Northern Light (12 page)

Thomas heard the pain in her voice. “Aye, lass, if only I could, I would take ye to the finest restaurants in all the land.”

“And I would love to take my place amongst all the fine ladies.” She faked an accent as she spoke.

Thomas stood, bowed, and offered his hand to her. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

“Why, of course you may.”

There wasn’t the beauty of a bow sliding across a well-tuned violin. There was no gentle strumming of a harp playing softly in the background. There wasn’t even the warm melody of piano chords, and yet they danced around the candlelit room. Their music was the beating of two longing hearts coming together…forever…entwined as one.

“May I kiss ye, my love?”

Her eyes closed and her face turned up. “Oh, yes…yes.”

Their lips came together in an embrace as soft and gentle as a warm summer breeze.

15

Margaret swiped loose strands of hair from her face. “Bet you never thought you’d be doing this, did you, Papa?” She reached inside the trap with a stick and coaxed out a big blue crab.

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve had quite a few jobs in my lifetime, but I can’t say I’ve ever had opportunity to boil crabs before. Now crawfish are a whole different story.”

The crab opened its claws, ready to attack. She pushed him over to Papa who quickly grabbed him by his back legs and dumped him into the pot of boiling water.

Margaret winced. “Seems so cruel.”

“You won’t be saying that once you’ve had a taste of him.”

“Ugh, I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat something I’ve watched boil to death.”

“That’s why June is in the house. She’d be awful upset to know what we’re doing out here. Now start pulling out the rest of those crabs. Your mama’s gonna think we’re foolin’ around instead of doing our job.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thomas was working in the garden.

“Hey, Thomas,” Papa yelled over his shoulder. “Would you mind gathering up some more wood for me? I need to keep this water boiling.”

“Aye, sir. I’ve seen a good bit of palm out by the slough. I’ll fetch it for ye.”

Papa stirred the pot before reaching for another crab. “That’s a good man, Margaret.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Papa, I’m worried about Elizabeth. She’s acting so strange lately.”

Papa rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. Margaret knew he was probably having a hard time with the answer. “I have a feeling Elizabeth is jealous of you and Thomas. Why don’t you try talking with her about it?”

“I have. She won’t listen.”

“I know what you mean. Honestly, I’m worried about Elizabeth myself. She’s starting to act just like my cousin Emma.”

Margaret squinted in the bright afternoon sun.
There’s that name again.
“Who’s Cousin Emma?”

He picked up the crabs as Margaret pushed them toward him and sent them down into the boiling water. “Well, I had a cousin back in Louisiana. First child of my Aunt Joan and Uncle Lucas. We were about the same age and all of us cousins grew up together.” Papa’s gaze took on a faraway look. “Anyway, by the time Emma and I were around thirteen, fourteen, she…changed. Everyone in the family knew she wasn’t right, but no one knew what to do for her.”

“What do you mean she wasn’t right?”

The last crab ran out of the trap and tried to make his escape by walking sideways across the plank the crab trap rested on. He ended up falling off upside down on the ground, his limbs flailing about wildly. Margaret raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “I’m not picking that up, Papa.”

He chuckled and bent over and picked up the stray crab, plopping him headlong into the bubbling abyss. He then took the long-handled, slotted spoon from the pot and tapped it on the side, shaking off the water.

“Well, some days she seemed as happy as could be…too happy even.”

“Now how can someone be too happy?”

“Well, you have your happy and then you have your—too happy.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Be serious, Papa.”

“All right, all right. Emma would have spells where she’d dance and sing and carry on, even in the middle of the night. Aunt Joan had to watch her when she was like that or she might just give away everything they had.”

“I don’t know, Papa. Dancing and being generous doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

“No, but then there’d be times when she would get so low and blue, it seemed she might not come out of it.” Papa stuck the spoon back into the boiling water and gave the water a swirl. “Those were the real bad times. When she got like that, her ma and pa would lock her away so she wouldn’t hurt herself.” He set the spoon down on the wooden plank and looked away. “That’s my real fear…that Elizabeth will become like Emma.”

The air seemed to become as thick as molasses.

