Spinning the Moon (28 page)

I blinked hard. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Well, yes.”

“To protect me?”

“Yes—among other reasons.”

“Like what?”

He paused, scrutinizing me. “I will tell you everything when you do the same.”

I touched the ring with my right hand, shaking my head. “I am glad that is the main reason. Otherwise, I could not say yes in good conscience.”

His arms went around me, pulling me close. His lips touched mine briefly before he pulled away. “I will be back as soon as I know Julia is settled. When I return, we will have the Reverend Pratt make it official.”

I clutched the ring tightly, trying to hold on to the smallest glimmer of reality. How could I marry him and then disappear? Could he remarry, not knowing what had happened to his wife?

He kissed me again and held me against him for a long time, until we heard Julia's voice calling for us. With a final kiss, he led me back to the wagon to say my final goodbyes. As I kneeled one last time in front of Willie, he clutched at my skirt. “Miss Laura. I am going to miss you so much!”

I shut my eyes tight and hugged him to me. “And I'm going to miss you, too, Willie.”

He looked up at me with his tear-streaked face, and I brushed the drops aside with my fingers before planting a kiss on his freckled nose. I said goodbye one last time and helped him up to the bench seat of the wagon. “Mind your mama now, you hear?”

Stuart mounted Endy and suddenly there was nothing more to do. They were ready to leave Roswell and their home for the duration of the war, and perhaps longer. It was time. I hugged Julia one last time before Stuart helped her up and she took the reins, and then I forced myself to wave as the wagon pulled out, Endy following closely behind.

I watched them until they were nearly at the end of the long drive
before I couldn't take it anymore. “Wait!” I shouted. I ran to catch up with Stuart, my skirts held shockingly high. I reached him all out of breath and, before I could protest, he leaned down and pulled me up on the saddle in front of him.

“Did you forget something?” The side of his mouth quirked up slightly.

“Yes, I did.” I swallowed deeply, trying to regain my breath. “I forgot to tell you to be careful.” Something flickered in his eyes, his hands tightening on my waist. I threw my arms around him, kissed him soundly, then quickly slid off the side of the horse.

Julia gave me a wan look as the loaded wagon trundled past, and I knew she was thinking of Sarah. I mouthed the words, “I'll bring her back,” and she nodded as she passed me. Willie's dark head bobbed beside her, his brown eyes filled with tears. I sucked in my breath and held it, afraid to let it go. Afraid to let them hear my shrieking out my grief at letting them go, and my fear of staying behind and not knowing what was to come.

Sukie sat on the other side of Willie, hugging him. A wheel hit a soggy rut, and there was a moment when we thought that their trip would be delayed, but the straining of the horse pulled it out and they continued down the front drive.

Stuart sat atop Endy, his eyes fixed on me. Finally, as the wagon drove through the front gates, he tipped his hat and turned the horse around to follow. I raced after them and stood leaning on the gate, bent over while I sucked in my breath in deep gulps, my gaze anchored to Stuart's back until he disappeared around the bend.

I lifted my muddy skirts and trudged back to the house. I felt the unfamiliar weight on my finger and stopped halfway to examine the ring. The overcast sky clouded the jet, giving it only a murky gleam. I felt the tears coming and knew I couldn't hold them back much longer. I stared at the house as I got nearer and felt a surge of pride and, for the first time, what compelled Stuart and so many others like him to risk their lives for their homes and all they represented. There had always been a connection between this house and me ever since I had first seen it with Michael. Phoenix Hall had become my home and my daughter's, just as the Elliotts had become my family. Perhaps I had been sent
here to save them both from destruction. Or maybe I had been sent here to find happiness in my life again. And, maybe still, the two were connected.

A black crow flew overhead, cawing loudly. A feeling of someone walking over my grave settled on me, making my skin tingle with dread, and I thought of Sarah and where she might be. I climbed the porch and entered the house, closing the door soundly behind me.

Between two worlds life hovers like a star,

'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

—LORD BYRON

D
uring the remaining cold weeks of January and February, my thoughts were never far from Sarah. I grieved anew for my daughter, and knew there was nothing that I wouldn't do to bring her back. So I tended Zeke and the garden, watching them both stir in the last embrace of winter, and I waited for Stuart. And Pamela. Every noise in the night and every shadow at the window sent my heart racing. After the first week, I stopped tiptoeing about the house, expecting her around every corner. After three weeks, I had relaxed enough to be able to sleep through most of the night, waking only a few times in the darkest hours with an edgy wariness.

On a warm afternoon, I was rocking on the front porch, enjoying the hint of spring in the air and taking a much-needed break from nursing. Dr. Watkins's familiar buggy appeared at the front gate and ambled its way down the drive. Too tired to stand and greet him, I waved.

Clambering down, Charles tied his horse to the hitch, then lifted his hat to me before joining me on the porch.

“Mind if I sit?”

“No, of course not.” I waved my hand in the direction of the chair next to mine.

