A part of Gideon stayed behind when he marched out at daylight with his company to finish what darkness had halted. Jake was not with him. Jake had always been with him, from the first battle. His prayers had run along beside them. His good humor had kept the grimness of death at bay. His sureness that they’d survive another charge, another hill, had given Gideon courage. And he had survived the charge, would have survived the day, but instead he’d made sure Gideon had been the one to live to see a new sunrise. To someday go home to claim his wife and baby.
But that was yesterday. Only the Lord knew what would happen on this day of battle. Gideon’s feet were leaden as he followed Captain Hopkins toward the Rebels.
They would be dug in on the best ground possible. A soldier didn’t sleep when the enemy was coming after them. A soldier tried to get ready no matter which side that soldier was fighting on. Gideon wanted to be ready too for whatever was to come, but he was weary of battle.
The morning was spent before the generals had the troops in place. More time for the Rebels to dig in, but a proper battle took planning. General Thomas was not one to rush in unprepared and then have to rally his troops in a retreat. He wanted them to be in the best place to win the day. In front of them was another hill. Would the South never run out of hills?
Every hill and ridge with a name. Tunnel Hill on Missionary Ridge. Cemetery Hill. Culp’s Hill at Gettysburg. Dead littered the hills. And now the captain said they had to take Overton Hill, the ground rising in front of them. Each hill had to be conquered. In inches. In blood. Without Jake’s prayers.
Heather would be praying for him. She’d have her whole church praying for him. At least those who didn’t have Southern sympathies. That might not be many. Her brother Simon had gone south to fight. Two of Gideon’s cousins had gone with Simon. Heather’s father had forbidden her to go with Gideon, but she had chosen Gideon over her father.
Like the shadow of a bird, worry passed over him. He shook it away. No matter how much he hated Gideon, her father wouldn’t deny his own child a safe place. Her mother had told her to follow her heart. Heather would be all right. She had to be all right. He couldn’t bear charging up another hill into enemy fire if he couldn’t believe that.
The hill waited. He’d rename it. Jake’s Hill.
Then take my prayers up it. He heard Jake’s voice as clearly as if he were still marching beside him. Gideon stared at the hill in front of him and then squeezed his eyes shut.
“Dear God.” That seemed a good start, but then no other prayer words came. Finally he opened his eyes and looked up. “Whatever Jake would have said,” he whispered under his breath. “For me and for my Heather Lou.”
A strange feeling came over him for a few seconds, then it was as if Jake stood beside him. Smiling. Ready to conquer one more hill.
He could do it. For Heather Lou and a baby named Jake. He would have to write Heather as soon as this battle was over to tell her the name. Boy or girl. She’d understand.
They hadn’t talked about names. He’d thought to leave that to her, but not now. Gideon thought of Heather’s mother’s name. Susan. Susan Jake. Or his mother’s name, Frona. Frona Jake. He almost smiled at the thought of either of those combinations. Jake was right. He’d best pray for a boy.
Gunfire sounded and then the noise of artillery pounded into his ears. Not here on this hill yet. On some other hill. The hills around Nashville seemed to have no end. Gideon and his company were still waiting. Sometimes Gideon wondered about the officers who led men into place and then had them wait. Had they never been the man with his feet on the ground and his courage slipping with every moment that passed? Perhaps not. Perhaps that’s what made a general. A man who could wait without fear reaching up to grab his throat.
Gideon had no desire to be a general. He didn’t even want to be a soldier. Even so, he was one and he would follow orders and charge up yet one more hill. But all he wanted was to still be standing when the guns stopped firing and the war was won. At long last Captain Hopkins gave the signal. No more time for thinking. No more time to worry about the right prayer words. Nothing to do but chase after his captain up the hill, borrowing his courage that never seemed lacking even in the face of artillery fire.
A shout exploded out of Gideon as he ran. “For Jake!”
Men around him picked up the cry until Jake’s name was bouncing all over the hill.
