“Thanks,” he said. Taking a sip, he never let his gaze waiver.
Caitlin felt the touch almost like a shock. She returned his regard, lost in the dark brown of his eyes, the message clear. He wanted her.
With effort she tore her gaze away.
“It’ll be dark before long. Do you think I should get the oil lamps out and make sure they have fuel?” she asked, feeling flustered. She could almost grasp the tangible desire that flooded through her. She had loved Zach so much when they first married. In many ways, nothing had changed.
“It wouldn’t hurt. Even if the power comes back, there’s nothing saying it won’t go out again later,” he said, sipping the hot beverage.
“Better have candles in each room, then, with matches so we’d have light to get to the lamps,” Caitlin said, glad for something to do. The spell was broken.
The lamps were right where she remembered. Opening the cupboard she took stock of everything stored in them. She planned to leave the cleaning of the kitchen until last, able to make better inroads into the bedrooms and other rooms of the house first.
If this cabinet was any indication, the room would take days to sort through and organize. Caitlin mentally revised her schedule. With both the cellar and kitchen ahead, not to mention the carriage house, there was truly no way she could come close to completing everything this holiday.
Maybe she’d come down for the next few weekends and keep plugging away at the tasks. That way she’d be finished before summer.
It wouldn’t be the same with Zach gone, she thought, taking down the lamps and setting them on the counter. She'd originally planned to work alone, but his arrival had changed that. Now she couldn’t imagine doing all this on by herself. What if she’d been caught in the cellar alone? What if Mrs. Watson hadn't needed the phone?
Taking down three lamps, she washed the globes. Then she raised the wick on each. Still plenty of oil in the base and the wicks looked trimmed. Lighting them, she soon had a bright, steady glow from each lamp.
“They work,” she said just as the heater gave an umph and the lights came on in the cellar.
“Your timing is perfect. Maybe you should have lit them earlier,” Zach teased.
“Maybe.” She blew them out and put them on one side of the counter, just in case.
She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t yet six o’clock.
“Do you think I have time to bake some cookies?”
“Why not, we’re not on any schedule. And a warm oven will help bring up the temperature in this room.”
Caitlin wasn’t sure why she had a sudden desire to bake, must be the housework making her feel domestic. Or maybe it was she wanted to do something for Zach, fatten him up while he was with her. She began to mix the ingredients for shortbread cookies. They were his favorite.
“There, I think that’ll work,” Zach said, sanding the edge of the door lightly, then wiping off the dust. “Help me put it back in place.”
They rehung the door and it swung closed. She turned the knob and the door opened easily. Letting it go, it once again slammed shut. Again she opened it with no effort.
“That’s perfect. Thanks,” she said.
He gathered the tools and started for the carriage house. “I’ll sweep up the mess when I get back.”
“I can manage that,” Caitlin said, “you did all the work.” She quickly swept up the wood chips and sawdust and moved the cradle to the back wall out of the way. The first batch of cookies was ready to come from the oven. She put in another batch.
Some time later Caitlin realized Zach hadn’t returned from the carriage house. What was he doing out there? She glanced out the window, but the angle was wrong. All she could see was the river and the edge of the old building. He wasn’t standing on the banks like she’d seen him before. Was he still in the carriage house?
Zach leaned against the back door of the carriage house and stared at the slow-moving river. He didn’t see the silvery water as it drifted by, nor the snow that softly drifted from the sky. He was miles away in thought. It felt as if he was trying to hold a slippery eel or something. The tighter he held on, the more Caitlin seemed to slip away.
He wasn’t ready to go back inside. Yet it was too cold and wet to walk along the river. So his choice was to stand here and freeze. He turned back into the carriage house. Another place needing to be cleaned. Had Caitlin allowed for that in her schedule? He walked around the old structure. It had a few gaps in the walls, but the roof looked sound. Obviously a catch-all place, it was stacked with boxes and old furniture. Either there’d been no more room in the cellar or this furniture wasn’t as treasured.