“How is Zeke?”

“Much better—no headaches for three days now. And he can manage walking with the crutch without my help.”

Grunting, he sat back and began to dig in his vest pocket for his pipe and tobacco.

“I'm starting to see something green in the vegetable garden. I might need some help in identifying whatever I'm growing.”

Charles nodded and then took a puff from his pipe, slowly letting the smoke leak out of his mouth. The tobacco perfumed the air and I was suddenly reminded of my father.

Without looking at me he said, “Mrs. Truitt, may I call you Laura?” He pinkened under his whiskers.

“I'd like that. But only if I can call you Charles.”

The color in his cheeks deepened, and his gaze continued to focus across the front lawn. He nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

He began fidgeting with his pipe and cleared his throat three or four times. Not knowing how much of his discomfort I could bear, I asked, “Is there something you'd like to say?”

The stricken look on his face reminded me of Charlie when I had had to pull a large splinter from his rear paw. “Um, ahem. Yes, there is, as a matter of fact. Of course. Yes.”

I stopped rocking and glanced over at him with anticipation. He looked back at me and moved his lips, but no sound was forthcoming. He was beginning to worry me.

“What? Is it about Stuart?”

He stood abruptly, making the back of the rocking chair bang against the front of the house. “Well, yes, in a way, I suppose it is.”

I stood next to him, one hand on the railing. “Is he hurt? For Pete's sake, would you just spit it out before we both grow old and gray?”

He blinked his eyes quickly. “I would like to move into the preacher's room. I would be out of your way, and I could help take care of Zeke.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What's wrong with your house? The preacher's room is barely big enough for a bed and a Bible. Why on earth would you want to do that? And we both know Zeke is on the mend and I am more than capable of nursing him back to health.”

He shifted on his feet, looking down at his boots, seemingly examining every scratch.

“And what has this got to do with Stuart?”

He finally looked at me, his watery brown eyes full of embarrassment. I had to strain my ears to hear him. “Stuart thought that you,
um, might need my protection. I told him you would not like it, but he insisted. So here I am.”

The echoing honks of geese flying overhead in their V formation brought my gaze heavenward. I turned back to Charles and placed my hand on his forearm, the brown wool of his coat rough under my fingers. “There is no need for you to move in here, but the fact that you would be willing to do that for my sake is admirable. And appreciated.”

He pressed his lips together. “I beg your pardon, Mrs.— I mean, Laura. But for your safety, you need a male on the premises.”

“I appreciate your concern, but there really isn't any danger. The Yankees are still up in Tennessee and no immediate threat. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I don't know how to protect myself. And Stuart himself showed me how to use this.” I reached into the pocket of my housedress and pulled out the gun Stuart had given me.

Charles stepped back, his eyes widening. “Be careful with that—it's liable to go off.”

“Not very likely, Charles. I'm not an idiot.” I turned away from him and started to shove the gun back into my pocket when my ears were split with a sudden explosion. I looked down at the front of my dress and saw a large, smoldering hole decorating the pocket edge.

“Are you all right?” The concern in his voice was genuine, but I was too embarrassed to soften toward him.

“Of course I am. But my dress certainly isn't.” I stuck my fingers through the hole and was dismayed at the extent of the damage. My whole fist could have fit through the opening.

Charles straightened. “I will move my things into the preacher's room this afternoon.”

I looked at his determined face and hoped against hope that Pamela wouldn't object to his presence. But I had no doubt that when she was ready to speak to me, she would have no trouble avoiding detection from anybody else.

“Fine, Charles. If you think it best.” I shrugged. “You Southern gentlemen sure are stubborn.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “And so are our women.”

I gave him a grudging smile, and then we said our goodbyes before
I turned to go into the house. I opened the door and went into the hallway, the sight of a figure at the top of the stairs startling me.

“I heard a gunshot.” Zeke held a precarious foothold on the top step, one arm clutching his crutch, the other one holding an enormous musket of ancient vintage.

I rushed up the stairs toward him, before he could pitch forward and do more damage to his leg, or worse. “Zeke, what are you doing on the stairs?” I took the musket out of his hands, placed it on the floor, and grabbed him securely by his arm. “It was only me being stupid. I accidentally fired my gun.”

He nodded, making the fine beads of sweat on his forehead run down his face.

“I'm sorry for scaring you.” I led him to his room and settled him onto his bed. He leaned his head back, his skin ashen against the stark white of the pillow.

His eyes didn't leave my face. “You are in great danger, Laura. My dreams show me a dark shadow hovering behind you. Leave here. Leave while you still can.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed and saw the challenge in his eyes. “I can't, Zeke. There's a problem.” Restless, I stood and went to the window, looking out at the gray landscape of naked trees. A few stubborn leaves clung to branches, unwilling to let go. Buds covered the tree limbs, promising a new spring. I pressed my hand against the window, the glass cool against my palm. I knew I could take him into my confidence, and the strain of keeping my worry about my daughter a secret pulled at me. “Sarah is in great danger. Pamela's taken her and won't release her unless I do something for her.”

