Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  Suddenly a pan crashed to the floor, and a familiar voice hollered, “You’re awake!”

  In a flurry of skirts, Cora knelt beside him, her cool fingers paradise on his cheek. “I supp–ose I am.” His voice cracked with disuse, but she ignored him as her soprano filled the room.

  “I was so worried. Your fever just kept getting worse and worse last night. I tried to give you ginger tea, but you wouldn’t drink much of it. This morning I thought you might be getting better, but I couldn’t be certain.” As they locked eyes, her hands ran over his face and down his neck before she jerked back, her cheeks tinged pink and gaze dropping to the floor. “How do you feel?”

  Jed barely suppressed a grin at her familiar actions. He couldn’t blame her. She’d clearly been watching over him for days, and he had no objections to a pretty gal touching him like that. “Better.” He wheezed, and she rose to her feet like a doe in the morning light. When she returned with a cup of water in hand, she lowered herself just as gracefully.

  “Drink.”

  He did as ordered, gulping greedily as she held tin to his lips. When the water was gone, he rested his head back on the mat, taking several deep breaths. A sharp aroma mixed with the woodsy scent of the fire and spicy lye soap that had certainly been used to clean the blankets on which he slept.

  “Is something burning?”

  Cora’s eyes grew round as she scrambled to her feet, all sense of graceabandoned. She muttered to herself as a skillet sizzled and clanked against the small cast-iron stove in the corner next to table.

  “I’ve ruined dinner.” She sighed to no one in particular just as the hinge on the front door lifted and her grandfather stepped inside.

  “Well, well. It’s good to see that you’re awake finally,” the old man said. He squatted near Jed’s feet, eyeing him with equal parts suspicion and interest. “How do you feel?”

  Jed twisted to get a better view of the wrinkled features, not sure if there was more to the question than what the other man had said. “Better, sir. I appreciate your hospitality. You and Miss Sinclair have been more than kind.”

  Nodding thoughtfully, the man slapped his own thigh as he stood. “Well, if you’re going to stay here awhile, you might as well call me Horace.”

  “Very well. Will you call me Jed, then?”

  Horace nodded, putting his fists on his hips. “Do you feel well enough to sit up, Jed?”

  “I’m not sure. Shall we give it a try?”

  Maneuvering Jed into a seated position turned into quite the ordeal even with Cora and her grandfather at each of his elbows. By the time he leaned against the log wall, cool gusts of wind seeping through cracks in the chinking between the old logs, he needed to lie down again. But he fought the drowsiness as Cora handed him a bowl filled with a thin broth. As he tried to lift the spoon to his mouth, it clattered back into the bowl.

  Immediately by his side, Cora offered him a gentle smile. “May I help you?” She didn’t hold out her hand for the bowl or even move to take it back, but her posture indicated immediate help should he ask for it.

  “I can do it.” Making a fist with his right hand several times, he stretched and practiced the movements. Forearms crying for mercy after days of disuse, on the third try he managed to get a half spoonful of brown liquid to his mouth. It tasted better than any feast at his mother’s table in Maryland ever had.

  After finishing more than half of his evening meal, he set the bowl aside and leaned his head back as the old man opened the big Bible and read aloud the story of Ruth and Boaz.

  Cora’s eyes remained firmly on the red fabric in her hands, her needle never slowing. Maybe it was the fresh log on the fire or just Jed’s imagination, but Cora’s cheeks seemed to glow with extra color when Mr. Sinclair reached the end of the story.

  Had Cora slept at the foot of his bed like Ruth had with Boaz?

  What a foolish thought to have about a woman he’d barely met. He hadn’t thought to be married since the war began, but if he had a wife as kind andpretty as Cora, perhaps he might think on it more. But there was no use. He would be moving along shortly. Mrs. Puckett wouldn’t hold his room at the boardinghouse for long. And first there would be a stop at the farm in rural Maryland, tucked between rolling green hills.

  Bess would be there, and she deserved an explanation, even if he had none to give.

