Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  Dear Horace and Cora,

  Thank you for your kindness. I will be forever beholden to you. I must return to my duties in this war now, but I pray that God will protect you both. I hope our paths will cross again.

  Sincerely,

  Jed Harrington

  Cora smiled at the scrap of paper in her hand. He hadn’t mentioned his rank or regiment, or even which side of the war he fought for. Still protecting them, even if they didn’t need it. No one else would ever see this note. She rolled the paper in her hand and clasped it under her chin.

  Not even Papa.

  As she stood at the window and wondered how far Jed had gotten during the night, her stomach plummeted. The night was full of dangers: wild animals and rebel forces, not to mention a river that ran much higher and faster than she’d ever seen it before. Jed had still been so weak when he left. Would he ever make it back to Washington?

  “You fool,” she whispered to the window just as gentle white flakes peppered the floor of the clearing.

  “I hope you’re not talking to me.”

  Cora jumped at her grandfather’s voice, nearly dropping Jed’s note. Clutching it in both hands at her waist, she offered Papa a weak smile. “Of course not.” She nodded toward the trousers and shirt folded neatly on the table. “The captain is gone.”

  “Gone? But he could barely walk yesterday.”

  She nodded and looked through the snow and trees, hoping to see his form making its way back to them. “After Mattie’s visit, he told me he wanted to leave. He was afraid he put us in danger. Afraid there might be a visit from one of the Southern soldiers, who wouldn’t take kindly to us caring for an officer from Washington.”

  Papa grumbled something under his breath as he turned back to their room.

  Cora couldn’t seem to move her feet. Eyes alert, she held her breath for long intervals as she waited for Jed to return.

  But he didn’t.

  Not while she made biscuits for breakfast. Or while she heated water on the stove to wash their clothes that afternoon. Not even as they ate their evening meal.

  Cora couldn’t taste the potatoes she’d grown that summer in her own garden as she put them in her mouth. Every time the wind rustled the leaves outside their door, her head spun to see if it might mean the captain’s return.

  It never did.

  As Papa opened the family Bible later that night, Cora picked up her knitting, something she could do and still keep watch. When the fire was so low that he could no longer read by its light, Papa stood.

  “I need to find more firewood tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Cora’s attention jumped at her grandfather’s unexpected announcement. “We had plenty stored up. It should have gotten us through the winter.”

  He nodded grimly. “When the river rose, it flooded our woodpile. Only the logs on the very top are dry enough for us to use.”

  Her heart sank, and tears jumped to her eyes. “But we worked so hard to gather enough to last the whole winter.”

  Cupping her cheek with his weathered hand, he tilted her face up to look into his eyes. “Don’t worry. God will provide for us. Didn’t you hear what I read tonight?”

  Oh, she hadn’t been paying any attention for worry over Jed’s safety.

  “I’ll be leaving early,” he said. “I’ll have to look farther away from the river. Those trees close by will be as wet as our pile.”

  “Be careful,” she pleaded. “There might still be soldiers out there.” Her mind didn’t conjure an image of soldiers seeking help but the bodies of those at Carnton who they could not help.

  Cora had to look away, the back of her eyes burning as she blinked quickly. She didn’t want to remember the faces she’d seen. But it didn’t seem to matter. She saw them every night in her dreams.

  “What’s wrong, Cora-girl?” Papa placed his large hand on her shoulder, but still she could not look him in the eye. “Why are you so sad?”

  She wiggled her head back and forth, biting her lips against the longing to tell him the whole truth. How she wanted to tell him of the memories and faces that caused her anxiety to bubble like water in her teapot. But he had enough concerns with replenishing the firewood and helping them survive the winter and the war.

  She could not give her burdens to him, so she patted his hand and whispered, “Please don’t concern yourself with me.”

  Papa rubbed her shoulder again. “If you’re certain.”

  “I am.”

  He took to bed, but Cora could not drag herself out of her rocking chair to follow him. She tried to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing after he fell asleep and the clacking of her needles. Tried to wipe the terrible images from her mind. But as her chin fell to her chest and her eyes closed of their own

  accord, the faces she mourned played across her mind.

  “Jed!” Cora screamed, waking herself from the nightmare where the captain’s face joined the others. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she swiped at them, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips, trying to press that terrible image from her mind.

  It was good that he had left. She might have fallen in love with him, ending up one of those women left to wonder if her love would return.

  The sun had just broken the plain of the horizon line as she set aside her yarn and pushed herself from the chair, refusing to give her body opportunity to fall back asleep. Wrapping her arm around her waist as she walked toward the window, she shivered against the chill seeping through the wall, where beams of light broke through breaks in the chinking.

  Then as if she were still asleep, Jed’s form materialized between two trees in the distance. She smiled to herself, as though this were her mind’s way of apologizing for that awful dream. But the figure continued walking and then stumbled, barely catching himself on the trunk of a tree. He pushed himself up again, favoring his left arm. The side on which Jed had been shot.

  Cora was in the yard, racing toward the figure, before she fully recognized that he was more than her imagination.

