Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Explore 1.5M+ audiobooks & ebooks free for 30 days

    From $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Bright Lights and Candle Glow
    Bright Lights and Candle Glow
    Bright Lights and Candle Glow
    Ebook150 pages1 hour

    Bright Lights and Candle Glow

    By AIW Press

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    This collection from eight talented authors boasts short stories set during the winter holiday season. These tales encompass sober themes, heartwarming messages, and uplifting endings, appropriate for the winter season or all year long.Arranged in chronological order, witness winter miracles from the mid-1800s through modern day, running the spectrum from somber to lighthearted.Learn the meaning of the season from a Civil War soldier.Go from rags to riches with a 1920s mobster.Relive a fond holiday activity with a helpful Grinchy neighbor.Create new holiday memories with a 1970s ranching family.Meet a new friend whose advice rekindles the magic of the season.Experience Christmas from a wise, aged perspective.Cross cultures and beliefs to create a new holiday tradition.Celebrate the season with estranged family after a life-changing revelation.These stories are sure to enhance your experience of the holiday season.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAIW Press
    Release dateNov 28, 2016
    ISBN9781944938109
    Bright Lights and Candle Glow
    Read preview

    Related to Bright Lights and Candle Glow

    Related ebooks

    General Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related categories

    Reviews for Bright Lights and Candle Glow

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Bright Lights and Candle Glow - AIW Press

      Bright Lights

      and

      Candle Glow

      An Anthology

      of Christmas Stories

      Travel in Time from

      the Civil War

      to

      Present Day

      Copyright © 2016 Primacasa Press

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written consent of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

      Primacasa Press, Lower Burrell, PA 15068

      Primacasa Press is an Imprint of AIW Press, LLC.

      https://aiwpress.com

      The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

      ISBN-10: 1-944938-10-9

      ISBN 13: 978-1-944938-10-9

      I led my horse across the field

      and toward the warming light

      of Christmas Eve candles and fires.

      A Christmas Truce

      by

      P. C. Zick

      What is Christmas for a soldier such as me? I tried not to think of it. It did no good, only reminded us of our miserable state of affairs with the winter rains pounding down upon our heads and our huts, hastily built in the mud-covered mess of the Union army.

      My family helped me along by not reminding me what I was missing, but some of the soldiers weren’t as lucky. They received letters from home telling them of the holiday preparations—the parties, the decorations, the baking, the gifts—all the things that would be missed sorely by those of us in the sodden misery of Virginia wearing nothing more than the scratchy wool of our winter uniforms. My mother and sisters must have known better than to send letters that would make me ache and yearn for that which could not be. At least not for the Christmas of 1862, as my troop from Michigan awaited orders to march.

      The winter rains had begun the week before, and already roads were rutted and spirits dampened. While we waited for the rain to stop and the war to begin again, I took little comfort in my crowded and tiny hut with its smoking fireplace, earthen floor, and cloth roof. Without comforts, conveniences, or accessories, I had nothing much to do. I knew at any time, once the rains stopped and the sun shone down on the muddy roads, all of my energies would be focused on active service.

      Too much time to reflect left me wondering what it all meant. Did my family miss me, especially now that Christmas was upon them and I wasn’t there to help Father cut down the Christmas tree from my grandfather’s farm on the outskirts of the small community from which I hailed? I thought back to prior years in my worst moments and remembered the party that awaited our return from the woods with the perfectly shaped tree. How could I face my rations of hard bread, bacon, and coffee when memories of sugar cookies and roasted turkey filled my senses?

      All the days passed in camp, one like the other, with our regular military duties, which amounted to very little while at rest.

      After the last round of steady rain for days, we received a few supplies and a newspaper full of condemnations for the idleness of the troops in the field. But no packages from home arrived, which meant any that had been sent would not be there in time for Christmas.

      Any attempt to move large bodies of men was inexpedient, and to move artillery and supply trains was next to impossible with the wet and soggy conditions. The clamor of newspapers, the quarrels among general officers, and the interference of Congress with artillery movements discouraged and demoralized our ranks. It was bad enough for some of the youngest to be away from their homes for the first time at Christmas. But all the men felt they were enduring hardships and sacrificing lives without adequate results, and all because of petty jealousies among the leaders. Idleness and discontent go hand in hand with soldiers, and the gloomy outlook of our winter camp was not cheering. The fences had all disappeared for fuel, and green wood for cooking and heating purposes had to be hauled long distances with the mules floundering knee deep in the mire and the wagons cutting almost to the hubs.