  When the Bible was safely stored on the kitchen armoire, Mr. Sinclair excused himself to look in on their only remaining livestock. “When the Army of Tennessee came through and took our horse and chickens back in sixty-two, we couldn’t pay them to take that hog off our hands.” He laughed.

  His exit seemed Cora’s cue to put away her sewing. As she walked past him toward the bedroom, she stopped but did not turn to face him. “Papa will help you lie down to sleep tonight.” She took another step then thought better of it. “You should put an address on your letter to Bess in case you ever need to mail it.”

  His eyebrows pulled tightly together. “Did you read that letter? You had no right.” He hadn’t even read it.

  “It fell out of the pocket of your jacket as I was folding it.” Her head dipped low. “And a wife has a right to know if her husband isn’t coming home.”

  Jed nodded slowly. “I agree. That’s why I’m taking it to her.”

  Her gaze sought his, blue eyes reflecting the flickering flames. “I don’t understand.”

  “Bess is my sister. Her husband and I were on an assignment together.” The lump in his throat refused to be cleared, so his words sounded like a bullfrog. “And he won’t be returning to her.”

  If only they hadn’t been separated. If only Grant hadn’t run into those scouts. If only.

  Cora blinked several times, biting on her lips so hard that they disappeared. “I am sorry for your sister. And for you, as well.”

  “Thank you.” Jed sighed quietly. “If you’re sad for anyone, it should be my nephew, Matthew. He’ll never know his father, who was a good man. Grant took good care of my sister, and he was shaping up to be a good father to that little one.”

  “Do you have a letter like that for your wife?”

  “My wife?” She nodded, as though encouraging his memory. “I’m not married.”

  “There must be someone waiting for you.”

  He shook his head. “Just Bess and my parents.”

  Her hand shot to her cheek, covering something that looked like relief. “They deserve letters, too, I think.” With that she bolted from the room, disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door softly.

  If she’d given him a chance, he’d have told her. He had letters for them. Letters in envelopes, addressed to his childhood home. But he wouldn’t need to have them sent yet.

  Chapter 4

  The cold December days passed quickly, but still Jed didn’t move from the floor. He tried to stand on several occasions, always refusing Cora’s help. And each attempt left him weak and defeated. While his color improved, his scowl grew deeper with every passing day. And it was that attitude that concerned Cora most.

  Three days after his fever broke, she approached his pallet carrying a plate of stew. “Will you let me help you to the table?”

  “I can take care of it myself.” As if to prove his point, he pressed his palms against the floor. He didn’t budge. But his face twisted in pain.

  “You’re too weak.” She set the plate down, crossed her arms, and shook her head. “You were seriously ill for four days and faced the elements unprotected for at least two. And you lost a lot of blood. It’s going to take you some time to regain your strength. Please, won’t you let someone help you, Captain?”

  He cocked his head to the side, closing one eye almost all the way. The corner of his glower crept upward, his face slowly transforming. “Captain?”

  The skin at her throat burned instantly, and she covered her cheeks before the red stain became obvious to him. He trapped her in his gaze like the rabbits Papa snared near the riverbanks. She could not
escape without telling him the truth. “Yes—well—it is your rank … and I just thought that … it seemed too … I wasn’t certain that it was proper …” Breaking eye contact, she stared at her brown boots. “I hardly knew you, but I had to call you something.”

  His laugh surprised her, rich with mirth, the opposite of the scowl that had taken up residence.

  “Don’t your men call you Captain?”

  “Of course. I’ve just never had anyone as pretty as you call me that before.”

  Her cheeks burned stronger, and she wrinkled her nose against the telltale sign of her discomfort. “Well, should I have called you Mr. Harrington?”

  She peeked up to see one of his shoulders rise and fall. “Call me whatever you like. But Jed is fine.”

  “Miz Sinclair! You home, Miz Sinclair?”

  Cora’s head snapped to the narrow gap where the wooden planks of the front door missed meeting the frame. “I’ll—I’ll be right there.” She spun back to Jed, her eyes like saucers. “Quick. You must hide,” she whispered. “No one can know you’re here. Since Papa is out checking his traps, you must let me help you.”