He spied the old carriage in one corner, too dilapidated to use. Once horses had pulled that carriage, maybe taking the Williamsons into Williamsburg or even as far as Richmond.
Walking over, he noticed how the barrel springs sagged, and how the spokes to the high wheels were broken in spots, making the carriage sag at an odd angle. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. The conveyance looked to be from the late 1800s, not that he was an expert on old carriages. He tried moving it, but feared the wheels would collapse after budging it only a little and having them creak in protest.
He kicked the dirt. Dry as dust. At least the rain and snow didn't leak in from the roof. Glancing around, he saw signs of deterioration of the old building. It was not as in good a shape as the house. The gaps in the walls let the elements in if the wind blew in the right direction.
He turned to head to the house when he spotted a small sliver of metal jutting up near the carriage wheel. The small movement of the carriage must have dislodged the dirt to reveal it. He looked closer, then scraped away some of the dirt and uncovered a small metal box. Had it deliberately been hidden here years ago or had it merely fallen and been covered by dirt over the years?
Taking it to the workbench on the far side, he brushed off the accumulated dirt. The fastener was rusted. He tried to pry it open, then broke the latch to lift the lid. Inside were several coins and a gold locket on a chain. Lifting it, he saw letters entwined on one side. How long had it been buried? To whom had it belonged and why had it never been found?
“More mysteries for Caitlin to unravel,” he murmured. He examined the coins, gold with an eagle on one side. Zach was startled to find the dates stamped on them from the 1850s. There were also two Confederate coins. Someone’s treasure hidden from marauding Yankee troops?
He put them in his pocket, knowing they’d make the perfect Christmas surprise for Caitlin. She loved old things and to get such a treasure from her own property would be special.
He still lived with the fantasy of seeing her in that sexy nightie he’d bought. Maybe wearing this gold locket bathed in firelight.
Caitlin took out the last batch of cookies setting them on a rack to cool. Where was Zach? She peered out the kitchen window again, but didn’t see him. She was starting to get concerned. His jacket wasn’t thick and it was cold enough inside to give her an idea of how cold it was outside. Should she go look for him?
She opened the back door. From there she could see into the carriage house. Zach was at the workbench, bending over something. She hoped he had enough sense to come in out of the cold before he caught a chill or something.
Reassured he wasn't hurt, she went into the living room. It still felt cool, despite the efforts of the heater. The fire they’d started earlier had died down. She added logs and stirred it to get it going again.
Feeling restless, she considered what to do. Maybe she’d read some more of Tansy’s journal. Their expedition to search for more books had been aborted and she wasn’t anxious to go back down in the cellar again. Next time, she’d make sure they carried flashlights. Of course the door wouldn’t jam again, but she didn’t want to be caught in the far corner if the power failed.
Or she could use Zach’s computer to try to find out more about Jonathan Williamson. Had he fought in other battles leading up to Yorktown?
&
nbsp; She watched as the logs flared and began to give off heat. Satisfied the fire would warm things up, she turned on the laptop and began to search for more about the war Jonathan fought in. Knowing she had a great-great-grandfather fight changed how she viewed history.
A short time later she gave up on the war and began to look for web sites describing life in the 1700s in America. Some were geared for elementary school level and she loved the sketches of clothes, houses, cooking utensils and early carriages. Maybe she’d make a special project for her kids when school started again.
The more she read, the more she appreciated the fine work that had gone into building the house, built before modern equipment. Two hundred years later it was still housing a member of the Williamson family.
Impatient to find out what happened to Tansy and Jonathan, she turned off the computer and went to find the journal.
The next entry began:
Tomorrow is Christmas It has begun to snow in earnest. Everything is covered and I hope my chickens survive. It is unusually cold. If I don’t get the eggs right when they are laid, they could be frozen. It’s hard to walk to the chicken coop, but I have a rope to use as a guide. Still no word from my husband. I hope he is planning a wonderful surprise and will show up tonight before I retire. I would so welcome a night in his arms. And Christmas won’t be a special day without him here.
