Christmas at Carnton Read online

  ACCLAIM FOR TAMERA ALEXANDER

  “I thoroughly enjoyed Christmas at Carnton! Tamera Alexander conveys the heartache and hardship of being a widow during the Civil War era, even as she invites us to take a deep breath, relax, and become absorbed in Jake and Aletta’s journey. This tender love story between two wounded people whom God brings together for healing is a book readers will enjoy anytime—but especially at Christmas!”

  —FRANCINE RIVERS, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF REDEEMING LOVE AND A VOICE IN THE WIND

  “With heartwarming humor, romance (and recipes) to savor, Tamera Alexander delivers a sweet, second-chance love story between a widow and a wounded soldier. A wonderful Christmas gift for readers everywhere!”

  —JULIE KLASSEN, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE LADIES OF IVY COTTAGE ON CHRISTMAS AT CARNTON

  “History, hardships, and a heroine, Christmas at Carnton offers a new perspective of the home front during the Civil War in Tennessee. Thank you, Tamera, for honoring our site.”

  —ELIZABETH R. TRESCOTT, COLLECTIONS MANAGER, BATTLE OF FRANKLIN TRUST: CARNTON AND CARTER HOUSE

  “Within the pages of Christmas at Carnton, Tamera Alexander powerfully conveys the emotions of a turbulent time in American history. You can feel Aletta’s struggles in your heart.”

  —JOANNA STEPHENS, CURATOR, THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN TRUST: CARNTON AND THE CARTER HOUSE

  “A vivid glimpse into Nashville’s history, To Win Her Favor is excellent historical romance with a gentle faith thread that adds depth to the tale, proving once again that you just can’t go wrong picking up a Tamera Alexander romance!”

  —USA TODAY

  “Strong characters, a sense of the times, and the themes of love, friendship, and the importance of loyalty and determination make this a triumph. It will be popular not only with Alexander’s many fans but also with readers of Judith Miller and Tracie Peterson.”

  —LIBRARY JOURNAL, STARRED REVIEW ON TO WIN HER FAVOR

  “No insta-love here! Readers get to experience the growing attraction between the headstrong and determined Maggie and the swoon-worthy Cullen. The deeply drawn characters move the story along at a steady pace—even Bucket, the dog, and Bourbon Belle, the mare, will win readers over.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4-STAR REVIEW ON TO WIN HER FAVOR

  “Alexander continues her ode to the magnificent Belle Meade Plantation, using it to illustrate questions of race, faith, and loyalty that continue to haunt today. Richly drawn secondary characters add depth, humor, and a sobering perspective on how Reconstruction affected racial relations, social status, and economic fortunes. Fans will appreciate and applaud the smooth merging of social commentary and a sweet love story.”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ON TO WIN HER FAVOR

  “This wonderful story of God’s love and faithfulness is set against the beauty of the Tennessee hills. Fans of Cathy Marie Hake and Deeanne Gist will enjoy this book.”

  —CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES ON TO WIN HER FAVOR

  “Already a USA Today bestseller, this novel draws a fresh thread in this author’s historical fiction tapestry. Tamera Alexander’s painstaking research into the people, places, and times of which she writes is evident on every page, and she depicts the famous residents of post-bellum Nashville with great detail and even greater affection.”

  —USA TODAY ON TO WHISPER HER NAME

  “Alexander writes a beautiful story of love, friendship, and finding purpose.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS ON TO WHISPER HER NAME

  BOOKS BY TAMERA ALEXANDER

  THE CARNTON NOVELS

  Christmas at Carnton (novella)

  BELLE MEADE PLANTATION NOVELS

  To Whisper Her Name

  To Win Her Favor

  To Wager Her Heart

  To Mend a Dream (novella)

  WOMEN OF FAITH FICTION

  The Inheritance

  BELMONT MANSION NOVELS

  A Lasting Impression

  A Beauty So Rare

  A Note Yet Unsung

  TIMBER RIDGE REFLECTIONS

  From a Distance

  Beyond This Moment

  Within My Heart

  FOUNTAIN CREEK CHRONICLES

  Rekindled

  Revealed

  Remembered

  Christmas at Carnton

  © 2017 by Tamera Alexander

  Epub Edition August 2017 ISBN 9780310413202

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017947378

  Printed in the United States of America

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  In loving memory of

  my mother, June Whitehead Gattis;

  my mother-in-law, Claudette Harris Alexander;

  and my father-in-law, Fred J. Alexander.

  We miss you every day, but especially at Christmas.

  Sarah, my love for you is deathless.

  It seems to bind me with mighty cables

  that nothing but Omnipotence can break;

  and yet, my love of country comes over me

  like a strong wind, and bears me irresistibly on

  with all those chains, to the battlefield.

