The Tender Flame

by Al Lacy

  Tears filled Lydia’s eyes when she read of the commendation Grant had received from General Winfield Scott in front of the entire battalion. She lowered the newspaper and looked at the Brittons, her lower lip quivering.

  “You’re going to marry a hero,” Delia said.

  Lydia folded the paper as the tears started down her cheeks. “Grant has always been a hero in my book. Now the whole country can know it.” She wiped her wet cheeks with a palm. “It’s good to know that as of two weeks ago he was still alive. I’m so proud of him.”

  “We are too,” said the pastor. “And when he comes home, we’ll have a great big welcome for our hero.”

  Duane Reynolds helped Beverly into her coat, while Billy did the same for Lydia.

  “I’m sure everybody in town knows about it now, including the Smiths,” Duane said. “Scott reads the Press from front to back every day, the same as I do.”

  “You’d almost think it was planned … our being invited to supper at the Smiths’ on the very day the story about Grant came out in the paper,” Beverly said. “We’ll have plenty to talk about over the meal.”

  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 ma
de 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.

  LYDIA REYNOLDS 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.”

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” Lieutenant Grant Smith saluted General Scott, who was sitting by his campfire alone. Night had fallen, and a pale moon was rising.

  “Yes, Lieutenant. Come, sit down.”

  When Grant was seated on the opposite side of the small fire, the general smiled. “Lieutenant, I was told about the cannon incident that took place today.”

  Grant blinked. “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to know that I am proud to have a man of your caliber serving under me.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You are aware that dispatches have come to me periodically from Washington over the past few months.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Of course you know that I have kept President Polk abreast of our losses and of the reinforcements I’ve had sent from different forts. In a dispatch from the president last month, he spoke of the officers we’ve lost in battle and of the need to replace them. He gave me the authority to make promotions on the field. Actually, the president stated in the dispatch that he was giving me this authority for two reasons. The first reason is obvious. The second reason is so that when men distinguish themselves in battle and deserve promotion, I can take care of it right here on the field. When the rest of the soldiers see a valorous man promoted, it encourages them to distinguish themselves when the opportunity arises.”

  Grant’s heart was in his throat. “That makes sense, sir.”

  “Therefore, Lieutenant Smith, I am hereby promoting you to the rank of captain.”

  Grant swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  The general rose to his feet, and Grant followed suit.

  “Tomorrow morning I will make your promotion known to all the men, Captain,” Scott said. “However, before you retire for the night, there is someone who wants to interview you.”

  “Pardon me, sir?”

  “You’ve met correspondent Jack Milan, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, of course, you’re aware of the story he wrote for the newspapers back home about your deed of valor last November.”

  “No, sir.”

  Scott grinned. “Well, son, everybody back home knows you’re a hero. I’m sure your parents and that girl you left behind are very proud of you.”

  “Well, I hope so, sir.”

  “Captain Daniels has Jack Milan at his tent, ready to interview you, son. They both know that when you show up there, you will have your new rank. I’ll have captain’s insignias for your uniform in the morning. Now, go answer some questions for Jack.”

  It was Tuesday, September 7. Beverly and Lydia were in the kitchen preparing supper when they heard the front door open and Duane call out, “I’m home!”

  Bever
ly smiled at her daughter, whose hands were covered with flour as she kneaded bread. “I’ll go meet your father. You can hug him later.”

  Beverly met her husband and noticed he was carrying his usual copy of the Baltimore Press. However, what she saw on his face was highly unusual.

  “Duane, what’s the matter?” she cried, hastening toward him. “Why are you crying?”

  “These are proud tears, honey.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where are the kids?”

  “Billy’s cleaning the barn. Lydia’s in the kitchen, making bread.”

  “I have something to show all three of you. I’ll go bring Billy in. You keep Lydia in the kitchen.”

  Moments later father and son entered the kitchen, and Lydia rushed to hug her father. “What’s the big secret, Daddy?”

  Duane handed her the newspaper. “You read it to us, honey. He’s going to be your husband.”

  Lydia fought to keep her composure when she read aloud the story on page 3 by war correspondent Jack Milan. She choked up when she read of the courageous deed involving the cannon, and that Grant had been promoted to the rank of captain as a result of his heroism. The words blurred, and she stopped to wipe the tears away before continuing to read. After the story came the interview. This had the whole family crying, as Lydia choked it out a few words at a time.

  Grant had boldly given praise to the Lord Jesus for helping him save the lives of other men in battle. He told of his fiancée, Lydia Reynolds, in Montgomery Village, Maryland, and said, “Lydia, if you should read this article, I want you to know that the tender flame still burns.”

  Lydia could not continue reading, she was crying so hard. She handed the paper to her father as both Beverly and Billy put their arms around her.

  Duane silently read what was left of the interview, and said, “It … ah … it closes off with Grant wishing you a happy birthday, Lydia. And he greets his family, us, his pastor and wife, and all his friends in Montgomery Village.”

  The Reynolds family sat down to eat, but the emotion brought on by the article had stolen their appetites.