Christmas at Harmony Hill

by Ann H. Gabhart

  She looked back over her shoulder with some regret that she hadn’t stopped to buy a piece of cloth for her mother and some penny candy for her sister and little brothers. But she’d left the town behind.

  A farmer stopped his team beside her and let her climb up on the hay in his wagon. He didn’t seem interested in conversation, keeping his eyes forward, and she was just as glad. She lay back on the hay and gave herself over to the wagon’s bounces as she thought again of her mother’s table that might hold supper soon.

  Her father at the head with Jimmy in the small one’s chair. Jimmy had been only two when Heather left, so he might not even remember her. Then there was little Lucas and Willie and dear Beth, who would be sixteen now. Simon wouldn’t be there, but it would be so good to have her young brothers’ arms around her, to see Beth’s sweet smile, to hear her mother’s laugh and feel her lips on her cheek. She’d had to go with Gideon, but that didn’t mean she never thought to return.

  The sun was going down when she recognized a path through the field as a shortcut to home and called to the farmer to stop. She stood in the roadway and thanked the old man for the ride. The wide brim of his straw hat shadowed his wrinkled face, but it didn’t hide his concern.

  “It don’t seem right to leave you here alone, missy.” He flicked his eyes to her face and then back to ground. “Not in your condition.”

  “Where I’m going is just across the way.” She pointed toward the stand of trees between her and the house and then looked at the sun slipping below the horizon. “I’ll be there before nightfall.”

  He looked toward the trees and his concern became a frown. “Things have been hard around here lately. The cholera came to visit late in the summer, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.” Cholera. The very word was enough to chill her heart.

  “Carried off my daughter-in-law. That’s what brought me and the wife to these parts to help our son with his young’uns until he can find another wife.” His eyes touched on Heather again. “You wouldn’t happen to be returning home a widow, would you?”

  Her worst fears put into words. Suddenly light-headed again, she held to the side of the wagon as she forced out an answer. “No.”

  “Didn’t mean to upset you, ma’am, but this war has turned many a young woman into a widow. I thought that might be why you were headed home.”

  “I’ve been with my husband’s unit as a washerwoman, but a battlefield is hardly a proper place for our child to take his first breath.”

  “Not a proper place for any child.” Sadness sounded in his words.

  “You have a boy in the war?” Heather asked.

  “The younger one. We’ve not heard from him in months. I fear we never will.” The man blew out a long breath of air before he went on. “Don’t let my worry be yours. The fighting can’t go on much longer.”

  “I pray it is so.” Heather stepped away from the wagon.

  He picked up the reins. “I won’t ask which color he wears. Best not to know. Let us part neighbors, not enemies.” He looked off at the trees beside the road again. “If you be sure you can make it safe from here, my supper is calling.”

  He watched her off the road and then flicked the reins to make his horses begin plodding on toward their supper too.

  Each tree in the woods was like an old friend as she rushed along the familiar path. Toward home. The only thing that could make it better was Gideon hurrying along beside her instead of marching south to engage the enemy. At the same time, she couldn’t quite forget the farmer talking about cholera. She shook her head a little. She didn’t have to worry about that now. That dreaded disease brought death only in the warmer seasons. The November air was chill. So chill she wished for mittens for her hands. The coldest part of winter would soon be upon them.

  Dusk had fallen before she came out of the trees to see the house across the field. The cow was in the lot next to the barn. The milking through. The chickens would be on their roosts. Even the dogs, Ring and Star, would be curled for the night on the porch.

  She stopped and studied the sight of the house. The only house she’d known since there’d been nothing but camps after she left with Gideon. The place looked different somehow. Smaller, shabbier, with wood stacked high on the front porch. They’d never kept wood on the front porch. The roof looked to be sagging in the middle, as if the weight of the wood was pulling at it. She’d been gone two years. Houses aged the same as people. And it had been foolish of her to expect flowers, even if that was the picture she carried in her head. The simple house brightened by her mother’s flowers. Her mother had a way with flowers, but there could be no flowers until spring.

  The two hounds didn’t bark until the squeak of the front gate roused them. The dogs scrambled up to come barreling down off the porch, their barks ringing in the air. She spoke their names, and with her remembered voice in their ears, they silenced and pranced toward her with tails wagging.

  4

  The dogs licked her hands, giving her a welcome home that brought a smile to her face as she moved toward the house with them bumping against her legs.

  “Who goes there?” Her father’s voice boomed out from the porch. None of the dogs’ welcome sounded in it.

  Heather kept her hand on Ring’s head and peered up at her father. Enough light lingered that she knew he recognized her before she spoke. “It’s me, Father. Heather.”

  She spoke her name plainly, in hopes her mother would come to the door and run down off the porch to embrace her. Her father made not the first step toward her nor did a smile crease his face. She looked past him to where Beth and two of her little brothers peeked out the door, but she saw no sign of her mother. Heather’s heart began to pound up in her ears, and the baby kicked frantically.

  “So is he dead?” Her father’s voice was cold. “Like your brother Simon.”

