Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(46)

“Mrs. Prescott, where would you like for us to put all the pies and cakes the women are bringing?”

Aletta gestured. “All the baked goods go to the barn. Mrs. Hunter and her group already have the tables set up and are pricing everything.”

Mrs. Buckner nodded then hesitated before stepping forward. “Mrs. Prescott . . . me and the other ladies, we all want to thank you for all you’ve done to bring this event together.”

The bustle of activity around them halted, and Aletta looked about the kitchen and met gaze after gaze.

“I was speaking with Mrs. McGavock a moment ago,” Mrs. Buckner continued, “and she said you’ve worked almost night and day for weeks, and that the committee couldn’t have done this without your leadership.”

Aletta briefly bowed her head. “Mrs. McGavock is a very gracious woman.”

“That may be, but . . . with the women coming together in recent days, getting to know each other, sharing our stories . . .” The young widow smiled. “It’s helped us all so much. It’s helped me to know that I’m not alone. This time of year is supposed to be a joyous occasion . . . and it is,” she added quickly. “But it can sometimes be so lonely too. So . . . thank you from all of us for making it far less so this year.”

“You’re most welcome,” Aletta whispered. “Thanks to all of you as well. Because we’ve accomplished this together.”

Everyone returned to their tasks, and she spotted Andrew hopping down from his chair.

“Are you finished, sweetheart?”

He nodded. “Mama . . . do you think Papa can hear us from where he is?”

Surprised at his question, she brushed the hair back from his forehead and prayed for wisdom, cherishing how much of Warren she saw in his expression. “I believe that—” She paused as a better, clearer response nudged hers from her mind. “—Jesus hears us and then passes our messages along to him.”

His brow furrowed. “So . . . if there’s somethin’ I wanna tell Papa, I can just say it to Jesus?”

Aletta smiled. “Yes, sweetheart. You can say it to Jesus. Anything, anytime, anywhere, and he’ll hear you. No matter if you whisper.” She made her voice soft. “Or if you only say it in your heart. He hears everything. And he understands.”

The edges of his little mouth nudged upward and he hugged her tight. “I wanna go find Winder. But . . . can the two of us come back down later and maybe lick some of the cake bowls?”

She smiled. “Of course you can.” She walked with him upstairs, wanting to see how plans were progressing outside the kitchen.

A length of red velvet rope had been draped across the staircase leading to the second-floor landing where the family bedrooms resided. And Mrs. Louisa McGavock, Mr. McGavock’s sister-in-law who had graciously agreed to act as a docent for the tours, stood guard, her kind but firm smile at the ready.

Passing the front parlor, Aletta spotted Mrs. Felicia Grundy Porter, a relative of Mrs. McGavock and dedicated president of the Women’s Relief Society. Mrs. Grundy had graciously agreed to direct a group of children in a tableau. But the woman already appeared slightly frazzled, her supposed-to-be silent and motionless costumed participants jabbering like little magpies.

Aletta fought back a smile and gave the woman an encouraging look.

Finally, she and Andrew discovered Winder, Hattie, and Miss Clouston on the front porch overseeing the bustle of activity outside, which was a sight to behold. And there, in the midst of it all, was Jake unloading donated items from wagon beds, along with crates of preserves and endless cakes, pies, and cookies. Not to mention the textiles—beautifully embroidered pillowcases and handkerchiefs, baby bibs, quilts of all sizes, and knitted throws. Some of which she’d helped with at the church building. These women truly had given their best.

Now if only people from Nashville and the neighboring communities would attend the auction and purchase items as hoped, so that the proceeds could benefit as many soldiers as possible, both those well and those wounded, like Emmett Zachary.

Last she’d spoken to Kate, Emmett’s wounds were healing well. But the doctor had informed them that Emmett’s wait for an artificial limb could be seven months or more. Kate had shared that the emotional strain of Emmett losing his leg, compounded by his lack of mobility, was wearing him—and his hope—thin.

“Captain Winston!” Andrew called, and Aletta looked back in time to see Andrew running full out, Winder right behind him.

Jake turned and spotted the boys and hopped down from the wagon bed in time to brace himself as they barreled into him. Miss Clouston and Hattie laughed beside her, and Aletta smiled, but her insides were a tangle of emotions.

Jake looked up at her in that moment, a boy dangling from each arm, and his smile softened, his expression filled with something far more than friendship. And he didn’t seem the least bothered that someone else might see it. Even at this distance, Aletta could feel her attraction to him, the tug of his heart on hers.

Without warning, Andrew and Winder let go and grabbed Jake by his legs, nearly causing him to topple. With a deep growl, Jake grabbed them both, one under each arm, and spun the boys around until they screamed, “Uncle!”

“Mrs. Prescott?”

Aletta turned to see Mrs. McGavock standing just inside the entrance hall, the front door ajar, and joined her. “Good morning, Mrs. McGavock.”