“Who told you I was leaving?” Flat on his back beneath a wagon, Jake studied the broken axle, then finally peered up. But he couldn’t decipher her expression.
“Well, I—” Aletta shrugged. “I happened to overhear a portion of your conversation with Mrs. McGavock yesterday afternoon. But in my defense,” she said quickly, “I did clang some pots together to announce that someone was in the kitchen.”
“Huh . . . And here I thought some actual cooking was going on.”
She frowned. “So you’re not leaving.”
He crawled out from beneath the wagon, brushed the dirt from his clothes, and looked down at her. “No, Aletta. I’m not leaving. Not yet, anyway.”
“But you said you’d requested a return to your regiment.”
“That’s right, I did.”
“And yet you didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“Nope. I didn’t.” He grabbed a mallet, crawled back beneath the wagon, and gave the busted axle a hard thwack. Not that it needed it, but it made him feel better.
Her disappointment that he’d be staying at Carnton a while longer confirmed that he’d made the right decision to request a return to service. Only, he wished now more than ever that Colonel Stratton had granted his approval. Instead of telling him to stay the course and get the sketches and the piece written for the newspaper as requested.
“But your superior officer said no?”
“That’s right. So I’m here until the Colonel sends word otherwise.”
“But why? Your shoulder is clearly healed. You’re able to fight.”
He peered up at her from beneath the wagon. “I’m glad you think so, Aletta. And if I thought it would change anything, I’d have you write my superior and share your opinion.”
He tried to focus on the axle. And couldn’t. How could she think so little of him—think that he’d stay out of the fight for such a petty reason? Clearly she didn’t think as highly of him as he’d reckoned. He’d hoped she might have softened at least a little in regard to her feelings for him. But it seemed as though she’d made up her mind.
Requiring tools he didn’t have at hand, he crawled out from beneath the wagon again.
“Is there something else you need, Aletta? If not, I’d appreciate you leaving me to tend the wagon.”
She suddenly seemed hesitant to meet his gaze. “Only that . . . Mrs. McGavock said she needs to speak with you when you have a moment. I don’t know about what.”
“I’ll go see her shortly. As soon as I’m finished here.” He strode to the back of the wagon, grabbed a cloth from a bucket, and wiped the grease from his hands.
It stung to discover she was so eager to see the back of him. He also didn’t relish her learning the real reason he’d been sent here to recuperate. But if this was how things were going to be between them, he wouldn’t have to tell her after all.
“You really are gifted at sketching, Jake.”
He turned back to see her looking at his sketchbook that lay open on the workbench.
“May I?” she asked.
He shrugged.
She turned the pages slowly, sometimes smiling, other times just staring for a moment. Until she came to a picture of Andrew.
“Oh, Jake . . . This is beautiful. It looks just like him.” She ran her forefinger over the sketch. “He looks happy. But also . . . sad. When did you draw this?”
“Last week. After he asked me if I missed my family.”
Her gaze softened and she opened her mouth as though to say something, then apparently thought better of it. She reached to turn the page and Jake almost stopped her, knowing which sketches were next.
She went absolutely still.
He watched her, the way she bit her lower lip, the sharp rise and fall of her chest, her emotions clearly warring inside her with a vengeance.
“The artist has been kind to me,” she said softly, not looking at him.
“The artist drew what he saw. What he sees even now,” he said.
A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I wish this were easier, Jake.”
“Nothing is easy, Aletta. At least nothing worth having.”
She turned to him and, for an instant, he saw the love in her eyes, her desire for him written so clearly in her expression. Then in a blink, those feelings were shuttered again, buried beneath the fear and the pain. And she walked away.
The next morning, Jake situated himself inside the door of the barn, ready to help where needed, but enjoying the opportunity to watch the flood of auction attendees as they wandered and pondered, shopped and bartered, ate and drank.
Pen and sketchbook at the ready, he could scarcely keep up with the images begging to be captured. That of Hattie and Andrew playing Mary and Joseph again, and Andrew’s absolute insistence that he get to hold the baby Jesus an equal amount of time, so he could “talk” to him, the boy said.
The giddiness on a little girl’s face as she nibbled on a cookie while being chased by a newborn kitten. An old woman, her brow plowed with furrows of old age, holding a music box up to her ear, a tear trailing her cheek as the box plinked out a tune he didn’t recognize. But that she obviously did.
Jake turned to a fresh page just as the embodiment of beauty walked into his line of sight. She was a good distance away, so her features weren’t clear to him in the moment, but he knew them by heart. And his pencil took on a life of its own as he captured the curves of her mouth, the soft hollows of her cheeks, her eyes, her hair, the slender lines of her neck. And the distinctly feminine fullness of her body that nestled the heartbeat of a life within. They all poured from him in perfect, beautiful clarity.
An amputee caught his attention next, in a wheelchair, the man clearly uncomfortable with people watching him. But it was the way the former soldier watched them from where he sat off to the side, the yearning in his expression, his desire to walk so tangible that Jake felt the ache of it in his chest and rushed to capture the image.
Then he saw Mrs. Zachary approach the man, and he realized who the amputee was. Jake stowed the notebook and pencil in a drawer of the workbench and went to meet them.
“Corporal Zachary.” Jake offered his hand, not surprised that Zachary saluted him first before accepting.
“It’s good to see you again, Captain Winston.”
“You too, Corporal. Though I’m not sure I would’ve recognized you without your wife here. Last time I saw you, you were all bandaged up.”