The Rebels had dug in, but in their hurry they’d picked positions too close to the rim. They had the high ground but lacked a good angle to shoot down at the charging troops. Still men fell. The soldier to his side screamed and went down. Even with that scream in his ears, it was a shock when the shell slammed into Gideon.
The impact knocked him to his knees. No pain at first. Only disbelief. He felt his shoulder and stared at the red on his hand as though it was somehow betraying him. The blood couldn’t be his.
He tried to pick up his gun, but his arm wouldn’t move to his bidding. The pain came then, a crushing wave of not only physical pain but the fear that he would be joining Jake in the great beyond. Anger surged through him to burn away the pain. He would make the enemy pay. He grabbed up his gun with his other hand and tried to rise to his feet, but his head was spinning. The noise of battle was all around him, but he was in the shadow of death.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
He staggered on up the hill. Captain Hopkins looked back and yelled. Gideon couldn’t make out the words as other soldiers pushed past him. He couldn’t keep up. He sank to his knees and let them run on. He lay there, feeling his life drain out of him, but then it was as if Jake reached back from heaven to give Gideon a shake. Demand he live.
He began creeping toward the bottom of the hill. For him the war was over, but that didn’t mean his life was over. Jake had died to let him see his Heather Lou again. To see his baby. There were medics. His leg was not shot. Only his arm. A man could live without an arm if that had to be.
He left the sounds of battle behind and made his way back to the surgeons.
24
The baby whimpered in the basket Sister Doreen had padded with soft blankets. Sophrena sent up yet another prayer of thanksgiving for Sister Doreen and her midwifery skills. A blessing. A gift. Perhaps the very reason Heather was resting peacefully in the bed in the next room. Brother Kenton had helped to be sure, but it was Sister Doreen who had brought the miracle of birth to pass before it was too late for mother and child.
And what a miracle. Sophrena laid aside her sewing and gently lifted the baby from his basket. He hushed his fussing at once. A week had passed since he had come into the world. A week of rocking and breathing in his baby scent. Seven days without leaving Heather or the baby’s side. Other sisters brought their meals. She had not even gone to make confession to Eldress Lilith. A lacking the eldress had come to the cabin to point out to Sophrena.
“Your feet are on a slippery path, Sister Sophrena. I worry for your proper spirit.”
“Yea, Eldress, it must seem so to you, but I have been faithful in my prayers. I feel the Lord has not left me.”
“Perhaps not, but we must do our part in keeping our hearts pure. Sacrifice Day will soon be here with visitors from New Lebanon to guide our prayers and spirit renewal.” The eldress studied Sophrena a long moment. “We must be spiritually ready in order to properly celebrate the gift of the Christ child.” She looked from Sophrena toward the door into the sleeping room where Heather was nursing her baby, but she made no motion to go see them. “Remember, your wrongs must be cleansed by confession and atonements made upon that day.”
“Yea,” Sophrena answered as meekly as she could.
“May your list of wrongs not get overly long, my sister.” A frown creased Eldress Lilith’s brow before she went back out the cabin door into the cold December air.
The moment the door closed behind her, Sophrena forgot her. Even now with Sacrifice Day on the morrow, the eldress and her demands didn’t seem that impor
tant.
The baby consumed Sophrena. Her heart expanded at every blink of his eyes. She felt blessed to be able to care for him and for his mother. At first Heather barely had strength to sit propped up to nurse the baby. Sister Doreen had fashioned pillows to support the child and Brother Kenton mixed tonics to renew the girl’s blood.
Ah, Brother Kenton. A change had come between them. A change had come over Sophrena. Brother Kenton was the same. A cheerful brother. The moment of joy they had shared at the first mewling cry of the newborn baby had seared through Sophrena and altered something in her heart.
Sophrena crooned at the little person in her arms and marveled at his completeness. She had given him his first bath, examining him from head to toe, as had Brother Kenton.
The babe had no name yet. Heather wanted to wait until his father saw him before she spoke his name. A letter had come from her Gideon that she read over and over. Even now, Sophrena was sure it was under her pillow or tucked into the bodice of her dress. She might wear the Shaker dress, but she had not the Shaker heart.
