“Grandmother Vaughn,” Erika said, breathless from rushing down the stairs. “I saw you from the window.”
Vaughn went to her and took the baby, Arabella, in her arms. Arabella cooed and smiled back at Vaughn. Vaughn didn’t care if the smile was a reflex or not. She loved that this baby looked happy. This baby would have a happy childhood. She would be an adult before war tore apart the country. She would grow up in a life of luxury.
When Arabella got to her twenties, the south would be ripped to shreds by the Civil War and life would be difficult. But if Vaughn had learned nothing else, it was that worry was a useless mental activity.
Worry and dread had no place in everyday life.
“Are you okay?” Erika asked. “You never come to the house.”
Vaughn handed the baby back to her mother. “I wanted to see my great-grandchild,” she said. It wasn’t a complete lie. She always wanted to see little Arabella. Leaving the baby was going to be the hardest part.
“Well,” Erika said, “Little Arabella is teething, I think. Only just a few minutes ago, she quieted.”
“She’s four months. It’s time,” Vaughn said.
“Can I hold her?” Camille asked.
“Of course,” Erika said, handing the baby over to Camille. “In fact,” Erika said, “I was just about to take a bath. My water should be ready by now. Would you two mind watching her for a little bit?”
“I’ll watch her anytime,” Camille said, gazing lovingly down at Arabella.
As Erika left, Vaughn was drawn back to the window. The lightening was closer now, but Vaughn didn’t mind.
She wasn’t afraid of lightening. She heard Camille cooing to the baby behind her.
The grandfather clock tolled the hour. Two o’clock. Only two chimes. She sighed and leaned her forehead against the cool glass.
The loneliness sweep through her more fiercely than before.
A movement in the rain caught her attention. She lifted her head and watched a horse and rider approach. Even through the rain, she could tell who it was.
It was her grandson, Bradley. He wore his captain’s uniform. A little different from a modern-day pilot’s uniform, but it flattered him nonetheless.
She turned, happy to be the bearer of good news. “Camille,” she said. “Bradley is back early. Probably due to the storms.”
Camille jumped and stood, indecision wrapped around her as she held Arabella close.
“Here,” Vaughn said. “I’ll hold Arabella. You go out on the porch and greet your husband.”
Camille handed off the baby and dashed out front into her husband’s arms. Vaughn smiled. She was sure to have a second great-grandchild before long. She was surprised Camille wasn’t expecting already, the way those two loved on each other.
The baby began to fret, doubtless from being jostled too much. Vaughn put Arabella on her shoulder and paced around the parlor. Thunder crashed above them.
Vaughn moved away from the windows. She didn’t mind the lightening, but the baby was different. She wouldn’t put the baby in harm’s way. She walked toward the foyer – fewer windows.
Camille and Bradley’s laughter floated from the porch.
Vaughn stopped to shift the baby and she quieted. Vaughn stood still, not wanting to disturb her.
Lifting her gaze, she stood face to face with the grandfather clock.
She’d always found the steady ticking to be soothing. But…
The room lit up with lightening.
Vaughn lowered her head and squeezed the baby to her as the thunder rattled the house.
Then it was quiet.
The storm would not have passed so quickly.
She no longer heard the rain splashing against the door. No thunder.
A low hum replaced the sounds of the storm.
She lifted her gaze and steadied herself.
Arabella cooed softly, her little hands grabbing at the ties on Vaughn’s dress.
Vaughn’s eyes strayed to the stairway.
And she caught her breath.
She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, but when she opened them, he was still there.
Two steps from the bottom, his hand on the rail, Jonathan stood watching her. He had aged since she’d last seen him. But the sight of him sent a girlish thrill through her heart.
Neither of them moved.
He mouthed her name. Closed his eyes a moment, before opening them again.
“I’ve died then,” she heard him say to himself.
She couldn’t help it. She smiled.
“Jonathan. You haven’t died. It’s me.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened.
“I don’t…” He stopped, his gaze stalling on the baby Vaughn had all but forgotten she held.
“Jonathan,” she said, stepping toward him. Then she was in his arms. The baby wiggled and cooed between them. She didn’t know if the tears were hers or his.
But it didn’t matter.
She was home.
Sliding his hands to her elbows, Jonathan leaned back to look at Arabella. “Who?” he asked.
Vaughn followed his gaze to their great-grandchild wiggling in her arms. She lifted her gaze to his. “Uh oh.”
If you enjoyed Once Upon a Christmas, I think you’ll also love my Southern Belle Civil War Romance Series. Keep reading for an except of Love Always.
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Love Always Excerpt
Love Always
Southern Belle Civil War Romance
Book 1
Chapter 1
Love Always
April 1864
Another calf was born yesterday. Leah stayed up all night helping the unfortunate cow get through a breech birth. The cow was give out, so Leah cleaned up the calf and fed it herself. The way Leah took to the task, you'd never know she was born and bred in town.
