Rescuing Christmas

by Elissa Strati

  Rescuing Christmas

  By

  Elissa Strati

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  Rescuing Christmas

  COPYRIGHT

  DESCRIPTION

  EPIGRAPH

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE – Coming Home

  CHAPTER TWO – Catching Up

  CHAPTER THREE – Dinner

  CHAPTER FOUR ― The Letter

  CHAPTER FOUR ― Let’s Talk

  CHAPTER FIVE ― Breakfast

  CHAPTER SIX ― Visiting

  CHAPTER SEVEN ― Making Plans?

  CHAPTER EIGHT ― Community

  CHAPTER NINE ― Sunday Dinner

  CHAPTER TEN ― Barn Raising

  CHAPTER ELEVEN ― Settling In

  CHAPTER TWELVE ― Christmas Eve

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN ― Pre Dawn

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN ― The Storm

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN ― Dashing Through The Snow

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN ― Away In A Manger

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ― What Child Is This?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ― I’ll Be Home For Christmas

  CHAPTER NINETEEN ― Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Christmas Rescue Series

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to my sister,

  Gina Courtney Bellassai

  an immensely strong and brave woman,

  a survivor,

  and, above all, a loving mother, sister, and friend.

  Rescuing Christmas

  (Christmas Rescue Book 4)

  by

  Elissa Strati

  COPYRIGHT

  Rescuing Christmas (Christmas Rescue Book 4), Copyright © 2019, Elissa Strati. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Black Widow Books, Virginia McKevitt, cover artist.

  Series concept by Cheryl Wright.

  DESCRIPTION

  Beaten down by the war and discouraged by the winter cold and his ruined home, Charles Barnett is ready to move west and start afresh. But his hometown reaches out to him—and then there is Mary. Perhaps this will be a Christmas to remember, after all.

  Charles Barnett returned from the Civil War to his home in Kansas to find only the blackened remains of his home’s stone hearth and a corner of the barn remaining. Beaten down by the war and discouraged by the winter cold and the empty landscape, he was considering his options. High on the list was simply moving west and starting afresh. But childhood friends offered him the warmth of family, and then there was the woman with whom he had always been fascinated, newly widowed, heavily pregnant, and as beautiful as ever. Perhaps this would be a Christmas to remember, after all.

  Mary Sevenoaks’ best friend was Robert Rogers, but she’d had a tendre for Charles Barnett, who was her sister’s age and, really, much too old for her. When Charles left for the war she willed herself to forget about him and married Robert, whom she also loved, if not quite in the same way.

  Set in the period just after the Civil War, as soldiers were returning home, battered and broken, often to find their homes in ruins and nothing the same, the resilient human spirit shines through in this Christmas tale of salvation and redemption.

  EPIGRAPH

  "The Civil War came early to Missouri and Kansas, stayed late, and was characterized at all times by unremitting and unparalleled brutality. More than anywhere else, it was truly a civil war.”

  AMERICA’S CIVIL WAR: MISSOURI AND KANSAS

  https://www.historynet.com/americas-civil-war-missouri-and-kansas.htm

  PROLOGUE

  Bleeding Kansas

  Kansas, had been a troubled area for a long time. Starting in the 1850s tensions between pro- and anti-slave states escalated when the 1854 Kansas-Nebraska Act rescinded the Missouri Compromise, allowing new states to select for themselves whether or not slavery would be permitted within their borders. The Kansas popular vote was against slavery, to the dismay of pro-slavery Missourians, and the Kansas-Missouri border became a focus for marauding bands known as Jayhawkers and Border Ruffians, Bushwhackers and Raiders.

  Jayhawkers and Raiders

  The Jayhawkers were initially associated with the Free State cause but devolved, like the others, into gangs out for personal profit, plunder, revenge, mischief and general mayhem. Bushwhackers, such as William Quantrill, operated loosely in uniform, under the Confederate flag. Quantrill's raid, also known as the Lawrenceville Massacre, was but an excuse for pillage, arson, and mass murder, exemplifying the ongoing barbarity on both sides.

  Post War

  As men returned home from the Civil War, resentments remained and hostilities would break out between neighbors of opposite views. Many of those who had been in gangs did not give up their ways just because the war had ended. Jesse James, his brothers and followers, former members of the Quantrill Raiders, became bank robbers. Homeless, lawless men also roamed the area to the concern and dismay of all.

  Into this rode Charles Barnett at the end of 1865.

  CHAPTER ONE – Coming Home

  Charles slid wearily off his gaunt horse, staring at the charred remains of his cabin. The war had been especially rough here in Kansas and his place had not escaped the destruction. At least he had sent his sister Abigail to stay with their aunt out west when he had decided to join the Union cause. A woman alone would never have been safe here with the marauding bands which had been a local scourge.

  He glanced around at the barren land and sighed. The house was gone, with only the blackened stone hearth and chimney still remaining; a portion of the barn was still standing. It might be enough to provide shelter for the night. This had been a fairly useless piece of land from his standpoint, as he had no love of farming and there wasn't enough to support cattle. If he could sell this acreage, it might give him enough of a grub stake to follow his sister out west.

