The Tender Flame (11 page)

Billy opened the door. “They’ve got to be mighty proud of Grant.”

“They couldn’t be any more proud of him than I am,” Lydia said.

Beverly looked around at her family. “Everybody bundled up good? Looks like it. All right, let’s head out.”

It was a brittle, cold night, and the stars were shining brightly as the Reynolds family trudged through a five-inch depth of snow. A biting wind picked up snow and ice crystals and flung them into their faces. Naked, wind-whipped trees sang a creaking song, while beneath the Reynoldses’ boots, the snow crunched and squeaked at every step.

Marjorie Smith was waiting just inside the door to greet them, and after they stomped snow from their boots, she quickly whisked them inside. Scott appeared and began helping the ladies with their wraps.

“You’ve seen the paper, I assume,” Scott said.

“Sure have,” Duane said, “and we haven’t been able to think or talk about anything else since. That’s some son you have. You have to be very proud.”

“If there was a better word than
proud
, that’s what we would be.”

“The girls are busy in the kitchen, so I’ll go join them,” Marjorie said. “You folks go on into the parlor and thaw out by the fire.”

“Lydia and I will be glad to help,” Beverly said.

“Maybe next time. You go get your blood flowing again.”

Scott led them into the parlor, where bright, dancing flames crackled and popped in the fireplace. The guests quickly moved toward it, holding out their palms and rubbing their hands together.

The parlor was softly aglow with kerosene lamps, and a serene
silence enveloped the group gathered in the cozy room. The two families had long been close friends in the Lord but had drawn closer because of Grant and Lydia’s love. Ever since Grant had been gone, they had gotten together often to gain comfort and strength from one another.

As always, Marjorie and her daughters had prepared a delicious meal, and everyone had a pleasant time around the table. When the meal was over and the kitchen cleaned up, everyone gathered in the parlor, where they held hands in a circle while Duane led in prayer. He thanked God that Grant was alive to receive the commendation from General Scott and asked Him to keep His mighty hand on Grant in the midst of battle.

When the Reynoldses were bundled up once again and ready for the walk home, Marjorie put one arm around Lydia and the other around Beverly, hugging them to herself. She looked around at the others and said, “I believe we all feel lighter in spirit for having been together. The old adage about ‘a burden shared’ has been proven in our hearts tonight.”

Weeks passed, and soon it was almost Christmas. The ordinarily happy season was a lonely time for Lydia, yet she stayed busy and enjoyed helping her family prepare for the holiday. Between her job and other activities, she made time to shop for her parents and Billy and for each of the Smiths.

Christmas had always been a most special holiday in the Reynolds home. They made much of the wondrous virgin birth of Jesus Christ and His coming into the world to save sinners. And even though their hearts would be heavy because of Grant’s absence, they would make this Christmas special too.

One frosty evening, the church choir went caroling about town. Lydia’s heart soared with joy as she sang the hymns and songs that proclaimed the wonderful gift of God to the world—the promised Messiah and King.

Afterward the carolers gathered at the Reynolds home, along with Pastor and Mrs. Britton, for hot chocolate and homemade doughnuts. The carolers’ cheeks were rosy, and their eyes sparkled as they tromped into the warm and brightly decorated kitchen.

Lydia took part in the gaiety, but Grant and the danger he was facing were never far from her thoughts. She was doing her very best to let the peace of God rule in her heart. She didn’t want to put a damper on the holidays, though a part of her was hundreds of miles away in Mexico.

On the afternoon of December 24, Lydia gave a Christmas party in the church fellowship hall for the girls in her Sunday school class. She had bought a present for each girl and gaily wrapped it. Before gift-opening time, the girls played games, sang songs, and had refreshments.

Lydia enjoyed watching each child open her gift, but was surprised and touched when one by one, the girls produced beautifully wrapped gifts for her. Tears ran down her cheeks as she hugged and thanked each one.

When the party was over and the last child had been picked up by her parents, Lydia left the church and stepped out into the twilight. Her breath caught for a moment, then hung in the still, cold air as she saw the final light of day spread over the tree-laden hills in colors of purple and silver.

“Lord,” she said, “no one but You could paint a picture like that. What a wonderful God and Creator You are! I’m so glad I belong to You and that You belong to me. Thank You for all of Your blessings. Thank You that You who painted that picture and triumphed at Calvary hold my precious Grant in Your hand! Keep him safe from all harm, Lord. Bring him home to me soon.”

The walk home was brisk and hurried as Lydia rushed to be with her family. Upon entering the house, she was met with the delightful aroma of potato and onion soup and cornbread—a family tradition on Christmas Eve ever since she could remember. She carried her presents into the parlor and piled them on the couch. As she took off
her coat, she saw her father at the parlor door, his eyebrows raised.

“Where’d you get all those presents, honey?”

“My girls, Daddy. They really surprised me.”

“Must mean they love you.”

“I’d say so.”

“Of course, not as much as Daddy loves you,” he said, gathering her in his arms. Father and daughter held each other for a long moment; then he said, “Guess I’d better not detain you too long. Your mother heard you come in, and she’ll be expecting you in the kitchen.”

Lydia entered the kitchen and greeted her mother. “Sure smells good.”

Beverly turned from the stove to smile at her. “Hi, honey. Have a nice party?”