Zachary ran a hand over his stubbled jawline, the cuts and bruises still healing. “Doc finally took off the bandages this week. Which I told him might not be a good thing. Now my wife knows just how ugly I really am after all this.”
They all laughed, but Jake caught the way Kate Zachary gently touched her husband’s shoulder, as well as the fleeting shadow that eclipsed the Corporal’s face. Zachary absently reached down and fiddled with the knot tied at the knee of his right pant leg.
“Kate?”
Jake turned to see Aletta approaching them in the crowd. She hugged Kate first, then greeted Zachary with a smile.
Kate squeezed her hand. “Aletta, you’re looking radiant.”
Aletta made a face. “I certainly don’t feel that way, but you’re kind to say so.”
“Tell me,” Kate continued. “How are you feeling?”
As the women stepped to one side to talk, Jake saw an opportunity. “Corporal, how about some hot apple cider? And maybe a slice of pork roast?”
“Sounds good to me, sir.”
Zachary reached to push the wheels of his chair, but Jake beat him to it.
“I don’t mind driving, Corporal, if you don’t mind riding.”
“I don’t mind, Captain. Thank you, sir.”
Jake steered the wheelchair over the rough terrain and closer to the fire pit where a roasted pig hung on a spit. With one of the ladies helping them, they had plates and cups in no time, and Jake enjoyed talking to a fellow soldier about the war, about where they’d fought, their various encampments, and the latest news. What little there was with the recent lull in fighting.
“So . . .” Jake laid aside his empty plate. “How are you doing, Zachary?”
The man didn’t answer at first, then shook his head. “Not too good, Captain.”
“Call me Jake. We’re two soldiers at a Women’s Relief Society event. I think we can stand a little informality.”
Zachary laughed, then began to talk. About details obviously difficult for him to speak about, based on the ebb and flow of his words. And details also difficult to hear. But Jake wanted to listen, wanted to help. And by the time Aletta and Kate found them, he felt the flicker of an idea taking hold inside him.
An idea that hadn’t come from him. But that was meant for him, he was certain. Now . . . what to do with it? That was the question.
“You could come on the sleepout with us too, Mama. If you want.”
Aletta helped Andrew put on his coat, then buttoned it up. “I don’t think Colonel McGavock would appreciate having me along. I think this is intended to be only for boys. Of all ages,” she added, giving him a quick hug from behind.
What she didn’t tell him was that she was eager to spend an hour soaking in a warm tub Tempy had offered to heat for her. Every muscle in her body ached from the long weekend of baking and cooking—Sunday’s attendance equal or more to what it had been on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday—and she couldn’t wait to sink down into that hot, sudsy water. And to wash her hair would be sheer heaven.
“Do you have your binoculars so you can see the stars up close?”
Andrew whipped out one of two pairs of paper binoculars that he and Winder had made in class with Miss Clouston, then eyed her. “Mama, these don’t really make the stars bigger. They just—” He thought for a moment. “—focus my attention on whatever I’m lookin’ at.”
“Ah . . .” She smiled. How she wished Warren were still here to see this, to watch their son growing up, to teach Andrew all he needed to know about being a man, lessons she couldn’t begin to teach him.
But would have to. Somehow.
“What about your gloves, sweetheart?”
He pulled them from his pockets.
“And your scarf?”
“I’m not cold. I don’t need it.”
“But you will need it later when you get cold.”
“I’m not gonna get cold. I’m already gettin’ hot.”
She grabbed the scarf and hurried him on downstairs to the entrance hall where the table clock was chiming the nine o’clock hour. And just as they heard Winder and Colonel McGavock’s footsteps on the staircase, a knock sounded at the door.
Aletta answered. “Jake. Good evening.”
He smiled and stepped inside. “Evening, Aletta. Are my campers ready?”
“Your campers?”
He eyed her. “Did . . . no one tell you?”
“Tell me wh—”
“Oh, my dear Mrs. Prescott—”
Aletta turned to Mrs. McGavock and Winder descending the stairs.
“It’s my fault. I forgot to say anything to you about it. The Colonel was called to a meeting in town this afternoon and won’t be back until quite late tonight. He didn’t wish to cancel on the boys’ special outing, so he asked Captain Winston to stand in for him.”
“Oh . . .” Aletta nodded. “That’s very kind of you, Captain Winston.”
“Isn’t it though?” Mrs. McGavock nodded. “Well, you three boys have fun now. And when you get too cold later on tonight, the front door will be unlocked, so come on inside.”
“Get too cold?” Jake made a face that drew a giggle from the boys. “We men will be having too much fun to get cold.”
“Yeah, Mama.” Winder grinned. “We men’ll be havin’ fun!”
Andrew parroted the same, his face bright with anticipation.
“Andrew, be sure and keep your coat on, honey. You don’t want to get sick.”
But Aletta knew he didn’t hear her. He was too busy talking.
The threesome left by way of the front door, and Mrs. McGavock closed it behind them with a sigh. “They’ll have a marvelous time together and will come back with tales they’ll regale us with for a week. Meanwhile, you get some much-needed rest, Mrs. Prescott. Enjoy this rare time alone.”
“Oh yes, I will, Mrs. McGavock. Thank you.”
Aletta bid her good night and started back toward the kitchen through the study, then paused and waited to hear the retreat of Mrs. McGavock’s footsteps on the stairs before making a beeline out the front door.