He grunted softly. “Sarah is well, Laura. I would see in my dreams if she were harmed.”

I shook my head. “I want to believe you, but we both know what Pamela is capable of. And she isn't working alone. I know Matt Kimball and others are involved, too.”

His eyes, glazed with pain, regarded me gently. “Sarah is safe. Now, tell me: What is it that Pamela has asked you to do?”

“I'm not going to tell you. It could put you in grave danger. I don't
know if I can do what she asks, but I've got to do something. I cannot lose my daughter again.”

“Does Stuart know?”

“No. He would most likely want to do something that could put us all in danger. He can't know.”

I walked over to the bookshelves and pulled out the backgammon game and began setting it up on the flattened bedclothes next to him. “I must find Sarah and bring her back soon. According to your books, the next time a comet will appear in conjunction with a total lunar eclipse will be September first, 1864. That gives me seven months. Seven months to sell my soul.”

A strong hand grabbed my wrist. “Do what you must, Laura. But remember the legend: The ancient travelers who journeyed with evil spirits were always hunted down and slaughtered. They must not be allowed to walk in this plane.”

His grip tightened, and I shuddered. “What would you have me do, Zeke?”

He let go and placed his hand on my head, just as he had done when we first met. “Sometimes we are called upon to do something greater than ourselves, against forces we might not understand. It is a gift.” He pulled my sleeve up over my forearm. The crescent-shaped birthmark looked like a bruise on the pale skin. “You have the mark. It is a very rare mark—I have never known of more than three people born within a century to be blessed with it.”

Again, I shuddered. I saw his eyes droop and his mouth soften. His hand fell to my arm and he muttered, “Be careful,” before succumbing to sleep.

I settled him, then gathered up the game and left the room. I faltered at the top of the steps, the game board slipping from my grasp and somersaulting down each stair. The markers danced on the wooden treads, their eventual destination determined by the hands of fate.

I sat down on the top step and rolled down my sleeve. A spark of light caught my attention and I reached over to a corner of the step. I picked up a marble and rolled it in my hand, feeling the cold smoothness. Fresh grief flowed through me as I recalled Sarah playing with them, lying close to the floor and flicking them with her little fingers
toward Willie. I ached for my child with the same intensity I had felt when she went missing on Moon Mountain so many years ago. Her life was in my hands, and I wouldn't fail her again. I stood and began gathering the round markers as I descended the stairs.

The days passed in almost nerve-jangling precision, and still no word from Stuart or Pamela. I prayed for Sarah, for there was precious little else I could do, except wait. And then in mid-April, Stuart came back to me. I was in the chicken house, battling with the hens. My skirt was full of eggs, which were quickly forgotten when I heard his voice.

“Hungry again?”

I whipped around, the eggs jumbling against each other in the corner of my skirt.

“Oh,” I said, letting go of my dress and listening to the muffled crashing of the eggs in the hay. “You're back.”

He stood silhouetted against the henhouse doorway, a tall, dark shadow. “Is that the way a bride-to-be greets her groom?”

I walked toward him, a nervous smile teasing my lips. I looked into his eyes and saw my reflection. “You should have called first. My hair's a mess and I haven't a thing to wear.”

With a quizzical look on his face, he stilled my chattering by bringing his mouth to mine. “Hush, woman, and allow me to give you a proper greeting.” He kissed me again, his skin moist and smooth and smelling of soap.

I broke away, laying my hand on his cheek. “You shaved.”

“Yes, ma'am. I know how you feel about beards. And I did not want to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

I snorted. “I didn't know I had any.”

His mouth tilted at the corners. “You might have a few, but not too many. That's what I find so attractive about you.”

His expression became serious. “Is there something wrong?” He reached out a thumb to smooth the frown lines over the bridge of my nose.

I blinked, trying to get rid of the sting in my eyes. “I miss Sarah—and the others. And you, too. I missed you.”

He bent to kiss me, his firm body pushing me against the side of the building. I pressed myself against him, showing him how much I had missed him.

Stuart broke away, his breathing heavy. “I am riding into town first thing tomorrow to talk with Reverend Pratt. I have two more days of leave, and I would like us to be married before I go.”

“For my protection, right?”

A dark eyebrow bent over a blue eye. “Yes. For your protection.”

We walked toward the peach orchard, the new buds just beginning to emerge on the branches above us. Despite the warmth of the day, a chill breeze brushed through the neighboring pines and settled cool air on us. I wrapped my shawl closer to me.

“I wish things could be different, Stuart.”

I felt him still, the air bristling between us.

His voice, with its studied antipathy, stung. “I do, too. And they could.”

I turned away from him, not able to stand the hurt in his eyes. The sky cast deep shades of gold through the trees as the sun set in the distant sky.