A Season of Miracles
Linda Swift
A Season of Miracles
Presented by Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery
Copyright © 2015 Linda Swift
Cover Art Copyright © 2015 Karen Michelle Nutt
Produced by Karen Michelle Nutt
Design Consultation by Laura Shinn
A Season of Miracles is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.
To all, with best wishes for happy holidays, and especially to my friends and family.
Caroline Ross, a Confederate widow, desperately seeks medical help for her little son in the Union Army camp.
John Oldham, a soldier disowned by his family for choosing the wrong side, comes to her aid.
As they keep a vigil for days at Danny's bedside, a close relationship develops between them. John longs for a family and wants to make Caroline and Danny his own. Will his wish come true in this season of miracles?
Chapter One
Chattanooga: November 1864
"Lord, we are thankful for this food and all our blessings. Give us victory in this terrible war. Protect our soldiers and bring them home safely before we gather again at Christmas. Amen."
Clyde Harper's raspy voice concluded his short prayer of thanks and those seated around the table echoed fervent amens.
Caroline lifted her eyes and gazed at the dishes in front of her. Chicken and cornbread dressing, giblet gravy, baked sweet potatoes, collard greens, mashed turnips, dressed eggs and relishes. Her mouth watered. How had her sister managed to provide such a feast where famine existed in this never-ending war?
"Well, well, Miz Harper. You have done your husband proud." It was Thomas Swafford, one of the Harpers' neighbors and owner of a nearby inn, who spoke. Again, those gathered at the table added vocal agreement.
Elizabeth nodded and smiled, her cheeks flushed but to Caroline it was unclear if the cause was from praise or heat of the cookstove she had tended just moments ago.
Plates were passed and Clyde put large portions on each while Elizabeth added equally generous servings from the steaming bowls.
"I for one am thankful that you decided to heed Lincoln's proclamation to observe a day of thanksgiving even if he is no longer our president." Caroline recognized the man as William Pierce, hostler at Thomas Swafford's inn, as he took a slice of cornbread from the basket being passed, then offered it to her.
"He showed a sight more sense in the matter than our own Jeff Davis with his thanksgiving proclamation for fasting instead of feasting!" A round of goodhearted laughter followed Thomas Swafford's remark before the group became silent except for the sound of cutlery on plates and sighs of satisfaction as they enjoyed the meal.
Caroline cut the meat on her little son's plate into small portions and watched him struggle to use his heavy fork before giving up and using his spoon. He glanced at her with an unspoken question and she smiled her approval.
"It's all right, sweetheart. Just enjoy your dinner today and we'll work on proper manners another time," she whispered.
Danny just turned four and was becoming quite the little man. Maybe because he had been the man of the house since his papa was killed, when he was not yet three. It was over a year now since she received word that Dan had died of his wounds from grapeshot at Chickamauga. She sighed, remembering the siege of the city and all the hardship that had followed.
She rose to help her sister clear the table, stacking dishes on top of her own. Just as she reached for her brother-in-law's plate, he raised his hand to assist her, brushing her bosom. Caroline recoiled from his touch, as with a startled glance she met his eyes watching for her reaction. She steeled herself to maintain a look of ignorance at his deliberate touch.
Turning quickly toward the kitchen, she shuddered involuntarily. This was not the first time he had done such a thing and she feared it would not be the last in spite of the fact she had never given him any reason to expect that she would welcome his advances.
"What a wonderful dinner you've fixed, Elizabeth. Our mama would be proud of you today." She set down the stack of plates and took clean ones from the cupboard. "Shall I begin cutting the pies now?"
"Yes, if you please, Caroline, while I make the coffee." Elizabeth lifted the lid off a tin and began spooning its contents into a granite coffeepot. "I declare the—"
"Mama," an agitated voice interrupted and Elizabeth's small daughter came into the room.
"Not now, Ella Jane. Can't you see Mama's busy with dinner?"
"But, Mama, Albert's sick. He threw up at the table, but he didn't get anything on the tablecloth. He got it on the floor."
"Oh, my." Elizabeth put down the spoon and turned to Caroline. "Will you finish up here? I've got to see to Albert."
"Of course I will," Caroline assured her. "You go along now and take care of him. Ella Jane and I will serve the pie." She looked at the seven year old who stood wearing a worried look on her freckled face. "You can take the pie plates to the table to help your mama, can't you?"
"Yes, Aunt Caroline." Ella Jane's features changed immediately to a proud smile. "I can do that."
As Caroline cut generous wedges of pumpkin pie and carefully placed them on the plates, her brow furrowed with anxiety. It was not like Albert to be sick. He was a sturdy five-year-old who was rough and rowdy, often encouraging his quiet cousin Danny to participate in antics beyond his lesser abilities. She chastised herself for her thoughts. Don't borrow trouble, her mama had always said. And certainly there was enough trouble in her life at the moment without imagining anything more.
Chapter Two
Caroline stoked the fire in the grate, causing the smoldering coals to blaze, and held out her numb fingers to absorb the precious heat. When the room grew warmer, she would wake Danny and while he dressed, make a pot of porridge for his breakfast. It had been spitting snow when she went outside to get a bucket of coal and the gray skies portended heavy snowfall before night. She looked at the coal scuttle and tried to calculate how long she could make its contents last.