Thomas came up behind them, his arms loaded with palm fronds.

Margaret was glad for the interruption since she wasn’t sure she could speak.

“Here ye go, Mr. Logan.” He set the foliage on the ground next to the fire.

“Thank you, Thomas. You’re a good man.”

“Aye, yer welcome. Anything else I can do for ye?” His words were aimed at Papa, but his eyes were trained on Margaret.

“Keep working up an appetite. We’ve got a lot of crab to eat here.” Papa stoked the fire with the palm branches.

Thomas laughed. He gave Margaret a quick wink before turning around.

Papa lifted one of the crabs with the spoon and examined it. “Almost done.” He dropped it back in the pot and stirred it around. “Margaret, I don’t want to continue this conversation about Emma. It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

She wiped her hands on a rag. “I understand.” She picked up Mama’s big bowl and held it for him. She knew she needed to say something reassuring. “Papa, I’m sure Elizabeth isn’t going to turn out like your cousin Emma. Maybe this will pass soon.”

“I sure hope you’re right, honey.”

Margaret hoped so too.

~*~

Margaret carried the heavy bowl of steaming crabs to the porch.

Papa put out the fire and followed after her.

The seafood feast smelled wonderful, even if it did look gruesome.

Mama had set out a clean bowl, two nutcrackers, and a few other kitchen tools to help with the job of cleaning the crabs.

Papa made easy work of removing the claws and legs for later. He handed Margaret the warm orange-red bodies, and she began peeling everything that wasn’t sweet, white meat. Even though she loved the flavor of fresh crabmeat, she most likely wouldn’t eat much. The process of cleaning the creatures’ entrails always turned her stomach.

Papa, on the other hand, ate more than his share of the crabs while he helped clean them. He slid a piece of claw cartilage out of his mouth, removing the meat that had been attached to it. “Praise the Lord for these crabs,” he said with his mouth full.

Margaret picked meat out and let it land in the bowl sitting in her lap. “Yes, sir, we sure are blessed to have them, especially after we gave so much food away to the neighbors after the raid.”

“We won’t be having any more eggs for a while, that’s for sure.” He sat back in his chair.

“I don’t think June has yet forgiven those Union soldiers for taking Mr. Milton’s chickens.”

They both laughed.

“She does love her eggs.” Papa began to rock his chair. “At least they were able to save a few…should have chickens again real soon.”

“At least we still have milk, thanks to Nanny Sue.”

“Yes, but that won’t last long if we don’t get her bred. I need to find out if Old Man Goodman lost his buck in the raid.”

Margaret’s eyebrows hiked up. “I sure hope not. We can barely do without eggs. Milk is another thing altogether.”

“I know, I know.” Papa retrieved his pipe from the windowsill and tamped on the barrel. “I heard some talk down at the port that Mr. Lincoln was re-elected to another term. Maybe he’ll finally do something to end this war and things can get back to the way they used to be.” Papa sat up straight.

“What is it, Papa?”

“I saw a ship’s spire over the dunes…probably another blockade runner heading into Galveston.” Papa relaxed. He picked up a crab claw and pulled out a fat piece of meat. “Rumor has it Galveston’s the only accessible Confederate port since Mobile Bay was captured back in August. Thank heavens, Texas gets first shot at anything and everything the ships bring in from Havana.” He popped the meat into his mouth.

“Too bad for the men on those ships that so many people on Galveston Island are ill with yellow fever.”

“Yep, thank the Lord it hasn’t come over to the peninsula…yet.” He picked up another claw and a long, thin pick to dig more meat. “I tell you what, those blockade runners are really something…” Papa droned on, but Margaret wasn’t paying attention. Her time with Thomas was growing short, and she wanted something to make their last few weeks memorable.

“Margaret, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

“What, Papa?”

“And you’ve put some shells in the meat bowl and meat in the shell bowl, for heaven’s sake. What’s going on in that mind of yours, girl?”

“Oh, Papa, I’m sorry.” She picked pieces of crab shell out of the fresh meat she’d taken so much time to clean. “I’ve been thinking about Thomas.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling that might be the case. I suppose with Christmas just around the corner, he’s leaving soon.”

