Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(44)

Andrew smiled and ducked his head. “Mama did it.”

“Well, maybe your sweet mama could get ahold of the Captain’s hair too.”

Jake curbed his smile. “I beg your pardon?”

Tempy eyed him as Andrew shot out the door. “You cut off that hairy old beard, but you ain’t done nothin’ yet with that hair.” She set the pail of milk on a table. “We got that auction comin’ up and you bein’ the only soldier and all . . . You might wanna tidy up a bit. Sit on down on that stool and let Missus Prescott fix you up.”

Accustomed to Tempy’s teasing, Jake looked over at Aletta to get her take on the conversation. But her eyes held the same reservation from moments before. Only this time, the pain—no, the dread—in them gave him an uneasy feeling. Especially when she looked away.

“You know, Tempy, I think you’re right.” He sat down on the stool, beginning to feel as though the older woman was giving him a little help. “I could probably stand some tidying up. If you don’t mind . . . Mrs. Prescott,” he said softly.

Aletta looked at him as though she suspected his primary reason for being on that stool was to be close to her. And if that’s what she was thinking, she would’ve been right.

She draped a cloth around his shoulders and started clipping.

“Oh!” Tempy let out a sigh. “I forgot to get somethin’ from the spring house. I’ll be back directly. I’d forget my own head if God hadn’t attached it for me,” she murmured, closing the kitchen door behind her.

Jake smiled to himself. Yep, Tempy was definitely helping him out.

He watched Aletta, willing her to look at him, and acutely aware of how close they were, and of her body. Namely, of her belly pressing up against him.

“Did you sleep all right last night?” he finally asked.

She gave a little shrug, then nodded, the snip of the scissors filling the silence.

“Yesterday was a hard day,” he tried again, wishing she’d open up to him.

But nothing.

She moved to the other side, then around behind him, her hands in his hair nothing short of intoxicating. Then he felt something push him hard in the back and he turned around.

“What was that?”

“Jake, be careful! I have scissors in my hand!”

“But . . . I felt something.”

She sighed, the ghost of a smile—and maybe embarrassment—touching her lips. “That was the baby.”

He looked from her face to her belly then back again. “That was the baby?”

She laughed, despite looking like she wished she hadn’t. “You’ve never felt a baby move inside a woman’s womb.”

“I believe that goes without saying, Aletta.”

She smiled then, the natural response he’d grown accustomed to seeing, and looked at him for a moment. She laid the scissors aside. “Give me your hand.”

Never one to be shy, Jake hesitated for a second, then did as she asked.

She placed his hand toward the top of her belly then covered it with hers before gently pressing her belly in on the other side. Then Jake felt it—movement beneath the palm of his hand. Not a quick punch like before. But a gentle pressure that moved across his palm and took his breath along with it.

He looked up at Aletta, her eyes bright even as his blurred.

“That’s—”

“Life,” she whispered.

He started to take his hand away, but she held it there.

“Wait.” She briefly closed her eyes. “I think he—or she—is starting to turn.”

Jake’s mouth slipped open, and he stared at her belly as he not only felt but saw the child within her moving. He sat speechless until she finally lifted her hand.

He drew his hand away and looked up at her, not sure his voice would hold. “Thank you.”

She smiled, but not for long. “Jake,” she whispered. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since yesterday and—” She looked down. “I think it was a mistake. You and I not being . . . only friends anymore.”

“Aletta.” He turned to face her. “You just need time, that’s all. And I’ll give it to you. As much time as you need.”

She shook her head. “I can’t . . . I can’t, Jake. I’m sorry.”

She turned to leave, but he took hold of her hands, and she didn’t pull away. But he could feel the struggle inside her, could see the fear in her eyes. Fear that—instead of pushing him away—had the exact opposite effect.

“I love you, Aletta. And I’m fairly certain you love me. Though not as much as you will twenty years from now when I’m old and bald.”

She gave a throaty laugh but shook her head again. “I can’t go through that pain again, Jake. I’m not that strong.”

“But you are that strong, Aletta. If it came to it, you would be. God would give you the strength,” he whispered, his throat threatening to close. “And don’t think I’m not a little scared too. Because I am.” He gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “But what scares me more than the thought of one day losing you . . . is the thought of not having spent my lifetime loving you.”

She hiccupped a breath just as the kitchen door opened.

“Funniest thing, I got all the way to that spring house then plumb forgot what I’d—” Tempy stopped in her tracks and looked between the two of them. Then slowly looked up.