A Log Cabin Christmas (21 page)

T
he cold December days passed quickly, but still Jed didn’t move from the floor. He tried to stand on several occasions, always refusing Cora’s help. And each attempt left him weak and defeated. While his color improved, his scowl grew deeper with every passing day. And it was that attitude that concerned Cora most.

Three days after his fever broke, she approached his pallet carrying a plate of stew. “Will you let me help you to the table?”

“I can take care of it myself.” As if to prove his point, he pressed his palms against the floor. He didn’t budge. But his face twisted in pain.

“You’re too weak.” She set the plate down, crossed her arms, and shook her head. “You were seriously ill for four days and faced the elements unprotected for at least two. And you lost a lot of blood. It’s going to take you some time to regain your strength. Please, won’t you let someone help you, Captain?”

He cocked his head to the side, closing one eye almost all the way. The corner of his glower crept upward, his face slowly transforming. “Captain?”

The skin at her throat burned instantly, and she covered her cheeks before the red stain became obvious to him. He trapped her in his gaze like the rabbits Papa snared near the riverbanks. She could not escape without telling him the truth. “Yes—well—it is your rank … and I just thought that … it seemed too … I wasn’t certain that it was proper …” Breaking eye contact, she stared at her brown boots. “I hardly knew you, but I had to call you something.”

His laugh surprised her, rich with mirth, the opposite of the scowl that had taken up residence.

“Don’t your men call you Captain?”

“Of course. I’ve just never had anyone as pretty as you call me that before.”

Her cheeks burned stronger, and she wrinkled her nose against the telltale sign of her discomfort. “Well, should I have called you Mr. Harrington?”

She peeked up to see one of his shoulders rise and fall. “Call me whatever you like. But Jed is fine.”

“Miz Sinclair! You home, Miz Sinclair?”

Cora’s head snapped to the narrow gap where the wooden planks of the front door missed meeting the frame. “I’ll—I’ll be right there.” She spun back to Jed, her eyes like saucers. “Quick. You must hide,” she whispered. “No one can know you’re here. Since Papa is out checking his traps, you must let me help you.”

He nodded quickly as she wrapped an arm around his waist, careful to avoid the bandages still tied in place. Her shoulders tingled where his arm rested across them. She’d cleaned his wound, washed his face, and combed his hair, yet none of that had made her stomach churn as this informal pose did.

“Where to?”

His question pulled her back to the urgent present. “The bedroom?”

On shaking legs and leaning heavily on Cora, Jed shuffled across the room. His eyes closed tightly, but his feet never stopped moving. Just as she stepped away from his side, her visitor knocked loudly. “Miz Sinclair?”

She practically pushed Jed to sit on the bed, and then she raced back into the main room, closing the bedroom door on him. Nearly missing his folded uniform and leather bag, she caught a glimpse of it just before answering the knock. Scooping them into her grandmother’s trunk, she could hardly breathe for rushing when she swung the door open on a familiar face from Carnton.

“Mattie! What brings you all the way down here?” The cold December wind had her quickly motioning the petite woman inside and helping her off with her damp shawl.

“Missus Carrie sent me to check on you. To make sure you made it home fine.” Mattie rubbed her dark hands together. “And she wanted me to check on your papa. Is he feelin’ better?”

Of all the things to ask! With a house full of wounded soldiers, Carrie McGavock, the mistress of Carnton, wanted to check on her and Papa. Mrs. McGavock’s kindness had always made her a favorite of Cora’s. And Mattie was an extension of that same gentle spirit.

“Oh, yes. He’s doing much better. Please thank Mrs. McGavock for her kindness.”

Mattie turned her back toward the fire, thawing from the freezing rain. “I thought I saw ‘im checking ‘is traps when I was walking up.”

Cora smiled. “Yes. He wanted to make sure they didn’t freeze before he cleaned them.” Mattie’s eyes drifted to the pallet on the floor at her feet, but she seemed to stop herself before asking a personal question. Quicky Cora piped up, “Would you like a cup of tea before you go back?”