Making ends meet had not been easy since she was forced to close the store for lack of goods. When the war began, she had sewed uniforms from every bit of suitable cloth on the shelves and sold them to the army for a fair price. And when the Brabson and Wakefield mansions had been converted to Confederate hospitals at the beginning of last year, she had made sheets and pillow casings of all her remaining domestic goods for which those wealthy men had also paid her well. There remained a few bolts of yard goods and notions suitable for making dresses, but the women of Chattanooga were wearing the gowns they had before the war, since there was no need for fancy outfits now.
In an effort to economize, Caroline had closed the lower floor and she and Danny used that part of the building only for access to their living quarters. With the help of her brother-in-law she had gotten her treasured sewing machine from the back room up the steep stairs into the space that now served as parlor, bedroom, and sewing shop. She closed her eyes remembering the first time Clyde Harper had made an improper advance toward her, making a joke that she should reward him with a kiss for his trouble, and kissed her on the mouth. She shivered, feeling his hot breath and wet lips as if it were yesterday instead of just after Dan had died.
The kitchen with its small cookstove was only used for cooking when the fireplace would not suffice for meals prepared over the op
en coals. There was a separate bedroom which she had closed off when she got word about her husband, not wanting to be reminded of the time they had spent there as man and wife.
With a sigh of resignation, Caroline turned from the fire and crossed to the bed where, with a kiss and gentle shake, she woke her sleeping son.
When Danny had his fill, Caroline removed the small iron kettle from the fire and washed his bowl. He still sat at the table, drawing pictures on a small slate as she patched one knee in a pair of his wool breeches. She wondered how much longer this worn garment would be fit to wear and if he would outgrow it before that time. Lost in thought, at first she didn't hear the knocking at the door downstairs.
She stood and spoke softly to her son. "There's someone at the door. I'll go and see who is brave enough to come out on a cold day like this."
There was another loud knock as she reached the bottom step. Too loud to be Miss Lily who had the tearoom next door. At least, the woman still kept up the pretense of being a shop owner, though her customers had dwindled away since the occupation of Bragg's forces last year. Caroline shivered from the frigid air in the empty room as she crossed to the entrance and cautiously opened the door.
William Pierce stood there, almost unrecognizable in his well-worn greatcoat. A knit toboggan covered his ears and he hastily removed it and nodded his head. "Miz Ross."
She motioned him inside and closed the door behind him. "Good morning, Mister Pierce." She looked at his solemn face and a prickle of forewarning caused her to keep silent and wait for his next words.
He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news, ma'am."
Her heart missed a beat. These were the exact words the messenger had said when he brought word of Dan's death at Chickamauga. She remembered her manners, prolonging the inevitable. "Won't you come up where it's warm, Mister Pierce?"
"Thank you, ma'am. But I think this best said here, out of hearing of your boy."
Caroline looked at him, clenching her teeth to stop them from chattering. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer and held her breath.
William Pierce cleared his throat as he twisted his frayed toboggan in his calloused hands. "Miz Ross, there ain't no easy way to say this." He paused, slowly going on in an almost inaudible tone. "It's your sister's boy."
"He's got a sickness? He wasn't well last week when we had—" At the troubled look on the man's face, she forced herself to stop babbling and allow him to go on.
"He's gone. Last night. They did everything they could to save him, but he couldn't breathe."
"No!" A tortured moan came from her throat as Caroline clutched her chest and shook her head. "Not Albert! He's a picture of health. Why, he— What could it be? What could make a sturdy little lad like Albert suddenly be taken?"
"The coroner says it was likely diphtheria. Said there's been a lot of cases like this in young children hereabouts. And there's nothing for it. Some live through it and some don't. And I'm to tell you not to come. Miz Harper says you are to stay here with your boy and watch him close for any signs of sickness. They'll be burying young Albert as quick as they can and praying his sister is spared." He pulled his toboggan down over his ears and spoke again. "I'm sorry for the news, Miz Ross. Is there anything I can do for you before I go? Need any coal brought in or other work done?"
"No, Mister Pierce. Thank you for asking, though. And for coming to bring me word."
He awkwardly held out his hand and Caroline took it and gave him a proper handshake, then he was gone. She closed and fastened the door, secured the chain, and leaned against the wood frame trying to collect herself before she faced her son. She couldn't cry, not now. She must think how to tell Danny about Albert's death without making him afraid. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Please, Lord, give me strength and wisdom to speak the right words. He's such a little boy to have to deal with death again."
Danny still sat at the table intent on his scribbling, but he looked up when she pulled a chair close beside him.
"What have you here, Danny?" She gestured toward the slate and studied it as she waited for his answer.
"I wrote a letter." After a moment, he explained further. "To my papa."
"That's nice, sweetheart. I'm sure he'll like that."
"Mama? Do you think my papa can get my letters in heaven?"
Choking back tears, she took a deep breath. "I'm sure he can."
