Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)(54)

“Mrs. Prescott, we need more flour and sugar, ma’am. And eggs. Mrs. Prescott?”

Aletta looked up, the request slowly registering. “Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.” She retrieved the keys to the larder and fetched the needed supplies for the other cooks.

She had to see him, apologize to him. He’d repeatedly offered her kindness and friendship, and she’d held him suspect from the very start. Then he’d offered her far more, and she’d turned that down too. A decision she’d begun to question more and more.

She slid the first four pans of shortbread into the oven, then hurried upstairs to check on Andrew. Still fast asleep. The boy would likely sleep until noon, if not later.

Downstairs, she grabbed her shawl from the hook in the kitchen. “Tempy, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to go do something.”

“No problem, ma’am. We’re doin’ fine here. Runnin’ a little ahead of the clock even.”

Aletta opened the kitchen door then paused, seeing a cardinal perched on a tree branch just a few feet from where she stood. The brilliantly colored bird didn’t spook, didn’t fly away. He just sat there, looking at her. Then he sang.

The most beautiful little warble, his chest puffing out as though he knew how strikingly handsome he was, and how rare. She heard soft footsteps behind her.

“Would you look at that, Missus Prescott.” Tempy’s voice held a smile. “A red bird in winter. When you see a red bird in winter, you’ll prosper in spring. But when you hear a red bird sing—”

“Your sadness will soon be lifted,” Aletta said softly, knowing the old wives’ tale. As she made her way to the cabin, she only hoped that would hold true.




Jake pushed from bed and ran a hand through his hair, having managed to get a couple hours of sleep. Yet knowing his assistance would be needed for the auction that day, he fed the fire in the hearth and stoked it back to life, then filled the cast iron kettle with water and hung it over the flame. Coffee was his first order of business.

That, and going to see Aletta.

Exhausted as he’d been, he’d still lain awake thinking about her, thinking about the way she’d looked at him. Might as well go ahead and face the truth straight up and get it over with.

The water in the kettle had just reached a boil when a knock sounded on the door. He glanced around for his pants, found them on the chair, and pulled them on over his long johns.

He opened the door. “Aletta.”

“I need to apologize to you, Jake. And I’d be obliged if you’d allow me to do that.”

He stared, a little baffled, then nodded. “All right.”

“I’m sorry for questioning whether or not you were truly wounded.”

He looked away.

“For questioning why you were here instead of being off fighting somewhere. This auction, all the money being raised, all the good being done, is due in large part to you. I appreciate your friendship to me. And also your friendship with my son.”

He slowly looked back.

“And I only hope,” she continued, her smile reaching her eyes before it turned the beautiful curves of her mouth, “that I haven’t overstepped my bounds in a way that will prevent that friendship from continuing in the future.”

Hearing the ring of familiarity of his words in hers, he smiled. And dared to hope.

“Not at all. Our friendship can sustain that, and a whole lot more, I assure you.”

A light came into her eyes that he felt deep inside his chest.





CHAPTER 22

CHRISTMAS DAY

DECEMBER 25, 1863

Aletta dressed hurriedly, scarcely able to wait for Andrew to get downstairs and find his gift waiting beneath the tree. But the boy was still fast asleep. She’d ordered his gift from a mercantile in Nashville and had feared it wouldn’t arrive in time, but it had. She only hoped it would meet with his expectations. Especially this Christmas.

She paused and looked at him, his little chest rising and falling with easy slumber. Recalling how the auction had drawn to a close yesterday in a grand celebration with a bonfire and Christmas carols, and special sweets for the children, she knew he’d sleep for a while yet.

How had the two of them come to be among such fine, good people whom—up until only a handful of weeks ago—she’d never even met? Same for so many of the women she’d gotten to know through the Women’s Relief Society—women she shared so much in common with. How often she’d questioned God’s goodness and doubted his provision. But in this moment, she could see it. God’s hand. And even though she didn’t know what the future held, she knew who held it.

And somehow, she could even feel Warren’s love in a way she hadn’t in a very long time. As if responding to her thoughts, their child within her moved.

Patience, little one . . . I’ll tell you all about him as you grow up.

She heard movement in the kitchen and knew Tempy was already awake. But when she rounded the corner and saw who was seated at the breakfast table, coffee cup in hand, she realized she’d been mistaken. Happily so.

“Merry Christmas, Jake. You’re up early.”

He smiled. “Merry Christmas. Is he up yet?”

She shook her head. “Still sawing logs. Are you hungry?”

“Always. Want me to do the eggs?”