Page 30 of Christmas at Carnton

The seriousness of his tone coaxed a laugh from her. And even without addressing the issue wedged squarely between them, she felt the tension between them lessening.

“I was about four years old,” he continued. “Maybe five. I don’t remember much more about that day, other than what my father said to me.”

She found herself waiting, wanting to hear what he said next.

“He told me that, as a boy, he’d had much the same reaction as I’d had. And that while he didn’t cry anymore when it came to the task of the day, he told me it was crucial, before we started anything, that we thank God for those animals’ deaths and what they meant to us as a family. It meant we would eat for the winter. That we wouldn’t go hungry. Although, after that first hog killing, my parents said I refused to eat pork for weeks.”

She smiled at the image in her mind of him as a little boy.

“But eventually”—a touch of humor tipped one side of his mouth—“bacon won out, and I gave in.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Bacon is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is. Especially fried up good and crisp.”

He held her gaze, and she sensed he was about to broach a more delicate topic when she spotted her saving grace walking in their direction. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I need to see Mrs. McGavock and ask her where she’d like me to work. I wish you the best with . . . whatever it is you’re doing today.”

His smile came easily. “You too, ma’am.”

Aletta joined Mrs. McGavock and, to her relief, the woman asked her to help with seasoning and bagging the sausage as it came ready. That, she could do. Mrs. McGavock even had a stool brought outside for her. And as the women gathered around the tables, visiting and talking as they worked throughout the morning, Aletta found herself looking forward to this week when volunteers from the auction would begin meeting at the church.

Everyone broke for lunch. The men were served first, then the women and children. But for some reason, Aletta wasn’t hungry. Not like she usually was. When the group started back for the afternoon, she joined in. But shortly after, she felt a wave of fatigue and rubbed the ache in her lower back.

Tempy came alongside her. “You go on back to the house and rest for a while. Everyone’ll understand. I’ll keep a watch out for Andrew for you. So will Miss Clouston. I saw her with the two boys earlier havin’ themselves a fine ol’ time.”

Aletta held back for a second. “Are you sure?”

Tempy nodded.

Hesitating only briefly, Aletta touched her arm, and surprise showed in the older woman’s expression. “Thank you, Tempy.”

A handful of seconds ticked past.

“You most welcome, ma’am.”

Aletta removed her soiled apron and walked back to the house, looking up at the window to her and Andrew’s room above the kitchen. How had they gotten here? She knew the answer, in one sense, of course. She’d applied for the job, then one thing had led to another. But . . .

It was more the fact of how swiftly life could change. One minute life was fine. And the next, your world was turned upside down, looking nothing like it had before.

She climbed the stairs to her room and didn’t bother taking off her shawl before she pulled back the covers and slipped into bed. She’d scarcely laid her head down before sleep claimed her.

Sometime later, she stirred, aware of a chill in the room and of daylight all but faded from the swath of sky her window afforded. She pushed herself up, still groggy but knowing she needed to return to work and do her share. But when she stood, a sharp pain arced across her belly and she doubled over, gasping for breath.

CHAPTER 11

Aletta braced herself on the edge of the bed, hands fisting the covers, her breath coming hard. She gritted her teeth and pressed a hand to her belly, feeling the child within her moving. It’s too soon. Too soon . . .

She squeezed her eyes tight, concentrating, waiting, praying for the pain to pass.

In the space of what was probably a moment—but felt like much longer—the contraction subsided. Her pulse slowed. Even with the chill in the room, her forehead felt sweaty to the touch. She sat crouched on the edge of the bed and drew air into her lungs—in and out, in and out—until all but certain that whatever it was had passed.

She stood with care, pulled on her coat, and made her way downstairs and outside.

The evening sky was purple gray, the sun giving way to night, yet everyone was still hard at work. Torches flickered brightly at the various stations and along the path to the smokehouse. The aroma of freshly cooked pork and corn bread wafted toward her. Her mouth watered and she realized how hungry she was.

She looked for Andrew but couldn’t find him. So she searched through the crowd of neighbors and hired help until she spotted Captain Winston walking toward her—with Andrew cradled in his arms.

Alarm shot through her and she hurried toward them.