Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(17)

Aletta stared into the empty mug of cocoa, once again acknowledging Warren’s fear even as her original fear crowded her own heart. That fighting this war—however true and noble the variety of reasons—would, in the end, prove far too costly. To both sides.

She watched Tempy kneading a mound of bread dough on a stone worktable, the yeasty aroma filling the kitchen, and she wondered at the woman’s past. And her future. Her movements were almost hypnotizing in the warmth and coziness of the kitchen, and Aletta sighed within herself. If only she’d responded to the ad sooner.

She rose, mindful of not overstaying her welcome. “Thank you, Tempy, for your kindness. Both to me and my son.”

“Oh, ma’am, no trouble at all. I hope you find a place to plant yourself real soon.” Warmth deepened the brown of her eyes, and Aletta smiled.

“I do too. I’ll still come back and offer what help I can around the time of the auction, if I’m able. I’d like to be a part of it.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and Aletta turned to see a woman who looked every bit a soldier on a mission.

“Tempy, I’m looking for—” The woman stopped, her attention falling on Aletta. “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“On the contrary.” Aletta offered a smile. “I was taking my leave.”

The woman nodded. “I don’t suppose either of you have seen Master Winder anywhere about. He was supposed to return to the classroom by now.”

Tempy laughed. “He’s in the barn, Miss Clouston. Holdin’ school with some kittens.”

“In the barn?” The woman exhaled.

Aletta stepped forward. “I fear my own son may be partially to blame for leading him astray. I’ll go get the boys immediately.”

Miss Clouston shook her head. “Winder needs no help in that department, I assure you. The boy is intelligent beyond his years, but his attention is like that of a puppy come spring! Which is constantly getting him into trouble.” She laughed softly. “I’m Elizabeth Clouston, the children’s nanny.”

Aletta liked her smile, so natural, genuine. “I’m Aletta Prescott. I came today in reference to the advertisement for cooks. But it seems I was too late.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me too,” Tempy said behind her, and they all laughed.

Aletta slipped her coat on. “I’m going to the barn now. I’ll send Master Winder back to you.”

“That would be much appreciated. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Prescott.”

“You as well, Miss Clouston.”

Already missing the warmth and welcome of this household, Aletta let herself out the front door of the kitchen and was met by a stiff northern wind—and the unmistakable scent of snow. She peered up and hoped she and Andrew could get back to town before the gray skies unleashed their threat.

Pulling her coat closer about her expanding middle, she started around the house toward the barn in the back when she noticed another carriage parked behind the others, and a woman exiting with the assistance of the driver. The woman stood for a moment staring up at the house before continuing toward the front door. Judging by her slight frown, Aletta assumed she wasn’t overly impressed.

The master pastry chef, Aletta assumed, remembering what Mrs. McGavock had said. Yet this young woman looked far too youthful to have achieved that status. Still . . .

She’d read in Godey’s of a wealthy young woman who had eschewed marriage and gone abroad to study cooking and baking and then returned to the States—New York City, if she remembered correctly—to open up her own bakery, or patisserie as the article had called it. She couldn’t imagine having the wherewithal to do that. She didn’t hail from a wealthy family, after all. And traveling so far from home . . . She’d never traveled outside Tennessee. Nor wanted to. This was her home.

She hurried to the barn, eager to escape the cold and wind, when she spotted yet another conveyance coming up the road. Even from a distance, she recognized the familiar gray of the two uniformed men riding in a buckboard. The wounded soldier Mrs. McGavock had mentioned.

Poor man. Likely an amputee like the former soldier she’d seen days earlier. Life was hard everywhere she looked. Which made her more determined to be grateful for what she did have, even if gratitude wasn’t her natural response at present.

Feeling the not-so-gentle movements of the child inside her, she hurried into the barn just as the first flurries of snow began to fall.





CHAPTER 6

“I’m glad I was the one asked to bring you out here, Captain Winston. After hearing all those stories about you, me and the others had begun to think you weren’t real.”

“Oh, I’m real all right, Captain Jones.” Jake glanced at the fellow officer seated beside him on the wagon bench. “Although I doubt all the stories you’ve heard about me are. They tend to grow a mite in the retelling.”

Reins in hand, Jones laughed. “Maybe. But you’re somewhat of a legend to the rest of us sharpshooters. Which made hearing about what happened to you even harder to take in. Getting shot in the shoulder was bad enough, of course. But the other . . .” He shook his head. “Sure hope you heal up all right.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Jake turned his coat collar up against the wind and snow.