Christmas at Carnton (Carnton 0.5)
Tamera Alexander
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.