Christmas at Harmony Hill by Ann H. Gabhart Page B

had time to take aim. Sitting up in the trees along the river, they might have plenty of time to steady their shots. “Leastways they haven’t shot good enough to hit me yet,” he added without quite as much confidence in his voice.
    “We’ve had the luck of the Irish so far.” Jake settled down beside Gideon. The air off the river was cold and Gideon was glad for Jake’s broad back blocking some of the wind.
    “I’m not Irish,” Gideon said.
    “I’m Irish enough for the both of us,” Jake said. “I’ll see to it that you make it home to see that wee little bairn after he’s born.”
    “And how are you going to do that?” Gideon twisted to look Jake in the face.
    “Now think straight, lad. If you were a Johnny Reb sharpshooter with only one shell to spend before a boat full of Yankees got out of range, who would you aim for? A smallish target like you or a big one like me?”
    “He might want to prove his skill.” Gideon studied the riverbank again to see if he could catch the glint of light on a gun barrel.
    “True enough,” Jake agreed easily. “The Rebels are a strange bunch. That yell of theirs can send chills down a man’s back.”
    Gideon shivered as he pulled his jacket closer around him. He’d heard the Rebel yell, seen the charges, been deafened by the cannons, and so far come out with not so much as a scratch. But a man couldn’t be lucky forever when he faced enemy fire. Could be, the coming battle might be his last in spite of what he’d told Heather before they parted.
    He smiled, thinking of Heather safe with her family now. Her mother would take care of his Heather Lou and his baby too. He did so want to see that baby. He shut his eyes and imagined the little tyke in Heather’s arms. A tiny boy with dark hair like Heather’s. He wouldn’t wish his red locks and freckles on anybody, even though he was used to them and the jibes they brought. Some things were only funny the first few times a fellow heard them and sometimes not all that funny even then. He’d scraped a lot of knuckles in fistfights before he figured out laughing along with the jokester made for fewer bruises.
    But wonder of wonders, Heather hadn’t minded his red hair and freckles. From their very first meeting, she was ready to laugh with him instead of at him. They had laughed about all sorts of things that looked fresh and more wonderful staring at them through eyes of love.
    He stared down at the water flowing past, taking him farther away from her, and hated how empty his arms felt. Behind him, Jake had leaned back against the railing and was snoring. The man could sleep anywhere. Something Heather had said about him too. A soldier had to take his rest when and where he could. But sleep had come easier with her by his side. Now miles were between them and he could do nothing but remember the sweet blessing of her head on his shoulder and the touch of her hand on his back.
    She was his luck, his gift, his blessing, and his love all rolled up together. He pulled his knees up to his chest and dropped his head down on them. She prayed for him. He had watched her kneel in their tent and silently mouth prayers before she lay down beside him. She asked him once if he prayed. She never saw him bending his head in prayer.
    He told her, sure, he prayed. It was just that he wasn’t good with prayer words. Better to let someone else say the prayers and let him do the fighting. Besides, he’d already gotten the answer to his prayers. His Heather Lou.
    But now he had no idea how long it would be until she was in his arms again. He was headed toward a new battle with who knew what results. Then again, she was about to enter a battlefield herself. Women died trying to birth babies.
    It was no wonder sleep eluded him.

14

    T he days passed into December. It was peaceful in the cabin with Heather. It somehow felt right to Sophrena, almost as if she had gone back in time to the years before she came to the Shakers. But then