Susan picked her way over the muddy ruts in the road, holding her worn skirts above her ankles. She shivered as a gust of wind chilled her. The heavy door of the post office swung open easily under her touch, but resisted as she tried to close it.

Huffing, Susan made her way up to the counter. The postmaster, Mr. Evans, approached her. "Merry Christmas! Susan, there's a letter for you!" He rummaged around the cubbies behind the counter. "I know it was here somewhere...Dear, where's the letter for the Fitzgeralds?"

Mrs. Evans appeared from the kitchen. She stopped short and her cheeks grew pink. "Susan!" Her hands fluttered up to her face. "Come with me, dear."

Susan frowned, but followed Mrs. Evans into the kitchen. A skinny man in a grey coat was sitting by the fire, cupping a bowl in his bony hands. He turned as the women entered the room and wordlessly set the bowl down, face lighting up.

"Jeff?" Susan whispered, walking slowly towards her brother. He had changed considerably. His body was nearly half the size it had been before he left for the war, and a dark brown beard obscured the lower half of his face.

"Susan!" Jeff threw his arms around his sister, not rising from his chair.

Susan drew back. "Jeff, ain't you glad to see me?"

Mrs. Evans sniffed. "'Course he is! He just can't get up easily."

Susan raised an eyebrow and glanced at Jeff, who attempted a smile and pulled his coat aside. His left leg ended above the knee and his empty pants leg hung limply. "It had to come off," he said simply.

Susan's lip quivered. "I-I'm sorry, Jeff." She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

Jeff laughed, but the sound was hollow as it left his gaunt body. "Don't be sorry, Susan. I'm alive."

Susan blinked several times. "You're alive," she echoed. "But...can you walk?"

Jeff tried to smile. "Not as good as I used to, but yes." He put his hand on a pair of crudely-made crutches. "Shall we go?"

"Yes." Susan stood back and watched as Jeff tucked his crutches under his arms and pushed himself up. She put a hand out to steady him.

"Thank ya for the tea and stew, Mrs. Evans." Jeff touched his forehead and slipped his grey hat back onto his head.

The kindly postwoman nodded, pointedly avoiding the sight of Jeff's leg. "I'd have done the same for anyone, Jeff. You know that. See that you get your sister home safely."

Susan paused, waiting for Jeff to offer her his arm. He didn't, so she stuck her arm through his, giving him extra support. Jeff nodded to Mrs. Evans and the two siblings slowly made their way out of the kitchen.

A blast of cold air hit them as they stepped out onto the street. Jeff shuddered and Susan suddenly realized how threadbare his coat was. "Jeff, let me give you my scarf." She undid the dark fabric from her neck.

"No, Susan," Jeff started to protest, but Susan was already looping the scarf around her brother's neck. He sighed. "Thank you."

Jeff's new way of walking was odd and at first seemed choppy, but once Susan had walked a few feet with him, she discovered there actually was a rhythm to the way he moved. He took a step with his good leg then put it down, pushing off with the crutches. It was kind of a step-hop, step-hop rhythm, but Susan was able to match her pace to that of her brother.

A group of young boys ran by Susan and Jeff, jostling them. One - intentionally or accidentally - hit Jeff's crutch with his foot. Susan bit her lip and tried to keep Jeff from falling, but in vain. Jeff went down on one knee, barely catching himself with his crutches.

The crutches must have jolted Jeff's arms, because his face was pale and pained-looking. The knees of his already-dirty uniform were now stained with red mud from the street. "If I still had my leg...I would'a made those boys apologize," Jeff muttered.

Susan crouched beside him, trying to keep her skirts out of the mud. "If you had your leg, Jeff, that wouldn't have happened." She shot a glare at the retreating backs of the boys.

Jeff attempted to laugh. "You're right." He started to push himself up. Susan heard a wagon approaching from behind and struggled to help Jeff get out of the street.