Leah does anything I need her to do and, as you can imagine, those things have gotten to be more and more as my eyesight continues to diminish. The doctor says there’s nothing that can be done. I know I’ve told you that before, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around the knowledge that I’ll be blind within what the doctor says will be only a few more months. Even now, the world is getting hazy and this is probably the last letter I’ll be able to pen for myself.
Leah has promised to write my letters for me, so I’ll still be able to write you. She’s a God-send. I truly don’t know what I would do without her.
We don’t get much news these days, but I did hear that General Richard Taylor is on his way toward us here in Pleasant Hill. I don’t know if you’re with that regiment or not, but if you are, I hope you’ll be safe and I hope that maybe you can come home sooner than later. Will this war ever end?
I think of you every day and I hope that you are staying safe. I hope to see you soon.
Love always,
Grandma Maria Hudson
Jackson Holcomb refolded the letter and balanced it on his thighs. The camp was quiet now - the only sounds were from the cooks preparing breakfast. The morning air filled with dew, a balm to the scorched land. The evening battle had been the worst Jackson had seen. His eyes hurt from lack of sleep and from the burn of gunpowder.
The men weren't speaking. There was an occasional moan from the med tent and some movement in and out. The men they carried out hadn’t made it. In the last hour alone, Jackson had counted six men carried out.
It had been a bloody battle indeed.
The wind picked up - heralding what was sure to be an April shower. Perhaps it will wash away the smell of death.
Jackson picked up the haversack lying on the ground next to him. It belonged to Stephen Hudson - his friend and fellow soldier. They had marched from Alexandria, Louisiana to Tennessee and back again to Louisiana in the space of three years. Side by side
. They had stood together in battle. Slept side by side night after night.
Three years of constant companionship.
There was little they hadn’t known about each other. In fact, Stephen knew more about him than any of the other soldiers combined. Stephen had known that Jackson was from Ville Platte, Louisiana. His family never owned a slave, but he’d be damned if he’d let a bunch of Yankees tell him what he could and could not do. Jackson’s blood stirred just at the very thought of it.
Stephen had known that Jackson’s father was killed at the battle of Bull Run. They’d bonded over that. Jackson’s father had been killed at the same battle. No one really understood the seriousness of the war until after that battle. No more picnics on the battleground held to watch the war.
Stephen had known that Jackson had studied at West Point, but had given up his education when the war started. He would follow Robert E. Lee anywhere. Prior to the war, Jackson had worked with his father who was an attorney and it had been their plan to be Holcomb and Holcomb, Attorneys at Law. Now that would never come to pass. Jackson mourned that way of life destroyed by the war. Jackson had never known his mother. She had died in childbirth with Jackson. He carried a vague sense of guilt with him about that, probably an unconscious vibe from his father, who, to his credit, never once indicated that he blamed Jackson for his wife’s death. In fact, Jackson reflected, his father had always treated him with utmost kindness.
It was more than just their history though, that they knew about each other. Stephen had known that Jackson liked to get up and watch the sunrise. That was his favorite part of the day. He had known that Jackson often used that early morning time to stare at the picture of the girl he had left back home - the girl he had planned to marry. He knew that Jackson couldn’t remember what she looked like without the picture to remind him. He knew that they hadn’t spoken since the war began and had never exchanged a letter. They knew not whether or not the other lived or died.
Jackson placed a hand over his heart where he had kept the picture. It was gone now, soaked with blood.
Jackson knew that Stephen had never been betrothed, but was sweet on one of the laundresses that followed the army around.
Jackson knew that Stephen received a letter every month from his grandmother and he carried every one of them with him in his haversack, tied together with a blue ribbon. Stephen had openly shared those letters with Jackson - Maria Hudson had a way with words that brought the way of life back home to life. Through those letters, Jackson had learned that not only had Stephen’s father died at the Battle of Bull Run, but his grandfather had succumbed to illness at the Siege of Vicksburg. Stephen’s mother had died when Stephen was ten.
Stephen’s family had three servants - two to help with the cotton and one to help out inside. Even though Stephen’s father had signed the papers giving them their freedom when the war broke out, they had all three chosen to stay on with the family.
The servant who worked in the house passed away two years ago, but the two men were still there, working in the fields, tending what livestock was still there.
He also knew that Stephen had a younger sister named Leah who had been away at boarding school when the war began, but had returned to live with her grandmother when the school closed. Maria had mourned the loss of her son and anxiously awaited the return of her grandson.
Jackson scrubbed his face with his hands and studied the darkening sky. There was one thing he didn’t know.
He didn’t know how he was going to tell Maria and Leah that Stephen had been shot and killed yesterday at the Battle of Pleasant Hill.
His instinct was to ignore the whole thing and walk away. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just walk away.
He had made a promise.
