A Forted Frontier Holiday: Finale

While harvesting, the German settlement near New Market, Virginia receive warning of an impending attack by French and Indians war parties. They flee to a quickly cobbled refuge, Fort Providence—for they will surely need to rely on God’s provision. The forted colonials long to celebrate the holidays and await the arrival of visitors.

Today is the CONCLUSION of A Forted Frontier Holiday!

Part 1 - Inside Fort Providence by Carrie Fancett Pagels

Part 2 - A Providential Proposal by Susan Craft

Part 3 - Landlocked by Carla Olson Gade

Part 4 - Preserve My Life From Fear by Elaine Marie Cooper

Part 5 - A Gift from Buckskin Samson by Kathleen Maher

Part 6 - Narrow Passage by Pat Iacuzzi

Part 7 - Through the Storm by Lynn Squire

Part 8 - Christmastide by Carrie Fancett Pagels

Part 9 - Amish Snow by Kelly Long

Part 10 - Epiphany! by Dina Sleiman

(Kathleen Maher)

            A soft whicker and a warm breath preceded a nudge to Buckskin Samson's arm. He knew exactly who it was, U’sti, or “Little One,” and turning to the bay foal standing at his side, he rubbed the broad white path between its eyes, down to the slip of its pink nose. The rascally colt lipped at his fingers and turned sideways, flicking its tail and kicking up its back legs before darting away to its mother.  A throaty chuckle rumbled from him and he returned to his work at hand, crafting the deer hide into a pair of soft suede gloves.

Many days had passed since he had joined the fort with the Rousches. The kind family doted on their new addition, a girl born in the winter just like his promising young colt. Appreciation for their acceptance and welcome, as well as a sense of longing, swelled within him at every thought of the hardy German and his French wife. Their friendship meant a great deal, but the desire for family dogged him with the relentless energy of their many children. He had much for which to thank Great Jhezoos, not the least of which included surviving a harsh winter. But he had a new request, too.

 Several parties had joined their number in that time—soldiers, guides, travelers, couples, families. And, he hadn’t failed to notice, a few blushing maidens. He looked at the pretty doeskin gauntlets as he worked, and smiled with a glimmer of ambition rising within him. He had noticed a fair-haired a-wo-du-hi a-ta—a beautiful young lady, who had only scraps of old rags to protect her hands from the cold. If the good Lord would smile on Him again, perhaps these gloves would win him the favor of this young beauty, and soon, he would have a family of his own. 

***
(by Pat Iacuzzi, Dedicated to my Mom, Anna)

            You may need to make decisions for yourself soon …

Something Hannah Maclaren had never done in her entire life, for most of the choices controlling her existence had been made for her by someone else. She rubbed the throbbing scar at her wrist—and some of those decisions had been meted out to her in thoughtless and violent ways. From the time she was taken captive by the Shawnee, to the time they’d traded her north to the Seneca and finally exchanged in a captives’ trade as an indentured servant to a German family, Hannah had not made one decision concerning her own life or how she would live it. But since she’d become a bondservant to the Yosts, the elderly couple had treated her tenderly these four years past, more like a daughter than a servant, and with their guidance, her faith in the Lord and her self-reliance had grown. I thankest Thee O Lord, for placing me in their care.  

A bleak winter sun bathed the log walls of Fort Providence in a wash of sepia light. Hannah shivered in the bracing January air and lifted the hem of her simple blue linen frock, taking care against the dust that puffed up as she broadened her stride to cross the fort’s parade ground. Her Mistress had given her the dress for Christmas, even as the woman’s thoughts still must have dwelt on her husband’s last days. But Hannah had nothing to give Mütter Yost in return. Nothing to ease her pain or show her how much Hannah loved her.

Master Yost had passed away shortly after they’d taken shelter in the fort. Hannah’s heart swelled at the bittersweet memory, and she swallowed, holding back the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes. For on his deathbed, Master Yost had released Hannah from her contract. She was no longer a bondservant. She was free. And with that freedom Hannah experienced an overwhelming sense of fear and wonder. And therein lay her dilemma—the call to face responsibilities and make decisions for herself.

She shifted the basket of vegetables the generous Mistress Rousch had given her to her other hand and pushed open the plank door of the cabin she shared with Mütter Yost. ’Twas one of several built for settlers’ protection within the fort’s confines. The bottom of the door scraped an arc across the dirt floor as she entered the cabin’s shadowy interior. Mütter sat rocking, a cup of tea in her mitted hands, a broad smile on her face. “We have a guest, child.”

A broad-shouldered figure, his arm draped against the fireplace mantel turned to her, the half-light from the fire dancing over his features.

“LaLoup?” The basket fell from Hannah’s hand, and turnips bounced and scattered along the floor. She ran to him and the scout gathered her in his arms. Hannah closed her eyes as he pressed his cheek against her hair and she inhaled the fresh scents of leather and pine that surrounded him.

He took a step back, held her hands in his warm grip and scoured her with his green-eyed gaze. “Well my (white loon) are you ready to become my bride?”

Almost automatically, Hannah turned to Mütter Yost for her word of direction. What should she do? Somehow she could not start a new life without the acknowledging the old. And she would not leave her Mistress to fend for herself. Not after all she had

meant to Hannah.

The woman took a sip of her tea and with a shaky hand, carefully set it down. She looked up at Hannah, her blue eyes misty. “There is still the cabin and land my husband intended to farm northwest of the Rousch acreage. It awaits a new family as I will have no use for it now, liebschen.”

Hannah knelt before her and took the old woman’s knotted hands in her own. She was certain now what God would have her do. Knowing His Word made her decision so much clearer, so much easier. “Mutter Yost, do you remember what you taught me? When you read to me the story of Ruth? “….Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you: for where you go, I will go; and where you lodge, I will lodge: your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” Hannah placed the woman’s hand against her cheek. It was cold and rough. “I cannot leave you behind. I want you to come with us. I will care for you as you cared for me.”

She rose and turned to LaLoup. Hannah caught the soft shine of the brushed silver cross glistening against the smooth tan of his chest. It was then she knew trust; that his commitment to her was as strong as his belief in his Savior. He nodded and smiled.

 “I love you, LaLoup …and would be honored to be your wife.” Hannah rested her head against his hard chest, and heard the beating of his heart in rhythm with hers. It seemed as if God had placed him in her life like a bulwark, in times of trial and of blessings.     

She felt a sense of peace, like a warm blanket envelope them. 

