Everlasting Light - A Civil War Romance Novella

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Miz Laina—” Zeke’s gaze swung back to hers. “—I can’t explain how I know this, but I know Braeden ain’t dead. When I saw Mistah Michael touch you jest now, I knowed it wasn’t right, just as if Braeden could walk through a door any time and see it fer hisself. Then we’d all be in some fine trouble.”

  The remark gave Alaina pause. Her husband’s possessive nature had always caused her to feel loved and cherished, although she’d never purposely provoke him to feel jealous. And what if he really was alive? Then Michael’s affection was sinful.

  They began walking again, but this time at a more leisurely pace.

  “Miz Laina, I think if Braeden is alive, he’ll be sure to get hisself home fer Christmas. He wouldn’ want to miss another one with his family.” A low, rumbling chuckle. “You know how Braeden always loved Christmas.”

  “Yes, he did.” Alaina recalled the only Christmas she and Braeden shared as a married couple. He’d been as excited as a child, picking at the goodies his mother baked and teasing his brother Kirk about gifts, and yet the holiday’s true meaning wasn’t lost on him. Braeden had always kept his focus on the Savior’s birth and why it was so significant to mankind.

  But if Braeden came home for Christmas this year, what would he find? A faithless wife who’d been self-absorbed in sorrow and bitterness? A wife who betrayed him … with his best friend?

  No! Alaina wouldn’t allow anything of the kind to happen. Perhaps she’d had a right to her sadness and discouragement, but she’d given those feelings free rein for far too long.

  “Zeke, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

  Forgive. Believe. “I haven’t begun to prepare.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “We haven’t even cut down a tree, supposing there’s an evergreen somewhere to be felled.”

  “I could look down by the swamp.”

  “Would you?” A wee bit of hope sparked within her.

  Zeke gave a nod.

  “And we should find something to take to the neighbors. They’re in dire straits just like us. Perhaps there’s some venison left, and Mama McKenna and I could cook it up into little meals to pass out.”

  “Fine idea.”

  “And then, of course, there’s our own Christmas dinner to think about.” She quickened her step. “I’ve got so much to do before tomorrow.”

  Zeke chuckled. “You sure do.”

  Alaina made her way up to the house. If the soldiers who’d stopped by Michael’s had been at the McKenna’s home too, they’d come and gone. Help me forgive, Father. Oddly, the mere prayer seemed to uplift her heart. Help me believe.

  “Mama McKenna, I just realized tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and I haven’t done a single thing to prepare for the occasion.”

  “Oh, hush, child.” The older woman looked none too pleased by the declaration. “Christmas won’t visit our home this year.”

  “But—”

  “How can you even think of celebrating? My sister and her husband are dead. Jennifer Marie is gone, Kirk died in battle, and Braeden … Braeden is gone too. The Yankees disposed of our cows and chickens. Our land has been depreciated by fire. These are dark times, Alaina, and all we can do is survive one day to the next as God sees fit, doing our best to accomplish what we can. But celebrate Christmas? That’s out of the question!”

  “You told me to count my blessings, Mama McKenna.” Alaina cast a curious glance at her father-in-law, who sat at the dining room table with his balding head in his hands. “At least we’ve got our home.”

  “Not for long.” Papa McKenna’s eyes held a vacant, defeated look. “We can’t pay our taxes.”

  “No one can.”

  “Is that supposed to be consolation?” Mama McKenna’s eyes flashed with

  incredulity. “We’ll all be homeless. So what?”

  Without depression clouding her perspective, Alaina saw just what had become of her in-laws. Once a kind gentlewoman, her mother-in-law had gotten calloused. Her father-in-law, always capable and cheerfully robust, had turned forlorn, brokenhearted.

  Hadn’t they all? But it was high time to change. God help me!

  “Couldn’t we forget our suffering for the next two days? It’s Christmas, a time to celebrate the Savior’s birth. There’ll be plenty of time to fret over the tax bill after the holiday.”

  The older couple glanced at each other, considering the request.