  —EXCERPTED FROM THE LAST LETTER MAJOR SULLIVAN BALLOU

  WROTE TO HIS WIFE DURING THE CIVIL WAR (1864)

  Dear Reader,

  When I first visited Carnton in 2007, the history of the people who lived and worked there captured my imagination and my heart. Again and again, I would find myself thinking about these people and about what happened within the walls of the Carnton home during the final days of the Civil War and in the years following. So when the opportunity arose to write a three-book series about Carnton—the novella you’re holding now being the introduction to that three-book series—I was thrilled.

  Christmas at Carnton opens in November 1863, roughly a year before the Battle of Franklin. The Union (referred to as the Federal Army in the 19th century) and the Confederacy have now displaced these once united states, and the nation is entrenched in war, pitting brother against brother and tearing families—and this country—apart. Yet even in this dark time of America’s history, we see beacons of enduring faith and hope in the lives of these people who shed light and wisdom on our still all-too-divided United States.

  The struggles of those who’ve gone before us, particularly within this era of America’s history, offer great encouragement to me. I’m inspired by their steadfast faith in Jesus Christ and their determination to cling to what was most important, to what truly knit them together, such as the eternal hope found in the true meaning of Christmas. I hope you will be inspired too.

  I’m nearing completion of the first Carnton novel which will release in the fall of 2018. If you’ve not visited the Carnton Plantation in Franklin, Tennessee, I hope you’ll consider doing so. We must never forget our past, first so we don’t make the same mistakes we made
before, but also so we might gain wisdom and perspective from those who—on both sides of the war—loved their country with a passion and depth rarely seen since.

  Lastly, I wish you a very Merry Christmas and hope you enjoy the collection of recipes we’ve included in the back pages. I’d love to hear how they turn out for you!

  Thank you for entrusting your time to me. It’s a treasure I never take for granted.

  Blessings from Carnton,

  Tamera

  Contents

  Acclaim for Tamera Alexander

  Books by Tamera Alexander

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  Recipes from Christmas at Carnton

  An Excerpt from to Whisper Her Name

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  NOVEMBER 13, 1863

  FRANKLIN, TENNESSEE

  21 MILES SOUTH OF NASHVILLE

  “Very nice stitching, Mrs. Prescott.”

  Aletta looked up, not having heard her employer’s approach. Focused on her task, she was determined to leave the factory on time that afternoon. It was a special day, after all, and Andrew would be excited. Her son needed this encouragement. They both did. “Thank you, Mr. Bodeen, for your kind words.”

  “You always do excellent work, Mrs. Prescott. Every stitch so straight and even, perfectly matching the one before.”

  She smiled her thanks despite perceiving a negative quality in his voice. Not that Mr. Bodeen ever sounded jovial. Unmarried, not much older than she was, he always seemed a sad sort. A discontented, melancholy man. But then, how could any able-bodied, healthy man maintain a sense of self-worth, much less pride, when he’d chosen to stay behind and work in a factory instead of joining the rest of the men who’d left home and loved ones to fight in the war?

  Like her beloved Warren had done.

  Her throat tightened with emotion. Would it always hurt this much? She swallowed. Nearly one month to the day since she’d received the letter from the War Department, yet she still had trouble believing he was gone. Perhaps if she could see his body one last time, she’d be better able to accept that—

  “Would you join me in my office, Mrs. Prescott?”

  “In your office, sir?” Aletta paused mid-stitch and looked across the rows of seamstresses to the clock on the factory wall. A quarter past four. Almost another hour before her shift was over. Then she felt the stares.

  She looked around only to see the other women quickly bowing their heads and turning curious gazes back to their work. Except for one woman. On the opposite side of the factory. Aletta recognized her. Marian, she thought her name was. They’d begun working at Chilton Textile Mills about the same time. Marian was gathering her coat and reticule—and wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Mrs. Prescott.” Mr. Bodeen gestured. “My office, please.”

  Aletta laid aside the garment she’d been sewing, bothered by having to set it aside unfinished, while the greater part of her sensed that unfinished stitches should be the least of her concerns.

  She followed him down the aisle, then past rows of co-workers, the click of her heeled boots marking off the seconds as the tension in the room swiftly registered.

  Mr. Bodeen’s office proved to be considerably more insulated from winter’s chill than the factory, and she rubbed her hands together, welcoming the warmth while also trying to control her nerves. Her knuckles were stiff and swollen from long hours of stitching. But she had only to think of what Warren had endured to silence that frivolous complaint.

  He’d always been careful not to reveal too many details about the war in his letters. But one night during his furlough home in April—the last time she’d seen him—after he’d banished any doubt she might have had about his continued desire for her, he’d lain beside her in the darkness and talked into the wee hours of morning. He talked all about the battles, life in the encampments, and the countless friends he’d made—and lost—during the war. “Friends as close as any brothers I might’ve had,” he’d whispered, his strong arms tightening around her, his breath warm on her skin. “There’s one fellow from right here in Franklin. Emmett Zachary. You’d like him, Lettie. Maybe you and his wife, Kate, could meet up sometime.”

