Northern Light

by Annette O'Hare

  The air seemed to become as thick as molasses.

  Thomas came up behind them, his arms loaded with palm fronds.

  Margaret was glad for the interruption since she wasn’t sure she could speak.

  “Here ye go, Mr. Logan.” He set the foliage on the ground next to the fire.

  “Thank you, Thomas. You’re a good man.”

  “Aye, yer welcome. Anything else I can do for ye?” His words were aimed at Papa, but his eyes were trained on Margaret.

  “Keep working up an appetite. We’ve got a lot of crab to eat here.” Papa stoked the fire with the palm branches.

  Thomas laughed. He gave Margaret a quick wink before turning around.

  Papa lifted one of the crabs with the spoon and examined it. “Almost done.” He dropped it back in the pot and stirred it around. “Margaret, I don’t want to continue this conversation about Emma. It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

  She wiped her hands on a rag. “I understand.” She picked up Mama’s big bowl and held it for him. She knew she needed to say something reassuring. “Papa, I’m sure Elizabeth isn’t going to turn out like your cousin Emma. Maybe this will pass soon.”

  “I sure hope you’re right, honey.”

  Margaret hoped so too.

  ~*~

  Margaret carried the heavy bowl of steaming crabs to the porch.

  Papa put out the fire and followed after her.

  The seafood feast smelled wonderful, even if it did look gruesome.

  Mama had set out a clean bowl, two nutcrackers, and a few other kitchen tools to help with the job of cleaning the crabs.

  Papa made easy work of removing the claws and legs for later. He handed Margaret the warm orange-red bodies, and she began peeling everything that wasn’t sweet, white meat. Even though she loved the flavor of fresh crabmeat, she most likely wouldn’t eat much. The process of cleaning the creatures’ entrails always turned her stomach.

  Papa, on the other hand, ate more than his share of the crabs while he helped clean them. He slid a piece of claw cartilage out of his mouth, removing the meat that had been attached to it. “Praise the Lord for these crabs,” he said with his mouth full.

  Margaret picked meat out and let it land in the bowl sitting in her lap. “Yes, sir, we sure are blessed to have them, especially after we gave so much food away to the neighbors after the raid.”

  “We won’t be having any more eggs for a while, that’s for sure.” He sat back in his chair.

  “I don’t think June has yet forgiven those Union soldiers for taking Mr. Milton’s chickens.”

  They both laughed.

  “She does love her eggs.” Papa began to rock his chair. “At least they were able to save a few…should have chickens again real soon.”

  “At least we still have milk, thanks to Nanny Sue.”

  “Yes, but that won’t last long if we don’t get her bred. I need to find out if Old Man Goodman lost his buck in the raid.”

  Margaret’s eyebrows hiked up. “I sure hope not. We can barely do without eggs. Milk is another thing altogether.”

  “I know, I know.” Papa retrieved his pipe from the windowsill and tamped on the barrel. “I heard some talk down at the port that Mr. Lincoln was re-elected to another term. Maybe he’ll finally do something to end this war and things can get back to the way they used to be.” Papa sat up straight.

  “What is it, Papa?”

  “I saw a ship’s spire over the dunes…probably another blockade runner heading into Galveston.” Papa relaxed. He picked up a crab claw and pulled out a fat piece of meat. “Rumor has it Galveston’s the only accessible Confederate port since Mobile Bay was captured back in August. Thank heavens, Texas gets first shot at anything and everything the ships bring in from Havana.” He popped the meat into his mouth.

  “Too bad for the men on those ships that so many people on Galveston Island are ill with yellow fever.”

  “Yep, thank the Lord it hasn’t come over to the peninsula…yet.” He picked up another claw and a long, thin pick to dig more meat. “I tell you what, those blockade runners are really something…” Papa droned on, but Margaret wasn’t paying attention. Her time with Thomas was growing short, and she wanted something to make their last few weeks memorable.

  “Margaret, you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  “What, Papa?”