“I can hardly bear to think about it.”

“Look at me, Margaret.”

She turned.

“Thomas has asked my permission to marry you.”

She gasped. Her heart skipped a beat. “And what did you say?”

“I told him I’d think about it.” He folded his hands. “So…how do you feel about marrying a Yankee?”

Margaret looked deep into her papa’s eyes. “I don’t care what he is, Papa. I love him.”

“I had a feeling you might say that. I suppose I’ll tell him I give my blessing.”

She leaned over and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, Papa. Thank you.”

Movement in the tall grass startled Margaret. “Look, Papa!”

Celia, their donkey, was moving through the tall grass.

Margaret’s excitement about Thomas’s imminent proposal spilled over to her feelings about Celia’s return. She ran to the bedraggled animal and gave her a big hug. “Oh, Celia, I’ve never been so happy to see a donkey in my whole life.”

Papa was laughing. “Margaret, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Oh, Papa.”

16

Margaret planned to enjoy her last few weeks with Thomas.

She gathered everyone into the kitchen.

Mama shifted Jeremiah to her other leg. “All right now, you’ve got us all in here. What on earth is so important?”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been waiting all morning for Thomas to go outside with Papa before I could tell you all my idea.”

June tapped her fingers on the table and rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Come on, Margaret, I got stuff I need to be doing.”

“Oh, hush up, June Marie. You no more have anything to do than Jeremiah does.”

“Humph, I do so!”

“June.” Mama put an end to what was sure to be a battle of words. “Go on, Margaret, tell us your idea.”

“All right, I’ve come up with an idea to make Thomas’s last few weeks with us a special time for everyone.” She paused for responses. When none came, she continued. “In honor of Thomas’s deceased mama and sister, God rest their souls, I think our family should celebrate Advent this Christmas.”

She looked at their faces, hoping for looks of excitement, anticipation, anything, but she only saw blank stares. “Well, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“What the heck is Advent?” June spit the words out as though Margaret had suggested they eat worms. “’Cause I ain’t giving up Christmas for no Advent, that’s for sure.”

“Hush up, June,” Mama intervened. “I’ve heard of Advent, but it’s not something we ever celebrated. So I don’t know much about it. But…we’d all be happy to hear what it’s all about. Right, girls?”

June responded with another harrumph. Elizabeth, on the other hand, remained silent.

“Thank you, Mama.” She pulled a piece of paper from her apron pocket and unfolded it. “Thomas told me everything he knows about Advent and I wrote it all down.” She smoothed out the paper on the table where they all could see. “Here is a drawing I made of how I think everything should be arranged. I’m sorry I can’t sketch very well, but you get the idea. This circle is like a wreath. It should probably be made from pine boughs. Now I know we don’t have much pine here on the peninsula, but we have plenty of other foliage that should work just as well.”

Mama raised her hand and stopped her. “Why don’t you tell us what the celebration is for? I mean, what’s the purpose of it?”

Margaret slowed down and thought a moment. “Well…the way I understand it, it’s a way to prepare for Jesus’s second coming while we remember His first coming in the manger in Bethlehem.”

“All right, I can’t say that I understand the purpose for it, but at least it doesn’t go against anything we believe in. So go on.”

June leaned across the table and pointed at Margaret’s drawing. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Those are candles. Can’t you tell by the flame at the top?” Margaret replied.

Miss Priss scrunched up her lips, tilted her head, and squinted at the paper. “Not really. You sure aren’t a very good draw-er, Margaret.”

“June Marie…” Mama called her full name again. “Now that’s enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Margaret continued, trying to rekindle the enthusiasm she’d felt when she started the conversation. “OK, Advent starts on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. That means we need to have the first one on November twenty-seventh, and that’s right around the corner. The first candle here stands for hope.” She paused to look at her notes. “It’s a whole week for everyone to think about and remember the prophets in the Bible who foretold Jesus’s first coming.”

June leaned over, peering deep into the drawing. “Which one is the second candle, this one or this one over here?” June pointed as she asked.

“It’s this one. The second candle stands for love. It is a remembrance of Bethlehem and how God showed His love for us by sending Jesus.”