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be cheerful for a couple of days.” Her mother-in-law rolled a shoulder.

  Papa McKenna agreed, although grudgingly. “Grief isn’t all that easy to let go of, but I’ll try.”

  “And I promise to be more hopeful.” A sense of purpose replaced the emptiness inside of her. She’d bring Christmas into the hearts of others this year, and perhaps the joy of the season would stay with them and see them through future trials.

  Maybe that same joy would bring power to their prayers and guide Braeden safely home!

  ******

  “Miz Ellie! Miz Laina! Look here what I found!”

  Alaina stopped stirring the meager potato mixture, turned around, and gaped in surprise as Zeke hauled in a lanky fir. “Our Christmas tree!” She smiled.

  Beside her, Mama McKenna’s jaw dropped slightly.

  “An’ guess what else Mistah Jonathan and me found down by the creek?”

  “I can’t guess. Tell me.” Mama McKenna appeared overwhelmed.

  “A cow. A real-live milkin’ cow. Don’ know who it belongs to. Mistah Jonathan is out askin’ neighbors if’n it’s theirs. And she milks real good. Don’ look sick neither.”

  “Maybe some fool Yankee turned her loose,” Mama McKenna said, “not knowing cows will die if they’re not milked.”

  “Milk.” Wistfulness engulfed Alaina’s being. “I haven’t tasted milk since Mrs. Tanner brought over a pail for us months ago.”

  Mama McKenna turned toward her. “Do you know what we could make if we had milk? And maybe an egg or two?”

  “Cornbread.” Alaina grinned.

  “Go see if Michael’s chickens laid any more eggs.”

  “All right.” She wiped her hands and removed her apron. But as she moved toward the door, Zeke stood in her way, the end of the tree trunk in his wide hands.

  “I best be the one goin’ to Mistah Michael’s.” A worried frown knitted his thick, black brow.

  “That’s not necessary, Zeke.” She leaned forward and whispered, “I know my place. I’m Braeden’s wife.”

  A smile split across his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Zeke hauled in the tree and, without it blocking the doorway, Alaina took to the winter-barren field and the worn trail that cut through both properties. The Wheeler farm came into view, and she took purposeful strides toward the house. “Michael?” She knocked on the door.

  He opened it within moments. “Lain …” His gaze brightened. “What brings you here?”

  “Eggs. Might you have any to spare?”

  “Haven’t checked recently.” He leaned against the doorframe, his one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers. He seemed in no hurry to do her bidding. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going west. There’s land for the taking out there.”

  “You’re leaving South Carolina?” The news saddened her. Michael was a friend, after all.

  He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now but decided today.” He took her hand. “I want you to come with me.”

  She pulled it from his grasp. “I can’t.”

  “Braeden’s dead.”

  “We don’t know that for sure, and until we do, I’m a married woman.”

  “Oh, Lain …” Michael’s shoulders sagged. “What if you never know for sure?”

  “Then I’ll never remarry.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You would deny us both happiness just to be true to a … a memory?”

  Alaina looked down at her shabby leather shoes. She hated to hurt him, and yet she’d
made a decision about her future too. It didn’t include Michael.

  “You’re a wonderful man.” She met his stare. “You deserve to marry a woman who loves you. But it’s not me. I love Braeden … and I always will.” A wounded expression crossed his swarthy features. “I’m sorry, but it’s not to be between us.”

  “I know I could change your mind if you’d give me the chance.”

  Alaina shook her head.

  Seconds passed and then he gave a shrug as if in surrender. “Then I’ll leave as soon as I can pack. I reckon there’s no reason for me to stay in Richland County.”

  “Will you stay until after Christmas at least?”

  “Would it make a difference to you?”

  “No. I’m waiting for Braeden.” Her resolved strengthened. “I’ll wait for the rest of my life if I have to.”

  The muscle in his jaw worked as he gazed out over the ruins-strewn yard. She’d likely dashed his dreams, and the very idea made Alaina want to weep. But she wouldn’t. She’d made the right choice.

