Home In Time For Christmas. Heather Graham
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helped themselves.
Therefore, there was just one prayer to make.
Dear God, do not let me falter; let me be the best man I am able in this moment. May it be quick; may I not dangle at the end of this rope. May I not cry out, but die with dignity in thy Grace!
As if in answer to his prayer, Major Hempton strode center on the scaffold. A hush fell over the crowd. Oh, and there was a crowd. Church bells pealed because it was almost Christmas, and folks should have been home cooking and thanking the good Lord for their loved ones, but hell, Christmas or no, a good hanging was a good hanging.
And in the sea of faces before him, there were those who cried—blessed, lovely women with their tearstained faces, those who rued his fate. Those who believed in the sovereign rights of America, and, of course, there were also those who thought he deserved his fate as a traitor against the mother country.
Hempton was a puffed-up peacock of a man. His position in the army had been bought through family ties. He did well enough making the occupied city of New York bow to its knees; he could drink well and lock his jaw in silence when he realized his gambling losses, but he was not the kind of man that the British military hierarchy wanted in the field.
“Good people of New York!” Hempton announced. “You see before you a gift for this Christmas season. A traitor! A man who would cast you into years of want and death and hardship! You out there who might think to make such a treacherous move against your mother country and the goodness of King George, beware! This is the fate that will meet all traitors!”
Really, it did help that Hempton was just a pompous ass. He was little, and therefore, wore very high boots. He was balding, so he took elaborate care with his wigs. He had a huge gut from overindulgence in food and wine, and thus truly gave the impression of a lobster in his red uniform. At least his appearance made for a last amusement Jake could enjoy on earth.
Trying for dramatic effect, Hempton swung around. “Any last words of regret, traitor?” he demanded.
“I regret that I failed my country, the United States of America,” he said. “I regret that I leave behind my family and good friends, and the future of freedom that will be in this great land!”
I leave behind family….
Suddenly, to his astonishment and dismay, his “family,” his adopted sister, was there before him.
Serena.
Sweet Serena, the little girl he had protected so fiercely ever since she’d lost her parents when they were young, and even more fiercely now that he’d lost his own. Little girl grown up now, furious, and facing the enemy. Serena, with her beautiful, wide, iridescent blue eyes. Her hair, like a raven’s wing.
But she couldn’t be there. Home was far away. Far up the coast, in Gloucester.
Someone had to get her out of here before she infuriated the wrong person. Good God, the British couldn’t hang a woman! Could they? This was war. Atrocities had occurred. No, no, no…
Stay silent, Serena, he begged in silence.
“Oaf! Traitor! “ Hempton stuttered out. Apparently, he had no ready argument.
Oh, dear God, Jake thought, I prayed for help to die well, and you have brought this woman who is the closest I have to kin left in the world to see the spectacle of my jerking limbs and dangling feet….
But she couldn’t be there, she couldn’t; word couldn’t possibly have reached her in time for her to make the journey to New York, it was impossible.
Not impossible. She was there.
“You are the oaf, sir!” she shouted to Hempton. “You would kill a man as Christmas comes?” Dear God, but that sweet voice of hers which could resound with such charming laughter could also peal out with the resounding sharp clarity of a bell.
He winced. She would get herself arrested. And with such a man as Hempton, he sincerely feared even a woman could ride a gallows and meet a hangman’s noose.
“Get it over with quickly, I beg of you!” he said quietly to Tim.
But Tim, like the rest of the throng—including Hempton—seemed to be caught up in the spell created by the ringing tones of Serena’s mockery. Hempton’s lips were puffing, but now he really seemed to be at a loss for words.
“Let goodness be, blessed be, let crimes against the heavens be not against man!” she cried out. She raised her arms. And she dropped rose petals.
Rose petals. In the middle of winter. Against the white of snow still upon the ground, and the crystal blue of the morning. Rose petals, like blood drops on the snow.
“Let Christmas be!” she cried out. “Christmas, and God’s grace on man, and woe to the enemies of love and peace. Shame on those who forget that we come into a season of love and forgiveness. What fool of a mortal fails to honor the likes of Christ, or those who teach us how to live in kindness and charity with our fellow men?”
The crowd was beginning to stir. There was something about the passion in her voice, and the sweetness. Those who wanted a spectacle of pain and death were shamed.
Hempton found his voice. “Hang him!” he shouted to Tim.
And Tim indeed looked as if he would cry.
“For the love of God, Timothy, now!” Jake agreed. “Please, my friend, I beg you. Now, before my sister meets the wrath of that wretched oaf, as well.”
Tim understood. His eyes were filled with the agony of his duty.
The noose was tightened. Jake looked at Serena. “I love you, dearest sister, sweetest friend. Go home!” he whispered. She shouldn’t have seen him; she never should have been here. When had she come to New York? It was impossible for her to be here.
But he could see her; she was there.
Crystal-blue eyes were upon his. “I love you,” she mouthed in turn. “And we will both come home for Christmas.”
There was a drumroll. Tim whispered with tears in his voice, “God forgive me!”
And he pulled the lever, and the trapdoor beneath Jake’s feet was sprung.
He fell….
And fell and fell..
He felt no pain.
Only the rush of the wind.
He saw the blue sky.
Then, at first, it seemed that Serena disappeared. Disappeared into a fine mist with only her smile seeming to linger as a vision in his heart.
Then, he felt a rose petal against his cheek. The sky was filled with falling rose petals.
A bloodred caress in the midst of a beautiful and snow-white day.
Chapter One
Another Winter’s Day
Christmas.
Ho, ho, ho. Merry, merry.
Yeah, Merry Christmas.
The road was a slip and slide.
Peace on earth.
Even when she had left New York City that morning, Melody Tarleton thought, people were practically trampling one another to get into Macy’s, make the next subway or beat everyone else out for one of the cabs slip-sliding all over the street. The stores were advertising that they were open Christmas Eve and some even on Christmas morning, just so that the jerks who couldn’t remember to buy gifts all year long could rush out last minute and buy some stupid thing that no one would really want anyway. But they’d realize they were going to grandma’s for dinner, and hadn’t even thought to buy the woman who had loved