The Soldier's Bride Read Free

box under her arm. Her heart seemed to beat with the rhythm of the music held inside. Maybe it would always keep time to Jim’s melody. She had copied his message and pasted it inside the box under the red velvet paper to remind her of what she’d heard in the cemetery. Jim had hinted at a secret, and if it wasn’t for that, Evelyn would never have ventured out with the music box.
    Tugging at the heavy door, she cradled the music box and stepped inside the church. Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the entryway. She crossed the hall and entered the Sunday school room. With some hesitation, she eyed the gleaming wooden benches surrounding tables overflowing with donations.
    Evelyn meandered through the church, looking at the tables filled with trinkets and treasures from the community and the larger neighboring town of Callaway Grove. She rubbed the ivory paper on the box in a circular motion, and her voice resonated with a hum—something she did almost without realizing.
    The double doors at the back of the church swung open. A gust of wind pushed through and collided with Evelyn. She stood there staring as a woman struggled to carry a large cradle inside. As the wind died down, the current of air tickled her ears with the sounds of the earth coming alive, and Evelyn walked toward the woman.
    The cradle was marvelous—solid maple with little birds carved in the sides—and polished to a pale sheen. The woman closed the doors, and the last bits of wind pushed the cradle until it rocked gently. Evelyn smiled at the woman.
    Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of carrying the load inside. A tangled mess of dark curls fell halfway down her back. She glanced at the cradle, then at Evelyn. “Do you like it?”
    Evelyn saw something familiar in the woman’s eyes. “I, uh, I do, but it’s so beautiful—I don’t know if I have enough.”
    “My name is Rhonda Halverson.” She motioned to Evelyn. “What did you bring to trade?”
    “I’m Evelyn Patterson.” Her throat tightened and she held out the box with trembling hands. “This is a music box.” She set it on the table and popped open the compartment. The miniature ballerina stood up gracefully and pirouetted to the music.
    The two women stood still and listened. Rhonda bent down and peered at the reflection of the ballerina in the mirror. “Beautiful. I’ve never seen one like this before. Where did you get it?”
    Evelyn hesitated. “It was a gift. I’m not sure where it came from.”
    Rhonda’s fingers grazed the tulle skirt of the ballerina. “My daughter would’ve loved this. That was her cradle, or bed as she called it. It’s big enough that she slept in it until she was nearly eighteen months old.”
    Evelyn swallowed. “Your daughter?”
    “Yes, she passed on two years ago. She was three.” Rhonda squared her shoulders and gazed at Evelyn.
    “I’m so sorry.” Evelyn shook her head and murmured, “My late husband gave me this music box and asked me to give it away to help me move on with my life if he died.” She touched the velvet padding and looked at Rhonda, understanding what she had recognized in her eyes. “He died in the war before I could get a letter out that I was expecting.”
    “Seems like we have a connection then,” Rhonda said. “I’d like to trade you my cradle if you feel up to it.”
    Evelyn knelt down beside the cradle and traced the lines carved into the wood. “I think my baby will fit better in here than in the music box.” She laughed and the tinkling sound echoed through the hall.
    “And I think I’m ready to pour my sorrows into something smaller.” Rhonda cleared her throat. The music stopped playing, and the ballerina stood still in a half turn away from the mirror, her face painted in an everlasting smile that looked up at the two women who knew about heartache.
    A few hours later in the quiet of her room, Evelyn battled second thoughts. She closed her eyes for a moment and hummed Jim’s tune.