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Quiet, solemn faces ringed the breakfast table at the orphanage. Melanie tried in vain to coax a laugh or a giggle. Even a tiny smile would have been a success. But all the children, down to the littlest one, kept their eyes down, their mouths flat. Every so often, from different places around the table, she heard a muffled sniff, a soft catch of breath as the children fought for control. It was nearly more than she could bear.
Determined to keep to their normal routine, she doled out chores to be done in the afternoon, and herded everyone into the large parlor at the front of the house that they had turned into their schoolroom. She took them through their lessons while Mrs. Grinkov prepared their lunch and Mr. Grinkov chopped the wood for their stove. The lessons went poorly, distracted as the children were by her news. And Melanie hadn’t even told them the worst of it—they had to leave the orphanage by Christmas Day, less than a month away. The heartless bastards would not even allow the children to have their Christmas. Melanie, herself, could concentrate no better than the children could and she finally gave up the notion of lessons for today. Instead, she gave them free time to play inside while she stared out the window and thought.
She hoped she could come up with some idea to raise money, but Colonel Walker kept creeping into her thoughts. She had wanted nothing more than solitude last night. Solitude she hoped would clear her mind. The only clarity it brought was the direness of their situation. And the hopelessness.
She’d felt so alone and helpless, knowing she was the only thing standing between the children and homelessness. And she had failed bitterly.
And then...and then she’d felt arms come around her, drawing her close, soothing her despair. Suddenly she didn’t feel alone any more. Heat poured into her from his hands and body. Heat and strength. Determination.
And perhaps something more she hadn’t felt since her husband Jeremy had died.
But that, well, that would have to wait. The children needed her more than she needed Colonel Walker.
Now, where and how and how soon could she get enough money to match the offer from the iron company?
And at Christmastime, to boot?
*****
Nathaniel had walked most of the night. Every little while, he’d stopped and looked in the direction of the orphanage, searching through the darkness for some sign of life in the building.
Some sign of her.
He must be going mad, for just as he’d not quite known how he’d been given a battlefield commission, or how he’d come to be sharing her lunch, or riding in the wagon next to little Jeb and Lorna, Nathaniel didn’t quite know how he’d come to be embracing Miss Treymont. Running his hands up and down the curve of her back.
He’d kissed her hair, for God’s sake!
How? Why?
He had no answer, save that he’d dearly love to do so again.
He had walked to near-exhaustion. Even so, when he finally sought his bed again and hoped to sleep, he fell into a quiet slumber, without dreams of cannon, blood or soldiers, but one filled with sparkling snow, rosy cheeks and hands holding him close.
*****
Sun streaked through the window, slanting across his face, pulling him from the dream. With a muttered curse, Nathaniel threw his arm over his eyes, trying to recover the warm feeling the dream had born in him. The smell of bacon drifted up from the kitchen, along with eggs frying. His stomach would allow him to sleep no longer.
He pulled on the coarse cotton work shirt and pants he’d found still in the bureau drawer and followed his nose to the kitchen.
Emma stood at the stove wielding a cast iron pan filled with food and trying to simultaneously swipe at her eyes. Nathaniel cast an inquiring look at his father, who shrugged his shoulders in ignorance. When she’d nearly dumped the pan on the floor while trying to wipe at her cheeks, Nathaniel stepped in.
“Better let me take that,” he said gently, grasping the handle and pulling it from her hands. She gave it up without protest, dug in her pocket for a handkerchief and blew her nose.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting the pan safely aside.
“Nothing.” She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes.
“‘Nothing’ doesn’t make you cry. What is it?”
She shook her head and turned away.
“She wouldn’t tell me, either,” William groused.
Nathaniel laid a gentle hand on her arm, slowly turned her back around to face him. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. Perhaps we can help.” He wondered if she’d had trouble with one of the boys. She was young, but not that young, and in some places, considered of marriageable age.
He waited patiently while watching the battle she fought clearly showing on her face.
“We’re going to lose the orphanage,” she finally blurted. “They’re going to take it and rip it down, make a factory there instead.” Emma fought for breath before she lost the battle and cried piteously, “Where are we going to live? No one will take in all of us!”
She wept noisily into her handkerchief, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Nathaniel found himself comforting a sobbing female.
“Who’s going to take the orphanage?” he asked softly.
“The people who own it are selling it to a company what makes plows,” she answered between hiccups. “They’re going to tear down the building and build a foundling to make plow blades.”