  “And you’ve put some shells in the meat bowl and meat in the shell bowl, for heaven’s sake. What’s going on in that mind of yours, girl?”

  “Oh, Papa, I’m sorry.” She picked pieces of crab shell out of the fresh meat she’d taken so much time to clean. “I’ve been thinking about Thomas.”

  “Yeah, I had a feeling that might be the case. I suppose with Christmas just around the corner, he’s leaving soon.”

  “I can hardly bear to think about it.”

  “Look at me, Margaret.”

  She turned.

  “Thomas has asked my permission to marry you.”

  She gasped. Her heart skipped a beat. “And what did you say?”

  “I told him I’d think about it.” He folded his hands. “So…how do you feel about marrying a Yankee?”

  Margaret looked deep into her papa’s eyes. “I don’t care what he is, Papa. I love him.”

  “I had a feeling you might say that. I suppose I’ll tell him I give my blessing.”

  She leaned over and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, Papa. Thank you.”

  Movement in the tall grass startled Margaret. “Look, Papa!”

  Celia, their donkey, was moving through the tall grass.

  Margaret’s excitement about Thomas’s imminent proposal spilled over to her feelings about Celia’s return. She ran to the bedraggled animal and gave her a big hug. “Oh, Celia, I’ve never been so happy to see a donkey in my whole life.”

  Papa was laughing. “Margaret, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

  “Oh, Papa.”

  16

  Margaret planned to enjoy her last few weeks with Thomas.

  She gathered everyone into the kitchen.

  Mama shifted Jeremiah to her other leg. “All right now, you’ve got us all in here. What on earth is so important?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve been waiting all morning for Thomas to go outside with Papa before I could tell you all my idea.”

  June tapped her fingers on the table and rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Come on, Margaret, I got stuff I need to be doing.”

  “Oh, hush up, June Marie. You no more have anything to do than Jeremiah does.”

  “Humph, I do so!”

  “June.” Mama put an end to what was sure to be a battle of words. “Go on, Margaret, tell us your idea.”

  “All right, I’ve come up with an idea to make Thomas’s last few weeks with us a special time for everyone.” She paused for responses. When none came, she continued. “In honor of Thomas’s deceased mama and sister, God rest their souls, I think our family should celebrate Advent this Christmas.”

  She looked at their faces, hoping for looks of excitement, anticipation, anything, but she only saw blank stares. “Well, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

  “What the heck is Advent?” June spit the words out as though Margaret had suggested they eat worms. “’Cause I ain’t giving up Christmas for no Advent, that’s for sure.”

  “Hush up, June,” Mama intervened. “I’ve heard of Advent, but it’s not something we ever celebrated. So I don’t know much about it. But…we’d all be happy to hear what it’s all about. Right, girls?”

  June responded with another harrumph. Elizabeth, on the other hand, remained silent.

  “Thank you, Mama.” She pulled a piece of paper from her apron pocket and unfolded it. “Thomas told me everything he knows about Advent and I wrote it all down.” She smoothed out the paper on the table where they all could see. “Here is a drawing I made of how I think everything should be arranged. I’m sorry I can’t sketch very well, but yo
u get the idea. This circle is like a wreath. It should probably be made from pine boughs. Now I know we don’t have much pine here on the peninsula, but we have plenty of other foliage that should work just as well.”

  Mama raised her hand and stopped her. “Why don’t you tell us what the celebration is for? I mean, what’s the purpose of it?”

  Margaret slowed down and thought a moment. “Well…the way I understand it, it’s a way to prepare for Jesus’s second coming while we remember His first coming in the manger in Bethlehem.”

  “All right, I can’t say that I understand the purpose for it, but at least it doesn’t go against anything we believe in. So go on.”

  June leaned across the table and pointed at Margaret’s drawing. “What’s that supposed to be?”

  “Those are candles. Can’t you tell by the flame at the top?” Margaret replied.

