Spinning the Moon (10 page)

After eating, I went downstairs to seek out Julia and offer her whatever assistance I could. Seeing as how I didn't garden, cook, or sew, I knew that child care would be my best bet.

I heard the sound of an ax striking wood and followed it out the back door. The morning rain had stopped and the air was thick with the fallen moisture and the heady scent of moist dirt and saturated flower petals. Standing on the back porch, I paused to admire the view under leaden skies. Instead of the row of lofty pine trees separating my backyard from the highway, long rows of cotton plants and other crops that I didn't recognize stretched as far as I could see. The dark shapes of five or six people leaning over hoes and several mules working in the fields stood out in bold relief, like a painting from a history book. Stuart watched me approach as he stood near a large pile of wood and rubbed his wounded leg. His skin had an olive cast, making his blue eyes stand out under the dark hair.

“Good morning, Laura,” he said, with a touch of a smile on his lips.

“Good morning, Stuart.” I stopped a few feet in front of him. “What are you planning on doing with all that cotton?” I indicated the furrowed field behind him. “I would think the market's a bit slow these days.”

He raised an eyebrow, as if he wasn't used to those sorts of questions coming from a woman. “The Roswell mills will take most of it, and I'm
hoping to sell the rest to a blockade runner bound for England.” His gaze scrutinized me as he spoke.

“What are you staring at?” I asked, feeling a touch self-conscious at his appraising look.

“To be honest, I was just wondering to myself whether it would be better for you to go back to wearing your men's clothing or to find someone besides Julia to borrow clothes from.”

Julia was a good size smaller than I was, and I did feel the uncomfortable pull of the dress across my chest, not to mention that the skirt barely brushed the tops of my shoes.

“Wouldn't do for me to burst my buttons in front of Dr. Watkins, would it?”

Serious now, he replied, “No, it would not. I'll talk to Julia about it.”

“Really, there's no need. These will do. I don't plan on staying here forever. But I did want to talk to Julia about my daughter.”

He leaned on the ax handle, taking the weight off his leg. “I asked Julia this morning at breakfast. She doesn't recall hearing anything, but promised to ask around town.” He narrowed his eyes. “We also need to ask if anybody recognizes you. I know that if I had seen you before, I would remember.”

I looked away, uncomfortable, and unsure what to say. Searching for Annie here, in this place and this time, might be fruitless. I had no idea how the powers that had brought me here worked. Annie could be anywhere. In any time. Or this was some horrible dream and I couldn't wake up.

Turning, I saw Julia with a large basket brimming over with an assortment of vegetables hanging on her arm. Her face was shaded by a large straw hat, obscuring her expression. It was hard to believe that she had given birth so recently.

“I'm sorry to have slept so late. I promised to help you, and I'm afraid I haven't done much more than lie in bed. Tell me what I can do.”

The back door opened and Willie and the little girl I had seen on my first day stepped out on the back porch. Charlie yapped excitedly at their heels, his droopy eyes making me grin.

“Hi, Willie. Is this your sister?”

They both stood there, shuffling their feet until Julia approached.

“Willie, Sarah, this is Mrs. Truitt. Mrs. Truitt, this is my daughter, Sarah. You've already met Willie.”

Willie gave me an exaggerated bow and Sarah curtsied. Sarah was taller than her brother by a good two inches. Her blond hair was sun-streaked white in places and hung in two heavy braids on each side of her head. A smattering of freckles decorated the bridge of her nose, and clear green eyes stared levelly out at me.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” I responded with a curtsy of my own.

“Mrs. Truitt has kindly offered to help me take care of you and the baby until she is ready to return to her own home. I expect you to treat her as an honored guest.”

A loud rumbling in the sky made us crane our necks upward. An ominous black cloud hovered overhead and I knew it would be only a matter of seconds before the sky opened up.

“I'll check on the baby,” I said to Julia. Turning to Willie and Sarah, I said, “Quickly, children. Let's go inside before we get soaked. How would you like to hear a story?” I herded the children in through the back door.

“What kind of a story?” they asked in unison.

“Well, it's about a little girl and her dog who get lost, and an evil witch is chasing them. So she makes friends with a lion, a tin man, and a scarecrow, who help her find her way home.”

“Is this the girl from Kansas?” Stuart asked as he shut the door behind us.

I nodded. “And she's a long, long way from home,” I added, as we all headed into the front parlor just as the sound of rain began pelting the windows.

Whoso desireth to know what will be hereafter, let him think of what is past, for the world hath ever been in a circular revolution: whatsoever is now, was heretofore; and things past or present, are no other than such as shall be again:
Redit orbis in orbem.

—SIR WALTER RALEIGH

T
he summer rainstorm lasted for more than an hour, saturating the fields and yard. Muddy puddles of red clay beckoned the children outside, but I restrained them with the promise of another story.

I left the children arguing over who was going to be the witch and went in search of Julia. Both children had bright minds, and I wanted to ask permission to teach formal lessons. I heard a fretful Robbie and I followed the sound into the back library.

Julia and Stuart were speaking in a low whisper, so I paused before knocking on the partially closed door.