***

(By Carrie Fancett Pagels  Dedicated to Ruby Evelyn Skidmore Fancett, descendant of the real life Johan and Susannah Rousch, who spent a season or more in Holman Fort, Shenandoah Valley.)

The long building that served as barracks rattled with each gust of wind outside. Icy sleet pelted the wooden structure drumming a tattoo in Johan Rousch’s head as he stared at their latest newcomer.

“So we are free to return home?” He ran a hand back through his hair. Suzanne would be delighted, as would the children. As for himself, he would no longer have the easy cameraderie of the other men inside the fort.

            The young man who’d surveyed their land, years earlier, stood before him in military uniform. “Governor Dinwiddie has sent me to Pennsylvania for discussions with the French. And we believe, based on our scouts’ reports…”  The lieutenant glanced from William Christy to Shadrach Clark, both men attired in buckskins, standing just inside the barracks building. LaLoup entered through the center door, chill air accompanying him and stirring the fire.  He nodded at Johan and the other scouts but fixed a wary gaze on their newcomer.

            “No sign of continued activity.” Colonel Christy, dressed in uniform, shifted and tugged at his collar. “But I shall leave it at your discretion.  May be easier for the people to pool their resources inside Fort Providence and return home come spring.”

            Johan would miss his friends’ company.  “Ja, but already the women, my own included, long to be home.  And we have many travelers here whose journeys have been interrupted—they must be allowed to go on their way.”           

“We will join with Lt. Washington and his Virginians and follow him into Pennsylvania.” Christy’s crisp tone held a warning.

            Johan swallowed.  He’d left the Palatinate, a land torn by war—had lost all his older brothers due to invasions from the French.  Now, in this new land, he had the sensation of standing on a precipice, one which could affect his entire family and his friends. 

            The young officer nodded. “I appreciate the company, colonel.  Shall you return to your home in Philadelphia, then, after my meeting with the French envoys?”

            William Christy’s dark gaze fixed on Johan’s former surveyor.  The two men had much in common, yet by appearance one would never guess.  Young George Washington, dressed spotlessly, despite his long travel, gave the air of one born unto nobility.  Yet it was Christy’s father who served in parliament and held the title of Lord. And the grandson, dressed in buckskins, with a long rifle propped nearby, appeared sprung from the very woods of Virginia. 

            The two scouts exchanged a glance. Shad caught Johan’s eye.

            “Ja, you wish to say something?”

            “We’ll take our leave now, if’n you don’t mind—we’ll need our rest.” His lips curved into a disdainful smile, his eyelids half lowered. “Mighty good to see you again, Johan. I’ll be headin’ north as soon as this storm ceases.”

            Washington cocked his head at the men. “Under whose order?”

            “We don’t take orders.” William’s words were accompanied by the thump of his rifle on the wooden floor of the barracks.

            The lieutenant flinched. “You are not attached to a unit?”

            Shad sniffed loudly. “Our own unit. We’re scouts—not army nor militia.”

            Colonel Christy gave a short laugh. “Perhaps you are asking who is securing their services.  I am.  My wife still remains with a rebel tribe of Shawnee and Shad and William will be scouting for her.”

            The young officer’s face, already pale, blanched further. “Your wife, sir?”

            “Yes. And with word coming that many branches of the tribes begin to gather, I wish to ascertain whether she wishes to yet remain among the rebels.”

            “Remain?” Washington’s word came out as a croak. “Do you mean she willingly accompanied them.”

            “Exactly.”  Christy winked. “But perhaps she’s changed her mind by now.”

            George lost some of his authoritative veneer which accosted by Christy’s revelation.  Johan chuckled. “Don’t worry, lieutenant, she lived among the Indians her entire life.”

            Color returned to Washington’s face.  “I confess I had no idea. My pardons.”

            Christy held up a hand. “No need. What of you, LaLoup?”

            The big scout grinned and affixed his gaze on Johan. “I believe after I am wed I will become Mr. Rousch’s neighbor. I am about to take up farming.”

            Shad lifted LaLoup into a bear hug and once he released him, William shook the soon-to-be-married scout’s hand.

            “I wonder if I surveyed that land, too?” Lt. George Washington whispered into Johan’s ear.

            Johan drew back and the two men grinned at each other. He clasped the younger man’s hand. “Ja, probably so—but I have a feeling you are beginning a new stage in your life.  May God bless and keep you.  And now, I go to check on my wife and new baby—a girl, something new for me, too!”

The End

We sincerely hope our readers have enjoyed our anthology!  Many blessings in the year ahead!!!

           

           

           

            

Editorial Notes for A Forted Frontier Holiday: Voices From the Past

Shenandoah National  Park

 Would you believe that this story was inspired about seven years ago by genealogical research that I did not want to pursue any further?  I was wanting to find out more about my mother’s side of the family, who were notoriously tight-lipped about such things. Why, I wasn’t sure.  Still don’t know.  But in any event, I got back in Mom’s genealogy far enough to find two people by the last name of Rousch marrying.  I did a double and triple take. Oh no--cousins who married. I prayed about whether I should pursue the genealogy any further or if my mother might be happy to leave it at that.  I do remember her laughing about it.  She was flat-out shocked that they were German, from what was then the Palatinate. After prayer, I forged ahead.  And found out the most interesting thing about one of their parents—George was reported to have been born inside Holman fort.  Here is one link to that report.   Of course we used some creative license here for the storyline because George was born in 1761. And I needed a baby girl in our story!

And although my genealogical research shows Jonas, the other father, born in New Market, Virginia, in the Shenandoah Valley, another online resource refers to his pension application showing him born at Fort Holman in 1763, possibly during Pontiac’s Rebellion. Both George and Jonas were born to Johan Adam Rousch, who had nine of his ten sons serve in the American Revolution, as did these two sons.

So all those years ago, I began thinking about what it must have been like to have been a mother, like Susannah Rousch, giving birth inside a fort.  And from the more recent research I’ve done, it appears that the families may have remained in a forted or stockade community for over two years, with George and Jonas both reportedly born there in two separate years—or perhaps they had to periodically return to the fort.  

A view to the New Market, Virginia area

So I spent some time in the rare book stacks at the University of Virginia reading about Johan Adam Rousch and his family.  There are several volumes available there.  And I also chose to read some accounts of people from the Shenandoah Valley who'd lived during that time period.  Those were some of the most touching stories I have ever read and the voices of the people echoed through the ages to me.  Mothers who'd lost their children or their husbands. Fathers whose entire families were taken from them in Indian attacks. Their unadorned, honest, and searing voices took me to a place near where Fort Holman likely was.  A gorgeous environment fraught with danger where people from all kinds of backgrounds sought to begin a new life. Can you imagine standing atop the mountain and looking down, like show in the picture above--and imagining that you would begin a new life, one away from the dirty cities of Europe for example?