  Miss Priss scrunched up her lips, tilted her head, and squinted at the paper. “Not really. You sure aren’t a very good draw-er, Margaret.”

  “June Marie…” Mama called her full name again. “Now that’s enough.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Margaret continued, trying to rekindle the enthusiasm she’d felt when she started the conversation. “OK, Advent starts on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. That means we need to have the first one on November twenty-seventh, and that’s right around the corner. The first candle here stands for hope.” She paused to look at her notes. “It’s a whole week for everyone to think about and remember the prophets in the Bible who foretold Jesus’s first coming.”

  June leaned over, peering deep into the drawing. “Which one is the second candle, this one or this one over here?” June pointed as she asked.

  “It’s this one. The second candle stands for love. It is a remembrance of Bethlehem and how God showed His love for us by sending Jesus.”

  June leaned back over Margaret’s drawing. “So this must be the third candle, right?”

  Margaret smiled. “Good guess, but no, it’s this one. The third candle is all about joy and the shepherds who were the first people to ever hear about Jesus being born in Bethlehem.”

  June pointed to the candle at the center of the wreath. “Well, then this has to be the fourth candle.”

  “No, silly, it’s this one.”

  “I know, but I got every other guess wrong. Thought I might as well get this one wrong too.”

  Everyone laughed at what June said, except Elizabeth, that is. She sat on her chair with a face as hard as stone and arms folded across her chest.

  Margaret was encouraged that at least Mama and June were becoming interested. “OK, the fourth candle stands for peace. And Lord knows, we could use some peace on earth right about now. Anyway, it’s when we remember the angels that told about Christ’s birth. Then, of course, we have the biggest candle here in the center of the wreath.” She smiled at June. “We burn it on Christmas Eve in honor of Jesus and His death on the cross. And that’s it.” She sat down at the table and looked at her mama and sisters, waiting for any questions.

  Mama bent down and picked up the carved duck toy from the floor and handed it to Jeremiah. “So is that all there is to it, lighting candles?”

  Margaret perked up and shook her head. She held up her notes to them. “Oh, no, there’s scripture reading and singing, and I thought we could make special meals to go along with the celebration.”

  Mama furrowed her brow and adjusted Jeremiah on her lap again. “Margaret, you know we don’t have much in the line of food to cook for a celebration.”

  “I know, Mama, but we’re gonna eat something anyhow, so we might as well make a celebration out of it.” She pleaded with her eyes, knowing what a soft spot Mama had for the Christmas season. “Come on, Mama, can we please do this? Besides, it’s not the food that matters. It’s that we remember Jesus on His birthday.”

  Mama sighed. “All right, Margaret, we’ll do this, but it will take some work to make it happen.”

  Margaret threw her arms around her mother and Jeremiah. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Mama. This is going to be the best Christmas we’ve ever had.”

  Mama started giggling along with Jeremiah and then June. “Margaret, you’re going to squeeze the life out of us, for heaven’s sake.”

  June joined them on the other side of the table. “Mama, can I start collecting the stuff to make the Advent wreath?”

  Mama arose from her chair. “Yes, yes, but don’t stray too far from the house.”

  June smiled and jumped up and down. “I won’t.” She grabbed her baby brother’s feet. “We’re gonna have an Advent, Jeremiah!” He kicked his feet and giggled.

  Margaret tapped her finger on her temple. “OK, I’m gonna need to find five candles. Mama, how many beeswax candles do we have in the pantry?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to check for yourself,” Mama answered.

  Elizabeth got up and headed for the kitchen door.

  “Elizabeth,” Mama called to her. “I need you to give me a hand with Jeremiah while I cook.

  “Elizabeth, did you hear me?”

  Elizabeth opened the door without turning around. “I’m going to Mr. Langley’s house to help him with his son. He needs me.”

  “Elizabeth,” Mama called.

  The door slammed behind her.

  “Just let her go, Mama. I’ve got Jeremiah.”

