Chapter Thirty-Two

The crisp autumn breeze stirred the tassels on Clara’s shawl as she pulled it more tightly around her shoulders. A contented smile graced her lips as she swayed gently in the rocking chair, surrounded by the brilliant colors of the fall leaves contrasted against an unbroken blue sky. Her heart was full.

Tomorrow the nation would unite in celebrating Thanksgiving on the same day for the very first time. Prior to the President proclaiming it a national holiday it had been observed by some of the states, but on a day of that particular state’s choosing. Now Lincoln had decreed that henceforward it would be celebrated, by one and all within the Union, on the final Thursday of the month of November.

It was a day for the American people to set aside sectional differences and remember the blessings of Providence. Despite the carnage of war, the sky still yielded sunshine and rain to cultivate the earth, and new life was still being birthed into the world.

President Lincoln declared: “They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.”

While the men, more cynical from their experiences in war, questioned the motives of the President as political and manipulative, Clara embraced what the day represented. It was wise to pause and celebrate all that was still good in the world, especially when surrounded by so much death, loss, and fear.

The idea of making Thanksgiving a national holiday hadn’t originated with the President, but a woman by the name of Sarah Hale. It was interesting to note that she had written to the four preceding Presidents of the United States—Zachary Taylor, Millard Fillmore, Franklin Pierce and James Buchanan—but it had been Abraham Lincoln who had granted her request. Some argued that it was a campaign strategy for reelection the following fall, legislating for something other than death and destruction to influence the people to think more favorably, both about him and about the era in which they lived.

Even if it was, Clara didn’t care. It was like lighting a candle in the darkness, and for this one day, they could bask in its glow. They could set aside the many reasons to mourn, and instead remember that there were still reasons to rejoice.

Judson had brought Abigail and Jane to visit, along with a puppy which was to be entrusted to Silas’ care. Abigail’s pair of Staffordshire Bull Terriers, Sam and Sophie, had produced a litter of puppies which were now in need of new homes. Clara had convinced Jeremiah to let her keep one, with the proviso that it would be Silas’ responsibility. The boy had accepted his new job with a wide grin.

Now he sat at Clara’s feet, cradling the black and white pup in his arms, his dark face split with joy. Beside him, Lena held Little Joe in her lap, hand over his, instructing him to stroke the animal gently.

“What are you going to name him?” Judson asked Clara, smiling at the children’s delight over the little creature. His hair was bleached from the sun, a blond so pale it was almost white, and his blue eyes contrasted against his tanned complexion.

“Hmm… Silas, what do you think?” she turned to the boy who would be the dog’s caregiver.

Silas’ dark eyebrows scrunched together as he studied the sleeping puppy. Abigail winked at Clara, enjoying the boy’s serious consideration of this most important decision. Finally, he looked up at them and declared, “I think I gonna call him ‘Rags,’ cause he look like he gots a rag tied ‘round his head.”

“I think that suits him perfectly,” Clara praised. The little puppy was predominantly white, with a black tail and a few patches of black on his torso, and a black band which encircled his head, covering one eye and both of his floppy ears. He did indeed look as if he had a rag tied around his head.

“I agree,” Abigail smiled approvingly, her dark hair pulled back from her pretty face in a sweeping chignon. “Now I only have one more puppy in need of a home.”

“I’m sorely tempted to keep it myself,” Jane confessed, gazing longingly at the sweet little dog cradled in Silas’ arms like a baby. “But I’m not sure Mother would let me keep it inside.”

With a wink, Judson suggested, “We could bring it by for a visit. I suspect once your mother sees the little dear, she’ll be more easily persuaded.”

Jane glanced over at the young man and laughed, and Clara wasn’t oblivious to the color which pinked her sister’s cheeks. Although Jane hadn’t openly admitted attraction to the young man, her eyes often shifted to his handsome figure with more than casual interest. September had marked the first anniversary of Louis’ death and while Jane had moved beyond the worst of her grief, Clara knew it would take a little longer for her to risk loving again.

Clara grinned as she chimed in, “I’ll go along with that scheme. If I know Mother, it will melt her heart just like Rags is melting yours.” She didn’t add that she believed it would be good for Jane to have something to nurture and pour herself into which could give her affection in return. A puppy would help ease the loneliness she felt, and might aid in mending the scars she still carried.

Hugging her shawl closer around her waist, Clara shivered as the November wind blew through the orchard and swept over them. Jeremiah sat in one of the wicker chairs and leaned forward to ask, “Would you like me to bring you a blanket?”

With her heart thudding in anticipation of all that was to come, Clara replied with a grateful smile. “I’m all right, darling, but thank you.”

They had much to be thankful for, more than Jeremiah knew. The prosthesis had given him a second chance at life, allowing him to step back into the role of farmer which he loved so much. He had returned to his old self, strong and independent, solid and reliable. The relationship they shared was different than it had been before his military service, changed by the challenges they had faced and overcome. It was deeper and stronger, tested and tried.