Mattie shook her head. “Missus Carrie needs me back right away. But she said I should ask if you have any blankets or cloth for bandages.”

“Then there are still wounded men there?”

“Oh yes. They’re packed into every room in the house, ‘cept the sitting room.”

“From both sides?”

“Not many Yanks left.” Mattie pulled her shawl from her shoulders, holding it in front of the fire. “They left without their wounded, so them that could be moved were taken prisoner.”

Cora’s stare shot to the bedroom door before she could stop it, and a chill that had nothing to do with the howling wind shook her shoulders. If anyone knew there was a wounded Union officer in her home, Jed would be headed to the same prison as those other poor souls.

Of course, Mattie and even Mrs. McGavock wouldn’t tell Jed’s secret, their compassion stronger than most. But what if one of them had an accidental slip of the tongue? Cora couldn’t live with herself if she endangered his life.

“Those poor men.” Cora sighed.

Mattie offered a half smile. “Maybe the war will end soon.”

Cora had nothing to offer in return. They’d all hoped the war would end soon. They’d been hoping that for years. Even as isolated as she and Papa were, nearly a mile from Carnton and that much farther from the rest of the town, they’d hoped and prayed for an end to the bloodshed. The men dying on these fields weren’t her brothers, but they were someone’s kin, and they haunted her as if they were her own.

“I should be getting back.” Mattie’s view dropped again to the pallet at her feet. “Can you spare some blankets and such?”

Cora’s knees rattled. She couldn’t give Mattie the quilts spread out on the floor. Some of them held bloodstains from the captain’s wound. If anyone looked closely at them, they’d know she was hiding something.

“Let me just check the bedroom.” Her legs could barely hold her as she stumbled toward the closed door and slipped into the room. But it was empty. She spun around, expecting to spy Jed in every corner. He was nowhere to be seen.

She’d have to find him later. After Mattie left.

Grabbing the only extra bedcover from her mattress and the last pieces of her old petticoats, she hurried back into the main room. Mattie had tied her wrap tightly about her shoulders and hugged the items that Cora handed to her.

“Thank you, Miz Sinclair.”

“You’re quite welcome, Mattie. Be safe.”

Mattie smiled and disappeared out the door in a flourish, leaving Cora to find her missing soldier.

Jed wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to move again. His head spun, and all of his limbs shook with the effort it had taken to crawl beneath the bed. He couldn’trisk being seen by anyone, even a house slave from the next home over. He just needed to get back to Washington and his assignment there as a special courier for the quartermaster general.

He’d just have to make his legs move long enough to get back there.

When Cora said farewell to the other woman, Jed forced himself to roll from his side to his stomach. Using one hand, he pushed against the wooden bed frame until he was all but free of the quilt, which hung to the floor.

“Jed!” Cora’s footsteps stopped the moment she entered the room. “What are you doing on the floor? Where did you go?”

Pushing himself to his knees, Jed rested an arm on top of the mattress as he drew several quick breaths. Cora stooped next to him, her hands reaching out but not touching him. Her dark blue eyes unblinking, she simply stared at him.

“I’ve put you and Horace in danger just being here.” He looked away, through a clean glass window toward the grove of trees where he’d been injured. “I have to go back to Washington.”

She stood to her full height. “You’re in no shape to travel.” Placing her hands on her hips, she imitated a stance his mother had often taken when he was a boy. “Besides, we have no means of transportation. Our horse was taken two years ago. How could you possibly make it hundreds of miles on foot?”

“If the rebels knew that you were hiding me, you could be imprisoned … or worse.” His eyes swept back to hers, and he very slowly pushed himself to his feet. “You’ve been so kind to me, but I can’t put you at risk. I have a job to do back in Washington. The War Department will want to know where I am.”

Cora crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t leave. It’s not safe for you”—she motioned to the great beyond—“out there. And you don’t have the strength.”

Could she see the way his legs trembled beneath Horace’s ill-fitting trousers?

It didn’t matter. He didn’t have a choice. They’d already been far kinder than they should have been to a Union soldier. He wouldn’t jeopardize them any longer. Neither would he argue the point with Cora, whose eyes flashed with something akin to fire.

