“Let’s go kill us some hogs!” Winder yelled, waving a make-believe sword in his hand. Andrew quickly joined in and both boys raced like the wind toward the field adjacent to the barn. Early morning fog still blanketed the winter grasses and clung to the evergreens on the hills, giving the estate a somewhat ethereal feel.
“Andrew, slow down!” Aletta called, pulling her shawl closer about her shoulders and waiting for Tempy to join her. “And be careful!”
She was none too sure about attending this event to begin with. A hog killing certainly didn’t feel like a festive Christmas pastime. Though the estate, at least, looked decidedly festive. Jake had hung nearly two dozen ribbon-swathed evergreen wreaths about the barns and fences, per Mrs. McGavock’s request, and the sight of Carnton arrayed so beautifully warmed her.
She yawned, her day having started especially early that morning with helping Tempy prepare breakfast for all the workers lending a hand in the event. They’d carried the food to the barn before sunup, then had let the men serve themselves as they arrived while she and Tempy returned to the kitchen to start on the noonday meal. The amount of food they’d prepared still amazed her, as did the McGavocks’ generosity in providing it.
“Andrew,” she called again. “Stay close. Don’t go too far.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, Missus Prescott.” Tempy came up beside her. “Those boys’ll be fine. Every boy I ever knowed loves hog killin’ day.”
“I know I did when I was younger.”
Aletta turned to see Captain Winston walking toward them and felt a blush creeping into her cheeks. He smiled at her and she returned the gesture, same as she would to anyone else, she told herself.
Yet she found it impossible to deny her heightened awareness of the man.
No matter that she’d seen him several times over the last four days since Thanksgiving—and had ridden to and from the McGavocks’ church with him and Andrew yesterday morning. All she could think about was when he’d walked her back to the house the other night after helping her move the wood. She’d been so startled when he’d leaned in to kiss her. Which had been surprising enough. But what bothered her even more was that she hadn’t turned away. At least, not at first.
Here she was, seven months pregnant with Warren’s child, and she’d found herself actually wanting Captain Winston to kiss her. Wanting him to take her in his arms and hold her until she could feel the solid beat of his heart against hers. The blush in her face deepened.
Twice, Captain Winston had made polite attempts to speak with her privately, but she’d managed to avoid it, embarrassed and wishing they could simply go back and recapture the ease of their friendship before that moment. Because, as she had that night, she felt awkward and exposed.
But mostly, she felt unfaithful to Warren’s memory. And partly responsible.
Tempy peered up at him. “So you done this before then, Captain?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. Many times. I grew up on a farm in South Carolina.” He looked around. “It wasn’t near what Carnton is, but it was home. And it was special.” His voice gained a touch of melancholy.
“This be Missus Prescott’s first time.”
“Is that so?”
Aletta nodded. “We had chickens and cows, but no pigs.”
“Oh, you ain’t lived, Missus Prescott, ’til you tasted fresh sausage fried up straight from the grinder.” Tempy briefly closed her eyes. “That and warm tenderloin with all them mashed sweet potatoes, greens, and stewed apples we made this mornin’. And backbone stew’s good eatin’ too!”
Captain Winston smiled. “Backbone stew is the best. Especially with corn bread slathered in butter.”
“Tempy!” a woman called. “We need your help over here.”
Aletta turned to see a group of women standing beneath a massive elm tree. And near them, a large tub perched over a blazing fire. What looked to be a rope and pulley system had been looped above it over a high branch, and a team of mules stood hitched nearby. Tempy moved to join them and Aletta swiftly fell into step beside her.
“Oh no, Missus Prescott.” Tempy laid a hand on her arm. “You best not be helpin’ at this station, ma’am. Not your first time. Wait here, and Missus McGavock will be along soon. She’ll give you a task.”
Aletta found herself somewhat relieved, not at all convinced she wanted to see any part of this event quite so close up. And yet she also wasn’t, considering the man standing beside her.
“Precisely how much do you know about hog killing, Mrs. Prescott?” the Captain asked.
“I believe the question should be, Captain Winston, how much do I want to know about it?”
“And your answer would be?”
“As little as possible.”
He laughed and she found herself smiling a little, too, sensing an olive branch in his demeanor.
“I remember my first hog killing.” He looked down. “My father found me crying behind the barn.”
“How old were you?”
His brow furrowed. “Twenty-two, I think.”
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.