  “Jed! Jed …” She fell to the ground where he had tripped, resting her hands on either side of his ice-cold face. “You’re freezing. Let me help you inside.”

  For once he didn’t object, silently allowing her to wrap her arm around his waist as she pulled his arm around her shoulders. They stumbled at the threshold,slipping through the doorway, which she’d left wide open. She led him inside, and he collapsed to the floor in front of the fire.

  Immediately she knelt at his side, helping him take off his sodden coat and soaking boots. “What were you thinking? You could have died out there.” She shook her head and glared at him as she hurried to pour him a cup of chicory root that Papa had left on the stove before leaving that morning.

  He pulled a blanket from the pile on her grandmother’s trunk and hugged it around himself, leaning toward the fire. “I–I’m sor–ry.” His teeth chattered, and his entire body shook. “I shouldn’t have left.”

  Handing him the steaming tea cup, she muttered, “That’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Sipping the hot drink, he sighed. “You were right. I didn’t have the strength to make it very far, and I ran into rebel scouts near Franklin. The town is still a terrible mess, but I was able to hide in a barn until nightfall, and then I came right back here.” He looked away from her, clearly ashamed, but she couldn’t be certain if it was caused by his leaving or having to return. “Should I not have returned?”

  She glanced down and realized that her arms were crossed, one hip stuck out in a pose not unlike one her grandmother had often struck. Lowering her hands to her sides, she shrugged. “I never asked you to leave.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Very well. You may stay. As long as you promise not to leave until at least Christmas.”

  His face turned thoughtful. “Another two weeks here?” She nodded, and he took a long sip of the bitter coffee substitute. “Agreed.”

  Chapter 6

  In
the days that followed, Jed’s health improved rapidly, his strength returning in waves every day. Each evening he fell soundly asleep after working steadily alongside Cora and Horace to take care of their home. As the snow melted and daytime temperatures rose, they all spent much of their days collecting firewood to replace what had been ruined by the flood.

  When all the trees were picked bare as high as they could reach, the two men felled one of the sycamores farthest from the cabin, dragging it in parts to the yard.

  The ring of the ax splitting new firewood didn’t seem out of the ordinary to Cora as she cut thick slices of bread to complement their lunch.

  “The way that boy’s going, we’ll have enough heat to last two winters.” Papa chuckled to himself as he plunged the dipper into the barrel of drinking water, sipping right from the ladle.

  Cora spun around, knife still in hand, and glared through the window. Jed stood next to the stump in the yard, resting his forearm on the long ax handle as he gently rotated his shoulders and stretched his back. Marching to the door, she flung it open and pointed her knife at him. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  Jed had stripped off the red-checked shirt he’d borrowed from her grandfather and even rolled up the sleeves of his white undershirt. He swiped an arm across his forehead and quirked one eyebrow. “Whatever it is that I’m doing, I’m sure there’s no need for violence.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He nodded toward her hand, the corner of his mouth lifting in an ever-so-slight grin. “I don’t know. You’re the one holding a knife.”

  Cora looked at the blade then back at Jed before realizing he was teasing her. “All right then.” Lowering her hand to her side, she put her other fist on her hip. “You know you shouldn’t be out here chopping wood.”

  “I know. There are several cracks in the chinking that need to be fixed. Horace said we could start that tomorrow.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Papa. “Did you ask him to daub the cracks?” Jed began to speak, but she cut him off. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re working far too hard for someone who could barely walk five days ago.”

  “I feel good.” As if to prove his point, he picked up a piece of the tree, centered it on the stump, and split it evenly with one slice of the tool, barely favoring his left arm. “This is good for me. Well, this and all your good cooking.”

  His attempt at flattery would get him nowhere, but she wasn’t going to argue with the fool either. If he wanted to injure himself again, that was his choice. No matter the nagging concern that forced her to look back at him once more before returning to the meal preparations. Or was it the way his handsome features glistened under the midday sun?

  Certainly she felt only concern for him, as someone who had been under her care. The way her heart fluttered at the sight of him hard at work was nothing more than a natural apprehension. Wasn’t it?

  The long hours of labor and so many late nights caring for Jed finally caught up with Cora that afternoon as she washed the dishes. She yawned loudly and often, battling the heaviness of her eyelids. Finally conceding to rest her eyes for a moment, she dropped into her rocking chair and had just dozed off when Jed stomped his boots clean just on the other side of the door.

  Through one eye, she glared at him as he stepped into the home. When he looked over and caught her gaze, his smile fell. “Were you resting?”

  She shook her head, fighting the desire to succumb to sleep once again. “Not quite.”

  He fastened a button below his chin. He’d put the red cotton shirt back on over his undershirt, although his cheeks still glowed from the exertion. “Don’t let me keep you from whatever you were doing. I just needed …” His voice cut off as he lowered himself to a seat at the table. A wry grin spread across his face. “Well, I guess you were right. I don’t have as much stamina as I thought.”

  She opened her mouth to say she’d told him so but bit her tongue instead. Pulling her knitting from her basket, she asked, “Where’s Papa?”