I miss my family. Maybe I should have gone to stay with my parents, but I could not bear the thought of Jonathan making his way home and not finding me here.
Caitlin gave a start. That was what she’d done, left home when Zach said he’d made a monumental effort to get home for the holidays. She bit her lip in remorse. She should have at least let him know where she was.
Zach had figured it out. Jonathan would surely have known if his wife wasn’t home that she’d be with her parents. How sweet of Tansy to wait alone and lonely in hopes of her husband’s arrival.
Everything in the house is ready. I have boughs of holly decorating the rooms, and a yule log ready for the fireplace. I have mulled the cider, which fills the house with a delicious fragrance. I do hope I don’t have to drink it all by myself. I’m sure several neighbors will stop by to wish me a happy Christmas in the afternoon. Last year Jonathan and I drove to friends and neighbors to raise a glass of cheer. It was so festive. I never suspected we wouldn’t do it this year as well. Maybe we shall, if only he gets home soon.
The entry ended abruptly.
Caitlin felt a frisson of dread as she turned the page. In stark letters the words—
Jonathan is dead. How will I go on?
The paper was smudged, as if by tears.
Caitlin’s heart dropped. Slowly she ran her fingers over the long-dried tears. What happened? The entry contained only those blunt words, no date, no details, nothing.
Quickly she fanned through the remaining pages, but they were blank. That was all? She couldn’t let it end there--she had to know! Were there other journals? Had Tansy thrown this one away after writing the horrible truth only to start another one when she could?
Caitlin jumped up and almost ran to the kitchen. Wrenching open the door Zach had fixed, she flicked on the dim lights and hurried down the stairs, the door slamming behind her. She remembered where she’d found the first diary. Would there be more?
Poor Tansy. Caitlin was almost as heartsick as Tansy must have been. She’d become involved with them, felt as if she knew Tansy and almost knew Jonathan. She’d so hoped he’d made it home for Christmas, instead, he died. When? Where?
How had Tansy found out? How had she stood it?
Caitlin found the trunk and flung it open, rummaging around, but there were no journals.
She shut the lid and pulled down the box next to the trunk. Ripping off the top she rummaged inside. Clothing. She felt through the stack to see if there were any books. None.
Tossing the box to one side she pulled down another. It almost fell from her hands it weighted so much. Opening it, Caitlin found the carton full of books. But a quick look and she knew there was no journal.
“Caitlin?” Zach called.
“I’m in the cellar,” she yelled back, almost manic in her quest to find another journal. Tansy’s story couldn’t end with those brief words. What happened to her? Was she pregnant with Jonathan’s child and didn’t know it? Had she remarried or remained a widow the rest of her life? Wasn’t she a great-grandmother—therefore she had to have had a baby.
She pushed the heavy box aside, reaching for another.
“What are you doing?” Zach asked as he rounded the corner and saw her ripping into yet another carton.
“I’m searching for the blasted journal, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“Going through things like your life depended upon it.”
She sat back on her heels and looked at him. “Jonathan died,” she said sadly.
“Who—oh, the guy from Kings Mountain?”
She nodded, rubbing her chest. “I know it happened more than two hundred years ago, but honestly, I felt I got to know Tansy, she and I had a lot in common. Both our husbands gone on dangerous missions. Both of us lonely and alone. But I thought he’d come home. You came home. Instead the journal ended with ‘Jonathan is dead.’ I need to know what happened to Tansy.”
Unexpectedly tears filled her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but the parallel was too strong. Tansy’s husband had left never to return. That was the fear Caitlin had lived with for years. What if Zach had been killed at one of the skirmishes he covered? Or at the earthquake center when another trembler shook?
Yet she was planning to send Zach away, never to return. How could she stand to have him out of her life forever? Was she certain that was the way she wanted things?
