Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(37)

All the to-dos for the upcoming event had helped occupy her thoughts and her time. And her grief. Looking back over the last two years since Warren first left to fight in the war, she knew now that she’d been grieving his absence and his possible death since the very beginning.

She fed both boys a thick slice of warm, buttered pumpkin bread, then, knowing them well, cut second slices to cool while they were devouring their first. She stopped to rub the ache in her lower back, grateful she hadn’t experienced any more episodes like the one the day of the hog killing. Only six weeks or so until her baby was due—her approximation aided by knowing, within a handful of days, when she had conceived—and the precious child was steadily growing. Which meant she was too.

Needing more wood for the stove, she threw her shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside the back door. Where yesterday’s wood bin had been nearly empty, today it was full.

Jake, she knew. Because she’d seen him chopping wood behind the barn. Shot in the shoulder . . . If a man could chop wood, shouldn’t he be able to shoot and fight as well?

Feeling guilty for not being more grateful for the wood, and for all he’d done over the past few days to help with activities at the church—not to mention assisting her in moving belongings from her house—she gathered an armful and carried it back inside.

She’d made an effort to be alone with him as little as possible in recent days, which hadn’t been that difficult with Tempy and the boys around. And based on his behavior toward her, she felt certain that whatever momentary attraction he’d felt toward her had passed. Not surprising, looking the way she did. And her feelings for him truly were those of friendship.

She saw that now, having had time to parse her sentimentalities. Because enjoying someone’s company and looking forward to being with them wasn’t the same as being attracted to them.





CHAPTER 13

The next evening, Aletta practically had to drag herself out to the barn to work on the nativity. She was nearly finished with the project and eager to get it done. But after baking and cooking all day, even with the other hired cooks assisting, she could scarcely scrape up the energy.

She lit two lanterns, knowing that once she got started, momentum for seeing the job done well would carry her forward. That, and the second cup of coffee she’d had with dinner.

She surveyed the remaining work. Once she finished constructing the last side of the booth, she would require Jake’s help again from there on out. Which included attaching the star to the top. And she’d promised both Andrew and Winder that they could help with that final step. But for now . . .

She retrieved her father’s carpenter’s pouch, the worn leather supple and familiar, and pulled out the mallet and the remaining nails and set to work. After a while, Andrew joined her with a cup of hot cocoa in hand.

“It’s for you from Miss Tempy.”

Aletta stood and stretched from side to side, then accepted the offered treat. She started to take a drink, then paused and looked back at him, doing her best to make her frown look real. “If it’s for me, then why is half of it gone?”

He grinned. “I didn’t want to spill any on the way so I drank a little.”

She laughed and took a sip. Delicious as usual. She’d finally managed to watch Tempy mixing a batch one day and had learned the woman’s secret—a little salt and vanilla. And, of course, a generous amount of cream.

“Are we ready to hang the star yet, Mama?”

“Almost. But I’m to the point now where I’m going to need some help putting it all together.”

He jumped up. “I’ll help.”

She tousled his hair. “I appreciate that. But I think you and I might require a third person for this next part.”

Just then Aletta looked over to see Jake walking from the house, past the barn and toward his cabin.

“Captain Winston!” she called.

He turned, gave a quick wave, and headed in their direction. “Evening, Aletta.” He knelt and gave Andrew a playful poke in the tummy. “Hey, buddy, how you doing?”

“I’m good, Ja—” Andrew cut his eyes in her direction. “I mean . . . Captain Winston, sir. You want some cocoa? Tempy made some just now.”

Jake smiled. “That sounds good, thank you.”

Aletta caught her son’s gaze, appreciating how he’d corrected his mistake. “Do you plan on drinking half of the Captain’s too?”

With an impish grin, Andrew darted back to the kitchen.

“Fine boy you’ve got there, Aletta.”

“Thank you. I think I’ll keep him.”

“With good reason.”

Jake eyed the booth lying in pieces on the barn floor beside the manger, and knelt to examine her work. “Very impressive. Your father taught you well.”

“I only wish I’d learned how to carve like he could. He would’ve taught me, but I didn’t consider it important enough at the time.”

He ran a hand over the manger and looked up at her, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “It’s never too late to learn something new.”

“I’ve got yours, Captain Winston!”

They looked up to see Andrew slowly walking toward them, his attention homed in on the cup in his hands.

Captain Winston took the cup from him but eyed it suspiciously. “Tell me now . . . how much of mine did you drink?”