Log Cabin Christmas

by Margaret Brownley

  “Merry Christmas, Jed.” Papa shook the other man’s hand with a firm grip. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. What’s for breakfast?”

  Both men turned to Cora, whose face must’ve turned as pink as Jed’s. “Oh my! I haven’t even started it.” She motioned to the rocking chair. “Sit down. It’ll be ready shortly.”

  She broke several eggs into the cast-iron skillet and cooked them until they stopped wiggling. Then she added thick pieces of ham, which sizzled when they hit the pan. While warming several biscuits from the day before, she set the table with the last of her orange marmalade.

  Cora barely tasted the food as she ate, but Jed and Papa enjoyed it immensely if their mumbles of appreciation between bites were any indication. “Just like your grandmother used to make,” Papa sighed at one point.

  The morning meal finished quickly, and as Cora washed the plates, Jed pulled the bench near her chair. Papa handed him the Bible. “Start in Luke, chapter two.”

  Jed did as he was told, beginning just as Cora settled into her seat. “‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.’” In a clear timbre Jed read the story of Mary and Joseph’s journey to Bethlehem and the birth of the Messiah, and the angels and shepherds who were there that first Christmas night.

  When he had finished, Jed set the heavy book on the bench beside him, and Papa prayed over them. He prayed for an end to the war and a peace to come again. He prayed for their safety inside the little cabin, but when he asked God to protect Jed when he returned to Washington, Cora bit on her lip to keep from letting a sob escape.

  Papa was the first to give his gifts, a beautiful knitted shawl for Cora and an old knife he said he’d intended to give to his only son. But now it seemed fitting that Jed take it with him.

  Next Jed handed them each a small parcel wrapped in paper and twine. “Open them at the same time,” he urged.

  “You didn’t have to do this.” As Cora’s fingers opened the paper, a perfectly carved wooden angel fell into her hands, the feathers of its wide wings and cherubic features etched with precise detail. “Oh my.” Her thumbs ran across the smooth edges, her mouth hanging open in awe.

  “This is remarkable craftsmanship.” At Papa’s words Cora glanced over to see a manger resting in his palm. Even at a distance, she could see the lines of straw Jed had so meticulously fashioned into the soft wood.

  Jed’s smile carried all the joy of a gift appreciated, and Cora warmed into it. “Thank you. These are beautiful.”

  “Well, I meant to make a star, too.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just ran out of time. Lots of wood to cut.” He chuckled, the first time in days.

  “Well, now it’s my turn.” She handed a small paper-wrapped parcel to her grandfather, who thanked her profusely when he opened it to reveal a blue shirt. “For Sunday services when they resume, I thought.”

  “It’s very nice. Thank you.”

  “And for the captain.” Cora stretched to pass him a substantially larger burlap bag.

  A line formed between his eyebrows as he reached into the carrier, recognition lighting his eyes only when he pulled the folded pile of cloth into the light. “My uniform.” He flipped the frock over, his smile growing at the clean material. His finger traced the small stitches around the mended hole. “You fixed it.”

  “Good as new, I think. Do you like it?”

  He caught her eye, his smile nearly making her forget that the uniform meant that he would be leaving. Tonight.

  That night Jed stood with Cora so close to the door of the cabin that firelight illuminated them through the window, flashing on the polished brass buttons of his blue frock. He held both of her hands gently in his, looking anywhere but into her eyes. He hadn’t made any secret about having to return to Washington, and he’d kept his promise to stay through Christmas. They’d both known this was coming, yet somehow he felt as though he was letting her down and betraying the affection growing in his own heart.

  “I have to go tonight. It’s safer for me to travel in the darkness.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  He squeezed her hands, offering a subtle smile. “Thank you again for mending my uniform.”

  “You’re welcome, Captain.” Her head turned so that she could look in the direction of the grove of fir trees, near where they’d shared their kiss. “Thank you for all you’ve done. For the firewood and—and … well, for helping me put my worries into God’s hands.” Her voice cracked on the last word as tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Please don’t cry.” He brushed away one of the tears with his thumb. Forcing out a strained sigh, he closed his eyes to the pain flickering across her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, lips drawn tight.

  As her tears made their trek near the corner of her mouth, he physically fought the urge to kiss them away. Wrestling the impulse to pull her tight and relive that moment in the forest that he’d taken such caution not to repeat for fear that this night would be harder than it had to be, he latched back onto her hands and took a small step back.

  “I care for you, Cora. I truly do. “He shook his head, as he butchered his attempt to explain his mounting love for her without breaking her heart further. “The truth is that I care about you far too much to leave you to wonder whether I’m ever coming back. I won’t let you be one of those women in your nightmares.” He hung his head, even though she still refused to look at him. “I don’t know how much longer this war will last, and I can’t promise you that I’ll be able to return.”

  Suddenly her head whipped back toward him, her eyes locking with his. “Then don’t go!”

  “I would stay if I could. You know that, right?”

  Her eyes filled with another batch of tears, and she nodded.

  “You’re going to meet someone …” Jed had to stop to clear his throat, unable to get out the words he needed to say. “You’re going to meet an amazing man and have a wonderful family. Any man would be lucky to love you.”