“Foundry,” he corrected, smiling, while at the same time wondering if that was the reason Miss Treymont had wept last night as well.
“They’re going to tear it down and there’s nowhere for us to go!”
“Surely someone will take in a few of you,” he said.
“We’re a family,” Emma stated fiercely. “We belong together. Nothing will change that.”
Nathaniel nodded in understanding. When you had no one else, those around you became your family. He’d seen it among the soldiers all throughout the war. Blood family was far away from the battlefield, but your tent mates were right there. Often the death of a comrade affected the men more than news of the passing of a parent or sibling.
“I’ll talk to Miss Treymont. Perhaps there’s something we can do to help.”
“Thank you.” Emma sniffled again and picked up the pan, began dishing out the eggs and bacon she’d cooked before saying goodbye and hurrying back to the orphanage to begin her lessons.
*****
Nathaniel walked across the field in the direction of the orphanage, noting as he went the number of trees that needed tending along the edges of the property. Dead limbs hung half-off the trunks and more littered the ground. Detouring to the tree line, he saw even more that needed trimming, and where trees needed someone to thin them out if they were to have any hope of surviving. He made a mental note about it and wryly thought there would be no shortage of firewood this winter.
Resuming his original path, he came to the spot where he’d held Miss Treymont last night. The memory washed over him, warm and inviting. He pushed it away. Women like her were for other men. Men without demons, even though for that short time, she had held his at bay.
He ducked under the lone fence wire in that section and saw the snow tramped away by footprints. He guessed this was where the twins cut through between the two properties.
As he approached the backyard, Nathaniel saw the old man who’d driven Miss Treymont’s wagon out in the back, splitting logs. The two men nodded to each other as Nathaniel stepped up on the rear porch and knocked on the door.
An old woman answered, wiping her hands on an apron.
“Miss Treymont at home?” he asked.
She silently appraised him for so long, Nathaniel began to wonder if she spoke English.
Finally, she said, “Yes. She is giving lessons right now.”
Of course. Hadn’t Emma said she had to get back for lessons? He cursed the memory that failed him so often of late, and was about to excuse himself and return home when he heard a familiar voice.
“Mrs. Grinkov, is someone there?”
“Da,” the old woman said and moved aside so Nathaniel could be seen.
Miss Treymont stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. Before Nathaniel could say anything, a young boy scooted out from behind her skirts, all flying arms and legs.
“Colonel Walker,” Jeb called, running up and skidding to a halt just as Nathaniel had braced himself for a collision.
“Hi, Jeb,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “How are you?
“Did you come to bring us money?”
“Jeb!” Miss Treymont called in horror.
Nathaniel couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t have any with me just now, Jeb, but that’s what I came here to talk to Miss Treymont about. Do you have a moment?” he asked her.
She looked back into the other room, indecision written all over her face.
“If this isn’t a good time...” he began.
“No. No,” she said quietly. “Truth is, the children are so distracted, we’re really not getting anything done at all. I’ve given up on lessons and handed out chores just this moment.
“Jeb, you go on back to the class, tell the others I said they should start today’s chores.”
When the boy stood looking at the adults, she gave him a gentle tap on the backside. “Go on, now. Do as I say.”
“Yes, Miz Mellie,” he said sullenly. Then his face cleared. “You mean I get to give the order?”
“Yes, you do,” she said and smiled as she watched him scamper back to the classroom. She turned back to Nathaniel. Looking over her shoulder in a way that could almost have been described as coquettish, she said, “Won’t you follow me?”
To the ends of the earth. The thought came unbidden, and he hoped to God he hadn’t said it out loud. He decided he must not have, or she didn’t hear, for she moved smoothly into a small sitting room and waved her hand in the direction of an old sofa. He noticed she did not close the door.
“Please, sit down, Colonel Walker.”
“Nathaniel,” he found himself saying.
“Nathaniel,” she repeated. “Please, I’m Melanie.”
She blushed deeply and went to stand by the only window in the room, pulling back the worn velvet drapes to look out. She faced the outside as she spoke in a voice so low, Nathaniel strained to hear all the words.
“I must apologize for my behavior last night, Nathaniel. It was rude and presumptuous. You must think me wanton,” she whispered, talking to the trees. “I’m not usually—”
He came up behind her in a move reminiscent of last night. “I know,” he said, his own voice struggling to be heard. He reached up a hand, but stopped himself from touching her. What made him think that he, of all people, could comfort someone?
