Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(27)

She lifted her chin slightly. “Mrs. McGavock not only hired me to bake for the auction, but also wants me to help with the Thanksgiving celebration this week. And to cook and prepare meals for the volunteers who’ll begin meeting the last day of November. Only a week from today.”

He nodded. Cooking and baking he could see her doing. But building a nativity like the one shown in the plans? With a roof and sides and a manger to boot? And her being with child? It felt like he was peering at the world through his rifle sight again.

When they reached the lumberyard, Mrs. Prescott climbed down from the wagon without his assistance. A show of independence, no doubt. Jake opened the door to the building for her, and she preceded him inside. But the owner still addressed him first.

“Yes, sir. What can I do for you today?”

“You’re Mr. Harban?” Mrs. Prescott said, taking the lead. At the man’s nod, she stepped forward and introduced herself. “Mrs. McGavock from Carnton instructed me to ask for you.”

Jake hung back, watching the scene, and knew what his own expression must have looked like a while earlier when Mrs. Prescott had pulled the diagram of the nativity from her reticule and handed it to him. Because Mr. Harban wore the same perplexed look now as he walked away, marching orders in hand.

“Captain Winston, would you please drive the wagon around to the side of the building so they can load up the supplies?”

He gave a quick salute. “Yes, ma’am, General Prescott.”

Glimpsing a hint of humor in her eyes, he did as she asked, and soon they were on their way to her house, wagon bed loaded with what would be the finest nativity Franklin, Tennessee, had ever seen. If the finished product ended up looking anything like the drawing she’d shown him, a feat that was still highly questionable in his mind.





CHAPTER 9

She’d have to be blind to miss the man’s disapproval. Not only about her building the nativity, but also, it seemed, about the auction in general. Aletta stole a furtive glance at Captain Winston seated on the bench beside her, trying to read him. And failing.

But his silence as she’d shared the plans for the activities prior to and during the auction had been deafening. Which she found puzzling. Because the Women’s Relief Society was doing all of this to help the wounded soldiers, of which he was one—despite how unwounded the man appeared to be.

So why wouldn’t he be in favor of it? And why exactly was he listed as being wounded?

She’d seen him carrying crates and boxes, hitching the team to the wagon. And even now he’d helped load the supplies back at the lumberyard. Precisely why wasn’t he back with his regiment fighting with the others? Unless . . . he’d seized the opportunity and had volunteered to come to Carnton in order to escape battle.

“Turn up ahead. On Vine. It’s the second house on the left.”

She’d heard of deserters, men who fled north to escape the war, and even of soldiers who abandoned their posts in the middle of the night and simply walked away. After some of the stories Warren had told her, she could see how that would be a—

The house came into view and every thought fell away as a loneliness, deep and insatiable, moved over her, along with a yearning for Warren and the life they’d shared. How was she going to raise not one child, but two, without their father? After Christmas had passed and her duties at Carnton were no longer required, what then? Where would she go? Who would be with her when it came time for the baby to be born?

A strand of fear wove itself around her heart and pulled tight, and she found it difficult to breathe.

Captain Winston brought the wagon to a stop by the walkway, then looked over at her. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

She nodded, not speaking until she was certain her voice would hold. “It should only take me a few minutes to pack the trunks.”

“Signal when you’re done. I’ll come inside and get them.” He set the brake and quickly climbed down, then assisted her.

Packing took even less time than she’d estimated, and she realized how many items she’d either sold or bartered in recent months in exchange for necessities. She’d have to come back soon for what little furniture and whatnot remained—and for Warren’s clothes. She had no idea where she’d store the items, but she’d worry about that later. She only knew she wasn’t ready to part with his personal items yet. It was too soon.

Trunks packed, she opened the front door and waved, and Captain Winston strode toward her. She watched for a limp or even the slightest hiccup in his gait. But whatever injury he’d sustained didn’t affect his manner of walking.

She didn’t know why, because she didn’t know him well by any means, but it bothered her to think that he was the type of man who would try to cheat his way out of doing his duty. Because she wouldn’t have thought that about him based upon first impression.

She stepped aside for him to enter the home, but he hesitated.

“It might be better, Mrs. Prescott, if you stay out here on the porch while I go in. Just tell me which room the trunks are in, and I’ll retrieve them.”

Hearing what he wasn’t saying, she stepped out onto the porch. “Yes, of course, Captain. You’re right.” She told him where to find the trunks, and he went inside.

As she waited, she thought of the afternoon she’d arrived early to MaryNell’s and discovered MaryNell’s friend there. Aletta looked across the street, then down both ways. No one in sight, but she still felt better leaving no room for even a hint of impropriety.