  I certainly was.

  Her eyes turned dark, brooding like the sea, the firelight transforming her features into shifting shadows. She’d probably never been to Maryland, but as he let go of her hands and stepped into the woods, he knew he could never be home without her.

  Chapter 9

  December 24, 1865

  Cora inhaled the sweet scent of fresh snow as she traipsed across the wide field in front of Carnton, holding out her mittens to catch the flakes before they melted. Her breath curled into a cloud floating above the frozen earth. The ground before her had long since been washed clean by the summer rains and leveled by Mr. McGavock’s plow. Someone just passing through might never know that this land had once been marred by the shells of the Union army.

  Not all of Franklin had returned to normal more than a year after the battle, but almost a mile from the hub of the fighting Cora’s little world had resumed as it once had before the war. Before the nightmares.

  Before the captain.

  As she entered the stand of trees, her eye instantly caught the small stones laid out in the shape of a cross at the base of the tree where she’d first seen him. She knelt by them and wiped each rock clean of the light dusting of snow.

  As she’d done every day for a year, she whispered a prayer for Jedediah Harrington, wherever he might be, giving all of her concern for him to the only One who could take away her anxiety.

  “This year could have been miserable,” she whispered so quietly that the morning birds continued to sing. “But I will continue to cast my cares upon You, for You careth for me. And for Jed, too.”

  As she stood and resumed a steady gait back toward the cabin, a slow smile curved her lips. The war had ended in April according to the newspapers, and still there was no word from Jed, but she would wait until there was. He’d made no promise to ever return, but deep in her heart, Cora knew that if he was able, he would come back to
her.

  So she hoped. And she continued to pray.

  As she entered the clearing, the snow began falling in earnest, and she could barely make out the figure of her grandfather walking along the side of the cabin.

  “Papa!”

  He turned and waved. “I’m going to get some water. Did Carrie like her new dress?”

  “Very much! I’m going to start dinner. Hurry back.” He waved again, resuming the path toward the small inlet from the river.

  It wasn’t until Cora reached the front door that she spotted six wooden stars on the windowsill. Running the last few steps to them, she snatched one, turning it over and over in her hands as though it would reveal what she hoped to be true. Her stomach in knots, she spun on the spot.

  “Jed?” Her voice barely a whisper, she tried again. “Jed!”

  And then he was there, stepping out from behind a tree, marching across the yard. Unable to wait for him to reach her, she sprinted toward him, throwing her arms about his neck when they met. His embrace nearly stole her breath, or was it the way her heart doubled its speed?

  “I have missed you,” he whispered into her ear. His smile wavered as he put his hands on her waist and pushed her a half step away, his gaze running from her head to her toes as though confirming she was truly in front of him.

  She blushed but didn’t dare look away from the face she’d longed to see all these months.

  “I’m not too late, am I?” The tone of his voice turned serious.

  “No. I haven’t even started dinner yet.”

  His laughter, so rich and familiar, covered her like a second cloak. “Not for dinner. For you.”

  “For me?”

  His face pinched in serious concentration. “When I left, I told you to find a good man. Have you found someone else? Are you married? Am I too late?”

  Her mirth as deep as the conviction in his voice, she laughed heartily. “No! Of course not. How could I marry someone else when I have been in love with you for more than a year?”

  The relief that crossed his face brought a boyish grin with it as he swooped down and kissed her soundly, his arms wrapping about her shoulders as he made her forget everything but them. Her toes curled, and she tried to smile as joy bubbled deep in her stomach. He had been more than worth the wait.

  When he finally pulled back, his smile only radiated brighter. “I wanted to ask you to wait. Do you know how much I wanted you to wait for me? But I just couldn’t put you through that.”

  “I know.” She brushed the snow from his whiskers before cupping his cheek with her hand.

  “And then I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About your sweet smile and beautiful eyes. About getting home to you.”

  “But your home is in Maryland.”

  Pressing both of his hands to her cheeks, he laughed. “My home is wherever you are, so I returned as soon as I could.”

  “Did you see Bess?”

  His smile dimmed. “Yes. I delivered her letter on my way to Washington and stopped again on my way back here. That letter broke her heart, but I believe she’s beginning to find hope again. Matthew is walking now, and she chases after him. A neighbor that we grew up with asked if he could court her, so there may be a wedding on the farm soon.”

  “What else did you think about while you were away?”

  He grinned like a cat who had stolen a bowl of milk. “About how I owed you a star to add to your set. So I just kept carving them for you.”

  She tossed a glance over her shoulder at the row of stars leaning against the window. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  “I have about a dozen more in my saddlebags.”

  “A dozen?”

  “I told you. I couldn’t think of anything but you.” The intensity in his gaze deepened.

  “I’m so glad you’re here in time for Christmas! But I don’t have a gift for you.”

  “You’ve already given me the best gift I could ask for.” He leaned in to briefly press his lips against hers.

  She dove back into his arms, wrapping hers around his back. But as soon as she tucked her face into his shoulder, she realized something was different. “Where’s your uniform?”