  He nodded quickly as she wrapped an arm around his waist, careful to avoid the bandages still tied in place. Her shoulders tingled where his arm rested across them. She’d cleaned his wound, washed his face, and combed his hair, yet none of that had made her stomach churn as this informal pose did.

  “Where to?”

  His question pulled her back to the urgent present. “The bedroom?”

  On shaking legs and leaning heavily on Cora, Jed shuffled across the room. His eyes closed tightly, but his feet never stopped moving. Just as she stepped away from his side, her visitor knocked loudly. “Miz Sinclair?”

  She practically pushed Jed to sit on the bed, and then she raced back into the main room, closing the bedroom door on him. Nearly missing his folded uniform and leather bag, she caught a glimpse of it just before answering the knock. Scooping them into her grandmother’s trunk, she could hardly breathe for rushing when she swung the door open on a familiar face from Carnton.

  “Mattie! What brings you all the way down here?” The cold December wind had her quickly motioning the petite woman inside and helping her off with her damp shawl.

  “Missus Carrie sent me to check on you. To make sure you made it home fine.” Mattie rubbed her dark hands together. “And she wanted me to check on your papa. Is he feelin’ better?”

  Of all the things to ask! With a house full of wounded soldiers, Carrie McGavock, the mistress of Carnton, wanted to check on her and Papa. Mrs. McGavock’s kindness had always made her a favorite of Cora’s. And Mattie was an extension of that same gentle spirit.

  “Oh, yes. He’s doing much better. Please thank Mrs. McGavock for her kindness.”

  Mattie turned her back toward the fire, thawing from the freezing rain. “I thought I saw ‘im checking ‘is traps when I was walking up.”

  Cora smiled. “Yes. He wanted to make sure they didn’t freeze before he cleaned them.” Mattie’s eyes drifted to the pallet on the floor at her feet, but she seemed to stop herself before asking a personal question. Quicky Cora piped up, “Would you like a cup of tea before you go back?”

  Mattie shook her head. “Missus Carrie needs me back right away. But she said I should ask if you have any blankets or cloth for bandages.”

  “Then there are still wounded men there?”

  “Oh yes. They’re packed into every room in the house, ‘cept the sitting room.”

  “From both sides?”

  “Not many Yanks left.” Mattie pulled her shawl from her shoulders, holding it in front of the fire. “They left without their wounded, so them that could be moved were taken prisoner.”

  Cora’s stare shot to the bedroom door before she could stop it, and a chill that had nothing to do with the howling wind shook her shoulders. If anyone knew there was a wounded Union officer in her home, Jed would be headed to the same prison as those other poor souls.

  Of course, Mattie and even Mrs. McGavock wouldn’t tell Jed’s secret, their compassion stronger than most. But what if one of them had an accidental slip of the tongue? Cora couldn’t live with herself if she endangered his life.

  “Those poor men.” Cora sighed.

  Mattie offered a half smile. “Maybe the war will end soon.”

  Cora had nothing to offer in return. They’d all hoped the war would end soon. They’d been hoping that for years. Even as isolated as she and Papa were, nearly a mile from Carnton and that much farther from the rest of the town, they’d hoped and prayed for an end to the bloodshed. The men dying on these fields weren’t her brothers, but they were someone’s kin, and they haunted her as if they were her own.

  “I should be getting back.” Mattie’s view dropped again to the pallet at her feet. “Can you spare some blankets and such?”

  Cora’s knees rattled. She couldn’t give Mattie the quilts spread out on the floor. Some of them held bloodstains from the captain’s wound. If anyone looked closely at them, they’d know she was hiding something.

  “Let me just check the bedroom.” Her legs could barely hold her as she stumbled toward the closed door and slipped into the room. But it was empty. She spun around, expecting to spy Jed in every corner. He was nowhere to be seen.

  She’d have to find him later. After Mattie left.