  Michael faced her once more. He reached out to touch her cheek. Alaina drew back. “I’m a married woman, Michael.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. More sorry than you’ll ever know.”

  She knew. But better he grieve now than marry a woman who didn’t love him—or worse, marry a woman who was still his best friend’s wife!

  She tipped her head and forced a smile. “Now, about those eggs … can you spare a few?”

  Chapter 10

  A fine, freezing mist began to fall on Christmas Eve morning. Michael stood beneath the gloomy skies, clutching the reins of his pitiful team of mules. He’d loaded up everything he owned before driving his wagon over to say good-bye.

  “You sure you don’t want to spend Christmas with us before you go west, son?” Sadness fell over Papa McKenna’s whiskered face as he shook Michael’s hand. “We’re going to miss you ’round here.”

  “I’ll miss y’all, too.”

  Alaina saw how he purposely avoided her gaze.

  “Weather could get worse,” said Mama McKenna.

  Michael jumped down and hugged her.

  “Won’t you wait until the storm passes?”

  “No. This is my time to leave.” Michael turned to Alaina. “You tell Braeden that I’m sorry I missed his homecoming.”

  “I will.” She accepted his brief embrace.

  When he stepped back, a wistful and amused gleam entered his eyes. “You know how I’ll always remember you, Laina?” He grinned. “In a golden dress with black brocade trim, twirling around and laughing like you don’t have a care in the world.”

  “You would remember that sorry dance incident.”

  “I wasn’t ever sorry.” He chuckled and climbed back up in the wagon. Taking up his mules’ reins, he slapped their backsides and started off toward the road.

  “Bye, Mistah Michael.” Zeke lifted a hand goodbye, looking misty-eyed.

  “I’ll write if I get a chance,” he called over his shoulder. “Maybe y’all can come out and visit me on my ranch someday.”

  “God be with you, Michael,” Alaina called.

  “I love you …” His gaze fixed on her, but only for a moment. “I love you all!”

  They stood on the front porch and watched Michael’s wagon roll down the lonely, winding road.

  “It’s a horrid day to travel.” Mama McKenna brushed back a wayward lock of her hair. “Why, that boy is liable to catch his death.”

  “He’ll be all right.” Papa McKenna snorted. “He’s lived through worse than a little cold rain.”

  Alaina shivered and walked into the house. Soon everyone else ambled back inside. Zeke stoked the fire. There was still much to be done in preparation for Christmas, but the dreary weather and Michael’s departure seemed to have dampened spirits.

  Until Zeke started singing.

  “‘Hark! The herald angels sing.’”

  Alaina joined in. “‘Glory to the newborn King. Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled!’”

  Soon Mama McKenna was tapping her toe, and Papa McKenna was humming along.

  Later that morning, Suzanna and her family came to visit, bringing with them two plump pheasants ready to roast. God had provided their Christmas dinner. After an early, leisurely meal, they left the house to attend Christmas vespers. After the service, Alaina and Mama McKenna handed out venison stew and pieces of cornbread to families. Some folks hadn’t eaten in days.

  “My, but that did my heart good,” Mama McKenna remarked as they rode home in the back of the Reynolds family’s wagon. Suzanna and her husband traveled in the other direction to their farm. Since Michael left, the McKennas no longer had convenient transportation, and the Reynoldses were happy to offer the ride home. Though there was a biting chill to the wind, the rain had stopped for now, making the ride bearable, even slightly enjoyable.

  “Let’s sing a Christmas song,” one of the little Reynolds girls suggested.

  “Good idea.” Alaina led them in Silent Night, and they sang until John Reynolds halted the wagon in front of the McKenna home. Alaina and her in-laws climbed down and bid the other family Merry Christmas.

  “It’s so dark.” Alaina strained to see through the inky night. “Why, our home is barely visible from the main road.”

  Her comment went unnoticed, but it troubled her throughout the rest of the evening.