And yet, wasn’t that exactly what he’d done last night? The thought gave him a strange feeling in the middle of his chest.
“Emma told us about your, uh, situation this morning. It’s natural you would be upset.”
A harsh laugh escaped her lips and he watched as a shift in the clouds let him see her reflection in the window. Her face nearly crumpled again.
“‘Upset’ doesn’t begin to describe it,” she said.
She turned to face him, startling them both at his closeness. Nathaniel backed up, unable to look away from her face. The urge to comfort was stronger than ever. As was his resolve to avoid doing so.
“Where can I go with fourteen children?” she asked. “Who would take us in? Especially when I don’t know how long we would have to stay? What am I to do?”
He admired her calmness. A lesser woman would have dissolved into tears by now, wailing her questions and ranting at life’s unfairness. It would seem she had cried out her frustration last night, and today was focusing on the difficult questions she faced.
“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I came today to see if there was anything I could do to help.”
She smiled a sad smile. “Only if you’re a secret millionaire.”
“Unfortunately, no.” He smiled weakly. “Anything else?”
She closed her eyes briefly, shook her head and returned his smile. “Not that I can think of. But thanks.”
They stood for some moments until the awkward silence was broken by Mrs. Grinkov at the door.
“Mrs. Treymont, shall I bring in coffee?” the old woman asked in her thick Russian accent.
“Mrs.?” Nathaniel’s brows rose in surprise.
“I’m a widow,” she stated simply. “A war widow, to be exact. Which is why I’m so concerned about all these children. All of them are orphans because of the war, in one way or another.”
Nathaniel felt that odd feeling in his chest disappear, replaced by the all too familiar guilt and despair.
He should leave. Leave before he caused more loss, more pain.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said to the old woman. “That won’t be necessary. I was on my way out. Just came by to see if I could help somehow, but it appears I’m useless here.”
The woman left and Nathaniel turned to leave as well. “Goodbye, Mrs. Treymont. If I happen to find a million dollars lying about, I’ll send it your way.”
He stopped at the door and looked back. “I wanted to say thank you, however, for sending the children to help my father. I know he appreciates it.”
“It’s good for them, too,” she said. “Teaches them sharing, a sense of community, caring for those less fortunate. It’s just a shame more adults haven’t learned that lesson. Especially now, at Christmas,” she added bitterly.
There was no answer to that. Nathaniel walked out of the room and straight into Jeb.
“Whoa, fella,” Nathaniel said, putting out a hand to ward off the young boy. “Easy does it. You’re going to run somebody over, you keep flying around like that.” He knew the words sounded harsh, and Nathaniel purposely tried to soften them. Jeb was only a lad, after all.
“Sorry, Colonel Walker. I jus’ wanted to tell Mis Mellie the others started in on their chores a’ready, and Mr. Grinkov said if’n we get done early enough, we’d go while it’s still light and cut down a Christmas tree. Can we, Miz Mellie?”
Nathaniel watched Mrs. Treymont, Melanie, smile at the boy. Her entire face lit up with the light of genuine pleasure.
“It may be a bit early to cut a tree, but if Mr. Grinkov is willing and thinks it’s a good time to do it, who am I to argue?”
Jeb let out a little whoop of pure joy. “Can I tell the others? Can I? Huh?”
“Oh, all ri—”
Before she could finish, a loud snap sounded, followed by an even louder boom that shook the entire building. All the color drained from Jeb’s face and he dashed behind Melanie, grabbing and wringing her skirts in both hands and shaking violently.
She spun and knelt down in front of the boy, hugging him in a fierce grasp and crooning soothing sounds. Nathaniel watched spellbound. The boy reacted the same way many soldiers had in the battlefield after seeing a comrade maimed or killed by cannon fire. What could this little boy have seen that affected him so?
After a few minutes, Melanie gently pried the boy’s fingers loose and smoothed his hair back from his face. Tears streaked his cheeks as he looked up and saw Nathaniel watching him.
“I...I’m sorry, Col...Colonel Wa-Walker. It’s not manly to cry. I di...didn’t mean to...”
Nathaniel swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Never mind, son. I’ve seen bigger men, older men, than you cry. You’re braver than many others are. Besides, you’re not quite a man yet.”
“I am,” Jeb stated flatly. “I’m the last man of my family. I’ll have to...to start it over. Somehow.”