  She’d never heard him go on like that. So unfettered, as though the weight of his soul had grown too heavy for him to bear alone. His words had painted indelible pictures in her mind. Images she’d have wished to erase, but for Warren’s fingerprint on them.

  Anything from him was something she wanted to hold on to.

  She’d made a point to look up Kate Zachary, and they’d even had tea on two occasions. But the hours in each day seemed to fly, as did the weeks, and she hadn’t seen Kate since the afternoon she’d visited her to tell her about the letter she’d received from the War Department. “. . . slain on the battlefield, having given the ultimate sacrifice for love of home and defense of country” is how the letter had been worded.

  The notice had arrived only two days after she’d received a hastily written letter from Warren telling her he was faring well enough and that he’d penned two more letters to her that he would send shortly. The letters never arrived.

  What she wouldn’t give to have them now. To have him back.

  “Please have a seat, Mrs. Prescott.”

  Aletta did as Mr. Bodeen asked, her gaze falling to a handwritten list atop his desk. Was it a list of names? She attempted a closer look as she sat. It was hard to read the writing upside down, and yet—

  She was fairly certain she saw Marian’s name, the coworker she’d seen crying moments earlier. Aletta swallowed, panic clawing its way up her chest.

  “Mrs. Prescott, you know how much we appreciate your work. How you—”

  “Please don’t take away my job, Mr. Bodeen. Reduce my hours if you need to, but—”

  “Mrs. Prescott, I—”

  “I’m behind on the mortgage, Mr. Bodeen. And keeping food in the pantry is already a challenge. Mr. Stewart at the mercantile has extended my credit as far as he can, and I don’t know what I’ll—”

  “I wish there were something else I could do, ma’am, but—”

  “I have a son, sir. Andrew. He’s six years old. Today, in fact.” She tried to smile and failed. “He’s waiting for me even now because we’re supposed to—”

  “Mrs. Prescott!” His voice was sharp. “Please do not make this more difficult on me than it already is. You are an exceptional worker, and I’ve written you an outstanding reference. Which is more than I’m doing for the others.” He pushed a piece of paper across the desk.

  Numb, Aletta could only stare at it, the words on the page blurring in her vision.

  “With the war, customers aren’t buying clothing like they used to. And there’s simply not enough work for the seamstresses we’ve employed. I’m sorry. You were one of the last women we hired, so it only seemed fitting.”

  “But you complimented me a moment ago. You said I always do excellent work.”

  “I know what I said, Mrs. Prescott.” He averted his gaze. “I was hoping to . . . soften the blow.”

  She blinked and moved a hand to her midsection, feeling as though she’d been gut-punched, as Warren might’ve said. It had taken her weeks to find this job, and that had been almost a year ago—after she’d lost her job at the bakery. The town of Franklin was in
far worse shape economically now than then. Up until a couple of months ago, the Federal Army’s occupation of the town had made for a tenuous existence for Franklin residents. Especially considering the garrisons of soldiers encamped in and around Fort Granger while thousands of Confederate troops were entrenched only miles away.

  But according to recent reports in the newspaper, the Federal Army had moved farther south, leaving only a small garrison behind in the fort. The absence of Federal soldiers in town seemed to substantiate those reports.

  Mr. Bodeen rose, so she did likewise, her mind in a fog.

  “Mrs. Prescott, today being Friday, you may collect this week’s wages from the accounting office as you leave.”

  She struggled to think of other arguments to offer on her behalf, but none came. And even if they had, she didn’t think he would listen. His mind was decided. She retrieved the letter of recommendation, folded it, and stuffed it into her skirt pocket.

  Moments later, she exited the factory and walked to the corner, numb, not knowing what to do, where to go. So she started walking. And with each footfall, snatches of the conversation from Mr. Bodeen’s office returned on a wave of disbelief. And anger. “Please do not make this more difficult on me than it already is.”

  Difficult on him?

  She had half a mind to turn around, march right back into his office, and tell him what difficult truly looked like. Yet such a decision would undoubtedly mean she’d forfeit her letter of reference. Which she sorely needed to help distinguish herself from the flood of other women seeking employment.

  Already, evergreen wreaths dotted the occasional storefront, some wreaths adorned with various shades of ribbon, others with sprigs of holly, the red berries festive with holiday color. One bold shopkeeper had even hung a bouquet of mistletoe in the entryway. But despite the hints of Christmas, Aletta couldn’t bring herself to feel the least bit festive. Not this year.

  Approaching the train station, she saw a man seated on the corner of the street. He was holding a tin cup. Beggars were commonplace these days, and she hated that she didn’t have much to give him. As she grew closer, though, she realized he wasn’t seated. He was an amputee. The man had lost both of his legs. He turned and met her gaze, and the haunting quality in his expression wouldn’t let her look away.