      Finally, on Christmas Eve, the sun overpowered the clouds, and the incessant patter of drops on canvass stopped. I almost felt light-hearted when I stepped outside my hut. To break the monotony, a comrade, Jonathan, happened by and asked if I might enjoy a ride. It was the first day of sunshine we’d seen in more than a week. We both had friends in the 4th Michigan who were camped about four miles in our rear, and I decided the change of pace might very well make me miss my family less if I spent time in the company of other young men who missed home in equal measure. Our commanding officer even allowed us to take two of the horses instead of the regular mules we soldiers used for traveling with our packs. Both Jonathan and I had done extra picket duty on the stormiest nights, so we were in good stead with our superiors.

      The day was filled with laughter and boasting and sunshine, and we enjoyed our visit very much. One of the soldiers told a story that had a somewhat sobering effect, although there were humorous aspects to it.

      The soldier had heard about a lieutenant camped near Fredericksburg who had become enamored of a young woman who lived in an old-fashioned brick house with her mother.

      The young lieutenant, whose duties called him to visit them, became acquainted with the young lady, and at her invitation, called frequently upon her. He became quite taken with her charms after only a few visits that were social in nature. It wasn’t usual considering both of their ages.

      Was she Confederate or Yankee? Jonathan asked.

      It seemed he never bothered with that formality, came the storyteller’s response. He said later that because of her friendliness, he assumed her to side with us.

      He continued to tell us that the lieutenant proposed marriage, and the young lady accepted with the blessing of her mother.

      Not a long courtship, that, one of the soldiers said. But then if she was charming, why wait?

      We all laughed, but when we’d settled down, the story continued.

      One evening while calling upon his intended, during a brief lull in the conversation, the heavy atmosphere bore to his ear what he judged to be the click of a telegraphic instrument, Samuel continued. Instantly, his interest and loyalty were awakened and a suspicion of treachery aroused. Without betraying that he had heard the sound, he chatted on, his keen ear strained to catch and locate the clicking.

      How could he ever suspect his beloved? I asked.

      It is wartime, gentlemen, Jonathan said. Never trust a soul, especially an innocent maiden.

      The rest shushed us and urged for the story to continue.

      He left at the usual hour, convinced a contraband communication was going on with the enemy, Samuel said. The next evening, taking with him a strong guard and leaving them in the yard, he again called upon the young lady.

      We listened attentively to the rest of the story. Receiving him with the warmth of an expected bride, the young woman conducted him to a sofa, where clasped in each other’s arms, they indulged in fond caresses and endearing words until the ominous sounds of the clicking telegraph again greeted his ear. Excusing himself for a moment that he might clear the phlegm from his throat, he opened the door and motioned vigorously to his guard despite the darkness. While the door was still open, the guard pressed in and exhibited an order from General Burnside to search the house.

      That ended the kissing, that is to be sure, one of the soldiers said. What happened then?

      Everything changed in an instant, it did.

      The young lady, so recently the devoted lover, became a tigress. With flushed cheeks and blazing eyes, she let loose a torrent of rage and abuse upon the Union soldiers.

      Insults like Yankee brutes, Lincoln hirelings, scum of the North, and cutthroats were hurled at the men as she let loose her hatred of the Union. Familiar with the favorite expressions of southern ladies, the guard with due deliberation proceeded with the search. Down in the cellar, they unearthed a young man with complete telegraph offices, the wires leading underground to Fredericksburg. They brought the cringing knave up into the habitable world, and he pleaded piteously for his cowardly life. The sight of his abject fear aroused the genuine affection of the young lady, and she begged in tears with the lieutenant to spare the life of her dear husband.

      A married woman! I said. And here she thinks we’re brutes?

      It seems she had played lover to the lieutenant for the sake of the little information she could squeeze out of him for the use of the rebels.

      This was only one such story I’d heard since joining the cause very early in the war. There were many instances where southern women served as decoys, and then their men were taken prisoner. Some were even taken to their deaths. They did not hesitate at anything, if they could cripple a Yankee. As a reasonable man, I knew that the same thing might exist on the other side, if given the chance. Neither side was exempt

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 8