So he stayed through the afternoon, eating more at noon than his stomach wanted, but he would need the energy from rabbit stew. As he sat on the table bench next to Horace and scraped at a piece of wood with his knife, the sun began to set.

Supper was a quiet affair. Cora mentioned Mattie’s visit and looked as though she might say something about his intent to leave but bit her tongue instead.

The wind howled past the cabin later that night as the fire dimmed toembers. Horace had been snoring for at least thirty minutes. Jed could only assume that Cora had also succumbed to sleep after a long day.

Pushing himself off his mat, he sat up and rolled to his knees. Groaning as he stood, he walked over to his uniform and slipped the stained and ripped fabric back into place. He reached into his leather bag and pulled a letter from the other papers. The sound as the paper tore in his hands seemed to echo even above the wind, and he whipped around to make sure Cora hadn’t heard and come to investigate. The room remained still as he scribbled a short note and left it on the table next to Horace’s spare set of clothes.

As he settled the strap of his bag across his chest, Jed glanced over his shoulder once more as he opened the door, the wind wailing as though it were crying. A quick glance around the room did not calm the sensation that he left something behind, his stomach a knot as his gaze landed on the bedroom door. He could not stay with Cora, so he stepped into the frigid winds of the night.

C
ora awoke with a start, at once feeling something was amiss. Papa continued to snore in the bed on the opposite side of the room, so she donned her shawl over her white cotton nightgown and tiptoed into the main room. Jed’s pallet lay empty, his uniform gone.

Her stomach churned, and the hair on her arms stood on end. She didn’t even have to read the note on the table to know where he’d gone. But she read his messily written words nonetheless.

Cora smiled at the scrap of paper in her hand. He hadn’t mentioned his rank or regiment, or even which side of the war he fought for. Still protecting them, even if they didn’t need it. No one else would ever see this note. She rolled the paper in her hand and clasped it under her chin.

Not even Papa.

As she stood at the window and wondered how far Jed had gotten during the night, her stomach plummeted. The night was full of dangers: wild animals and rebel forces, not to mention a river that ran much higher and faster than she’d ever seen it before. Jed had still been so weak when he left. Would he ever make it back to Washington?

“You fool,” she whispered to the window just as gentle white flakes peppered the floor of the clearing.

“I hope you’re not talking to me.”

Cora jumped at her grandfather’s voice, nearly dropping Jed’s note. Clutching it in both hands at her waist, she offered Papa a weak smile. “Of course not.” She nodded toward the trousers and shirt folded neatly on the table. “The captain is gone.”

“Gone? But he could barely walk yesterday.”

She nodded and looked through the snow and trees, hoping to see his form making its way back to them. “After Mattie’s visit, he told me he wanted to leave. He was afraid he put us in danger. Afraid there might be a visit from one of the Southern soldiers, who wouldn’t take kindly to us caring for an officer from Washington.”

Papa grumbled something under his breath as he turned back to their room.

Cora couldn’t seem to move her feet. Eyes alert, she held her breath for long intervals as she waited for Jed to return.

But he didn’t.

Not while she made biscuits for breakfast. Or while she heated water on the stove to wash their clothes that afternoon. Not even as they ate their evening meal.

Cora couldn’t taste the potatoes she’d grown that summer in her own garden as she put them in her mouth. Every time the wind rustled the leaves outside their door, her head spun to see if it might mean the captain’s return.

It never did.

As Papa opened the family Bible later that night, Cora picked up her knitting, something she could do and still keep watch. When the fire was so low that he could no longer read by its light, Papa stood.

“I need to find more firewood tomorrow.”

“Why?” Cora’s attention jumped at her grandfather’s unexpected announcement. “We had plenty stored up. It should have gotten us through the winter.”

He nodded grimly. “When the river rose, it flooded our woodpile. Only the logs on the very top are dry enough for us to use.”

Her heart sank, and tears jumped to her eyes. “But we worked so hard to gather enough to last the whole winter.”

