Songs of the Shenandoah Read Free Page A

life, with her cherished guests about to arrive, and she was intent on making every detail of her hospitality an expression of the profound love she felt for her family.
    After all of this time and separated by so many distant miles of untamed territories, they would be home at last.
    She stepped back, raised her hand to her chin, and considered the placement of the candles that were set in brass holders, tied with golden ribbons, and placed on a red silk runner, which went down the center and spilled over the sides of a long cherry table.
    The flames rising from the wicks and those emanating from wood crackling in the marble-framed fireplace combined to light up the spacious dining room and cause shadowy figures to shift on the walls between painted portraits and landscapes.
    The pine boughs she had weaved so delicately on the shelving and mantelpiece of the room smelled of fresh-cut evergreen. These scents blended with those from the mistletoe arranged on the table and the potpourri simmering in a copper kettle at the foot of the fire, providing a festive symphony of Christmastime aromas.
    Garret, with his black tussle of curls, had his back to her, his knees perched on the bay-window ledge, fogging up the glass as he waited anxiously for the arrival of relatives he had known only through letters and photographs.
    Standing beside Clare, her sister polished the crystal drinking glasses around the table with the aid of a napkin. The flickering candlelight splashed delicately on Caitlin’s face, who at thirty years with her long, wavy blond hair, high cheekbones, and fair complexion appeared much younger.
    â€œThis one is quite chipped.” Caitlin held the glass up to Clare.
    â€œIf you look closely, you’ll see they all have their blemishes, I am afraid. Much the same as me.” Clare reached down and picked up one of the china dishes. “Look at these poor fellows. If they survive this . . . last supper, it will be only due to God’s mercy.”
    Clare held up one of the silver knives, tarnished beyond repair, and sighed. “Oh to see what has become of all of this! If Andrew’s mother were still with us, she would no doubt have good reason to lecture her daughter-in-law. A sad caretaker of the Royce empire I have proven to be.”
    Caitlin plucked the piece of silverware from her sister’s hand and laid it in its proper place on the table. “These are different times. Troubling times. There is victory in . . . just maintaining our position.”
    â€œWhat I would do to maintain. What a glorious ring that word has to it. No, we slip further with each day.” Clare glanced at her fingertips. “And I have calluses to prove how precipitously we hang on.”
    The harmonies of well-sung Christmas songs wafted through the window. “What’s this I hear?” Clare headed to the window.
    â€œMa,” Garret said, without turning. “There’s carolers coming.”
    â€œWhat a welcome sound to our evening.” Caitlin nodded to her sister to join them.
    â€œEnough fussing about the cutlery.” Clare squeezed her son’s shoulder. “I should be ashamed to be bantering about such things on this of all evenings.”
    The three of them peered out the window, smiles warming their faces as they gazed through the misty veil of the falling snow. There, under the gaslight, was a gathering of seven sharply dressed singers, the women in bonnets and colorful dresses and the men sporting tall hats and tailored coats. Each stood closely together and were wrapped tightly in scarfs as steam rose with each Yuletide verse they sang.
    As she savored the words and muted melodies of the song, Clare whispered a prayer of thanks for this neighborhood she lived in and this house, a fieldstone two-story structure that despite sorely needing new paint still rose above the others on her block.
    â€œShould we go outside?” Garret turned and smiled sweetly, but his