Julia's voice was soft but I could hear her desperation. “I don't know how much longer we can survive here. Flour is already forty dollars a barrel and salt is one hundred and twenty-five dollars a bag. And the dollars we have are worth less and less each day.” The wooden cradle creaked as it rocked from side to side. “I hate to think of it, but we might be forced to leave. Perhaps my aunt in Valdosta will take us in until the war is over.”

There was a brief silence while Julia made soothing noises for the fretting baby, and then she continued. “I think we can make it through this winter, but if the army keeps on provisioning itself with our food, we will be hard-pressed to make it through until spring. They have just about cleaned out my root cellar.” Julia's voice was filled with resignation.

There was a slight pause before Stuart answered. “Julia, I am sorry. You are right, of course. Leaving might be the best thing for you and the children. I have been selfish wanting to somehow hang on to Phoenix Hall at all costs.”

A mosquito landed on my forearm and I squashed it, splattering blood on my pale skin. Stuart continued, his voice heavy. “As long as our dividends from the mills continue, we should be able to manage financially, whether or not the plantation is running.”

Julia's voice was soft. “I am sorry, Stuart. I know how much this land means to you. Much more than it ever meant to William.”

I heard a soft grunt of agreement from Stuart and the irregular cadence of his boot heels on the wooden floor. “The only things that have ever meant anything to William were things that were not his.”

The creaking cradle stopped. “Oh, Stuart,” Julia said quietly. “I know how much we hurt you, and for that I will always be sorry. But you have been a good brother to both of us, and I only hope you can find it in your heart to one day forgive us.”

I imagined Stuart running his hand through his hair. “That's all in the past. It really does not matter anymore. You are part of my family now, and it is my duty to take care of you and your children in William's absence.”

At the personal turn in their conversation, I started to back away from the door, when I became aware of Sukie standing behind me in the hall. She raised her eyebrows but made no comment. Rather than appear to have been eavesdropping, I knocked on the door and entered.

Gone was the smell of musty books I had become accustomed to. The bookshelves that lined the wall were full, but I could see no torn or moldy bindings.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

Julia was seated at the mahogany secretary while her foot methodically pumped the cradle back and forth. She leaned over the baby as I entered and murmured something unintelligible to all but mother and child.

Shaking her head, she looked up at me. “No, not at all. Stuart was just helping me with the books, and I think my head has had just about all the facts and figures it can take for the moment. Would you like some coffee?”

“No,” I said a little too vehemently. “I mean, not right now, thank you.” My tongue burned with just the thought of the acid brew.

Julia smiled. “Well, I do think Sukie is making some of her strawberry tea, if you would like some of that.”

“Only if it is made with real strawberries. No roasted acorns or shoe leather, please.”

She laughed. “I'll be right back, then.” She picked up the baby and walked out of the room, leaving the door wide-open.

Stuart stood at the far wall, absently pulling books from the shelves. “Are you finished with the tales of Dorothy?” he asked as he firmly shoved a brown leather-bound volume in its slot.

“For now, at least. I've got at least a dozen more where that came from, so I should be able to keep the children occupied for the next year of rainy days.”

He quickly looked at me. “Do you mean to stay that long?”

The four walls of the room seemed to suddenly close in on me. “I don't know. I want to find my daughter and go home. I just don't know how.”

“Wherever that is. Your speech is Southern, but . . .” He paused. “It does not sound familiar to me.” He examined me closely, his eyes never wavering. “Is that really why you are here—to find your daughter and return home?”

“If you're asking if I have ulterior motives, no, I don't. I apologize for eavesdropping, but I heard you and Julia talking. I'm sorry if I'm a burden.”

Brushing aside my apology, he said, “Please don't think you're a burden. In fact, I'm beginning to think of you as a godsend.”

“A godsend? Don't you mean another mouth to feed?”

He came to stand in front of me. “Not at all. You are a wonderful help with the children, and I will feel better when I leave knowing Julia has you with her—for however long that might be.” He paused briefly. “There is a quality of strength about you. But quite a bit of mystery, too.”

I lowered my eyes, eager to change the course of our conversation. “When do you think you'll go back to the fighting?” I asked.

“As soon as I can walk without my leg paining me too much. My men need me and I need to get back to them as soon as possible.”

“Your men? Are you an officer?”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Yes. I am a major in the Forty-Second Regiment, Georgia Infantry. Not that such an elevated position means much anymore. So many talented soldiers and leaders have been killed that they will look anywhere to fill a vacant saddle.”

I looked past his shoulder and out the window toward the rows of cotton. “Don't you think you're needed here more than the battlefield?”

He shook his head adamantly. “No.” He turned from me and resumed his perusal of the books on the shelves. “To quote our General Lee, ‘Do your duty in all things. You cannot do more; you should never wish to do less.'”

He slid a book back and faced me. “I long to resume my life in peace. But I cannot. Not until this conflict is settled.”

Julia interrupted us as she returned with the tea. While she busied herself with pouring out the drinks, I surreptitiously studied her. Yes, she was pretty, in a very delicate sort of way. Petite and slender, with dark hair contrasting starkly with her white skin. Large hazel eyes added to her air of innocence. I felt a small twinge when I recalled the personal aspects of her conversation with Stuart, and it made me wonder why I cared.

