“It’s too late to walk home by yourself.” Thankfully, Martha kept her eyes on the fire. “Why don’t you go lay down in the loft?”
Where Gabriel had been sleeping? No. She had to distance herself from him. Clara made a beeline to the door.
“I’ll return in the morning,” she called over her shoulder before plunging into the cold night air. Again, white crystals floated down, every one of them melting as soon as they touched the earth, only deepening the mud that clung to her soles as she made her way back to town, passing the small church. High in the base of the steeple, a single brass bell hung silent. Almost four years into this war, no songs or merriment met the wee hours of Christmas Eve.
***
Gabriel’s consciousness drifted. With his head tipped back and arms folded, the hours of the night passed in slow procession. Lawrence slept restlessly, but he slept. Hopefully a good sign. The thought of losing his little brother, too… Could he bear it?
Gabriel forced his aching eyes open to the show of dawn behind the pale blue fabric draped across the window. He stood and drew the curtain. Only one full day remained until he needed to start back to rejoin to his regiment. One day until Christmas. He looked to his brother. If only there were a way to give Mama her wish.
He dropped back into the chair and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Why are you here?”
The gravelly voice brought his head up. His brother watched him. “I wanted to make sure you and Mama were all right.”
A muscle twitched in Lawrence’s cheek. “Well, now you know. You can leave…again.”
Gabriel reached for the water pitcher. “Do you want a drink?”
“I don’t want anything from you. How did you even get here dressed like a Yank?” Understanding lit Lawrence’s eyes. His teeth ground together. “You fought with them at Marion, didn’t you?”
Gabriel glanced away.
“And Saltville?”
“Yes.” The word scratched his throat. His forced himself to look to his brother’s tortured expression. “You, too?”
Lawrence nodded his head toward his bandaged shoulder. “Where do you think I got this? That second day, near the saltworks.”
Gabriel slumped into the chair. For all he knew, one of his shells had almost killed his own brother. “You know, I never pictured fighting here.”
“Does it matter? They killed Pa in Pennsylvania.”
“Mama told me you were there, too.”
Lawrence closed his eyes and relaxed into the pillow. Pain pinched the corners of his mouth. “I joined up in June. That was the first time I’d seen a real battle, never mind been in the thick of one. But I loaded my gun and aimed straight…just like my brother taught me. All them lines of blue coats. Couldn’t stop wondering if he was one.”
“I reckon that helped with your aim.”
His eyes flashed open, and he glared. “I can’t say.”
Gabriel stood and walked to the door. “I’ll tell Mama you’re awake. And don’t worry, I won’t be here much longer.”
***
Clara’s head jerked up as Gabriel plunked a scraggly spruce just inside the door of the bedroom. “What is that?”
He flashed a grin as he knelt to tack a makeshift stand onto the trunk. “Surely you’ve seen a Christmas tree before.”
“Yes, but it looked nothing like that.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge. There’s potential.” He glanced at his brother. “Remember that year Pa was away? We didn’t want to wait, so we went out ourselves. You must have been six or seven, and me maybe ten. I still remember the look on Mama’s face.”
Probably because you saw it again when you hauled this tree past her. Clara bit her tongue.
With no reply from Lawrence, Gabriel stood the tree upright and left. A few minutes later, he returned with a handful of nuts, a single candle, some string and clusters of crimson berries that he began to distribute amongst the branches.
“Are those rosehips?”
“We needed something to brighten this room.”
Try as she might, Clara found it impossible not to watch him as he adorned the tree, humming a familiar tune. No longer wearing Yankee blue, his old homespun shirt fit snug across his back, stressing at the seams. He’d grown into quite the man in his absence. She glanced to Lawrence to find his gaze on her. Warmth crept to her cheeks. “I’ll go help your mama with dinner.”
The noonday sun filtered through the windows, and logs crackled in the hearth. Gabriel’s song followed her. Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn King. Who was he trying to fool? Did he really believe he could pretend he’d never left, or expect the same of them?