“We did. And would you believe it—every one of those little girls gave me a present.”

“Well, wasn’t that nice? I’ll have to take a look at them after supper.”

Lydia kissed her mother’s cheek, hugged her, and said, “I guess I’d better get the table set so we can eat when that soup is ready.”

When supper was over and the kitchen cleaned up, it was time for another family tradition. Duane and Billy had gone into the woods that afternoon and cut down a Christmas tree. Now they brought it in from the back porch and placed it in the parlor in front of the big window. Together the family decorated the tree with strings of popcorn, red and green ribbons, and small candles. When it was done, they stepped back to admire their handiwork.

Then they brought in the presents and placed them under the tree. Lydia had wrapped presents for Grant, which made her feel as if he were a little closer. When the presents were all in place for opening the next morning, the Reynolds family enjoyed a big bowl of buttery popcorn and hot apple cider, with a cinnamon stick in each cup.

Soon all eyes began to droop. They hugged each other good night and headed upstairs for bed.

L
YDIA
R
EYNOLDS WAS BONE TIRED
. Upon entering her room, she decided to wait until Christmas night to write Grant a letter. She donned her flannel nightgown, put out the lantern, and crawled wearily into bed.

For the next few minutes she talked to the Lord, then rolled onto her side, expecting to fall into slumber.

But sleep eluded her.

She rolled onto her other side, adjusted her pillow, and tried to turn off her mind, but her thoughts immediately went to Grant. She pictured the battle when he’d risked his life to save Captain Daniels and the lieutenant. How close had Grant actually come to getting killed?

She thought of tomorrow—Christmas Day—and tried to imagine what it would be like for Grant. He was so far from home. So far from his family. So far from the woman who loved him with all her heart and who so desperately wanted to be his wife.

Lydia pulled the sheet to her face and wiped tears. She couldn’t hold it in any longer and wept for several minutes. She threw the covers back and fumbled in the dark for a match to light the bedside lantern. She hastily put on her robe and slippers, went to her small desk, and took out her stationery. In every letter, since the story of his exceptional deed of valor had been published in the
Baltimore Press
, Lydia had told Grant how proud she was of him. She wrote it again in this one.

She went on to tell Grant of the Christmas party for the girls of her Sunday school class, and described her family’s Christmas tree
and how beautiful the brightly wrapped gifts looked beneath it. She told him he could open his gifts when he came home.

The last few lines were filled with words of love, and how much she missed him and longed to be in his arms once more. She closed with “Darling, the tender flame still burns.”

Lydia folded the sheet of paper and added it to the stack of letters she had already written, then retied the blue ribbon around them and placed the bundle in a drawer.

She suddenly realized how cold the room was. She doused both lanterns, crawled beneath the quilts, and pulled them up under her chin. When her shivering stopped, she was still wide awake.

“Lord, I really need to get some rest. You said in Psalm 127:2 that You give Your beloved sleep. I claim it right now.” She rolled onto her side, and the Lord kept His word.

Christmas Day was snowy and cold, but the parlor was cozy as the Reynolds family opened gifts. The time was sweet and enjoyable, except for the few minutes Lydia broke down and wept when she picked up the presents with Grant’s name on them and held them close to her heart.

All in all, the Reynoldses enjoyed a lovely, quiet day, rejoicing in the birth of God’s only begotten Son. Although their thoughts were never far from Grant, there was a deep-seated peace in their hearts.

January 1847 came, and the war with Mexico was still hot and heavy. The United States Army now held Tampico and was bearing down on the next coastal city—Poza Rica. Once Poza Rica was occupied, General Winfield Scott would move his army further south to Xalapa, then on to Vera Cruz. Once these cities were occupied, Scott would be in a position to move west on Mexico City.

General Zachary Taylor and his reinforced troops were moving farther south, with orders from Scott to do everything they could
to be in a position to help Scott move on Mexico City when he was ready. He was sure the capture of the capital city would end the war.

The months rolled by. General Scott and his army captured Poza Rica in early May, then Xalapa in mid-August.

After some thirty American soldiers were buried near the camp just outside of Xalapa, Captain Nathan Daniels appeared at General Scott’s tent. Scott was finishing a letter to General Taylor as he sat at the crude desk he carried with him in an army wagon.

“Yes, Captain?” Scott said, looking up as he finished signing the letter.

“Sir, I need a few minutes to tell you of another commendation that needs to be given by you.”

“All right. Let me get this letter on its way, then we’ll talk.”

Scott sealed the envelope and got the attention of an army courier who was with a group of soldiers a few yards away. The courier would ride hard for two days to deliver the letter to General Taylor. When the pounding hooves of the courier’s horse faded, Scott said, “All right, Captain. Who’s our hero this time?”

“You know him well, sir. Lieutenant Grant Smith.”

Scott’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Again?”

“Yes, sir. The Mexicans had a cannon trained on a group of men and would have killed them if Lieutenant Smith hadn’t dashed in and taken out the artillerymen. He had to run across an open field while bullets were flying everywhere. With no thought for his own safety, he made a dash across the field and saved his men from annihilation. Then, of all things, he found the cannon loaded and ready to fire, so he turned it on the Mexicans across the field, yanked the lanyard, and took out a whole nest of them.”

A smile tugged at the corners of the general’s mouth. “Some soldier, that one.”