  Walking the mare to the barn he remove the saddle and tack, rubbing her down, then hobbled her in a patch of sweet grass next to the water trough and pump which, miraculously, not only still remained, but still worked. He groaned in relief and after slaking his thirst sluiced water on his face and hands. Too tired even to eat, he just grabbed his bedroll, and tucked himself into a corner of the remaining barn, dropping to sleep almost instantly.

  ~~~

  The next morning found him still hungry, but he was able to catch some small game. Miss Sally, his horse, needed rest and, to be honest, so did he. He would just hole up here for a few days to see if he could fatten them both up a bit. At least he had water and a chance to trap food.

  ~~~

  Several days later, as he was skinning some hides while the rabbit’s meat sizzled on his campfire, he heard the sound of a trotting horse. Sliding back behind the barn wall, he watched as the rider approached. He screwed his eyes tight, trying to make out the face of the stranger. Suddenly they flew wide open as he recognized his boyhood friend, Tom Kenner, who had stayed behind when he went off to war. He stepped back out into the open and waved a joyous greeting.

  Tom, whose rifle had been resting casually over the pommel of his saddle, slid the rifle back into its sheath, leaning forward slightly to increase his mount's speed before sliding to a halt in front of Charles. Jumping off the horse before he’d completely stopped, he threw his arms around his old friend, who greeted him just as warmly.
<
br />   “Charles, you old bustard, I can’t believe it’s really you! When Suzanne saw the smoke coming from this direction she sent me to check whether more of those bushwhackers were back in the area.”

  Charles shook his head. “I’d heard rumors the bands were still roaming around. Everywhere I traveled getting here I saw the destruction but couldn’t tell if it was fresh. How long since they were here?”

  “Maybe six months back they ransacked the Rogers place, killing Robert and burning the house. Mary Rogers was visiting with her sister—you remember Dorothy Cooper—and she’s staying there with Dorothy now, along with her sister’s young ‘uns.”

  “Dorothy Cooper? Reginald’s wife?”

  “The very one. She’d just sold her land to Robert and was planning to move in with the Rogers to help Mary with the babe she’s carrying. Dorothy is a strong woman but running her spread on her own was just too much and it made sense to link up with her sister since the lands run next to each other. Frankly I was surprised she took so long deciding to sell up. I know she was hoping to hold on to the land for her son but she really lost heart after Reginald fell at Gettysburg. And then smallpox took the boy, the next year.”

  Both men looked down at the ground and sighed at the loss, the weight of the war upon them, then Tom continued, raising his head to peer into Charles’ eyes. “That was a mighty special letter you wrote Dorothy. Meant the world to her to know you’d been with Reggie at the end.”

  Charles winced, knowing his words couldn’t bring back their childhood friend, the memory of that battle, holding Reggie’s shoulder and knowing there was just too much blood. Promising to write to Dorothy and look after her when he got back. Reg had never said “if.” And Charles had held onto that like a promise from God that he’d survive. And he had. He shuddered, trying to throw off the cold and sadness that had enveloped him.

  The sound of the fire spitting brought him back to the present and he realized his meat was on the verge of going from dinner to disaster. Nearly bowling Tom over, Charles dashed to the fire and pulled the sticks of skewered rabbit away from the flame, piling them on the tin plate sitting by.

  “Won’t you join me for a bite?”

  Tom glanced at the meat and back to his friend. “Don’t mind if I do, but only if you come on back with me to the house. With two of us those won’t serve as more than appetizers and Suzanne and the boys would never forgive me if I didn’t drag you back with me for one of her suppers.”

  Charles’ eyes lit up. “Those tadpoles must be nigh on half grown by now! I’m delighted to accept your offer.”

  CHAPTER TWO – Catching Up

  The ride back to Tom’s house wasn’t long. His land adjoined the acres Charles had been left when his folks died of the fever. Charles’ sister Abigail, a few years older, had lost her fiancé to the same fever, so she’d stayed on to help him manage the farmstead. Grimly determined, he’d brought in the crops he’d helped his father plant and even managed to get a fair price for the corn and wheat. As always, the hay was put aside for the horses and the surplus sold to Tom, who helped maintain the fences separating the fields from the cattle.

  But he hated farming. Always had. Whenever he could he’d gone over to the K Bar spread next door and learned ranching from his friend Tom Kenner’s dad.

  Old Nicholas Kenner had died of gangrene from a broken leg which hadn’t healed properly, and Tom, newly wed to the beautiful Suzanne, took over care of the ranch while Suzanne and her mother-in-law worked together on the domestic side, providing meals for the hands twice a day in addition to maintaining the house and garden. Suzanne’s least favorite chore was mending, and Tom was death on the knees of his pants. Fortunately Ma Kenner had a deft hand with a needle and actually seemed to enjoy darning in front of the fire of an evening, so despite the gossiping wags, Suzanne felt blessed in her mother-in-law.

  Walking into the ranch house, Charles finally felt he had truly come home. Automatically he pulled off his hat and hung it on the rack by the door, gazing at the women staring back at him. He, Tom, and Suzanne had all attended the same one-room schoolhouse together, not that many years ago although it now felt like a lifetime.