We hope you have enjoyed the anthology thus far and pray you'll be captivated by the conclusion this coming Monday.  We have a famous visitor, who according to my research, was the real life surveyor of the Rousch's property. And this young man went on to have an illustrious future.  According to what I've found, he may or may not have been in the vicinity of our fort, but he would have been close enough that he could have been.  Can you guess who he is?  

Part 10, A Forted Frontier Holiday: Epiphany! by Dina Sleiman

While harvesting, the German settlement near New Market, Virginia receive warning of an impending attack by French and Indians war parties. They flee to a quickly cobbled refuge, Fort Providence—for they will surely need to rely on God’s provision. The forted colonials long to celebrate the holidays and await the arrival of visitors.

Each CQ contributor to this serial will bring their characters into the fort from throughout colonial America. Join us for A Forted Frontier Holiday each Monday on CQ for the next two months!

Part 1 - Inside Fort Providence by Carrie Fancett Pagels

Part 2 - A Providential Proposal by Susan Craft
Part 3 - Landlocked by Carla Olson Gade
Part 4 - Preserve My Life From Fear by Elaine Marie Cooper
Part 5 - A Gift from Buckskin Samson by Kathleen Maher
Part 6 - Narrow Passage by Pat Iacuzzi
Part 7 - Through the Storm by Lynn Squire
Part 8 - Christmastide by Carrie Fancett Pagels
Part 9 - Amish Snow by Kelly Long

Epiphany!

by Dina Sleiman



Elizabeth sat peeling potatoes with her new friends Abigail and Allison under a gray winter sky. Despite the January chill, they’d agreed they couldn’t stay trapped in their dark, tiny, fort compartments one more moment. The constant movement of their fingers should keep them from going numb with cold.

            “How much longer do they plan to keep us penned like chickens in this fort? I fear if I cannot run free over my mountaintop soon, I shall lose my mind and start clucking and pecking,” Elizabeth joked. “They shall have to lock me in the stocks.”

            “Oh, please do demonstrate.” Allison dropped her knife to clap her hands together. “I haven’t seen a stockade about, and we’ve had little enough entertainment during the past weeks.”

            Elizabeth shot a mischievous grin to Allison. She scanned the courtyard for one specific handsome face, and finding him nowhere, she stood to her feet. Digging her fists into her hips and stretching her head from the neck, she performed—if she must say so herself—a quite impressive imitation of her father’s prize rooster.

            “Bravo!” Allison’s clap increased in volume.

            Abigail swatted Elizabeth’s hip. “Sit down this instant, Elizabeth Jane Dunhurst, and do stop drawing attention. What will the men say?”

            Elizabeth and Allison dissolved into giggles and Elizabeth collapsed against her on their rough wooden bench. Although the elegant young stranger who’d caught Elizabeth’s eye earlier in the week seemed nowhere in the vicinity, Abigail’s quite serious and religious friend, Caleb, studied her thoughtfully from where the men sat in a circle, cleaning their weapons.

“Look at Caleb.” Elizabeth laughed all the harder at his confused face. “What must he think?”

            Abigail blushed under his gaze. “Why can’t you ever behave, Elizabeth?”

“Good heavens. Where is the fun in that?” Nonetheless, Elizabeth straightened herself and returned to her peeling, knowing how much Abigail wished to prove herself respectable to Caleb.

Allison nodded.  “We could all use a bit of fun right now.”

“I don’t see why you two are complaining. We’re safe after all. Would you rather go to sleep each night frightened out of your wits? Elizabeth, would you dance about your mountaintop knowing that Indian invaders might lurk behind any tree?”

A little tangle of something Elizabeth would rather not name formed in the pit of her belly. She had grown weary of fear in these last weeks. She just wanted to live and be happy again. “I suppose not.”

“And when else do we have so much time with friends as when we’re forted?” Abigail continued. “Why, look at the bonds we’ve formed.”

Again, Elizabeth was forced to grudgingly agree. These new relationships would last for years to come. If by chance they could meet in the future at social gatherings, no doubt they would greet one another as long lost sisters. Much as Hannah and Cathy had not long ago in this very fort.

Allison wiggled her eyebrows at Elizabeth. “And when do we have such opportunity to meet handsome, single, young men.”

“Not that you need to worry about that anymore.” Elizabeth hoped she would find a man as wonderful as Allison’s Douglas.

A grin lit Allison’s face and turned it beautiful. “Yes, I suppose it’s not entirely awful here.”

Elizabeth slammed her bald potato into the bucket. “But it’s all so dreary and worrisome. Epiphany should be a carefree time of year.” For a moment she sat silent, considering their plight. Thoughts of spinning and leaping across the mountaintop blended with handsome young men, social gatherings, and this blasted wooden fort.

She stood to her feet and pointed a finger to the sky with a good dash of drama. “That’s it! I’ve had an epiphany. An Epiphany epiphany.” She giggled.

“Do tell!” Allison squealed.

“What now?” Abigail asked.

“We shall have an Epiphany ball. Right here, in the fort. Why should we all sit about so gloomy and fearful. We’re together, we may as well enjoy ourselves.”

Allison began to whoop but clapped a hand over her mouth before Abigail could shush her. “Splendid plan. I haven’t had a chance to dance with my new groom yet. I shall help you arrange it.” She stood and performed a few country dance steps in her enthusiasm.

Abigail smiled. “You know, I hate to admit it, but for once I must agree with your crazy scheme, Elizabeth. We do need a bit of holiday mirth. Of course, Caleb won’t dance. He wouldn’t want to offend his parents or his parishioners, but we could watch together and enjoy the music. I do so miss music.” She gazed wistfully across the courtyard and Caleb waved back. “Perhaps he might even hold my hand.”

Abigail’s comment gave Elizabeth only the briefest moment of pause.

How sad that such devout believers could not accept God’s beautiful expression of dance. Many times she’d fancied herself twirling in the arms of Jesus atop that mountain. Those moments were pure bliss. Perfect praise.

Perhaps she should give a thought to not offending others as well. But shouldn’t her concern be to not offend weaker Christians? No doubt those who refrained from dance would consider their stance superior. She giggled again, intoxicated by visions of the upcoming party, and all apprehension flitted from her mind as quickly as it had come.