“Hush,” Melanie said, wiping at his cheeks with her skirt hem. “There will be plenty of time for that when you’ve grown big and strong. Don’t you worry.”
“She’s right, you know. You just see to it you learn your lessons well now. Learn what you’ll need to know to take care of that family. When the time’s right, you’ll have one.”
Mrs. Grinkov came bustling in, her eyes worried. “Mrs. Treymont, you need to come outside.”
“Is everything all right? Mr. Grinkov...”
“Fine, thanks be to God. But you must come...” The woman cast a look at Nathaniel, apparently unsure how much she should say in front of him.
“Perhaps I should go,” he offered.
Melanie raised a pleading gaze to him. “Stay, if you can, please.” She looked from Jeb to him and back and Nathaniel understood she was asking for his help to reassure Jeb about whatever they would find outside.
“All right.”
Mrs. Grinkov led them out to the rear of the house. A huge dead limb had broken off a tree at the back of the building and crashed into the roof, rending a hole about three or four feet long. It exposed what looked like an attic. Tiny holes in other parts of the roof allowed light to dance through the darkness inside. Clearly, the building had not been kept in good repair.
Mr. Grinkov stood next to them, his wife’s arm around his waist. “That’ll be the devil to fix,” he muttered.
“You’re not going up there,” his wife decreed.
“And who?” he shot back. “None of the boys can do it. We can’t leave it be, no matter what them bastards are going to do with us. We’ll all freeze. Or drown if’n it rains.”
“I can do it,” Nathaniel heard himself say.
“You? How?” Mr. Grinkov asked.
“Do you have a ladder? A piece of oilskin?”
The old man scratched his chin and looked off into the middle distance for a moment before nodding. “Think so. The oilskin, that is. Yep for the ladder. I’ll need a few minutes to root around in the outbuilding there. Think I remember seeing an old piece of canvas or something we can use. Think it’ll keep out the rain enough?”
Nathaniel looked up at the sky, nodded. “If we’re real lucky, it’ll snow instead. Then, if we had to, we could just brush it off.”
“Or put me up in the attic with a stick, and I’ll poke it off from the underside,” piped up Jeb.
“Now, that’s a right smart idea,” Nathaniel said to the boy. “That way, no one would have to be climbing up any ladders. Glad to see you have a working head on your shoulders.” Then he turned to Mr. Grinkov again. “I’ll have to go back to my barn, look around for some nails and tools. Meet you back here in about an hour?”
“Sure thing,” the old man replied. “Rather have you crawling around up there with me than one of these youngsters. Wouldn’t know which end of the hammer to hold on to,” he said, grinning.
“Would too!” sang a chorus of young boys, including Benjamin and Bernard.
“Yes, but I need you to take care of Bossy for me, keep up the barn. Can’t do that if you fall off the roof and break your leg,” Nathaniel stated.
“What if you do?” asked one of the twins.
“Well, Benj...Bern...whichever one you are...guess since I don’t have any assigned chores just yet, no one would miss me if I wasn’t doing something. Bossy though, would sure miss being milked or fed or having her straw bein’ clean.”
“Guess you’re right,” the boy said, dejected. I’m Bernard, by the way.”
Nathaniel nodded and turned to leave. As he walked back to his own barn, he thought about what he’d said to the boy. ‘No one would miss me if I wasn’t doing something.’ There was more truth in that than he cared to admit. His father didn’t need him; he had things decently in hand. The army didn’t need him, which was good, because he didn’t want anything to do ever again with the army. It seemed the only ones who needed him at the moment were the orphans, to fix the roof of a building they couldn’t live in for more than a couple of weeks, at best.
It was something, at least for today. He’d worry about tomorrow, well, tomorrow.
*****
Nathaniel rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck as he washed up in the tepid water in the basin. It had taken the rest of the day to make the repair to the roof. No sooner had he come back with his tools and a box of nails than the wind kicked up, forcing him to fight with the tarp old man Grinkov had found. With only one ladder, it meant only one of them could be up there at a time, and Nathaniel had to agree with Mrs. Grinkov, the roof was no place for a man of her husband’s age. But that left Nathaniel to wrestle the old tarp into place and hammer it down. Each time he got one end down, put in a nail, and moved along to another section, the wind grabbed the edge and yanked it up, sending the nail flying. He prayed no one below was in the way of the flying debris.