  “What is wrong with Lizbeth? I guess she don’t even care about the Baby Jesus!” June shook her head in dismay.

  “Come on, June, we’ll take Jeremiah and go look for the Advent decorations together. Sound like fun?”

  “Yeah, at least some of us love Baby Jesus.”

  Mama smiled at her youngest daughter through glistening eyes.

  But inside, Margaret was certain her mama’s heart was breaking to pieces for Elizabeth.

  17

  Thomas’s hand brushed against Margaret’s as they walked the property in search of the perfect tree for their Christmas celebration. She turned her hand and he took hold of it.

  Thin stalks of purple seagrass bowed their heads as the crisp late-November breeze whipped past.

  “What exactly have ye got in mind for a Christmas tree, lass?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose anything we can find that the little ones can hang things on.”

  “Well, we’ve walked every inch of this property and haven’t found anything yet.”

  “Oh!” Margaret stopped in her tracks.

  “What is it, lass?”

  “I just thought of something we could use. I know where there’s a huge piece of coral that is sort of shaped like a tree. Of course, it won’t have any foliage like a real tree, but we could add some palm fronds to it. That should work well enough, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so. Where is it?”

  “Over in the slough.” Margaret pointed.

  “Well, let’s go and fetch it.”

  “Did you know Mama and Papa will celebrate twenty years of marriage next year?”

  “Aye, twenty years, that’s quite a legacy for you and yer sisters and brother. They’re quite a good example for ye. And not much fighting between them either.” He laughed.

  “What, do Irish couples have a reputation of fighting?”

  “It’s not just the couples that like to fight. All good Irish like to fight.”

  Margaret swung their hands back and forth as they walked. She didn’t look at him as she spoke. “Thomas…have you ever thought about…getting married?”

  ~*~

  Her question caught him off-guard. Of course he’d thought about marriage. Of late he’d done a lot of thinking about marrying the raven-haired beauty. “Aye, I suppose I’ve always had a mind to get married and raise some children. And how about you, do ye ever think about marriage?” Thomas inwardly winced. What are ye thinkin’, ye fool? Of course she’s thought about marriage. She was engaged, for heaven’s sake.

  If he’d upset her, she didn’t let it show. She did, h
owever, stop swinging their hands and slowly rubbed his hand with her thumb. “Of course I have. It’s every girl’s dream to get married.”

  “I’m sure you’re right about that. And what about children. Have ye ever thought about having children?”

  A glow rose in her cheeks. “I suppose I’d like to have a child…or maybe two.”

  “Do ye now? Well then, lassie, you’d better find yerself a husband first.”

  Margaret softly tapped his arm.

  Thomas burst out laughing. “Ye know, this conversation reminds me of a tradition we had back in my homeland. Every year at Halloween time, it was a custom to prepare a dish called cál ceannann.” He scratched his head. “I think here in America it’s called colcannon. Anyway, it’s a mixture of potatoes and cabbage or kale, boiled together with scallions.”

  They reached the log at the slough.

  Margaret pointed to a mud bog. “There’s the coral over there. Do you see it?”

  “Aye, I do. Seems to be stuck in a bit of mud.”

  “Yes, it is.” Margaret spoke in a more-than-nonchalant tone. “Looks like one of us will have to get wet and muddy.”

  “I suppose that would be me.”

  “Let’s sit a spell before you go in after it.”

  “Sounds like a very good idea, lass.”

  They sat on the big log.

  It was hard to believe that only a short time ago, she hated everything about him. His heart was ready to take the plunge. Now she was too.

  “So I don’t see how this cal…cal…whatever you call it, has anything to do with our conversation.” Margaret drew him away from his thoughts.

  “Oh, right, well, after the vegetables are mashed together with milk, butter, salt, and pepper, four little items would be stirred in, a thimble, a ring, a button, and a coin.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “The tradition says that each item has a meaning and whoever got one of them in their bowl, then that was a telling of their future.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “No, of course not, but I’m sure there are many who do.”