Cupping her cheek with his weathered hand, he tilted her face up to look into his eyes. “Don’t worry. God will provide for us. Didn’t you hear what I read tonight?”

Oh, she hadn’t been paying any attention for worry over Jed’s safety.

“I’ll be leaving early,” he said. “I’ll have to look farther away from the river. Those trees close by will be as wet as our pile.”

“Be careful,” she pleaded. “There might still be soldiers out there.” Her mind didn’t conjure an image of soldiers seeking help but the bodies of those at Carnton who they could not help.

Cora had to look away, the back of her eyes burning as she blinked quickly. She didn’t want to remember the faces she’d seen. But it didn’t seem to matter. She saw them every night in her dreams.

“What’s wrong, Cora-girl?” Papa placed his large hand on her shoulder, but still she could not look him in the eye. “Why are you so sad?”

She wiggled her head back and forth, biting her lips against the longing to tell him the whole truth. How she wanted to tell him of the memories and faces that caused her anxiety to bubble like water in her teapot. But he had enough concerns with replenishing the firewood and helping them survive the winter and the war.

She could not give her burdens to him, so she patted his hand and whispered, “Please don’t concern yourself with me.”

Papa rubbed her shoulder again. “If you’re certain.”

“I am.”

He took to bed, but Cora could not drag herself out of her rocking chair to follow him. She tried to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing after he fell asleep and the clacking of her needles. Tried to wipe the terrible images from her mind. But as her chin fell to her chest and her eyes closed of their own

accord, the faces she mourned played across her mind.

“Jed!” Cora screamed, waking herself from the nightmare where the captain’s face joined the others. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she swiped at them, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips, trying to press that terrible image from her mind.

It was good that he had left. She might have fallen in love with him, ending up one of those women left to wonder if her love would return.

The sun had just broken the plain of the horizon line as she set aside her yarn and pushed herself from the chair, refusing to give her body opportunity to fall back asleep. Wrapping her arm around her waist as she walked toward the window, she shivered against the chill seeping through the wall, where beams of light broke through breaks in the chinking.

Then as if she were still asleep, Jed’s form materialized between two trees in the distance. She smiled to herself, as though this were her mind’s way of apologizing for that awful dream. But the figure continued walking and then stumbled, barely catching himself on the trunk of a tree. He pushed himself up again, favoring his left arm. The side on which Jed had been shot.

Cora was in the yard, racing toward the figure, before she fully recognized that he was more than her imagination.

“Jed! Jed …” She fell to the ground where he had tripped, resting her hands on either side of his ice-cold face. “You’re freezing. Let me help you inside.”

For once he didn’t object, silently allowing her to wrap her arm around his waist as she pulled his arm around her shoulders. They stumbled at the threshold,slipping through the doorway, which she’d left wide open. She led him inside, and he collapsed to the floor in front of the fire.

Immediately she knelt at his side, helping him take off his sodden coat and soaking boots. “What were you thinking? You could have died out there.” She shook her head and glared at him as she hurried to pour him a cup of chicory root that Papa had left on the stove before leaving that morning.

He pulled a blanket from the pile on her grandmother’s trunk and hugged it around himself, leaning toward the fire. “I–I’m sor–ry.” His teeth chattered, and his entire body shook. “I shouldn’t have left.”

Handing him the steaming tea cup, she muttered, “That’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Sipping the hot drink, he sighed. “You were right. I didn’t have the strength to make it very far, and I ran into rebel scouts near Franklin. The town is still a terrible mess, but I was able to hide in a barn until nightfall, and then I came right back here.” He looked away from her, clearly ashamed, but she couldn’t be certain if it was caused by his leaving or having to return. “Should I not have returned?”

She glanced down and realized that her arms were crossed, one hip stuck out in a pose not unlike one her grandmother had often struck. Lowering her hands to her sides, she shrugged. “I never asked you to leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Very well. You may stay. As long as you promise not to leave until at least Christmas.”

His face turned thoughtful. “Another two weeks here?” She nodded, and he took a long sip of the bitter coffee substitute. “Agreed.”