The one great sorrow which cast a shadow over Clara’s happiness was that Eddy would never return home to them. Jane might have been able to retire her mourning garb if their brother hadn’t passed, but now all the women of the household were relegated to a somber wardrobe signifying loss.

“Would you like to hold ‘im?” Silas offered Jane, interrupting Clara’s wandering thoughts. Without waiting for a reply, the boy came to his feet and carried the drowsy pup to Jane, carefully placing him in her arms.

“He’s so soft!” Jane exclaimed as she accepted the puppy, cradling him against her shoulder and caressing his fur with her cheek. Disturbed from his nap, Rags wagged his tail as he enthusiastically licked her ear with his wet tongue. Jane giggled as she pushed him down into her lap, “You need to learn some manners!”

Clara glanced in Judson’s direction, pleased with the look on his face as he watched her sister. The strong line of his jaw softened with tenderness, and affection warmed his blue eyes. In time, Clara was certain, Jane would let down her guard if Judson wooed her with gentle patience.

And Clara couldn’t have been more pleased with the idea. Judson was fast becoming a valued friend to Jeremiah, the men having much in common as war veterans and amputees. Although Jane never imagined embracing the life of a farmer’s wife, Clara suspected that the handsome young man gazing at her sister as if she were the greatest prize in the world might be able to persuade her.

Rocking slowly, Clara turned to the man who had convinced her to give up a privileged life to gather vegetables, churn butter, and oversee the slaughter of hogs. Jeremiah’s dark hair tumbled over his forehead, lined with new creases from the struggles of the last two years, and the youthful twinkle in his eyes had been replaced with the wisdom of suffering. Their marriage had begun concurrent with the tumultuous events of their time, but of two things Clara was certain: she wouldn’t do the past differently even if she could, and whatever the future brought, it would only serve to bind them closer together.

She had once believed herself to be a strong and capable woman. Now Clara realized that these qualities, while useful, were not enough to survive the hardships of life. In Gettysburg, in that most difficult trial of both their marriage and her life, Clara had learned a crucial lesson from Chaplain Davies about relying on Providence, and it was something she hoped to hold onto for the rest of her life.

Closing the gap between them, Clara reached for her husband’s hand. She was blessed. God had heard her prayers, even when she had put more faith in her fears than in the Almighty. Clara vowed to face the days to come with that knowledge to guide her, and never again to be ruled by the power of worry.

Jeremiah squeezed her hand, his skin warm and callused against hers. The rubber prosthesis rested casually on his thigh, easily mistaken for the real thing. “I don’t believe Mrs. Collins stands a chance against her daughters,” he chuckled. “I’m not sure anyone does when you put your mind to something.”

“Maybe so,” Clara agreed, recalling a certain dinner party hosted at Laurel Hill in 1855.

~

Grinning at the impish twinkle in his wife’s eye, Jeremiah was grateful that she loved him as much now as she had when they were young and idealistic. These brief years of their marriage had been drastically different than anything they had hoped or imagined for themselves. But they were still together, and more in love than ever.

There seemed to be a glow about Clara as she smiled at him. There were days when Jeremiah wondered if he deserved to be loved as she loved him, but every day he was grateful for it.

Rags, having enough of cuddling, leapt to the porch floor and bounded from one pair of shoes to another, nipping playfully. Jeremiah leaned down and scooped him up, just as taken with the wet little pink nose and the lopsided markings as everyone else. Jeremiah sat the puppy on his lap and let Rags plant his paws on his shoulders and lick his chin.

When Rags sprang again to the floor, Silas carried him into the yard to let him run free. Jeremiah watched as the boy ran after the puppy, then the game reversed, and Rags chased him. Jeremiah laughed with the others, but inwardly, his thoughts took a more serious turn.

Maryland had been divided before the war broke out, but now the schism ran deeper than ever. As the state was taken and held by the Union, Yankee ideas and philosophies crept in to influence the situation. The subject of emancipation had become a frequent matter of debate, so much so that the Republican Party had separated into two groups: those for and those against.

In an election held earlier that month, the State Comptroller, Congressman, Senator, Clerk of Court, and members of the House of Delegates had all been filled by members of what was called the “Conditional Union Party,” which was opposed to freeing the slaves.

However, the war couldn’t go on forever, for the South was running out of manpower and resources. Its defeat was only a matter of time. Then, certainly, President Lincoln would find a way to decree liberation for all slaves within the United States. Jefferson Davis and General Lee had to know this as well as Jeremiah did, yet month after month the war dragged on and men of both sides were sacrificed in the name of “the Cause”—either that of freedom from tyranny, or that of unification and the end of slavery.

Jeremiah believed in freedom. Freedom for the Southern States to make their own laws, but also freedom for mankind of any color. He had come to believe, with true conviction, that no man should be held as property as Old Joe, Mamie, and their children were. He despised the waste of human life the war had caused, and yet he yearned for the day when this peculiar institution should be abolished.