"Hey, you Seceshes!" A voice called loudly. Jeff and Susan both stiffened and slowly glanced upwards. Five Union soldiers sat in the back of the wagon and another two sat in the wagon seat.

"Answer them, Jeff," Susan whispered, still trying to help her brother stand.

"Yeah?" Jeff called up tiredly. "What y'all want?"

"Y'all want a ride?" One of the younger soldiers leaned over the edge of the wagon.

"Not from y'all, no," Jeff answered shortly. "I'll not be beholden to no Yankees." He almost spat the last word.

An older soldier eyed Jeff's leg. "Son, don't go gettin' your back up. We ain't doin' this so one more Secesh'll be beholden to us. Heck, we got enough of that already 'cause we won the war! How far are you goin'?"

Jeff's lips tightened. "That ain't none of your business." He finally got to his feet and stood up straight. "C'mon, Susan." Step-hop, step-hop.

"Jeff, I know they're Yankees, but couldn't you accept their help?" Susan asked quietly.

The wagon moved forward a little bit and came even with the two siblings again. "Look, Reb, if'n you won't do it for yerself, do it for the girl." The younger soldier leaned out to talk to Jeff. "You think she can help you make it all the way home?"

Jeff's eyes narrowed suspiciously and he glanced at Susan, then back to the soldier. "You know him?" Susan shook her head and Jeff continued to stare at the soldier. "What's in it fer you?"

"Nothin'," the young man said quickly.

"Nothin', huh?" Jeff shook his head and took another step-hop.

"Don't you listen to him!" The older soldier spoke up. "Yeah, we want to talk with the girl, but that's all. We ain't talked with a respectable woman since we left home, seems like. Look, Reb, we've got all this food-" The soldier held up a keg of molasses and continued speaking. "And we're headin' home. We can't eat all of it. Today bein' Christmas Eve, we're tryin' to figger out how to get rid of it."

Another soldier in the wagon spoke. "Since you's a soldier, we'd rather it go to you than to someone else."

Jeff raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I am - was - a Confederate soldier."

"That don't matter none!" The younger soldier said vehemently. "Not on Christmas Eve, leastways. You've been in the war; you know what it's like." He moved to the back of the wagon and held a hand out to Jeff. "C'mon, Reb. It's Christmas."

Jeff stared at the outstretched hand. The two men's hands were identical from the fingertips to the wrist. Both had strong hands and were used to hard work. Both men were soldiers who had fought for what they believed was right. The difference was from the wrist up. The Union soldier's wrist was covered with a blue coat with brass buttons at the cuffs. Jeff's wrist was barely covered by the sleeve of his grey uniform. The cuffs on his coat were ragged and dirty.

"It is Christmas," Jeff said finally, his voice hoarse. He took the soldier's hand and pulled himself into the wagon with difficulty. The younger soldier helped Jeff climb up while the older soldier helped Susan into the back of the wagon, tipping his hat as he did so.

"Where's your home?" The driver turned his head.

"We live a few miles down the road," Susan answered, spreading her skirts around her legs. "At Fitzgerald's."

"I've been by there a few times," one soldier volunteered. "You're Susan, ain't you?"

"Yes."

"We're grateful to you and your mother. I heard that she ain't never turned no one from her door who needed help."

Jeff frowned at Susan. "Y'all helped Yankees?" She nodded.

"Not just Yankees, son," the old soldier shook his head. "Mary Fitzgerald helps anyone - and that means anyone - who needs help."

Jeff leaned back against the side of the wagon. "She oughtn't to." Susan frowned and shushed him.

One of the soldiers lit a pipe and Jeff's eyes brightened. "Y'all have tobacco?" The soldier nodded and held a pack out to Jeff, who filled his pipe and lit it.

"How about a song, Davis?" Someone called.

The older soldier nodded. "All right. Y'all join in, now." He thought for a moment, then began to sing, "Love and joy come to you, and to you your wassail, too, and God bless you and send you a happy new year, and God send you a happy new year."