  “I resigned from the War Department.”

  “But your job? It was your dream.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up. “You’re my new dream.”

  Tilting back to look into his face, she bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling. “How long can you stay this time?”

  He pressed his lips to hers quickly and passionately, the kiss fueled by the same fervor she’d carried in her heart for a year.

  “Forever.”

  Liz Johnson holds a degree in public relations from Northern Arizona University, in Flagstaff, and works as a full-time marketing specialist for a major Christian publisher in Nashville, Tennessee.

  The Courting Quilt

  by Jane Kirkpatrick

  Dedication

  To my husband, Jerry, who stitches well.

  Chapter 1

  Oregon, 1867

  Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. Well, that last one is just half a button, so I won’t count it, Lacy,” Mary Bishop told her dog. At the sound of her name, the little spaniel’s tail wagged on the log store’s puncheon floor. In her window box, spring daffodils nodded sleepy heads to the season in the Willamette Valley of the young state of Oregon. A March sunrise flirted between big pines and firs to light the small window of Mary’s Dry Goods and Mercantile. It was home even without Dale, though these weary, rainy months after Christmas always made her sad, missing him more than ever.

  Mary kept counting buttons. She planned to give at least fifty buttons to the Widow Mason down the road. She’d tell the mother of eight that these were old buttons, not in fashion anymore, and some were broken, couldn’t she see? Mary hoped the widow could “take these out-of-date buttons off my hands.” The widow wasn’t one for charity, so Mary had devised what she thought was the perfect plan. She was always planning. Dale, God rest his soul, often chuckled at Mary’s many plans, but weren’t they here on earth to implement what God planned for each one? That’s what she’d told him. He’d reminded her to let God handle the details. Mary sighed. How she missed that man!

  “Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two …” The bell over the door jangled, and Mary looked up. She must have unlocked the door out of habit, for it was way too early for customers. Oh no. Laird Lawson. Lacy’s ears perked, and the dog rose then scampered toward the counter, away from the intruder, her little nails making skidding sounds on the pine floor.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Bishop,” the old rancher greeted her. He frowned at the sight of the dog scurrying but added cheerfully, “Always good to see a woman up before dawn, ready for her day.”

  She nodded to him but didn’t hold his gaze. He’d read more into any gesture of familiarity, and she’d be a half hour diverting his attention from his latest advice, probably about how dogs didn’t belong inside commercial establishments or log homes, for that matter. Even worse, he’d begin to tell her that her wares were out of date and she needed a man to sell farm equipment successfully. He had a tendency since Dale’s death to think she needed a man’s help and had assumed the role of advising others on their purchases. Sometimes Mary thought her prematurely white hair led Mr. Lawson to assume she was older and more frail and needed his assistance more than she did. What she needed were sales! Mary’s husband had been older by several years, and they had no young children running about, so she supposed people made assumptions about her age and abilities. She might look more “grandmotherly” than not with that pale hair and being a bit on the plump side. Yet she’d just reached thirty, and she’d had white hair since the age of twelve when she’d been struck by lightning.

  Mary took a deep breath. She mustn’t let her financial problems drain her of good manners. “And a fine day to you, too, Mr. Lawson.”

  “Ah Mary, isn’t it time you called me Laird? Twas my father who was Mr. Lawson.”<
br />
  “And I’ve known many a Mary,” she corrected. “But I’m Mrs. Bishop still to friends.”

  “Well now, Mary, you’re of an age where familiarity isn’t such a bad thing, is it?” He waggled his finger at her, and she noticed there was no dirt beneath his nails. It was a good feature of the man, his attention to cleanliness despite living in that log cabin in the woods without a wife to tend him—not that he hadn’t tried his best to get a woman to do just that. She’d heard he’d asked the Presbyterian mission in the East to send him a possible wife, just as the Reverend Spaulding had done. But Mr. Lawson wasn’t a Presbyterian or a reverend, so he had to recruit a new wife on his own. Mary feared that she had become his latest target.

  “What can I help you with this morning, Mr. Lawson, to get you on your way to what I’m sure is a busy day ahead for you?”

  “Oh, I have time before I head over to Smith’s store.”

  “Smith’s store? It’s opened?” Her competition was already stiff with Cooley & Company in the heart of Brownsville.

  “Brand-new clapboard establishment.”

  “I wasn’t aware we needed larger, more modern establishments,” Mary said. She wasn’t that far from the heart of the town, but she was across the river, and her sales had been off. She’d thought it was the winter doldrums when people stayed at home in their cabins and sat by the fire to sew, read, or mend harnesses. Cooley & Company was well established, having bought out the original Brownsville store. Now this Smith had arrived to make it a three-way competition for customers.

  “Mary, a woman alone can hardly expect to keep men customers in this old log store. I guess Smith figured a growing place needed a modern establishment.”

  “Smith,” Mary said beneath her breath. “One can hope his wares will be as common as his name.”

  “Didn’t mean to be the bearer of bad tidings.” He cleared his throat. “I need this list filled.” He handed her a page torn from a ledger book. “I can help you pull things,” he said. “Make it go faster. I know you keep your molasses on the top shelf.”