Allison continued to demonstrate steps and patterns as Abigail merrily hummed a tune. This was just what their forted community needed.

They would indeed have their ball. And she would find a way to dance in the arms of her mysterious stranger. As much as Elizabeth enjoyed her imaginary dances with her savior, she longed to dance with a flesh and blood man. Dare she dream—even a husband someday?

* * *

            Elizabeth took in the magic of the evening: the twinkling stars against a black canvas of sky, the flicker of firelight turning the fort’s dun-colored walls into a festive display of red and gold, handsome Shad at the fiddle, and the couples moving merrily to the tune. Somehow over the past two days she’d gotten so bogged in all the details of organization, she’d nearly forgotten the entire purpose of the dance had been to have fun.

To have fun, and to meet her mysterious stranger.

            She surveyed the outdoor ballroom. Abigail tapped her toes as she sat upon a bench with Caleb. The newlyweds, Allison and Douglas, led the dance. Comfort and Jonathan glided to the mellow tempo, although Jonathan slowed his wife’s pace and scanned her belly with concern. Nearby, Sarah and William seemed so lost in each other’s eyes that they almost forgot to move their feet. All the couples at the fort looked to be having a marvelous time.

Did Elizabeth just see Johan steal a kiss from Suzanne as they cuddled in that dark corner with their new babe between them? She smiled. She hoped so, for wasn’t love and romance the ultimate purpose of such a ball? Several children skipped past her and formed a boisterous circle. They pulled the little boy Constance and Nathaniel had found abandoned in the woods into the fray. How wonderful to see his small face beaming with happiness for once.

But still no handsome stranger.

            He had arrived the day after Christmas. A quiet man. And quite alone. Of course rumors flew quickly enough around such a tiny community. He had been traveling from Winchester to his newly purchased farm in Albemarle County when he was warned to hasten himself to the fort. That was all she’d managed to discover. She knew nothing of his hopes and dreams. Little of his personality, although he always appeared relaxed and pleasant. She hadn’t even heard his name. But once when she’d caught his eye, she thought she’d detected a mischievous twinkle to match her own.

            She’d been quick to concoct a story about him in her head. She fancied him descended of English nobility. Of course, he must be, with his quiet strength and poise. His farm would soon grow to be the richest tobacco plantation in the region. With her by his side, how could it not? And they would be the premier family of Albemarle County. Hosting dances like this, but in an elegant ballroom filled with glimmering gowns of silk and satin.

 A girl could dream, could she not?

            But the ball would not last forever, and he had yet to make an appearance. She sighed and sagged against the wall, her heart heavy in her chest. Would all her hard work be for naught?

            “Excuse me, miss,” a deep, accented voice cut into her thoughts. She lifted her gaze to find Johan standing before her. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

            How kind and gallant of him.

            Suzanne nodded from her seat.

“You must dance at your own party, Elizabeth. Please,” he said.

            Well, Elizabeth supposed no harm could be done if Suzanne agreed. But though Johan was handsome and tall, she had dreamed of dancing with her own charming prince. Her own prospective husband, not someone else’s lent out of charity.

            Elizabeth did her best to enjoy the moment anyway. Before long she was laughing and twirling. She lost herself in the music and danced beneath the stars. After Johan, other congenial men lined up to escort her to the dance floor, including that incorrigible, flirtatious Shad and ending with the visiting Colonel Christy himself. Despite his silver hair, he led her through a romping number with youthful vigor.

            Unexpectedly, the colonel pulled her up short. Breathless and somewhat addled from the excitement of it all, Elizabeth came back to reality.

            “Pardon me.”

It was him! The slim gentleman with his gleaming, dark hair and regal appearance stood beside her. Her prince, come to the ball, no matter how late.

            “Colonel, would you kindly introduce me to this delightful young lady. I’ve never seen anyone move with such abandon and grace. If you will allow an interruption, I simply must dance with her next. Unless of course you’ve set your rather dusty cap upon her yourself.” No, she hadn’t imagined it. His eyes twinkled with humor and mischief as he teased the colonel.

            “Dusty!” The colonel laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m still in my prime, good sir. Although, she has about worn out my feet. Elizabeth Jane Dunhurst, allow me to introduce one of the finest young gentlemen I’ve met in many years, Richard Beaumont of Albemarle County. A man full of both honor and spirit, who will no doubt do you justice on the dance floor.”

            William, now at the fiddle, switched to the final slow song she’d arranged for the evening. A song of love longed for and attained.

            She offered her hand. Richard bowed over it like the nobleman she’d fancied him. He pressed his lips to the back of her glove, yet she’d have sworn she felt their warm softness alight upon her skin, causing it to tingle and glow. “The pleasure is all mine.” He returned to his full height. “May I have this dance?”

            “You may.” Elizabeth looped her arm through his as he led her to the floor. 

Watch for the concluding installment of
A Forted Frontier Holiday by Carrie Fancett Pagels
Monday, January 14, 3013!

                      

____________________________________________________

Dina Sleiman writes lyrical stories that dance with light. Most of the time you will find this Virginia Beach resident reading, biking, dancing, or hanging out with her husband and three children, preferably at the oceanfront. Her debut novel, Dance of the Dandelion with Whitefire Publishing, won an honorable mention in the 2012 Selah Awards. Her latest novel, Love in Three-Quarter Time, is the launch title for the new Zondervan First imprint. Join her as she discovers the unforced rhythms of grace. http://dinasleiman.com

Part 9 - A Forted Frontier Holiday: Amish Snow by Kelly Long

Part 1 - Inside Fort Providence by Carrie Fancett Pagels

Part 2 - A Providential Proposal by Susan Craft

Part 3 - Landlocked by Carla Olson Gade
Part 4 - Preserve my Life From Fear by Elaine Marie Cooper
Part 5 - A Gift from Buckskin Samson by Kathleen L. Maher

Part 6 - Narrow Passage by Pat Iaccuzzi
Part 7 - Through the Storm by Lynn Squire

Part 8 - Christmastide by Carrie Fancett Pagels, Susan F. Craft, and Elaine Marie Cooper

Since Christmas the militia and Colonel Christy and his son have begun scouring the countryside and examining the farms that the inhabitants of Fort Providence abandoned. When a fierce snow storm blankets the countryside the men return to the fort. Some of the Amish inhabitants have taken ill with the fever that began in November. And now for:

                                                            
Part 9 - Amish Snow by Kelly Long

            He was hot, burning with need, and he wanted her to hurry. The soft light of the oil lamp pulled shadows across the quilt on the bed and he had the absurd notion that he might fall headfirst into the dark play of light and heat and wait for her there.