In two weeks, when the steamer Cecil returned to Queenstown, Henry and Eli would leave Laurel Hill and exchange the bonds of slavery for the manacles of the military. But at least they would be present to celebrate the first national Thanksgiving Day with those they considered family.

Hattie had allowed Eli and Mercy to marry, and Francis had given permission for Eli to live at the Collins’ with her until his departure. It only seemed right to allow the girl to remain with her mother, but as the Collins would be joining the Turners for this special Thanksgiving, they would all be together one last time.

All of them, with the exception of Eddy and Charlie. And of course, Jane’s fiancée, Louis. Even in the midst of laughter and celebration, the shadow of grief hung over them.

Jeremiah glanced over at his father, who stood stoically in the corner watching the antics of the younger generation. The holidays were always a painful reminder of those who could not be present. One day, he hoped, peace would be restored not only to the nation but to the Turner household.

Until then he would pray, imploring God for Charlie’s safety and health, as well as for a way to forgive the unforgiveable. As hatred and prejudice unleashed their horrible fury upon the earth, Jeremiah was reminded of the great necessity to choose love.

Glancing down at the manmade representation of a hand attached to his left arm, Jeremiah counted his blessings. He was alive, and he was mostly intact. All of the vital organs functioned as they should; his face was unscarred; and he still walked on two good legs. With the attachments on the prosthesis, he could continue his work on the farm. And perhaps most importantly, he still had one good hand to hold tightly to his precious wife.

As the sun set in the western sky and shadows lengthened across the lawn, their visitors took their leave and Silas carried his new companion back to the cabin to sleep at the foot of his bed. With a gruff “Good night,” and a squeeze of his shoulder, Francis slipped into the house, leaving husband and wife alone on the back porch.

“Walk with me?” Clara asked, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow.

“Aren’t you too cold?” he worried, but she shook her head.

“I just want to enjoy some time alone with you,” she replied. “The stars are trying to twinkle there, just beyond the fading sunset,” she pointed to the pale pinpoint of light visible in the darkening sky.

Slipping an arm around her waist, Jeremiah drew Clara close to warm her with his body heat. As much as he had enjoyed their earlier company, he enjoyed this peaceful moment alone with her even more. Leading her into the shadows of the orchard, Jeremiah cupped her jaw with his right hand, feeling the softness of Clara’s skin against his palm. Leaning forward, he kissed her lips gently and smiled as she sighed and leaned into him.

“I’ll be happy to never leave you or Laurel Hill again,” Jeremiah admitted, encircling her waist with his left arm and pinning her against him.

“That sounds just fine with me,” she agreed, and Jeremiah stepped back to see the shifting shadows of the rustling leaves play across her features.

“I’m sorry Eddy can’t be here tomorrow,” he said, certain she was already thinking it. “And Charlie.”

“Me too,” she whispered, resting her hands against the wool coat of his chest and gripping the fabric in her fists. “Sometimes I feel so torn between grief and elation. Grief for those we have lost, but elation that you weren’t listed among them. I think the President is right. All we can do is choose to be grateful for our blessings, even in the face of great loss.”

“Well said,” Jeremiah pressed a kiss into her forehead, smoothing back the soft auburn hair which appeared black in the fading light.

Clara lifted her chin to gaze up at him, her expression enigmatic as she added, “Even in the midst of death, there is new life.”

Wrinkling his eyebrows in confusion at her cryptic words, Jeremiah half-smiled as he inquired, “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Jeremiah Turner, is that you are soon to become a father,” Clara beamed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Jeremiah felt an odd stutter in his chest as his heart skipped a beat. “A father?” he repeated in a whisper, hardly able to believe it had finally happened. Then, as the idea took hold, he drew Clara against his chest in a crushing hug.

It felt like a miracle, and perhaps every new life was exactly that. He had just never taken the time to consider it before. His father would be delighted, and if his mother were still living, Henrietta would have doted on her first grandchild the way Silas doted on his puppy.

Yes, even in the midst of death, there was new life. For every loss he could count, Jeremiah could also find a blessing. In life, there were seasons of sunshine and seasons of storm. There was always the interplay of light with darkness. And even as the war continued to wage with no end in sight, there was hope glimmering on the horizon.

With this child, this promise of the next generation, there was hope that mankind would learn from the mistakes of his forbearers and make the sacrifices necessary to live in peace and to respect the sacred spark of life within all humanity. As long as the sun rose and set, there was hope.

Lying on a rough board balanced on the backs of two pews at the church in Gettysburg, staring up at the cross beams of the ceiling above him as his ears were filled with the groans of the wounded, the mercy of God had seemed an absurd idea. Jeremiah had doubted he would live to see Laurel Hill or Clara again.

Yet, as proof of God’s mercy, here he was.