Everyone in the wagon joined in as the wagon rolled down the road. The singing seemed to shorten the drive.

"Y'all don't sing so bad - for Seceshes," one soldier commented.

"And y'all ain't bad for Yankees." Jeff was grinning. "I can't remember the last time I've done anything with a Yankee besides shoot at him."

There was a murmured agreement from the Union soldiers. "There was one time, on July 4th, we had a holiday with the Rebs," one soldier remembered. "They sure did love to eat."

"Yeah?" Jeff smirked. "Well, we eat the same way we fight. Hard!"

"Ain't that the truth!" The young soldier laughed. "We thought y'all had us whipped a few times, Reb."

Jeff laughed and drew his good leg up underneath him. "We thought we had y'all whipped." His laugh and words were tinged with bitterness.

Susan attempted to lighten the mood. "Where do y'all come from?" She asked, looking around at the soldiers seated in the wagon.

"We're all from Kentucky," Davis answered, his drawl making the name of the state sound like "Kain-tuck-ee."

"You sound almost just like us." Susan furrowed her brows.

"That's the thing 'bout war," Charley said. "Folks who should be brothers end up bein' enemies." Susan stared at him, thinking. He caught her gaze and she looked away, cheeks heating.

"This the house?" The driver called, stopping the wagon before a short lane that led up to a sturdy cabin. Warm yellow light shone out the windows.

"Yes," Susan answered, gathering her skirts to rise.

Charley put a hand out to stop her. "We'll take you up to the door." The wagon started again and rolled up to the house.

The door opened, releasing a flood of light out into the darkness. "Susan?" A woman stepped outside, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. She saw the Union soldiers and stiffened.

"I'm here, Mamma!" Susan stood quickly, waving a hand. Charley, the young soldier, jumped down from the wagon and held out his hand to Susan. She allowed him to help her down then ran to meet her mother. "Mamma, Jeff's home!" She whispered.

Mary Fitzgerald made a choking noise and peered at the wagon. "Jeff?"

Jeff climbed out of the wagon. "Merry Christmas, Mamma." He limped over to his mother and hugged her.

Mary threw her arms around her son and his crutches. "Oh, Jeff!" She pulled away and cupped her hands around his thin face. "I would never have dreamed I'd be getting my son for a Christmas present."

The Union soldiers had been unloading food from the wagon, and they stood with their arms full of food. Davis stepped forward, cap in hand. "Ma'am, I'm Reuben Davis." He bowed, motioning the other soldiers forward. "We'll be headin' home soon, and we want this food to go to a soldier's family."

The young soldier, holding a ham, dipped his head in greeting. "Charley Gibbs, ma'am. Can we set this inside for you 'fore our arms fall off?" A ripple of laughter came from the soldiers.

Mary smiled tearfully. "Certainly, Charley." She led the way up the steps to the house and opened the door for the soldiers, who entered one by one, depositing their burdens in the kitchen.

Mary was helping Jeff into a chair in the parlor when Charley touched Susan on the shoulder. "Miss Susan? I know you've prob'ly got a passel of beaux, but...could I write to you?"

Susan hesitated, frowning. "Charley...I hardly know you." She watched his face fall, then spoke again. "But...if you would like to...yes. I will write back to you."

Charley grinned. "Thank you, ma'am." He backed away and rejoined his companions, who stood awkwardly.

Mary looked up, twisting her hands in her apron. "Please...I know y'all wouldn't want to eat with us, but...this bein' your food...would y'all stay for Christmas dinner?"

Davis glanced at Charley and several of the other men before answering. "We'd be glad to, ma'am."

Mary suddenly seemed full of energy. "I need to build the fire up in the parlor and warm up the ham, but it shouldn't be too long until dinner is ready."

Charley and another soldier stepped forward. "I saw the woodpile out front, ma'am. We'll take care of the fire." They pulled their coats tighter and left the house.

Susan perched on the arm of Jeff's chair and held his hand. "Merry Christmas, Jeff. It's good to have you back."