  Suzanne flung her arms about him and started weeping and laughing, and Ma Kenner was soon in close embrace as well as she greeted him as a long lost son. He’d spent almost as much time in her kitchen as a boy as in his own—where Tom had been equally at home.

  “Charlie, oh, Charlie, I can’t believe you’re finally here,” wept Ma. “When we didn’t hear from you for all those months we thought you lost to us.”

  Charles hung his head a bit sheepishly.

  “It was pretty rough towards the end. Heh**. . . hrrmph,” he paused to clear his throat, swallowing the easy expletive years of living strictly among rough soldiers had made so commonplace. “I, um, I didn’t know what to say and couldn’t . . .” He turned his head, squeezing shut his eyes to stop the tears that threatened to join those of the women.

  Tom leaned in and slapped him on the back. “Time enough for that after we’ve eaten! Look at this boy, he’s naught but skin and bones. And my nose is telling me the pot’s fixin’ to boil over.”

  With loud gasps both women rushed back over to the stove where Ma slid the pot back and Suzanne leaned over to pull the biscuits from the oven.

  Two half-grown boys were standing by the door watching the adults and nudging each other. The younger one was looking a question and the older nodded decidedly and they both raced over and flung themselves on the stranger in their midst.

  “Unca Charlie, Unca Charlie!!” they yelled, nearly knocking him over in their enthusiasm. Neither kith nor kin, Charles had received the courtesy title of Uncle as soon as his godson, Nicholas Charles (after Tom’s father and Nick’s godfather), had been old enough to speak. Reggie, formally Thomas Reginald, had been little more than a toddler when Charles and Reg had marched off to war, but both lads had fond memories of this man.

  Grabbing a boy under each arm Charles hefted them up and hugged them tight.

  “Now, boys, stop that carrying on and go wash up for dinner, the lot of you,” called Ma, giving Charles a wink, to which he returned a watery grin, and the four males trooped out to the pump and sluiced their hands and faces, running wet hands through their hair to slick it back. Passing around the towel that hung from a nearby nail, each checked his hands and then each other to be sure they’d pass muster with Ma and Mama.

  CHAPTER THREE – Dinner

  Dinner, stewed chicken with carrots and onions, served in its gravy over biscuits, was eaten at the crowded kitchen table, but before anyone grabbed a fork, each reached out to his neighbor to clasp his or her hand and bowed his head; then Tom said a heartfelt blessing over the food.

  “God, thank you for your gracious goodness in providing this sustenance to us from the bounty of your fields and flocks; thank you for protecting and blessing us with health and love for one another; and most especially, God, thank you for your mercy in bringing safely home to us our brother Charles who has been so sorely missed by all of us. We pray you continue to watch over and keep us. Amen.”

  “Amen!” “Amen!” “Amen!” came in a chorus as, with a final quick squeeze hands were released and heads were raised. Not for the first time that day Charles had to blink back moisture but was relieved to note that there were no other dry eyes at the table.

  Tom looked up at his wife, Suzanne, who smiled at him and picked up her fork. The boys, who’d been waiting for this signal, reached for their own utensils, and, carefully watching to be sure their mother had placed a bite in her mouth, dove into their own plates as if they hadn’t eaten in a week.

  Ma, who’d made it clear years ago that Suzanne was to consider this her house since her husband was now its head, sat to her son’s right and smiled at the manners Suzanne had managed to instill in her boys. Ma had been born Emilene Stoddard, daughter of a dairy farmer, and had not learned any airs and graces. But her daughter-in-law’s fa
mily, the Smythes, had come from England, where her mother had grown up the daughter of a baronet, and she had learned court manners and passed them on to her children. It was a little thing, but even for Emilene, Ma, the nicety made her feel a bit more civilized and she’d fully supported Suzanne’s insistence on them.

  Conversation around the table was mostly gossip about the remaining local families, who’d come home, which of their classmates had married whom, how the local farms and ranches were handling the weather and shortages of hands, etc.

  Nick pulled at Charles’ sleeve and whispered, “are you gonna tell us about the war, Unca Charlie?”

  Intercepting a glare from Suzanne, he whispered back, “that’s not polite dinner conversation, and certainly never when ladies are present.”

  Taking that as a promise that he’d be able to talk man-stuff when they were alone, Nick sat back and smiled, but Suzanne was still frowning. Charles leaned over to her and murmured, “That is about the last thing on earth I care to even think about.”

  Suzanne gave a slight smile but the worried look remained as she looked intently into Charles’ eyes, and then nodded. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “You talk about it whenever you are ready. Both Tom and I have heard the tales from others who’ve come home and sometimes it helps to work through the shock and horror you’ve gone through.”

  “You are like a sister to me, Suzanne, but right this moment I envy Tom his wife. Thank you.” He twisted his palm up and drew her hand to his mouth, brushing a kiss on its back. Tom, across the table, lifted his eyebrows, but said nothing. He knew his wife would fill him in later, when they went to bed.

  “You kissed Mama’s hand!” piped up Reggie.