            “Your fever burns higher,” she whispered.

            Daniel Mast tried to smile up at his beautiful young wife but the effort cost him and he sighed instead. He saw the pail in her hands, brimming with fresh white snow and closed his eyes against the desire of his thirst. She understood though and soon held her fingers full of snow to his mouth and he sucked gratefully. The snow was so much cooler to his throat than water and Miriam was patient, giving him taste after taste until he turned his head with reluctance.

            Miriam sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the pail on the floor.

            “You know what comes next, I fear,” she said sadly, reaching a small hand to the damp hair of his forehead.

            He drew a deep breath. “Go on with it.”

            There was a sudden knock on the thin door of the bedroom and Amos, his younger bruder, poked his head in. “I bring more snow—ice too And the rope.”

            Miriam waved at him. “Kumme. We must start.”

            Amos dragged a full tub filled with icy whiteness across the wooden floor and stood with a length the rope in his hands. “Miriam, go on out. I will do it this time.”

            “Jah, go,” Daniel breathed as he raised his arms above his head and allowed his bruder to tie him fast to the bed.

            She shook her head, the glow of the light catching on the fair hair that peeked from beneath her kapp. Her blue eyes were large in her face, shadowed with worry. He didn’t want to see her in pain, or watch her tears when he screamed…

***

            Miriam Mast lifted her chin then bent to lift the nine-patch quit from her husband’s big body.  He had started to visibly shiver already and she wanted to cry. He wore doeskin breeches; she and Amos had decided to allow him the clothing for modesty’s sake after the last tortuous bout but she knew she’d have to help him change once they were done.

            She folded the quilt and laid it aside then bent to scoop up a large handful of snow from the wooden tub. Gritting her teeth, she began to pack the icy whiteness firmly against her husband’s long legs. She tried to concentrate on the thought that she was doing the right thing, what Grossmuder Mae would have done back in Lancaster. But Miriam was gone from that world now, living instead in a small house with Daniel and Amos and longing for Lancaster though they had left to build a new home. But they were blessedly inside Fort Providence, in the palm of Derr Herr’s hand, and they were safe for the moment. Safe but for a fever that had wracked her husband for days, and she was at her wit’s end in trying to battle the heat of his body. She was used to him tall, secure as a rock, his brown hair tousled and his green eyes shining. But now, his thick lashes lay against his flushed cheeks in dark crescents as his eyes narrowed in pain. Packing him in the ice and snow was one of the most difficult things she’d done in life and when he moaned she bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

            “Faster,” Amos encouraged her as he piled ice on his bruder’s chest.  She knew Amos hated doing it to Daniel too—at seventeen to Daniel’s nineteen, Amos more than honored his beloved brother and she knew that he was as worried as she. Yet there was nothing to do save finish the work, and at last, it was over. Daniel lay tied, his body, but for his face, encased in ice and snow, after several more fillings of the wooden tub. They must leave him thus until the snow melted or until he could stand the burning cold no more. She must not give in to his sobbing pleas; she knew he was beyond reason. But when he screamed—the strangled sound of a strong man in unbearable pain—she wanted to cover her ears and flee. Yet she stood fast.

            “Third day of this,” Amos murmured in an anguished tone beside her. “He can’t take much more.”

            “He will be well. I have prayed,” she whispered.

            “I too,” her bruder-in-law sighed. “Perhaps Gott will grant us grace as it is nearly Second Christmas.”

            Miriam nodded. She’d forgotten the holiday in her worry. Now she remembered the Amisch observance of the Epiphany and the normal exchange of small gifts that would take place. She recalled last year with a sudden flush to her cheeks. Daniel’s gift had been three extravagant kisses…

            “Three of the Wiseman…three gifts, and as thee knows, I lack the coin to buy you such, but would use my lips to do you honor as my wife instead.” He’d touched her hair and then her cheeks and then brought his mouth enticingly low against her throat…

            She remembered herself with a start as someone pounded on the thin door, the noise echoing above her husband’s strangled cries.

            Amos narrowed open the door—they were not much used to visitors as such. But the wood fell back from his hand as a flurry of white snow swirled inside, bringing a lanky youth, dressed in casual buckskins, his bright black eyes glittering above ruddy cheeks.

            “You don’t know me…” the visitor gasped with the cold. “But I cannot help but notice your actions the last few hours. I wonder—do you have a man down with the fever then?”

            Miriam stepped forward, wetting her lips. Perhaps the youth knew a healer…

            “Jah, my husband has been ill for three days now.”

            The dark-haired young man reached out a large hand, first to Amos, and then bowed to Miriam with a courtly air.

            “William Christy is my name. And three days is much too long for such doings as the torture of ice-packing a man.”

            Miriam saw Amos bridle a bit at the other man’s tone but then she heard Daniel moan again.

“Sei se gut—please, sir, if ye might aid us in any course, we will gladly accept.”

            William unwrapped his hands and nodded. “Then get him out of that ice for one thing. I will heat some herbs at the fire.”

            Miriam gestured to Amos and they hurried to Daniel, scraping off the ice and snow then draping him in a dry quilt. Amos untied his bruder’s hands with a sigh of relief.

            Daniel lay panting on the bed when William Christy brushed Miriam aside with a gentle hand. “Step away, milady. ‘Twill only take a moment to get this bitter lot down his throat, but it will help him. From the Indians hereabouts. A fever killer.”

            “Indians?” Amos almost growled.

            Miriam watched William look at her brother-in-law with steady eyes. “Yes, sir. The Indians could teach us much were we willing to learn, and I thought the Amisch were open to all.”

            “’Tis true,” Miriam interceded quickly. “Amos…well, his betrothed was killed in a skirmish between Indians and our covered wagons. He—he will learn to forgive.”

            “Jah,” Amos whispered finally, dropping his gaze.

            William Christy turned back to his patient and Miriam was amazed to see that already her husband’s color looked more normal. She pressed her hands together and began to pray softly, tears coming to her eyes.

            “’Tis not to cry over, milady, for I wager this man will be up and about and trouble soon enough by the size of him.”

            “Ye are kind,” Miriam choked. “Please, will you take some tea with us?”

            “Only if I brew it,” William Christie inclined his head. “I am particular about my tea.”

