Christmas is always difficult for those who are far away from home and in difficult circumstances. In Where Duty Calls, book one of my trilogy of Middle grade historical novels set during the Civil War in New Mexico Territory, Jemmy Martin finds himself gathered around a campfire on Christmas Eve, eating food that is far less than festive.
“Hey, Cookie, dinner ready?” Frederick Wade asked. “This boy’s stomach is growling louder than thunder."
“Coming right up.” Kemp doubled up his blanket and used it to protect his hand as he took the skillet from the coals. He pulled off the lid, revealing browned biscuits floating atop watery gravy with a few bits of meat. “Eat up, boys.”
Norvell groaned, but he held out his plate. “Sop and
biscuits again? On this night of all nights, can’t we have something decent?
Something festive?”
“You were expecting eggnog?” Wade asked.
Jemmy watched Norvell’s face grow red. “Eggnog would have
been nice.”
“Where’s the jokes, Norvell?” Wade asked, and he was right.
No one in the squad had ever seen Norvell in this foul of a mood before.
“Same place as the eggnog,” Norvell said with a grumble,
“and the stockings. What I wouldn’t give for a plum pudding right now.”
“Wait a minute,” Jemmy said, his mind finally taking in what
was being said. “Eggnog? Plum pudding?”
Norvell turned a baleful eye on Jemmy. His face had grown so
red that it looked like a tomato in the campfire. “Haven’t you been keeping
track of time, Little Britches? It’s Christmas Day, and here we are, in the
middle of nowhere, with water scarce and good wood even scarcer, and all we get
to eat is biscuits and something to sop up with ‘em. I’m tired of eating this
way.”
“Yeah, and I’m tired of listening to you shoot off your
trap, so just shut up and eat,” Jemmy roared back. It was so rare that Jemmy
took on another man that everyone around the fire stopped to look at him. Jemmy
didn’t care. He tucked into his food without looking up, because he was afraid
that if he did, someone might spy the tears that glittered in his eyes.
Two years earlier, Cian Lachlann, who will fight against Jemmy at the Battle of Glorieta Pass the next March, is huddled in a flimsy tent on the steep side of a Rocky Mountain slope with three other men. The war has not yet begun, but Cian's dreams of striking it rich during the Pikes Peak Gold Rush have grown cold and he's feeling hopeless until one of the other men finds a way to fill this cold night with joy. A Clear Creek Christmas tells the story of that Christmas Eve.
By Christmas of 1862, some 40,000 sick and wounded Union soldiers filled the 38 hospitals (23 in Washington, 10 in Alexandria, and 5 in Georgetown) military hospitals in the Washington, D.C area. Those men, like Cian and Jemmy, missed the comforts of home, the foods and traditions that make the season memorable. Luckily for them, a small group of women decided to bring holiday cheer to the soldiers by providing a Christmas feast. Elizabeth Watton, wife of Caleb B. Smith, Abraham Lincoln’s Secretary of the Interior first conceived of the idea.
Watton and her committee went to work soliciting donations. President and Mrs. Lincoln donated $650 to the cause, and the city of Philadelphia threw in another $2,500. Other cities, such as Pittsburgh, which donated turkeys, sent food, decorations, or other necessities.
On Christmas Day, soldiers awoke to evergreen garlands and the aroma of turkey, chicken, vegetables, rice, plum pudding, and pies wafting through the air. President Lincoln, walked through many of the wards, shaking hands and speaking words of kindness and encouragement to the soldiers. The Washington Chronicle declared that, “Washington has seen this year probably the most remarkable celebration of Christmas Day that ever occurred in the history of the world.”
A year later, Charlie Longfellow, the oldest son of Boston poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, was shot during a skirmish during the Mine Run Campaign. The bullet entered his left shoulder, traveled through his back and exited under his right shoulder blade, barely missing his spine. That Christmas Day, Longfellow heard the bells ringing and was inspired to write a poem. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day was set to music less than a decade later and has become a beloved Christmas carol.
Author Jennifer Chiaverini takes the story of why Longfellow composed that poem and intertwines it with a contemporary story set in Boston, where a choir director at a Catholic church uses the song in her choir's Christmas Eve concert. The contemporary story is interesting, in that Chiaverini offers the same scene, the rehersal, over and over, each time through the eyes of a different character. I think any writer wondering if they've used the right character as the one to be the point of view character would benefit from reading this book, as would all who want a warm and comforting read for the holidays.
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