  Simon dead? The words were like fists slamming into her heart. Dear Simon, her friend and playmate through all their young years. His face flashed through her memory. His father’s favorite, but never like him. A boy with a ready smile and a generous heart.

  “Well, have you no answer?” her father demanded. At the sound of his voice, the dogs lowered their heads and slunk away to hide under the porch.

  She pulled in a breath and managed to speak. “Gideon was alive when last I saw him.”

  She stared up at her father with a nameless fear awakening in her heart to join the sorrow of knowing Simon was dead. Where was her mother? Her mouth went dry from more than the need of a drink. She dreaded putting the question to her father, for the answer seemed to be written in the lines of his face. Grief sat heavy there. But that could be for Simon. Perhaps her mother was only ill or caring for a sick neighbor. She wouldn’t think of the old farmer speaking of cholera.

  “Then what are you doing here? A Yankee camp follower.” The words came out like a curse.

  “I came home to let my mother help me birth my baby.” She put her hands on her stomach as though to protect her child from his anger. “Where is she? Will you not let me see my mother?”

  He did not answer at once, merely stared at her, but behind him, Beth put her fist against her lips. Young Lucas leaned on Beth and Willie looked down at the floor. That told Heather the truth she dreaded to hear.

  “You came too late.” The sorrow was plain in her father’s voice. “You can do naught but visit her grave now. Buried the two of them together.”

  “Mother and Simon? He came home before he died?”

  “Don’t be dense.” Her father jerked his head in disgust. “Simon lies buried at Gettysburg with the many others who fell with him at that battle. It’s little Jimmy who lies with his mother.”

  The words came out harsh, but Heather could see the pain they caused him. A pain that shot from him to stab into her. Her head began to spin and she couldn’t draw in enough air though she was breathing fast. She reached for something to steady herself, but nothing was near. Only the darkness of the truth
poking her from all sides. The cholera had beaten her home.

  Through the grainy black creeping over her mind came her father’s voice with more pain. “If you’d been here to nurse them, they might even now still be breathing.”

  Behind him, Beth spoke up, but she sounded miles away to Heather. “Pa, what could Heather have done against the cholera?”

  “She started the rent that tore our family apart.” Some of the anger came back to strengthen her father’s voice as he glared out toward Heather. “You did it. Running away with that Yankee traitor, grieving your mother until she had no strength to fight the sickness. And now you come creeping home expecting an open door to await you.”

  “I did so hope.” The words came out as a whisper, hope in them yet. A hope that was trickling away. What would she do? With her head feeling as if it might float away, she sank to her knees.

  “Your hope is misplaced.”

  From her knees, he looked taller, an immovable force between her and the door. Her and her family. Beth, Willie, and Lucas were staring past him with eyes wide and frightened. They could not go against him.

  “You wouldn’t turn your own daughter away with nowhere to go? I carry your grandchild.” She would beg if she must.

  “I have no daughter but one named Beth. You spurned me as father when you went with the army that killed my son. You’ll find no place within this house.”

  Night had fallen while they talked, and she could no longer clearly see his face with the lamplight flowing out the door behind him. He was just a dark shadow ready to engulf her. She bent her head in defeat. What more was there to say?

  He turned and went back into the house, herding Willie and Lucas in front of him. Beth slipped past him to run down the porch steps. She bent to touch her cheek to Heather’s. “Wait in the barn. I’ll come to you there.”

  “Beth, come into the house.” Their father’s voice brooked no disobedience as he held open the door. “Now.”

  She let her hand slide softly across Heather’s cheek before she ran back up on the porch to disappear through the door. Her father pulled it closed with a thud.

  Heather stared at the door. Her mother gone. Her brothers, Simon and Jimmy, gone. Her hope of home gone. Perhaps Gideon gone too after the coming battles in Tennessee. The darkness pushed at her from inside and out. She wanted to give in to it, sink down on the ground, and let the chill of the night soak into her bones. Perhaps catch the grippe and be done with sorrow. But then the baby was kicking, needing her even more than she had needed the sight of her mother.

  The dogs came back out from under the porch when she stood up. She was glad for their company as she headed toward the barn. Something the same from her memories of home. She held the barn door wide to let them come inside with her.

  It was dark in the barn, and she had no lantern, no candle, no hope. The mingled smells of dirt, hay, and cows rose up to her, and without bidding, Gideon’s face was in her mind. She’d once sneaked out to meet him in this very barn. It had been the deep of the night, but Gideon dispelled the darkness with his kiss.

  “The good Lord planned for us to meet and fall in love, my Heather Lou. Of that, I’m certain.” He had wrapped his arms around her. “We won’t let your father steal our hope of happiness. Nor the war either. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Her heart leaped at his words, and whatever the cost, only one answer had been on her tongue. When she returned to the house, her mother was waiting. Not with condemning words. Without any words at all, she lit a taper and studied Heather’s face for a long moment before she blew out the flame.

  “I love him,” Heather spoke into the dark air that settled between them.

  “I cannot turn your father’s mind in his favor.” Her mother’s words were laced with sorrow. “Not while the war’s dark cloud is over us.”

  “I know.”