  What would You have me to do about the matter, Lord? She worried that if Braeden came home, he wouldn’t know they were waiting for him. What if he thought the Yankees burned it to the ground like almost everything else?

  “I’m going to turn in for the night,” Papa McKenna rose from his favorite armchair. Crossing the room, he leaned over and kissed the top of Alaina’s head. “Merry Christmas.”

  She smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Aren’t you going to bed, dear?” Mama McKenna followed her husband up the stairs.

  “I’ll be along shortly.”

  The older couple retired for the night, and the room grew deathly still. Zeke had returned from attending church with his people but had long since gone to sleep in the lean-to that he and Papa McKenna constructed outside the back of the house. The cabin he’d grown up in on the far end of the farm had been destroyed by Union troops, like the other outbuildings. How grateful Alaina was that she and her family had a roof over their heads.

  But what about Braeden? Was he somewhere out in the cold, the damp, and dark night?

  Where is he, Lord? Where is he?

  So much for what Zeke said about Braeden getting home in time for Christmas. It seemed unlikely. Tomorrow was Christmas Day. She’d see Mama and her youngest brother, David—that was something to look forward to.

  Alaina blew out the candle perched on the table beside her. Darkness descended like a thick drape, and she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face. Feeling around, she found a matchstick and she relit it then replaced its glass shade.

  An idea struck. Why not put a candle in the window so if Braeden came home, he’d see a bit of light? Like the star that guided the shepherds on the very first Christmas, the light in the window might guide Braeden home. The expense of the candle was great, but wasn’t Braeden worth it? Alaina couldn’t think of a better use for the wax taper than to light her beloved’s path back to her awaiting arms

  The notion grew into her decision to set a candle in each wide sill of the four front windows, both downstairs and up. The last candle she lit was inside her bedroom. Braden wouldn’t miss the house now. What’s more, he’d know she waited for him.

  She readied herself for bed and pulled the pins from her hair. She brushed it vigorously just as she did almost every night. Outside, she could hear the wind whistling through the treetops. She heard a soft rain pelting the house followed by a low rumble of thunder.

  Thunder?

  She listened more carefully. No, not thunder. It was a horse—horses. More than one. Alaina stood. Panic sliced thr
ough her. Had she inadvertently summoned Yankee soldiers—or worse?

  She didn’t move a muscle, her hairbrush poised in midair. A mix of dread and shame coursed through her. How foolish she’d been! Because of her, the house was aglow and a veritable invitation for unscrupulous soldiers, ruffians, and thieves. She should have realized it sooner.

  She peeked out the bedroom window. By the light emanating from the remaining windows she saw a shadowy figure dismount. She glimpsed the man’s beard when he moved to the hitching post. A second horse had been tethered behind the one he tied, but it was loaded with satchels. The man obviously traveled alone.

  A moment later, his face turned upward. Horrified, she blew out the candle. Why hadn’t she thought to do that at once? She let the curtain fall back in place and held her breath. Through the gauzy material she could see him. He stepped closer to the house, smiled, and removed his wide-brimmed hat.

  Recognition set in. “Braeden!” Her breath returned.

  Dropping the brush, she whirled from the window and hurried out of the bedroom, nearly colliding with Papa McKenna in the hallway.

  “Put the gun away,” she said, noting the rifle in his hand. “It’s Braeden. He’s home!”

  She ran down the stairs and flung open the front door. He stood on the porch. “Braeden!” She threw herself into his outstretched arms.

  He was soaked to the skin, and the pungent smell of wet wool, horses, and leather assailed her senses, but Alaina couldn’t have cared less. With her arms around her husband’s neck, she hugged him as tightly as possible.

  “You’re home …”

  “Alaina.” He breathed her name against her cheek. His beard scratched and tickled her face. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Dead?” Alaina brought her head back. “I don’t understand.”

  “I would have come home sooner if—”

  He didn’t finish his sentence but lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with a fervor that made her lose her breath a second time.

  “Braeden! Is it really you?” Mama McKenna’s shocked tone reminded them they weren’t alone.