She wiped her palms across her full skirts as she joined Martha at the table. One arm cradled a large wooden bowl, while the other wielded a spoon. A hint of ginger and cinnamon teased her senses. “What are you making?”
“A gingerbread loaf for the boys. I wanted to do something special for Christmas.” Her eyes glistened. “You saw that tree Gabriel dragged through here.”
“Yes, poor thing.”
Martha shrugged. “He didn’t dare to go too far looking for one. Besides, it’s much better than we’ve had in years. The last couple…” She sighed. “I don’t want to think about those other Christmases. I only have one day.”
One day. “What can I do to help?”
Martha smiled at her. “My request is probably not what you have in mind, but Gabriel’s humming has that hymn running through my mind and I have always considered your voice so very pretty.”
Clara stared. “You want me to sing?”
“Christmas carols.”
Throat constricting, she stepped to the nearest chair and braced against its tall back. The words, and even the exuberance came easier than expected. “Hark the herald angels sing, ‘Glory to the newborn King. Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.’”
“Joyful, all ye nations rise.” A smooth baritone joined her, entering the room. “Join the triumph of the skies. With th’ angelic host proclaim: ‘Christ is born in Bethlehem!’” Loud and strong, Gabriel’s voice resonated within the walls of the house, filling it. Filling her. “Hark the herald angels sing, ‘Glory to the newborn King!’”
“I’m sorry, Martha,” Clara said. “I don’t think this was a good idea.”
Gabriel brushed past her on his way to the fireplace. He crouched and tossed another log onto the blaze, though it wasn’t needed. “There is no harm in a little carol. I’m sure you can remember to hate me tomorrow.”
“It’s not that.”
“I’ll keep my mouth closed if it helps. I’m sure your fiancé enjoyed your singing.” He stabbed the poker into the coals, sending up a spray of embers.
“Gabe.”
He looked back with a solemn smile pressed on his lips. “I’m serious, Clara. Sing for Lawrence. I’m not trying to get in the way.”
She blew out her breath. He didn’t have to try.
With the sound of his voice in her head, Clara cleared her throat and resumed the song. For Lawrence. For Martha. For one day.
Music, food, and even laughter, but though Martha and Gabriel did their best, none of it felt real. Nothing more than a charade.
***
Evening stretched itself over the valley, and the sun vanished away. Clara helped change the bandages on Lawrence’s shoulder. Already the gaping wound appeared improved and his temperature was normal. No need for a constant vigil over his bed. After reading to him for a while, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.”
He nodded, but said nothing. He’d been silent most of the day—ever since Gabriel brought in that ridiculous-looking Christmas tree. On her way to the door, she wet her fingers and pinched out the single candle perched near the top.
“Clara?”
She glanced back to Lawrence. “Yes?”
“I miss having a brother… Is that wrong?”
&n
bsp; The ache in his voice tugged at her. “I don’t know.”
She stepped out and moved toward the table to set a cloth over the remaining slices of gingerbread. Martha again sat in the rocker, but this time there was no motion, only heavy breathing. The last two days had taxed her greatly.
Gabriel appeared to have retired, as well. Disappointment nagged, but it was for the best. Pulling her cape from a peg near the door, Clara wrapped it around her shoulders and stepped into the crisp air. Snow laid itself as a clean blanket over the ground and sparkled in the air. As though a chime in the wind, the church bell began to toll.
Christmas had arrived.
“Do you hear that?”
Clara startled at the rumble of the deep voice and spun to where Gabriel leaned against the wall. She laid her hand over her heart, willing it to return to a regular pace. “The bell?”
He nodded, still staring into the distance. “Peace on earth, good will to men.”
“What?”
“Isn’t that what they sing? Peace on earth?”
If only. “Not anymore. There’s no peace to be had. Or good will. Only hate. Pain. Death. War.”