Leah Hudson cranked the lever to pull a bucket of water from the well as she watched the clouds darkening in the west. Wind whipped her long hair into her eyes. She turned into the wind and allowed it to clear her vision, sweeping her hair out of her eyes. The smell of rain was in the air. She welcomed it. Since last evening when the sounds of cannon fire had filled the air, the smell of gunpowder had lingered. Gunpowder and something else she wouldn’t allow herself to think about.
She’d had an uneasy feeling since yesterday - an edginess that she couldn’t shake.
Taking the bucket with her, she went back inside and locked the door behind her.
“Leah?” Grandma Maria called from the parlor.
“It’s me, Grandma,” Leah said, sighing. The last few months had been heart-wrenching. Grandma had progressively become less and less able to see. She described it to Leah as though she was looking through the bottom of a jar. Everything was distorted. Leah had sent for the doctor after Grandma could no longer see well enough to read. The doctor had said there was nothing he could do. Sometimes older people lose their eyesight.
Grandma still got around quite well, Leah reminded herself. It was just the letters.
Grandma’s favorite pastime was to write letters to the soldiers. She wrote to Leah’s brother, Stephen, but she also wrote to other soldiers that she knew from church.
It was no longer safe for them to go to church, but Grandma kept a list of those soldiers she knew from town. Leah often wondered if any of them actually received the letters. How many times had she had to bite her tongue? You’re wasting your time, Grandma.
“What are you doing, Dear?” Grandma asked, coming from the parlor.
“Just washing up from breakfast.”
“Do you want me to help?”
“No, Grandma. I’ve got it.” She poured water into the kettle and put it on the stovetop to heat. While the water heated, she cut up potatoes to prepare a soup for tonight’s meal.
The rain started lightly, then the thunder rumbled in the distance. It sounded a lot like the cannon fire from the battle last night.
Where are you, Stephen? The words were always there.
It had been three years since she had seen her older brother. Three years since her father, brother, and grandfather had donned Confederate gray and marched off to join the southern army. First, word had come that their father had been killed at the Battle of Bull Run. Then last year, her grandfather had succumbed to illness during the Siege at Vicksburg.
And still no word from Stephen. She sent up a silent word of prayer that he was safe.
Leah scrubbed the plates from breakfast and dried them as the rain came in torrents.
Hopefully to wash away the smells of battle.
Chapter 2
Love Always
By mid-afternoon, the rain had moved out, leaving the air fresh. Jackson watched the house for over an hour, but there was no movement.
Right now he would rather be in the midst of battle than faced with the task at hand. I can’t do it.
But somehow he knew he would.
Stephen had underestimated the size of his home. It was no mansion, but it was no cottage either, as his friend had described it. It was a white two-story house with a front porch as large as Jackson’s bedroom back home. Two rocking chairs sat side by side, but it was otherwise unadorned.
It was the war, he thought. The war discounted all things unnecessary - leaving only the bare bones.
As he approached the front porch stairs, a svelte black man approached and hovered nearby, watching.
Jackson nodded in his direction. The servant moved forward and leaned against the porch, but allowed him to reach the door. I suppose my uniform is the right color.
Jackson breathed in deeply. Held his hand up to knock on the door, but pulled it back. Lowered his head. Then taking a deep breath, rapped quickly on the door.
Perhaps they aren’t here. A little surge of hope shot through him. He turned away.
The door opened behind him. His hopes dashed, he turned around and his breath caught in his throat.
Stephen had been a handsome man. That knowledge should have provided him with forewarning.
“Are you lost?” She a
sked. The voice of an angel.
Jackson stared into the very same blue eyes of his friend. I’ll think about that later. Black hair framed the most beautiful face he had ever seen.
“Do I know you?” She asked, a small smile playing about her lips. Luscious pink lips.
Jackson wavered. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to turn and walk away.
“Leah,” he murmured.
The smile faded from her lips and she glanced behind him. Saw the servant hovering behind him now. Stood her ground. She doesn't know me.
“How do you know my name?” She asked, her eyes full of suspicion now.
“I apologize,” Jackson said. “I don’t mean to frighten you.”
“Who is it?” A woman called from the back of the house.
“It’s alright, Grandma. Just someone looking for directions.”
Leah stepped over the threshold and pulled the door behind her. “Who are you?” She asked. “You seem to have the advantage.”
“I apologize. My name is Jackson Holcomb.”
“Private?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Private Jackson Holcomb, how may I assist you?”
Jackson shifted and her eyes lit on the haversack over his right shoulder. Stephen’s haversack. He’d forgotten about the embroidered initials on the shoulder strap.
Her gaze lifted to his. Recognition merged with knowledge. Her expression questioned.
There was nothing he could say. He shook his head slightly.
She swayed. Then the most beautiful angel fainted into his arms.
Before he knew what had happened, his arms were full of her. He cradled her close to him, putting his arms beneath her knees and picking her up. She was light as a feather. Nudging the door open, he carried her inside.
“Oh dear. What’s happened?” The woman he knew to be Grandma Maria Hudson got up from the settee and came towards them.
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