Sophrena held the baby up to her shoulder and put her lips to his soft cheek. A memory of doing the same years before with Heather’s mother when she was a baby came to her. She had been only eight years older than Susan, but that was old enough to be allowed some of the baby’s care. Her first and only time with a baby until now. Dear Susan, who would never get to hold this child of her child. Had the Lord allowed her, Sophrena, to step into Susan’s shoes for this time? Was it God’s plan? Was her Shaker dress merely covering over a heart that had turned worldly?
The baby didn’t look like Gideon. The baby didn’t look like her. It was Lucas she saw when she peered down into his face. Sweet child, Lucas, who had wanted her to have a Christmas baby. Lucas who looked so like his father. Like her father.
Beth had written her again. Had sent her Gideon’s letter. The letter had been written days ago, but he’d been alive then. Loving her. Missing her.
Heather had the letter memorized but that didn’t keep her from unfolding it and feasting her eyes on the words formed by Gideon’s hand. Words from his heart.
Beth assured Heather of her father’s softening heart too. Heather didn’t know if she could believe that, but he had not destroyed Gideon’s letter. He had let Beth send it to her.
The Shaker Sacrifice Day was coming. On that day, she intended to write her father a letter of forgiveness. She and Sophrena had prayed for such forgiveness of their fathers in the early hours of her labor, but written words would make it complete.
Now she could only think of Gideon’s baby. She had not decided on his name. Perhaps Gideon for his father. But she remembered Simon and Jimmy and so she delayed declaring a name. The Shakers who brought gifts and peered down at him simply called him “little brother.” That made Heather smile. It was as if she had brought them a special gift for the Christmas season. A baby to remind them of the Christ child. Perhaps she would decide on a name Christmas Day. A gift to her and to her baby.
She was no longer waiting for the baby, but still she waited. For Gideon. For her strength to return. For a name. For God’s plan as to what next. Had Mary felt the same? She had a name for her child given to her by an angel. Had she hoped she and Joseph could settle in Nazareth close to her family and see their son grow and be joined by other babies come in the more natural way? Had she, like Heather, simply wanted things to be normal? Then Joseph had the dream to flee to Egypt. Not her plan, but God’s plan.
That was Heather’s prayer now. That God would show her a plan. That he would send Gideon home. That prayer circled round and round the way the Shaker sisters had whirled in their meeting. And so she waited in the midst of the Shakers for what might happen next. For the Shaker Sacrifice Day. For Christmas. For Gideon. For God’s plan.
Gideon drifted up out of the darkness pulled by the voice of a doctor. Pain had accompanied his journey through a valley of darkness, but there in the darkest moment, he’d seen his Heather Lou smiling at him, beckoning to him, her eyes alight with joy. She held a bundle in the crook of her arm. His baby. He couldn’t see him, but he knew.
Then Jake was there too, but not like Heather. Not ahead. He was right beside Gideon, prodding him back to life no matter the pain.
He was in a church. The pews were all pushed to the side to make room for the makeshift pallets for the wounded. He tried to judge how badly he was hurt. Somebody let out a scream across the room. Gideon wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t weeping. He wasn’t dying.
But he was hurt. He peeked over at the bandages to see red oozing through. Not a good thing, but at least he was alive and not feverish. He could stand. He could walk. As soon as the doctors knew that, they ordered him gone from the hospital in the church so a more severely wounded man could be brought in to the shelter.
“Where to, sir? My company chased after the Rebels, I’m told.” Gideon looked at the the officer behind a table outside the makeshift hospital and waited for his orders.
“Where would you like to go, soldier?”
“Home, sir.” Gideon looked beyond the officer’s head toward the north.
“How far is home?” The officer looked up at him from the papers he was shuffling.
“Kentucky, sir. My wife returned there to have our baby.” Gideon bit the inside of his lip and concentrated on not weaving back and forth on his feet in spite of the way his head was spinning. “She was a washerwoman with our unit before we came south.”
