Page 37 of Christmas at Carnton

“And he promised me a train for Christmas. Which isn’t long from now!”

Aletta didn’t say anything but could feel Jake’s attention shift in her direction. “Remember what I said about Santa this year, Andrew. He’s going to be very busy. So we must be grateful for whatever gift is under the tree for us.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then Andrew leaned toward Jake. “But mine’s gonna be a train,” he whispered.

Jake only smiled. “I’ll bid you two good evening. Sleep well, Andrew.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “And, Aletta, I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll put the finishing touches on your masterpiece.”

“Thank you, Jake. And good evening.”

Later as she readied for bed, Andrew already asleep, Aletta moved to the window to blow out the oil lamp when the warm glow from the window of the cabin just beyond the smokehouse drew her attention. She spotted Jake sitting before the fireplace reading, it looked like. Or perhaps he was sketching in that notebook of his. She’d glimpsed one of his drawings before. That of a grove of trees, and it was quite good.

He stood and stretched, then turned toward the window. And stilled. She hurriedly blew out the flame of the oil lamp, but the flame sputtered—and returned to life. Too late, he’d seen her.

He moved closer to the window and waved. Smiling despite herself, Aletta pressed her palm flat against the cool pane of glass. Strange, how a man she’d met scarcely a month ago could make her feel so much less alone.

Trying a second time, she successfully extinguished the oil lamp and crawled into bed beside Andrew and slept more soundly than she had in weeks.

CHAPTER 14

“You must admit, Jake, that at the start you didn’t think I’d be able to do this.”

“That is absolutely—” Jake started to protest but hesitated, looking from her to the fully assembled nativity situated in the side yard by the winter garden. “The uncontested truth.”

She beamed and turned again to admire her handiwork, and with good reason.

“You should be very proud of yourself, Aletta.”

She nodded. “I am.”

“And I”—he winced—“should be somewhat ashamed.”

“Yes, you should be.” She playfully narrowed her eyes. “But truly, I couldn’t have built this without your help. So thank you.”

He offered a salute. “My pleasure, General Prescott.”

She began picking up the tools scattered in the yard and placing them back in the bucket. He did likewise. He hadn’t heard back from Colonel Stratton yet in regard to his returning to the regiment, which was answer enough in itself, Jake guessed.

He looked over at her. “So who’s your first Mary and Joseph?”

“Hattie and Andrew. Winder wanted to be the first Joseph, until he found out his sister was going to be Mary.”

Jake gave her a look. “Wise boy. Do you have a baby Jesus yet?”

“Baby Jesus is being sewn together at the church as we speak.” She looked over. “You must admit, Jake, having seen what those women can do over the last few days, that it’s impressive. They’ve knitted almost six hundred scarves, caps, and pairs of gloves between them for the soldiers. And seven quilts for the auction. And they’re still knitting and sewing.”

“I admit, they’re a far more productive group than I thought they’d be. And talkative. Especially that Mrs. Peterson.” The woman had to be eighty if she was a day, and she’d all but talked him to death on more than one occasion.

Aletta chuckled, shaking her head. “Yes, Mrs. Peterson is most definitely a handful. But to be her age and have that energy. She’s quite the—” She gasped, wincing as she pressed a hand to her abdomen.

“Aletta!” Jake was by her side in an instant. “Are you all right?”

She took several deep breaths. “Yes . . .” She gripped his arm, her complexion flushed, despite the chill of December. “I’m fine. But perhaps I should sit down for a moment or two.”

Holding her hand and with his arm about her waist, he led her to a bench a few feet away beneath an osage orange tree. A hedge of hydrangea provided shelter from the wind and he sat down beside her.

“Better?” he asked.

Eyes closed, she breathed through pursed lips. “Mmm-hmm . . . or I will be.”