  Grabbing the only extra bedcover from her mattress and the last pieces of her old petticoats, she hurried back into the main room. Mattie had tied her wrap tightly about her shoulders and hugged the items that Cora handed to her.

  “Thank you, Miz Sinclair.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Mattie. Be safe.”

  Mattie smiled and disappeared out the door in a flourish, leaving Cora to find her missing soldier.

  Jed wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to move again. His head spun, and all of his limbs shook with the effort it had taken to crawl beneath the bed. He couldn’trisk being seen by anyone, even a house slave from the next home over. He just needed to get back to Washington and his assignment there as a special courier for the quartermaster general.

  He’d just have to make his legs move long enough to get back there.

  When Cora said farewell to the other woman, Jed forced himself to roll from his side to his stomach. Using one hand, he pushed against the wooden bed frame until he was all but free of the quilt, which hung to the floor.

  “Jed!” Cora’s footsteps stopped the moment she entered the room. “What are you doing on the floor? Where did you go?”

  Pushing himself to his knees, Jed rested an arm on top of the mattress as he drew several quick breaths. Cora stooped next to him, her hands reaching out but not touching him. Her dark blue eyes unblinking, she simply stared at him.

  “I’ve put you and Horace in danger just being here.” He looked away, through a clean glass window toward the grove of trees where he’d been injured. “I have to go back to Washington.”

  She stood to her full height. “You’re in no shape to travel.” Placing her hands on her hips, she imitated a stance his mother had often taken when he was a boy. “Besides, we have no means of transportation. Our horse was taken two years ago. How could you possibly make it hundreds of miles on foot?”

  “If the rebels knew that you were hiding me, you could be imprisoned … or worse.” His eyes swept back to hers, and he very slowly pushed himself to his feet. “You’ve been so kind to me, but I can’t put you at risk. I have a job to do back in Washington. The War Department will want to know where I am.”

  Cora crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t leave. It’s not safe for you”—she motioned to the great beyond—“out there. And you don’t have the strength.”

  Could she see the way his legs trembled beneath Horace’s ill-fitting trousers?

  It didn’t matter. He didn’t have a choice. They’d already been far kinder than they should have been to a Union soldier. He wouldn’t jeopardize them any longer. Neither would
he argue the point with Cora, whose eyes flashed with something akin to fire.

  So he stayed through the afternoon, eating more at noon than his stomach wanted, but he would need the energy from rabbit stew. As he sat on the table bench next to Horace and scraped at a piece of wood with his knife, the sun began to set.

  Supper was a quiet affair. Cora mentioned Mattie’s visit and looked as though she might say something about his intent to leave but bit her tongue instead.

  The wind howled past the cabin later that night as the fire dimmed toembers. Horace had been snoring for at least thirty minutes. Jed could only assume that Cora had also succumbed to sleep after a long day.

  Pushing himself off his mat, he sat up and rolled to his knees. Groaning as he stood, he walked over to his uniform and slipped the stained and ripped fabric back into place. He reached into his leather bag and pulled a letter from the other papers. The sound as the paper tore in his hands seemed to echo even above the wind, and he whipped around to make sure Cora hadn’t heard and come to investigate. The room remained still as he scribbled a short note and left it on the table next to Horace’s spare set of clothes.

  As he settled the strap of his bag across his chest, Jed glanced over his shoulder once more as he opened the door, the wind wailing as though it were crying. A quick glance around the room did not calm the sensation that he left something behind, his stomach a knot as his gaze landed on the bedroom door. He could not stay with Cora, so he stepped into the frigid winds of the night.

  Chapter 5

  Cora awoke with a start, at once feeling something was amiss. Papa continued to snore in the bed on the opposite side of the room, so she donned her shawl over her white cotton nightgown and tiptoed into the main room. Jed’s pallet lay empty, his uniform gone.

  Her stomach churned, and the hair on her arms stood on end. She didn’t even have to read the note on the table to know where he’d gone. But she read his messily written words nonetheless.