time. The Lord is going to help you push this baby out. Do you believe that?”

“Yes.” Heather murmured her first understandable words for hours. “The Lord is my shepherd.”

“And he loves you. And your baby. Now push, my child. Bring this baby into the world where you can hold him.”

She gripped Sophrena’s hands so tightly her nails cut into the skin of Sophrena’s palms as she pushed.

“Good,” Sister Doreen said. “This time scream as you push. It is a natural thing. I will scream with you.”

Their screams bounced off the walls, but it was a different scream than those that had escaped Heather earlier. These screams had victory in them.

“He’s coming,” Brother Kenton said. “One more push and I will bring him into the world.”

The first rays of the sun pushed through the window as Brother Kenton shouted. “A boy. You have a boy, Sister Heather. A fine boy.”

And then the baby cried. Sophrena had never heard a more beautiful sound. Brother Kenton laid the baby on Heather’s stomach as he cut the cord.

“Wrap the child in a towel and bring him to his mother,” Sister Doreen ordered.

Brother Kenton handed the baby to Sophrena, who had a towel ready. The joy in the doctor’s eyes matched that flooding through Sophrena. As she gently wrapped the towel around the baby, she looked down into his round, wrinkled face, his mouth quivering as he cried, and she loved him at once. There was no sin in this child. This was life.

Y
ea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

The pain was like a live thing. She tried to float with it, but it became a raging torrent throwing her against rocks and pounding her down under the waves of blackness. It conquered her. Completely. She surrendered to it, and when she did, she stepped beyond her body into a different realm.

Her mother was there, reaching for her. “Am I dying?” The words rose from somewhere deep within her.

“Nay, nay.” The voice pulled her back. Not her mother’s voice, but one she had to heed.

The voice demanded she turn loose of the pain. Demanded she step back from the void swallowing her and do as the voice said. Demanded that she push her baby out into the world.

A baby’s cry came through the pain. Her baby’s cry. The shadows had tried to swallow her, but she’d ridden out the pain. She’d come through the journey.

Somebody was sponging off her face. Not Sophrena. Doreen. The little woman was leaning over her, speaking, forcing her to come up out of the waters and speak to her.

“Sister Heather, awake for your child. You have done well. He’s a fine boy. Sister Sophrena brings him to you.”

Heather tried to moisten her lips, but her mouth was too dry. Doreen held a moist cloth to her lips. “Easy, child. The worst is over. You must keep breathing and heal. The joy’s begun.”

“Joy.” Heather managed to get that word out. She forced open her eyes.

Sophrena was there over her, holding a bundle with the dark crown of a tiny head peeking out of the blanket. She placed the baby in the crook of Heather’s arm with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was glowing.

“Praise God!” Sophrena said softly. “He’s so very beautiful.”

Behind Sophrena, the doctor was smiling as he said, “A fine boy, Sister Heather. A fine boy.”

And he was. Fine. Beautiful. Heather peered down into the red face of her baby and love melted her heart. She peeled the blanket back away from his chin and he pushed out his tiny hand, fingers spread wide as he continued to cry, mouth wide open, small tongue quivering with his distress.

“Shh, little one,” she crooned. “You are here. Safe with us.” She stroked his cheek in a gentle caress. Her baby. Gideon’s baby.

He blinked and his crying stopped with her touch, and somehow new love flowed into a heart she thought had no room for more.

Had Mary felt the same looking down at the Christ child all those years ago? She had known her child was a miracle. She had spoken to angels and yet that first moment of looking at her baby, did she see only the miracle of a child she’d loved at his first quickening in her womb? Did all mothers feel the same? Each child a miracle after their trip through the valley of the shadow of death into a world of light and air. A world that might demand much from them.

As Mary surely hadn’t foreseen the path her son would have to travel, Heather could not know the future of this, her child she held. All she could hold onto was the moment.

The moment was good. If only Gideon were there beside her to peer down at this result of their love.

A part of Gideon stayed behind when he marched out at daylight with his company to finish what darkness had halted. Jake was not with him. Jake had always been with him, from the first battle. His prayers had run along beside them. His good humor had kept the grimness of death at bay. His sureness that they’d survive another charge, another hill, had given Gideon courage. And he had survived the charge, would have survived the day, but instead he’d made sure Gideon had been the one to live to see a new sunrise. To someday go home to claim his wife and baby.

But that was yesterday. Only the Lord knew what would happen on this day of battle. Gideon’s feet were leaden as he followed Captain Hopkins toward the Rebels.

They would be dug in on the best ground possible. A soldier didn’t sleep when the enemy was coming after them. A soldier tried to get ready no matter which side that soldier was fighting on. Gideon wanted to be ready too for whatever was to come, but he was weary of battle.