Dusk was well upon them and he still had one more section to hammer down. He’d had to crawl up on the roof itself, tried to straddle the peak and reach down, but in the end had to jackknife himself over the peak to reach the top part of the hole to nail the tarp in place over it. It was a precarious perch and he was aware of the wind billowing up his jacket, trying to make a sail out of it. He pulled the jacket tighter around his middle, and tucked some of it into his pants so the wind couldn’t grab it, praying he wouldn’t take flight.
And all the while, Melanie and Mr. Grinkov watched from below. The only time Nathaniel dared look at Melanie, she was gripping Mr. Grinkov’s arm with one hand and biting the knuckle on her other. Grinkov patted her hand comfortingly, but the grimace never left his face.
Seeing Melanie’s lovely face filled with fear and concern nearly made Nathaniel lose his grip on the roof. He couldn’t afford to lose his concentration, and determined he would not look in her direction again until he had both feet on terra firma once more.
It took some doing, but Nathaniel finally had the oilskin nailed down in place and made his way back down the ladder.
“That should hold until tomorrow,” he said. “Then we can take the wagon into town, buy some supplies to fix it properly.”
Melanie looked down at the ground at her feet before meeting his gaze. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”
“I didn’t see much here to make the repairs with. And your man here,” he said, indicating Mr. Grinkov, “will need a hand loading everything up. I could help.”
“Thank you,” she repeated. “We won’t be going into town. There’s no money to buy materials to fix the roof with, and none of the merchants are willing to give me any more credit. The roof will have to stay as it is. Besides,” she added, her voice breaking on the words, “the owner will only be tearing the building down soon. It would be a waste of time and effort. And money.”
Nathaniel didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t envision the children sleeping in a building with a gaping hole in its roof. “Then where will—”
“We’ll be fine. Thank you, Colonel Walker.” She smiled the saddest smile Nathaniel had ever seen when she added, “We’ve slept in worse accommodations. Part of a roof is better than none. The children will double up in their rooms. It’ll be warmer that way, too.” She extended her hand to him. “I really appreciate your help. Even this small repair will buy us the days we need before the eviction.”
Nathaniel merely stared. Nature it seemed, as well as their landlord, was against them. He had that strange feeling in the middle of his chest again, accompanied by the knowledge that he would have to help them. He didn’t know how, just that he had to do it.
He’d have to fight the landlord, nature, and his own demons, if the feeling in his chest was anything to go by. But he was a soldier. Fighting was the only thing he was good at.
Nathaniel pushed aside the memory of the day as he dried his face and arms. Exhaustion threatened and he laid down on his bed, not to sleep but merely to seek rest for his weary bones.
He clasped his hands over his belly, but the pose was too reminiscent of a body laid in a casket. He tried them at his sides, but after hours of fighting the tarp and hammering, the muscles in his arms ached in that position. Finally, he threw one arm across his forehead, crossed his chest with the other and contemplated the ceiling in his room. Tiny points of yellow and white dotted the dark wood to imitate a night sky, drips of precious paint his mother had scrimped from a picture she had painted. A picture he knew hung in his parents’ old bedroom.
Nathaniel wondered how often his father thought of his mother. Why hadn’t he married again? William was a man of passable looks, sterling character. Owner of a reasonably-sized farm and sound house. God knew there were enough widows to choose from. Nathaniel thought any woman would have accepted had his father asked. Why didn’t he?
William had always said how much he loved his wife, but Nathaniel always thought he said that because he had to. Oh, they had been companionable enough, even sweet to each other, he remembered, smiling. Now he wondered if theirs really was a love match.
But if Emma, Benjamin and Bernard had to move away, remarriage would be a solution to William’s need for care for himself and the farm and his need for companionship.
Melanie was a widow...
No.
Much as he loved his father, Melanie deserved a younger man. A man who could see to her...needs.
But perhaps William could help another way. He didn’t need Nathaniel’s help since he had the twins and Emma. He could not suggest Emma stay on, but he could certainly urge his father to propose the twins stay on at the farm. Offer them steady work, and a place to live. Maybe even the promise of a partial inheritance. It might help.
Unwanted, but not unneeded, sleep descended. The dreams that normally plagued him were held mostly at bay, although at one point he awoke shaking, sure that little Jeb was in danger. The idea was ridiculous, of course, but he still had to fight the impulse to go to the orphanage to check for himself.
Nathaniel tossed and turned the remainder of the night working to convince himself that the images in his dreams were not real, and determined to not let those he knew were all too real to intrude.