“Hey, honey, it’s okay,” Zach said, stepping over one of the boxes and squatting down beside her. He brushed away the tears that ran down her cheek. “It's sad to know he died, but it’s so long ago. You knew he was dead.”
“But not like that. Not leaving Tansy behind. What happened to her? Oh, Zach, it’s so unfair. People should fall in love and get married and live happily ever after. Not have one leave the other. I think she was only about twenty. They hadn’t been married that long. What did she do for the rest of her life without Jonathan? Her love for him shone in every page she wrote.”
Caitlin couldn’t help the tears, her heart ached for the couple of long ago. And for the couple of today. How had they come to this pass? She ached for love and family and a normal life with a husband safe at home each night.
Zach sat on the hard ground and pulled her into his lap, cuddling her as she cried. “We’ll look and see what we can find. And if there’s no other journal, we’ll try the local historical society or churchyard. We’ll find out what happened to them.”
“They’re like us in a way,” she said, burrowing closer, trying to feel safe, to have him wrap her in his arms tightly and never let her go. Her tears wet his shirt. Zach’s heartbeat sounded beneath her ear, giving her comfort. His arms held her tightly, making her feel safe.
The sadness was overwhelming. For Tansy and for herself. How had Tansy made it through? Caitlin didn’t think she herself would want to go on if she knew Zach was no longer in the world.
Yet she was sending him out of her life.
Confused, hurt, sad, she didn’t move. If she could stop time forever, it would be this very moment. Only, she wanted the ache in her heart to go away.
“It’s getting cold, Caitlin. Let’s go upstairs and sit by the fire,” Zach said a little later when her sobs eased. “We’ll have dinner and discuss how we can go about finding out about Tansy and her husband.”
Caitlin didn’t want to move, but she wasn’t the one sitting on the hard-packed dirt floor. She pushed away and wiped her cheeks. Reluctantly standing, she surveyed the boxes and trunks stacked everywhere.
“I thought maybe Tansy started a fresh journal, one that didn’t hold the bad memories the one I was readi
ng did. She may never have written another word. I don’t know. It was pure chance that I found that one.”
Zach rose and looked around. “It could take a month to go through every box in this space. And, as you say, she may not have started another one. Let’s try other means first.”
Caitlin nodded. “If we can’t find anything, I’ll come back this summer and go through every single container in the cellar. I need to know what happened.”
She needed to know that Tansy had moved on, found happiness and lived to be a grandmother who loved her family. That was the ending Caitlin wanted for Tansy—and for herself. She wanted some assurance that when Zach left, she’d be able to go on and find the family she so yearned for. She didn’t want regrets or second thoughts. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone.
“Did your aunt do a family tree?” Zach asked when they went upstairs. “Maybe Tansy and Jonathan were on it and you’d have some indication of what happened.”
“I don’t know if she did or not. She talked about the family a lot when I visited as a young child. But not so much after I was grown. I think she felt she had told me all there was. I wish I had paid better attention. I don’t remember hearing about a Tansy, though. It’s an unusual name, I think I’d remember.”
When they reached the living room, Zach added logs to the fire. The wood they’d brought in was dry and caught quickly. The room was noticeably warmer than the cellar. The lights on the tree seemed to grow brighter as the daylight faded into night. The snow continued, but the wind had died down.
“This beats the Middle East,” he said, sitting on the sofa, and reaching for Caitlin’s hand, lacing their fingers, resting their linked hands on his leg.
Slowly she leaned toward him, resting against his arm, her head on his shoulder. She still looked sad. He wished she’d smile, or laugh, or even get angry with him. He hated seeing her so unhappy.
Slowly she turned to look at him. “I should have made you welcome when you arrived. I’m sorry, Zach. I was just so set on ending our marriage, I didn’t think about how you must have pulled some strings or something to get the time off. I’d much rather you be here than the Middle East. You could have been killed and never come home—just like Jonathan.” Tears shimmered in her eyes again.
The Christmas Locket Page 10