***

            Daniel came to himself in inches, painfully crawling back from near death to new life by the stranger’s hands he’d began to recognize. Then Miriam’s face would be above his, pale but hopeful, and he longed for the strength to take her in his arms. He’d drifted lazily in his fever at times, thinking of her golden hair unbound and flowing, covering his chest and arms…and then the bleak cold would drive away warmer thoughts until he swallowed a vile brew which seemed to bring him strange peace…

***

            And then there was the cold day that he brought himself to sit up. Miriam heard Amos tell her husband about the strange young man who befriended Indians and who came to bring herbs to heal him. They were surprised to learn he was son of the British colonel who’d taken charge over the Virginia militia who’d arrived at Christmas.  They had ceased to see young Christy after his kindness and Miriam thought she might sew a shirt for their friend, if she could only find him about. But Mrs. Rousch, clasping her new baby Noela, informed them that William had gone to scout whether their homes might be safe enough to return to soon.

            But, for now, she was thankful to Gott for Daniel’s renewed strength and for the lopsided grin he wore when he drew her close.

            “No more Amisch snow, my love,” he teased.

            She shook her head and cuddled closer to him. “Nee…but let us see if we might recall last year’s gifts of Epiphany.” Her words were a husky whisper which brought the response she’d longed for from him.



Next week Part 10, by Dina Sleiman, continues our anthology.

            

Part 8 - A Forted Frontier Holiday: Christmastide by Carrie Fancett Pagels, Susan F. Craft, and Elaine Marie Cooper

Part 1 - Inside Fort Providence by Carrie Fancett Pagels

Part 2 - A Providential Proposal by Susan Craft

Part 3 - Landlocked by Carla Olson Gade
Part 4 - Preserve my Life From Fear by Elaine Marie Cooper
Part 5 - A Gift from Buckskin Samson by Kathleen L. Maher

Part 6 - Narrow Passage by Pat Iaccuzzi
Part 7 - Through the Storm by Lynn Squire

Part 8 - Christmastide by Carrie Fancett Pagels, Susan F. Craft, and Elaine Marie Cooper

Christmas eve

“Riders!” Nicholas Zerkle called down to Johan from his perch by the gates. 

“Who?” Johan called up. Suzanne had begun her laboring and now they had arrivals. He rubbed the ache in his temple.

“Militia.” The shout of militia circulated around the fort, accompanied by the sound of moccasins and shoes skimming over packed dirt.

Finally—Colonel Christy’s request had been answered.

Johan gazed around at this varied group that somehow he’d been asked to commandeer. Dear God please have sent some real help, provisions, and some good news.

The colonel strode out from the barracks, which were being decorated for tonight’s festivities. “Open the gates.”

A contingent of men, perhaps thirty total, brought their horses to a halt just outside Fort Providence.

Their leader, an aristocratic-looking man but dressed in Virginia militia clothing dismounted and headed into the fort—Wyatt Scott, their old friend from New Kent.  The men remained outside.  Perhaps a good sign—if they were pursued they’d come in.  Or were they on their way?

Christy pulled Wyatt into a brief embrace.

The militia officer rubbed his chin.  He turned toward Johan, his eyes widening. “Suzanne invited me to celebrate a French-style Christmas sometime, you know—elsewise I’d not be here.”  He chuckled then turned and motioned for the men to begin carrying in boxes of provisions.

“Ja, I think you are confused. I think you just wanted to be here for the new baby, Wyatt?”  Johan clapped the militia lieutenant on his shoulder.

“Another?” He arched on eyebrow then glanced around. “Where is Suzanne?”

Johan’s older kinder rushed toward them and wrapped their arms around Wyatt’s legs.  He hugged the oldest two and lifted the younger, one in each arm.

“Mama’s having a baby.” Adam squared his broad shoulders. Only seven, his height made him appear much older—how long till he looked like the young militia men outside the gates?

Wyatt grinned and removed his tricorn hat. “Well then, I have just the thing for babies—good food for their mother’s.”

The boy sniffed and cocked his head. “And their brothers and sisters?”

Colonel Christy mussed the boy’s tawny hair. “Yes.”

Reaching into a pouch strapped across his chest, Wyatt retrieved a chocolate bar and handed it to Adam. “Take this and divide it for you and your brothers.”

Suddenly Johan’s limbs were empty as the others clambered toward their brother. He caught a whiff of the spicy dark chocolate and his mouth watered.  He’d not seen chocolate like that since he’d been to Williamsburg a year earlier. A chill breeze gusted across the yard, chasing the children toward the cabin.

With a wink, Wyatt reached in and handed a bar to Christy and to Johan. “We stopped at Shirley Plantation—young Carter loaded us up when he heard what was happening up here.  He’s been a great help rounding up the militia, as well.”

A muscle in Christy’s jaw twitched. “Have you provisions for all of us?”  He raised his chocolate bar.

“Mr. Carter was most generous—he’s sent a case of chocolate, though some is already grated for hot chocolate drinks.”

He couldn’t resist any longer—Johan unwrapped the thick bar and took one bite, savoring the taste until Nicholas Zerkle scowled at him.

Wyatt Scott fixed his gaze on the man. “If you wish to receive your own, I suggest you get back to work.”  He held Nicholas’s gaze until the younger man stalked off outside toward the militia.

 “We have extra guns, powder and horns, and we’ve brought salted fish, ham, squash, potatoes, corn and meal. All crated. And apples we secured not far from here at an abandoned farm.”

“Phillip Sehler’s farm, most likely.” Johan gestured toward the sentry craning his neck to get a better view of the militia. “He’ll be glad for relief from your men, Wyatt.”

“Which we’ll be happy to provide—once they’ve had a little rest.”  His glance veered toward the large central building within the compound.

The minister emerged from the barracks building.  Earlier it had been swept clean and was now being decorated with trinkets the ladies had gathered. Although the pastor moved slowly, he had survived his severe case of flux that hit just after his arrival. The young couple who were to marry that evening had been separated so that the ladies might prepare the bride as best they could. And the Baptists had announced that although they would attend the wedding they would not dance afterward.

Suzanne came out of their cabin, Sarah at her side, as the children pushed past them, inside.

“Reverend Saks,” Christy called out. “I fear that as soon as the wedding and celebration as completed tonight we will need to get the pallets set up for our militia. I hate to rush the events of the evening but I suspect they’ll need to rest.”

“Indeed.” Wyatt rubbed his chin and turned to look through the open gate at the men tending their horses.  Boxes and crates were being brought in and stacked in the center of the yard.  People began to gather around them and carry them toward the barracks.