The morning was spent before the generals had the troops in place. More time for the Rebels to dig in, but a proper battle took planning. General Thomas was not one to rush in unprepared and then have to rally his troops in a retreat. He wanted them to be in the best place to win the day. In front of them was another hill. Would the South never run out of hills?

Every hill and ridge with a name. Tunnel Hill on Missionary Ridge. Cemetery Hill. Culp’s Hill at Gettysburg. Dead littered the hills. And now the captain said they had to take Overton Hill, the ground rising in front of them. Each hill had to be conquered. In inches. In blood. Without Jake’s prayers.

Heather would be praying for him. She’d have her whole church praying for him. At least those who didn’t have Southern
sympathies. That might not be many. Her brother Simon had gone south to fight. Two of Gideon’s cousins had gone with Simon. Heather’s father had forbidden her to go with Gideon, but she had chosen Gideon over her father.

Like the shadow of a bird, worry passed over him. He shook it away. No matter how much he hated Gideon, her father wouldn’t deny his own child a safe place. Her mother had told her to follow her heart. Heather would be all right. She had to be all right. He couldn’t bear charging up another hill into enemy fire if he couldn’t believe that.

The hill waited. He’d rename it. Jake’s Hill.

Then take my prayers up it.
He heard Jake’s voice as clearly as if he were still marching beside him. Gideon stared at the hill in front of him and then squeezed his eyes shut.

“Dear God.” That seemed a good start, but then no other prayer words came. Finally he opened his eyes and looked up. “Whatever Jake would have said,” he whispered under his breath. “For me and for my Heather Lou.”

A strange feeling came over him for a few seconds, then it was as if Jake stood beside him. Smiling. Ready to conquer one more hill.

He could do it. For Heather Lou and a baby named Jake. He would have to write Heather as soon as this battle was over to tell her the name. Boy or girl. She’d understand.

They hadn’t talked about names. He’d thought to leave that to her, but not now. Gideon thought of Heather’s mother’s name. Susan. Susan Jake. Or his mother’s name, Frona. Frona Jake. He almost smiled at the thought of either of those combinations. Jake was right. He’d best pray for a boy.

Gunfire sounded and then the noise of artillery pounded into his ears. Not here on this hill yet. On some other hill. The hills around Nashville seemed to have no end. Gideon and his company were still waiting. Sometimes Gideon wondered about the officers who led men into place and then had them wait. Had they never been the man with his feet on the ground and his courage slipping
with every moment that passed? Perhaps not. Perhaps that’s what made a general. A man who could wait without fear reaching up to grab his throat.

Gideon had no desire to be a general. He didn’t even want to be a soldier. Even so, he was one and he would follow orders and charge up yet one more hill. But all he wanted was to still be standing when the guns stopped firing and the war was won. At long last Captain Hopkins gave the signal. No more time for thinking. No more time to worry about the right prayer words. Nothing to do but chase after his captain up the hill, borrowing his courage that never seemed lacking even in the face of artillery fire.

A shout exploded out of Gideon as he ran. “For Jake!”

Men around him picked up the cry until Jake’s name was bouncing all over the hill.

The Rebels had dug in, but in their hurry they’d picked positions too close to the rim. They had the high ground but lacked a good angle to shoot down at the charging troops. Still men fell. The soldier to his side screamed and went down. Even with that scream in his ears, it was a shock when the shell slammed into Gideon.

The impact knocked him to his knees. No pain at first. Only disbelief. He felt his shoulder and stared at the red on his hand as though it was somehow betraying him. The blood couldn’t be his.

He tried to pick up his gun, but his arm wouldn’t move to his bidding. The pain came then, a crushing wave of not only physical pain but the fear that he would be joining Jake in the great beyond. Anger surged through him to burn away the pain. He would make the enemy pay. He grabbed up his gun with his other hand and tried to rise to his feet, but his head was spinning. The noise of battle was all around him, but he was in the shadow of death.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

He staggered on up the hill. Captain Hopkins looked back and yelled. Gideon couldn’t make out the words as other soldiers pushed past him. He couldn’t keep up. He sank to his knees and let them run on. He lay there, feeling his life drain out of him, but then it
was as if Jake reached back from heaven to give Gideon a shake. Demand he live.

He began creeping toward the bottom of the hill. For him the war was over, but that didn’t mean his life was over. Jake had died to let him see his Heather Lou again. To see his baby. There were medics. His leg was not shot. Only his arm. A man could live without an arm if that had to be.

He left the sounds of battle behind and made his way back to the surgeons.