Gabriel shook his head, pushing away from the wall to face her fully. “You’re wrong.” His lips curved with a simple smile. “God lives.”
Finding her hand, he raised her knuckles to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Merry Christmas, Clara.”
He stepped around her and into the house.
“Gabe.”
He glanced back. “I understand.”
The door closed and she started for home, the bell’s song fading to the silence of a winter’s night. How could she not question God’s existence…or at least His wakefulness?
***
Gabriel’s fingers sped to button his coat. Then he smoothed his hands over the clean blue wool. His mother’s unconditional love still left him dazed. He would forever thank God for it. And for this Christmas. Not everything Mama had prayed for, but he’d done his best. Maybe next year would bring the war to an end and wounds could begin to heal.
After descending the stairs three at a time, Gabriel paused before entering his parents’ bedroom. He straightened his uniform, though perhaps it would have been better to say his goodbyes before donning it.
Pillows propped up Lawrence’s head, and his face held more color than yesterday. Good to see. His eyes flickered to Gabriel’s, and then lowered to stare at the uniform.
“You take care of yourself and finish healing. God willing, the war will be over soon.”
No acknowledgement whatsoever. But what could be expected?
Heart squeezing, Gabriel turned to his mother and wrapped her in his arms. “Thank you, Mama.”
She kissed his cheek then pressed it to hers. “Thank you for coming home. I won’t stop praying that the Good Lord will continue to watch over you.”
He managed a nod, and looked to Clara. She met his gaze but said nothing.
“Goodbye.” Gabriel made a hasty withdrawal. No use letting everyone see him cry.
***
Clara stared at the door even after Gabriel was gone, pressure building behind her eyes. How long could she contain it?
“You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”
She glanced at Lawrence. A smile touched his mouth. Her tears spilled. “I’m afraid I am.”
The muscles danced in his cheeks. “Then tell him.”
“What?”
He sniffed and extended his good hand to his mother. She took it, her eyes wide. He looked to Clara. “And tell him I said to take care of himself. Tell him we’ll be waiting for him to come home again.”
She remained in place, her mind spinning, her heart leaping.
“It’ll be too late if you don’t hurry.”
Clara staggered to her feet and through the house. The glare of the morning sun, brilliant off the white ground, blinded her. Boot tracks marked Gabriel’s path around the house and into the orchard. Grabbing her skirts almost to her knees, she raced across the yard toward the blue clad figure.
“Gabe!”
He turned.
Her face was dry and her breath gone by the time she caught up. She gripped his sleeve. “I… I hear the bells.”
Questioning ridged his brow but before he could speak, she kissed his mouth.
“I finally hear the bells. Lawrence does, as well. Peace on earth, good will to men. Faith. Hope.” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as more tears tumbled free. “Love.”
“And forgiveness, Clara?”
She touched his face and pushed up on her toes to again find his mouth. His arms encircled her, drawing her against him as he kissed her in return. Long and deep, the taste of salt on his lips.
Clara smoothed a tear from his cheek. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Lieutenant Gabe Morgan. You come back to us, you hear?”
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, please join me on future adventures.
The Scarlet Coat (Jan 27, 2017)
The Scarlet Coat is a beautiful historical romance told through the eyes and hearts of a young colonist and her enemy, a British soldier. Love, heartache, and intrigue abound in their story, beautifully woven by the author. A must-read for any history lover!”
—Laura Hodges Poole, author, A Christmas Chance
About the Author
Angela K. Couch is an award winning author for her short stories, and a semi-finalist in ACFW's Genesis Contest. As a passionate believer in Christ, her faith permeates the stories she tells. Her martial arts training, experience with horses, and appreciation for good romance sneak in there, as well. Angela lives in Alberta, Canada with her "hero" and three munchkins. Visit her at www.angelakcouch.com, or follow on Twitter or Facebook!
I Heard the Bells Page 2