“Johan!” Suzanne called out.

When his wife placed her hand on her swollen abdomen and gasped, Johan moved toward her. She’d overdone her preparations for the French Christmas celebratory feast for that night after the wedding and dance.

Sarah, eyes wide, placed a hand under Suzanne’s arm and lowered her onto a bench.  Johan ran to her and spied the ground beneath his wife’s tiny feet darkening with the baby’s fluid.  Tears filled his beautiful wife’s eyes.

Ja, the baby would come soon.  Here, in this place.

***

SFC

Two Shall Become One, A Fort Providence Wedding

Walking beside her dah, her arm curled through the crook of his arm, Allison Cameron gave her attention to the lace dripping from the elbows of her wedding dress. Her sister, Katherine, had tatted the lace that had adorned her own bridal gown. Allison’s quilted petticoats rustled underneath her finely hetcheled linen skirt that billowed around her legs like a pale blue cloud. Overcome by an awkward shyness, she dropped her gaze to the toes of her boots, one of which held a silver sixpence for good luck. Drawn by an irresistible urge, she lifted her chin and stared straight into her groom’s eyes. Blue like flax flowers in summer, they studied her with powerful emotions -- adoration, pride, and desire – stirring sensations that whirred in her stomach like a spinning wheel.

Douglas. Soon to be “My Douglas.”

How handsome he looked in his chocolate brown waistcoat, crisp white shirt, buff breeches, and shiny black boots. His dark auburn hair usually free flowing around his shoulders was secured in a brown bow. The clan McCallum sash, its green and muti-hued blue stripes that reflected the color of his eyes, draped across his chest. In the few weeks they had known each other as passenger and wagon master, Allison had never seen her husband-to-be in anything but buckskins and moccasin leggings. This new Douglas took her by surprise. Her heart thrummed, and she barely felt her feet touching the ground.

When they stopped in front of Reverend Saks, Mr. Cameron, his moss green eyes twinkling, leaned down, kissed her forehead and whispered, “May God bless you with great joy, my dear sweet lass.”

She caressed his cheek and swallowed the lump in her throat. She looked up at Douglas, who must have heard the exchange for his Adam’s apple bobbed beneath his superbly tied cravat.

Her pulse fluttering in her ears like the pedals of her spinning wheel, she barely registered the pastor’s words, and made her proper responses in a daze, until Douglas gripped her fingers.

“It’s time, dearest,” he prompted.

Stunned, she realized she had missed the pastor’s proclamation of their marriage. Trying not to stammer, she began the first verse of their traditional blessing, “God to enfold me. God to surround me. God in my speaking. God in my thinking.”

She stared at his full bottom lip as he spoke the next verse in a strong, vibrant voice. “God in my sleeping. God in my waking. God in my watching. God in my hoping.”

She caught the gleam in his eyes and her lips trembled. “God in my life. God in my lips. God in my soul. God in my heart.”

Holding hands, they spoke the last words together. “God in my sufficing. God in my slumber. God in mine ever-living soul. God in mine eternity.”

Douglas released her hands to pull the tartan from his body. “I’m sorry my mother isn’t here to perform this honor, sweetheart. She would have loved you, I know.” He arranged the sash across her right shoulder. “You are my family now, a stór.”

His family. His treasure. Her heart leapt.

Suddenly they were surrounded by revelers, their fellow refugees who had sought shelter at Fort Providence. All seemed ecstatic for a short respite from the dangers lurking outside the fort’s walls. They began clapping, shouting, hugging, laughing, and, much to her chagrin, pulling her apart from her husband. Her mah, her eyes misty with unshed tears, asked her to lean down so she could kiss her on both cheeks. Loud peals of laughter tumbled from the tiny woman as she pulled Allison across the room to Katherine, who, still recovering from a near death bout with fever, sat in a chair, holding her one-year-old son in her lap. Allison kept craning her neck, trying to spot Douglas, who was doing the same thing while good-naturedly bracing himself against the slaps on his back. She caught his eye and they laughed when she found herself surrounded by the ladies who oohed and ahhed over her dress.

When finally the laughter died down, the crowd escorted Allison and Douglas to a table where they sat together and marveled at the bounty laid before them, venison swimming in gravy, succulent rabbit stew, cinnamon sweet potatoes, dumplings, vibrant green snap peas, walnuts, baked pumpkin, and rhubarb pie.

Allison had been too nervous to eat anything all day, and the food made her mouth water. “Such a feast, Douglas.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and place small kisses across her knuckles. “You are all the feast I want.”

His words and the longing in his eyes wiped away her appetite, and she could feel her eyes growing wide.

Sensing the others watching them, he dug his fork into a dumpling and brought it to her lips. “I suppose we should make the effort?”

She took the morsel in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed, all without taking her eyes from his. When he reached across to her plate and cut the venison for her, she wondered what his tan, scarred hands would feel like on her person. She took a sip of ale and nearly choked when he drew his thumb across her lips to catch a stray drop of the fiery liquid.

Johan Rousch, a bear of a man, lumbered into the center of the room and in a thick German accent announced, “Now, we dance. That is except for my wife and I, for await a new member of our family. But all is going well. Please, all of you, we have much to celebrate this night—dance!” 

He scanned the room and joined Colonel Christy and his son, William, at the far end of the room where they chatted with the newly arrived militia captain.

The oldest Zerkle sibling stepped from the crowd and adjusted a fiddle under his chin. One of the soldiers pulled a fife from his pocket, and another man dressed in buckskins sat on a chair and began to pluck a dulcimer. The men and women opened up a circle and stared with anticipation at the newlyweds as the musicians sought out a tune that Allison recognized as Eriskay Love Lilt.

“I apologize that I couldna find a piper, my love.” Douglas held out his hand. “Shall we?”

On the makeshift dance floor, her husband – what a lovely sound – surprised her once again by leading her through a slow reel with grace that belied his large frame. The others joined in, some dancing and some singing.

Douglas stopped with Allison at the edge of the circle and stood behind her to watch the couples weave in and out of the intricate reel. His chest vibrated against her back as he recited one of the verses –

Thou'rt the music of my heart,
Harp of joy, o cuit mo chridh,

Moon of guidance by night,
Strength and light thou'rt to me.

The song came to an end, and Douglas leaned down and whispered, “Beloved, I should like very much to leave now, but if you desire to stay longer, we will.”

“We are of the same thought.”