  With her hands on Heather’s shoulders, she leaned toward her until their faces were inches apart. Love shone in her mother’s eyes. She spoke in a whisper, as though she feared the words might seep through the night to Heather’s father’s ears, but the words carried force nevertheless. “Then do what you must do. The Lord will go with you. As will I. Nothing can ever separate me from your heart. Nothing.”

  Do what you must do. Heather had done so then, leaving her home to follow Gideon. She would do so now. She was wrong that she had no hope. Just as her mother would ever live within her heart, hope lived within her in the heart of the child she carried.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she made out the shapes of the stalls. She knew the barn. She needed no lantern to find her way and Ring stayed close to her side to guide her. He had always been her favorite. She found a box to sit on and the two dogs settled at her feet with satisfied huffs of breath. She had no idea how long it might be before Beth could sneak out to her or even if she would. But there was nothing to do except wait for daybreak. Wait and worry. What was she going to do? She had a little money, but would it be enough to keep her until the war was through?

  A few words of Scripture popped into her head. The Lord directeth his steps. Pray that the Lord would direct her steps as well. Show her a way. She pulled her cape closer around her. She was cold and hungry. She moistened her dry lips and thought about the spring behind the house. She imagined the cool water in the cup of her hands, but she didn’t trust her footing down the incline to the spring in the dark. Better to be thirsty than to risk a fall on the rocks with no one to help her.

  No one to help her. The thought chased through her mind over and over until she put her hands on her head and pressed down to stop it. The Lord would help her. She just didn’t know how yet.

  She leaned back against the barn wall and wondered how long she could go without sleep before she became too weary to walk. She was nodding off when the creak of the barn door brought her upright, her heart pounding. The dogs raised their heads but didn’t bark.

  “Heather?” her sister called. When Heather didn’t answer right away, Beth went on. “Please, be here. We so want to see you.”

  5

  We?” Heather pushed herself up off the wooden box and peered around the post toward the door.

  “Lucas is with me. Father’s asleep, but Willie stayed behind to warn us if he wakes. He has been such a help to me since Mother . . .” Beth’s voice trailed away as she looked around. “Where are you?”

  “I’m here.” She stepped away from the wall out where they could see her in the bit of moonlight creeping through the open door behind them.

  Lucas ran to grab her around the waist, but at the feel of her rounded stomach, hugged very gently. “I was scared I might never see you again,” he whispered. “Like Simon. Beth says he’s gone the same as Mama and little Jimmy, even if we didn’t get to lay him to rest.”

  Heather ran her hand through his dark, curly hair. Such a familiar feel that tears sprang to her eyes. She had often been the one to see Lucas to bed at night and comb his hair in the mornings after little Jimmy pushed him out of her mother’s lap. “How tall you’ve grown.” She leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

  “I’m seven now. Big enough to do lots of things, Beth says.”

  “He is.” Beth’s voice had a smile in it. “Now let me hug my sister.”

  Lucas moved back to let the sisters embrace, but he kept his hand on Heather’s sleeve.

  “You’ve grown too, Beth,” she whispered. “You’re not a little girl anymore.” She pushed her back to look her over in the dim light.

  “I’m almost seventeen.”

  “And she has a feller,” Lucas put in. “Pa’s not too happy about that. Neither are me and Willie.”

  Beth turned toward the boy. “I told you, Lucas, that I won’t leave you. Not until you’re older. And Pa likes Perry fine.”

  “Not like Gideon,” Heather said.

  “No, not like Gideon,” Beth echoed her words. “But I’m glad Gideon is all right.” She reached over to almost shyly tou
ch Heather’s skirt. “Mother got your letter about the baby. She was so happy she couldn’t stop smiling.”

  “What happened to her?” Heather pushed out the question. She had to know, but somehow talking about it made it too real. She wanted it not to be real. To instead be some sort of horrible mistake, but her father’s angry words echoed in her head. She started the rent that tore our family apart.

  “I’ll tell you, but first food.” Beth pulled a jar of water out of her jacket and biscuits and ham out of her apron pocket. “It’s not much, but I didn’t want to chance waking Pa.”

  Heather tried not to grab the water, but she hadn’t been so thirsty since they’d marched across Virginia in the August heat. She let the water fill her mouth and swallowed slowly. It would not be good to gulp it down and have it all heave back out if her stomach decided to be unsettled.

  “Thank you, Beth. And Lucas too.” She smiled at the boy and touched his head again. A shiver went through her from the cool water.

  “You’re cold,” Beth said. “Where’s the blanket, Lucas?”

  “I must have dropped it.” Lucas sounded near tears.

  “Worry not. Your company has warmed my heart.”

  “You still need the blanket.” Beth looked toward the door. “Look. Ring has found it and thinks you gave it to him for his bed. Get him off it before he infests it with fleas.” Beth laughed as Lucas pushed the dog off the blanket. The sound lightened the darkness better than the moonlight sliding through the cracks between the barn’s boards.

  “Ring merely warmed it up for me.” Heather was surprised to feel a smile taking root inside her too as Beth draped the blanket around her. The warmth was more than welcome.