  “He was just going to finish stacking the wood that I cut and then go down into the cellar to bring up more smoked ham.”

  They’d been alone many times, but Jed was nearly fully healed, and her stomach fluttered uncomfortably. She pressed her hand to it while consciously averting her gaze. She knew his features by now. Knew the way his hair fell across his forehead and his hands curled into fists. Knew that gleam so often in his eye that meant he was teasing her.

  But sitting alone with him as he pulled out the fair scrap of sycamore he’d been carving for days felt strange and new, and not even a distant relative of the concern she’d felt for his wellbeing. And not altogether unwelcome.

  Slamming her eyes closed against the curious feelings brewing within, shewas soon lulled by the consistent rasping of knife against wood and gentle motion of her chair.

  Jed flinched as the knife in his hand scraped his thumb, nearly drawing blood. He had to focus on the little figure emerging from the lumber, despite the way the sun shone through the window, turning Cora’s hair to the color of honey. He admired the graceful lines of her cheek as her face was turned away from him, yet he couldn’t make out the words she mumbled.

  “Hmm?” He leaned toward her, still unable to see her face.

  She took a deep breath, nearly a sob. “Just hold on. Hold on. The doctor will see you soon.”

  Jed jumped to his feet, moving silently across the room. When he reached her side, she swung her face toward him, her eyes closed and silver trails slipping down her cheeks. And then she wailed so loudly that he leaped back, nearly tripping on his own boots.

  He’d heard that terrible sound before. The night that he’d tried to leave for Washington—he’d thought it was the wind.

  Her breath hitched, and more tears streamed down her face, but still she didn’t wake.

  What if she woke up and was angry that he’d been there? He shot a glance toward the door. But what if she awoke and was frightened to be alone?

  Considering all the nights that she’d stayed by his side as his fever raged in front of this same stone hearth, he owed her at least the same. So he pulled over the bench and sat right next to her as her gentle features twisted in pain and something akin to fear.

  Utterly helpless, he did the only thing he could think to do. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed gently. Her fingers were long and soft, the opposite of his callused, chapped hands. But she clung to him, clenching his hand with each stuttering breath.

  The longer she clutched his hand, the easier her breathing became. Her tears dried, and the pinched features of fear relaxed until she slept, finally at peace with the world inside her own mind.

  Jed lost track of time as he whispered prayers of serenity over her, hunched so close that his lips brushed her hair. When Horace opened the door, Jed jumped enough to jolt Cora from her rest as well. Her eyes darted between Jed’s face and her two hands, still clinging to his. Hopping to her feet, she dropped his hand and pressed her palms to her face. Her eyes open wide, she just stared at him before shaking her head slowly.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered. Without warning, she bolted,disappearing behind the bedroom door, refusing to emerge even to join them for supper.

  Jed sat across the table from Horace that evening, his eyes staring only at his plate, focused on the memory of the way Cora’s cheeks had burned with embarrassment. He’d wanted to scoop her into his arms and hold her until she confided what made her cry in her sleep. But he hadn’t done it. For propriety’s sake and her composure, he’d stayed rooted to the floor.

  His stomach fell, and he set down his fork. If her pride got in the way, she might never let him close enough again to learn what was really going on in her head.

  “Was she crying in her sleep?”

  Jed jerked his head up to look the other man in the eyes. Nodding slowly, he said, “Yes, sir.”

  Horace rested his chin against his chest, his shoulders sloping to his e
lbows, the furrows above his eyes growing deep. “I don’t know what to do. It’s every night since she came back from Carnton—since she came back from tending to those men.”

  “Those men?”

  White hair bobbing, Horace mumbled, “She went to Carnton after the battle. The house had been turned into a hospital, and Carrie McGavock sent word that Cora should go help if she could.” The old man’s hands shook as he folded them on the table next to his plate. “Her grandmother would have known what to do now, but all I can do is stay awake at night listening to her sobbing and pray that God will give her rest.”

  “I understand.” Jed’s eyebrows pulled together. “Have you tried touching her arm or holding her hand?”

  “She won’t let me near.” The sadness in Horace’s eyes was a punch to the gut for Jed. “It’s like she can feel that I’m close by, and she thrashes out like a trapped raccoon.”

  Jed swallowed the fear that he might hurt the old man’s feelings and pushed forward in the hopes of helping Cora. “She let me hold her hand today.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll hold it again tonight.” He glanced over his shoulder at the bedroom, longing to give her some semblance of peace in her sleeping hours.

  Objections crossed Horace’s face as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud. It was improper. Her reputation could be ruined. What if she awoke while Jed was there and was even more embarrassed? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Sir, I realize there are a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t, but if it could help your granddaughter rest peacefully … even for one night … would it be worth it?”

  Horace heaved a loud sigh, the love for his only grandchild filling his eyes with compassion. “I suppose so.”

  That night, after the chores were done and the cabin was closed up tightly, Jed waited on his pallet until a new cry joined the wind whistling between the logs. He knocked softly on the door of the bedroom and waited until Horace let him in, and then he sat on the floor between the two beds and reached for Cora’s hand.