Page 45 of The Salamander

…it is very certain that half the army is almost naked, in a great measure bare-footed.”

– Johann de Kalb, Valley Forge, Christmas Day 1777

CHAPTER 11

Salem, Massachusetts, 22 December 1777

SNOW FELL THICK and steady that Monday afternoon as Eunice heard sleigh bells jingle down the street. Hannah pressed her face to the frosted window. “They’re here!” she cried, racing for the door.

The Gloucester Haradens tumbled in at last, Andrew and Lydia, stamping snow from their boots, their brood of six girls following close behind in cloaks dusted white. Laughter and chatter filled the entry as Silas shouldered in their baggage and hurried the wet cloaks upstairs to hang on pegs in their bedchambers.

“Welcome, welcome!” Eunice called, drawing Lydia into a warm embrace. The Gloucester cousins hurried to the hearth, holding out mittened hands to the blaze, while the adults let the heat sink into their bones.

“By the smells coming from the kitchen,” remarked Lydia, “Your Martha has outdone herself.”

Martha came into the parlor wiping her hands on her apron, beaming at the praise. “Aye, I’ve been cookin’. And there’s hot spiced wine on the stove and cider for the girls.”

In the parlor, Hannah danced with her cousins, and games were quickly arranged with laughter spilling through the house.

The adults retreated to the dining room, where a fire burned in the small hearth. Martha brought in a pot from the stove, the aroma of spices in the heated red wine wafting in the air. Eunice served the spiced claret, as they traded stories of the Gloucester girls and Hannah and Polly.

“Snow and children, both leave a mess,” said Martha, “but since they are here, includin’ our Hannah and Polly, best to warm yourselves by the hearth fire in the parlor, and I’ll see you’re well fed before the day is out.”

Lydia exchanged a smile with Eunice. Andrew Haraden leaned closer. “And Jonathan?” he asked Eunice. “Have you word?”

Eunice smiled, producing a folded letter. “Only last week. He writes that the Tyrannicide has captured ship after ship loaded with cargo bound for the Indies. Providence has favored them and they do well.” Pride lit her face, though her eyes flicked briefly to the empty chair at the head of the table where the captain always sat.

Silas came into the dining room. “With all that snow outside, I wager the girls would be glad to raise a snowman before supper.”

“I think mine would love that,” said Lydia.

“Any excuse,” said Andrew.

“Hannah, too,” said Eunice. “And I can watch the two Pollys.”

That afternoon, the yard rang with laughter as the cousins rolled great balls of snow across the lawn. Their mittens were soaked, their cheeks red, but together they built a snowman tall enough to guard the front gate, with sticks for his arm, a carrot Martha donated for his nose, and a hat borrowed from Silas perched on his head.

Christmas arrived on Thursday as the smell of roasting turkey and the sweet tang of apples and spice wafted through the air. The two families gathered at the table. In Captain Haraden’s absence, Andrew carved the turkey, its savory scent mingling with plain pudding and mince pies cooling on the sideboard. Children chattered, and toasts were raised, to health, to the men who would not see their families at Christmas for sake of the greater cause. It was a day filled with laughter and warmth as they celebrated the Savior’s birth.

By week’s end, the snow had stopped and the sun glistened on melting icicles hanging from roofs. On Sunday morning the two families bundled into heavy cloaks and mittens. Martha waved the older girls toward the door with a snort. “Off with you, then. I’ll keep the two little Pollys here by the fire. It’s near their nap besides. No sense draggin’ babes out to freeze and fidget through a sermon.”

“Thank you, Martha,” said Lydia.

“Yes,” agreed Eunice.

Snow crunched underfoot and their breath rose white into the still air as they trudged together to the East Church where Eunice’s father, Reverend Diman, would be preaching.

As they entered, Eunice’s parents greeted them. “Greetings, Daughter,” said her father, “and to all those with you.”

“What a lovely bevy of young women,” remarked Eunice’s mother, Mary Diman. “All Haradens, I trust?”

Lydia Haraden laughed. “Yes, all Haradens.”

“They are cousins from Gloucester,” Eunice explained, “come to join us for Christmas.”

Inside the church, they took their places in the family pew. Candles flickered against frosted panes as the congregation filed in, wishing each other a blessed day.

A woman with a lovely voice sang “Come, Thou Almighty King” after which the congregation joined in to sing together “Joy to the World”.