"But why don't he send letters to us like before?"
"Well, you see, it isn't easy to send letters from heaven back to earth."
The child still looked perplexed and Caroline remembered what she had to tell him, squared her shoulders, and spoke again. "Danny, that was Mister Pierce at the door. The man who has the livery stables, remember?"
He nodded. "I guess so."
"He came to tell us some sad news. Your cousin Albert got very sick after we were at his house for Thanksgiving dinner. And then last night, God took him to heaven to make him well again."
Danny focused his full attention on her now. "When will he come home?"
"Well, you see," Please give me the right words, Lord, "when we go to heaven, it is such a beautiful place and we are so happy there with God that we don't want to come back to this earth again."
"Like my papa did?"
She put an arm around his drooping shoulders and pulled him to her. "Yes, sweetheart. They are both in a happy place now."
Suddenly, the little boy burst into tears and laid his head down upon the table, sobbing brokenly. "I want to go there too. So I can play with Albert every day, and my papa can tell me stories when I go to bed."
"No!" Her words were almost a sob. "No, sweetheart. You mustn't say that. I need you here, to be my little man."
After a long moment of silence, he raised his head and looked at her with tear-streaked eyes. "I forgot, Mama. I won't go to heaven if it makes you sad."
Caroline gathered her son in a fierce embrace. "It would break my heart," she whispered. "Thank you for staying." Kissing his salty tears away, she smiled and tousled his blond unruly hair. "Why don't we have a special treat for our dinner? I'll make us some flapjacks in the iron skillet. Would you like that, Danny?"
His face crinkled into a tentative smile. "Could we have syrup on them?"
"We certainly can. We'll open the jar Miss Lily gave us. "She stood and walked to the kitchen with a light step. Maybe it was going to be all right now. Children seemed to have more resources to deal with death than older people did.
In the kitchen, she paused as she reached for the heavy skillet. No, it was not all right. Nothing would be all right again. Danny's papa was dead. And now, his young cousin died as well. And Danny could be taken too. She would be vigilant, and pray with all her heart and soul, but even that might not be enough.
* * * * *
Caroline closed the well-worn Bible she had been reading and sat for a moment, gazing into the dying coals in the grate. It had been three days since Mister Pierce brought word about Albert. Three days of watching and waiting for signs that Danny might be stricken with the dreaded disease and, so far, he had not shown any symptoms. She had heard no further word from Elizabeth, so surely Ella Jane had been spared her little brother's fate as well.
Banking the fire, Caroline crossed the room and placed the Bible on a table beside the bed she shared with Danny. She blew out the kerosene lamp and as she turned back the quilt, he stirred and whimpered in his sleep. Touching his forehead in a soft caress, her eyes flew open to stare fearfully in the semi-darkness. Not wanting to believe what her senses told her, Caroline reluctantly brought her hand back to the sleeping child's hot face. Her fingers felt heat before they made contact.
"No, please, no," she whispered. But her mind told her otherwise. Sitting on the side of the bed, shivering from cold and fear, she sought wildly for what to do. She forced herself to think calmly. Danny's life would depend on it…on her. There was no doctor in Chattanooga. Those trained in medicine, who were abl
e to tend the soldiers, had been forced to join them.
The elderly doctor left in the city had died from typhoid in the spring. It was said a doctor remained in Rossville, but there would be no way to reach him. At least, not in time to help.
She rose and began walking back and forth. Danny must have a doctor. But who and how?
Suddenly she stopped and stood very still. There was one person trained in medicine within her reach. A hospital still existed where the Union Army had bivouacked when Braggs' forces took the city. When the army moved on after the siege was broken, the wounded had been unable to follow, and surely, a doctor had been left behind to care for them. The encampment was only a few miles away. But how would she get there? She couldn't wait until morning to try and find someone willing to take her to the Federal camp. Most would refuse to go near a Yankee and ask for help anyway.
If she could get Miss Lily to come now and watch over Danny while she sought help, she might be able to get back by the time he woke up. She hated having to disturb the poor woman in the middle of the night, but there was nothing else to do. Studying her thin-soled shoes, she knew her feet would likely be frozen from the long walk in heavy snow.
With a reluctant hand, she opened the door to the bedroom and a rush of frigid air assaulted her. Crossing to the wardrobe that held Dan's clothes, she dug out his old, scuffed boots. He had been so proud of the new pair issued when he joined the army. She sat in the straight-back chair that remained in the near-empty room and quickly pulled on extra wool stockings and then the boots. They were an ill fit for her small feet, but at least they might save them from frostbite.
Caroline stood, pondering what to do about her long skirt and crinoline, which she knew would impede her progress. She jerked off the hindering garments and flung them on the chair then reached for a pair of Dan's heavy wool breeches. He had taken his warm coat with him, so she would have to make do with her own woolen shawl.
Snow had fallen intermittently for the past three days and it was banked high along the narrow path she had made earlier to her neighbor's place so the woman would not be isolated in her home. A new coating of snow partially covered the track and was still falling. She had to knock on Miss Lily's door several times before the woman stuck her head out of the upstairs window.