“I’ll find your cloak.”

Allison made her way to the door where her mother and father greeted her with such happy faces she wanted to shout for joy. Douglas helped her with her cloak, taking the piece of dried heather from her curls and tucking it into his shirt.

“Ha! I see they are making their escape,” yelled one of the men.

The man standing next to him poked him in the ribs. “I seen where he set up their tent. Far away. So’s they can make as much noise as they please.”

Some of the men guffawed.

“Oh!” Mortified, Allison threw her hands up to her face and dropped her head against Douglas’ chest.

“They do naught but jest, my love.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Now, look here. It’s the foundling, come to present us with the traditional horse shoe.”

Allison uncovered her eyes and dropped down on one knee to receive the good luck charm from the young orphan who had recently lost his parents in an Indian attack. Her heart had gone out to him the moment they met.

“Thank you, lad.” She rumpled his thick hair the color of corn silk and he smiled at her, his bright blue eyes sparkling.

 

When she stood, Douglas glanced from her face, to the boy, and back again. “’Tis another thought we have in common, my dear. We shall talk of it later. But now….” He swept her up into his arms to the delight of the ladies present.

Several of the men moved toward them, causing Allison to wrap her arm around her husband’s neck, her lips grazing his ear. “They will not follow, will they?”

“No. That is another tradition we will dispense with.” He nodded toward two sturdy fellows who approached the door with Mr. Rousch. “They will keep the rogues inside.”

Douglas hoisted her up closer to his chest. “And so we are away, my sweet.”

She laughed and snuggled her face into his neck.

Yes, away to a new life, a new adventure. She could not wait to see what life had in store.

***

EMC

Christmas morn

Comfort carried the swaddled infant out the birthing room door. Her eyes rested on a distressed looking Johan. “Here you are, Mr. Roush. Your new daughter. She is well—as is your brave wife.”

A look of relief mixed with parental love flooded the father’s face. Comfort smiled as her own tears welled.

Such love! Would Jonathan look like that when he beheld their child?

Jonathan approached her from a group of men standing in the large room. “Comfort! Are you all right?”

Holding him with her eyes, she managed a muffled “Yes.” Inhaling deeply she grasped his arm. “It was a miracle. Perhaps the Virginians are correct—a true Christmas miracle!”

Her husband’s arms enveloped her waist as he led her towards the door. He lifted a cloak from a hook, wrapped it around Comfort, and gently drew her outside. The light snow barely announced its presence as it danced, then found its home on the wool before melting into the warmth of the material. The look on her husband’s face brought a shiver of delight, far warmer than the cloak.

“I was so worried about you. You’ve not been well.” Jonathan touched her cheek with tenderness.

“Jon, I am not ill.” Comfort drew his hand over her belly that was beginning to make its presence apparent. “We shall have our own child soon. I…I did not wish to worry you.”

Tears brimmed Jonathan’s eyes. “Our own child?” His face contorted and trails of salty tears blended with the melting snowflakes on Comfort’s cloak.

Comfort bit her lip. “Are you distraught, Jon?” She fought the moisture that welled in her own eyes.

Jonathan leaned toward Comfort and kissed her tenderly. “No, Comfort.” His lips touched her cheek. “Thank you, dear one. Thank you for our new family.”

***

CFP

Suzanne sucked in a shaky breath—the night had been long, but Comfort had proven capable and competent in assisting Sarah in the delivery of her first daughter and seventh child.

“Noela—I wish to name her Noela, Johan.”  Suzanne released their precious daughter to her husband, his face tender, awed. How she loved him, he'd truly journeyed through so much with her.

“She is really a girl? Ja? You are sure?”  He began to unwrap her.

“Oui, Johan!” What a silly man. “Of course I know she is a fille. Leave our daughter be—she is all wrapped fine. Bien.”

He settled next to her on the bed. “Noela—I like the sound of this name. Noela Marie?”

“Noela Marie.” She squeezed his hand, so warm and sure. “A daughter, after all those boys—I cannot believe it.  I would not allow myself to hope for a girl this time.”  Tears slipped down her cheeks.

Johan leaned forward, his hand cradling the baby’s head and protecting her as he kissed her forehead. “You look beautiful, Suzanne, and so does our daughter.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to Noela’s little cheek. She was so tiny and perfect.  Tiny rosebud lips began to move.  She’d want to eat soon. 

Suzanne sighed. “We missed the wedding. I love weddings.” And the bride would surely have been radiant.

Standing, Johan patted the baby’s back. “Ja, and we missed the celebration you worked so hard on--the Christmas feast. Well, you missed it anyway.”

Her husband never missed a meal. She laughed. “I think you felt it your responsibility, n’est pas? To be there to oversee?”

A soft knock on the door stopped her from teasing him further. Johan opened the door, grinning broadly. “Did you hear? I have a daughter—a girl this time!”

The Ingersoll men appeared stunned. “After six sons?” They cast a speculative glance in her direction.

Johan rocked back on his heels. “Six sons now a daughter. God is good.”

“Congratulations.  We’ve brought her a present.” Nathaniel and Jonathan Ingersoll carried in the cradle they’d crafted for the baby.

“May I see?” Suzanne had viewed the cradle earlier in the week but not the piece had been completed.

The men brought it closer. On the head and foot board, Nathaniel had carved a cherub, his workmanship superb—Suzanne had seen the work of master craftsman at Versailles whose work paled in comparison.

“Beautiful.  Merci beaucoup.”

Jonathan patted the bedding in the cradle cradle. “Constance’s contribution. She embroidered the Rousch name, too.”

Suzanne raised her head and could make out the faint outline of Rousch in white work thread. Constance’s work was excellent. 

“Lovely. Thank her for me.”

Nathaniel licked his lips. “’Twas sad that the fabric came from the wagon belonging to the foundling's family. But it very much pleased the little boy to see it used for the new baby.”

She smiled. “Tell him Noela thanks him.”  Reaching for her daughter, she caught the hesitation on Johan’s face. When the baby began rooting around on his shoulder though, he handed her back.

“Gentleman, I think we go now to assist with the Christmas feast and bring Suzanne back a nice plateful, ja?” Johan clapped an arm around each man’s shoulder and steered them toward the door.

Giveaway: Susan Craft is giving away a copy of her beautiful book "The Chamomile" to one reader. This made my 2011 Top Ten Favorites on my personal blog Overcoming With God. 

Next Monday, look for the next installment of A Forted Frontier Holiday,
Amish Snow by Kelly Long.