The officer gave him a closer look. “I remember her. Pretty girl. Always with a ready smile even with all those washtubs to tend.”
“Yes sir. That was my Heather Lou.”
“You’re a fortunate man, soldier.”
“Yes sir. I’m still breathing.”
“That you are, but your gun-toting arm appears disabled.” The man scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Gideon. “You’re out of the army, soldier. Medical reasons.”
Gideon took the paper as though it were gold. “Thank you, sir.”
“You can be proud, soldier. We chased those Rebels back into their rabbit holes. Hood’s Tennessee army is finished. Pap Thomas knows how to win the day.” The officer stood up and shook Gideon’s left hand. “Go see if that baby’s born yet.”
It hadn’t been easy. Not for a Union soldier in territory that might be controlled by the North but was South. Yet he found a way. The nearness of Christmas must have softened people’s hearts no matter the uniform. A farmer gave him a ragged coat when he noted him shivering on the wagon seat beside him. Tattered and none too clean but warm. Another shared his bread and cheese. Somehow, blessing by blessing as the days passed, he made it north, by boat, by train, by wagon. He tried not to think about his wound even though the pain was sometimes intense during the jarring journey. At the end of that journey would be his Heather Lou.
25
Sacrifice Day dawned clear and cold. Not even one cloud marred the deep blue of sky. A day with nothing hidden. Sophrena had paused a moment to accept that thought as she hurried to the privy. She didn’t like leaving Heather alone even though the girl was recovering quickly. She refused to lie abed and had even joined in with Sophrena’s sewing again whenever the baby slept.
When Sophrena went back into the cabin, Heather had moved close to the fire in the sleeping room. The girl was often chilled, but Brother Kenton said that was only natural after the blood she’d lost while birthing her child.
Brother Kenton hadn’t been to the cabin for three days. That was proof of Heather’s improved health. Sister Doreen came often, coaching Heather on her mother duties and helping Sophrena know what care was needed for both mother and child. Other sisters brought small gifts. A newly sewn gown or blanket. A knitted cap. A soft bib. A whistle carved by Brother Josiah. Sophrena had seen him place it on the step and then run away as if the very devil were after him.
“The Lord has gifted us with a fine day for our Sacrifice Day,” Sophrena said as she put another chunk
of wood on the fire.
Heather held her hands out toward the flames. “Why do they call it Sacrifice Day?”
Sophrena looked up from sweeping the ashes back into the fireplace. “It is a day of prayer when hearts must be searched and sacrifices of self made.”
“I thought you told me it was a day to forgive. To make amends.” She sat down in the chair by the fireplace.
When the baby began to whimper, Sophrena brushed off her hands and lifted him from his warm nest on the bed. He was growing. Already looking different as he waved his little fists in the air. Perhaps in protest of being left alone. Perhaps just to be noticed. He hushed his whimpers as soon as Sophrena picked him up, and the flicker of a smile passed across his face.
She handed him to Heather. She watched her adjust her dress to nurse the baby before she answered her. “Think, Sister Heather, of how it is the same. Forgiveness requires a sacrifice of pride. A humbling of the spirit. An increase of selfless love. A time when you allow others’ feelings to be more important than your own.”
“I am going to write my father of my forgiveness.” Heather kept her eyes on the nursing baby and ran her finger around this cheek. “His father is going to love him so much.”
“Yea.” Sophrena agreed. Who could not love this precious child? She told herself she should be cleaning, readying the house and her heart for the day, but instead she stood idle and watched the mother and child.
Heather looked up at her. “Will he one day have reason to forgive his father as I had need to forgive mine?”
“The future can only be known by God.”
“I dreamed of Gideon.” Heather’s eyes settled back on the baby. “He was calling to me.”
“What did he call?”
“I don’t know. The words were swallowed by the dream.”
“But I sense it, the dream, made you uneasy.” Sophrena stepped over to the girl’s chair and touched her shoulder.
Christmas at Harmony Hill Page 15