As we sipped our refreshment in silence, I pondered their earlier conversation. Knowing that General Sherman's federal armies would be invading Georgia and heading directly for Roswell in a year's time, I thought Julia's decision to leave town to be a prudent one. But I remembered something Mrs. Cudahy had told us when Michael and I had first seen the house. Someone had been here to meet Sherman's army and save the house from destruction. If I convinced Julia to leave, who would be here to prevent that?

I cleared my throat before speaking. “Julia, I have to tell you that I overheard you and Stuart talking about your financial matters. Since I have inadvertently become another mouth for you to feed, perhaps I can offer some advice.”

Julia and Stuart looked up at me. I continued. “If you haven't already converted all your greenbacks to Confederate dollars, don't. Keep as many greenbacks and gold as you can. Then go into the woods and mark a spot and bury all your money and any other valuables that could
be carried away. Most of your livestock is already gone—courtesy of the Confederate Army, I would assume—but you might want to try to hide what you've got left in a pen in the woods. The Yankees will surely take anything that is not bolted down.”

Julia looked at me in disbelief. “Surely you do not think the Yankees could get this far?”

I took another sip of my tea and nodded. “Oh yes. Not only do you have the mills here, but you also have a bridge across the Chattahoochee on the way to Atlanta. Trust me—Roswell is circled in red on General Sherman's map.”

I was about to say more when Stuart stood abruptly. His teacup slipped to the floor, splattering china and tea in all directions. No one moved to clean it up.

“What a cool liar you are, Mrs. Truitt.”

Julia stood, too, her usually composed face a mask of anger. “Stuart! How dare you be so rude to our guest.”

He stayed where he was, immobile, hard blue eyes—soldier's eyes—scrutinizing me. “I will not. What I will do is turn her in to the proper authorities and have her arrested as a spy.”

My hand trembled as I replaced my cup in the saucer, the delicate china clinking wildly. How could I have been so stupid? “No, Julia. It's okay. I understand why he's upset—”

Stuart cut me off. “Upset? You have just given me information that could only come from somebody associated with the Federals. And you are sitting in my parlor and drinking tea. Believe you me, I am a good deal more than upset. I have no choice but to turn you in.”

Julia strode to him and put her hand on his arm. “No, Stuart. She is trying to help us—regardless of who she is or where she got the information. She has already saved the lives of two of my children. Do we not owe her at least for that?” Looking at Julia, her delicate features contorted in anger, I was once again reminded of a soft flower petal reinforced with steel.

Stuart turned to me, his eyes narrowed. “Why are you here? To spy on the mills to find out if they are supplying the Confederate Army? Surely there is an easier way to do that than making up a story about your lost daughter. What was that for—to gain our sympathy?”

Tears stung behind my eyes, but I dared not show them to him. I stood, my voice trembling. “I
did
come here looking for my daughter. I wish to God I were making that part up. And as for how I know all that, I . . . I'm not sure. But I do know I'm not here to cause any harm.”

Julia came to stand next to me and put her arm around my shoulder. “Please, Stuart. I believe her. Just look at what she has done for us already. How can you turn your back on her?” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “And if you do, I will go with her.”

Dark blue eyes darted from me to Julia. He shook his head, then looked down at his boots surrounded by shattered china and drops of red tea. His words deep and slow, he said, “I cannot fight you, Julia. I have never been able to, have I?”

Julia's hand tightened on my arm.

He raised his eyes and spoke to his sister-in-law, his gaze never leaving my face. “I will not turn her in—but my good conscience will not allow her to stay here, either. I want her gone first thing tomorrow morning.”

With a nod to Julia, he limped across the floor and left the room. Julia dropped her hand from my arm. “I will talk to him. Do not worry—I will not have you thrown out.” With a reassuring glance, she followed Stuart out the door.

I bent to pick up the shards of china and wipe up the spilled tea with a linen napkin, then sat silently in my chair, running over the conversation in my head and wondering what I would do if the Elliotts forced me to leave. Unable to sit still, I began pacing the room. I pulled a book off a shelf and stared at it for a while, letting the words blur on the page. Replacing it, I glanced out the window to see Julia striding purposefully toward the side of the house where I knew her garden was. Her eyebrows were puckered together and she seemed lost in thought.

Not willing to wait any longer, I decided to seek out Julia or Stuart to learn my fate.

Charlie's barking drew me out the back door. Willie and Sarah were attending to their chores of fetching water and feeding the chickens. They stopped when they saw me approach.

“Did either one of you see your uncle Stuart come this way?”

Sarah looked at me and shrugged her shoulders, which made me pause. That one movement brought all sorts of memories of Michael
flooding back to me. It must have been one of those things a person does and others don't notice it until somebody else mimics the movement. I knelt in front of her, my hands on her shoulders, and stared into her thin face. It had been over five years since I had seen my Annie—a plump little toddler barely able to walk. I searched for that baby in this little girl's face and could not find it. Patting her gently, I let her go.