Spinning the Moon (66 page)

Daniel came frequently, as much to comfort John and me as to tend to Rebecca. He listened to her chest and gave us the promising news that it was not pneumonia. He ruled out many childhood diseases, but could not determine what was afflicting Rebecca. Her fever remained unabated, regardless of our treatment, and I lived through those nights and days with fear as my constant shadow. I sat transfixed at her bedside, afraid to leave her if only for a moment. Jamie had drowned when I had looked away, and the guilt and grief still weighed heavily on my heart. Perhaps I could earn forgiveness if I protected Rebecca in a way that had been denied my beloved son.

On the second night of her illness, while I was bathing Rebecca's forehead yet again with a cool cloth, John silently opened the door. I sensed him before I saw him, my emotions an odd mixture of joy and wariness.

I looked up and saw dark circles under his eyes and a beard growing on his strong jaw. If there had been any doubts before at all that he loved this child as his own flesh and blood, they would have fled completely now.

He took the cloth from my hand and led me away from the bed. He grasped my hands in his and I felt how chilled they were—as if his life's blood were flowing out to the child who needed it more than he.

“I want you to go your room and seek rest. And then I want you to pray. That is the only thing I will allow you to do.”

I wrenched my hands away. “No, John. Do not deny me this!”

His hands spanned my waist, his palms pressing against my abdomen. “And what of the baby? You are compromising not only your own
health but that of the unborn child.” His dark eyes bored into mine. “I will take your place and not leave her side. I promise you that. Can you trust me enough to tend her with all the love and care that you would?”

I looked back at the frail and flushed face of the child I had grown to love so much and then looked back at my husband. I knew he was right, yet I agonized over the decision. How could anyone care for Rebecca as well as I could? I stared into John's eyes and knew the truth.

Slowly, I nodded. “You will send for me if you need anything? Or if she calls for me?”

Relief flooded his handsome features. “Yes. Of course. Now go get your rest. You will need all of your strength.”

Reluctantly, I stepped back, the warmth of his hands deserting me, and knew that Rebecca would be well tended. I wanted to reach for him, to hold him and read in his eyes that he felt the same, yet we both stood facing each other, each one holding back our own truth and secrets.

I turned away and bent to kiss Rebecca on the forehead, then left the room without a word.

John stayed in her room, nursing his daughter day and night as he had promised. I was allowed in to hold her hand and give her water and to help change her bedclothes, but John always sent me back to my room to rest. I knew he was right, but I longed to be at his side, watching over our daughter.

On the second day of his vigil I brought his shaving materials and a clean change of clothes. He opened the door at my knock, and I barely recognized the disheveled man as my husband.

“How is she?” I asked.

“The same.” He opened the door wider to let me in, eyeing the bundle in my hands. “Thank you.”

I forced a smile on my face that I did not feel. “You will be needing these right now, I think. What if she awakens and sees you as you are? She will think you a monster and start screaming.” His stomach grumbled, and I added, “A food tray will be brought up shortly.”

White teeth showed as he grinned, disarming my resolve completely, and I realized it had been too long since I had seen him smile.

He reached for the stack in my hands and his fingers touched mine.
I let go quickly, almost dropping everything, and he caught it with a quick grab. His eyes sobered. “She will be fine, Cat. I will it to be so.”

My voice was harsher than I intended, my exhaustion and worry no doubt sharpening my tongue. “And no one would dare thwart your wants and desires—not even God.”

He said nothing. I reached into my pocket, feeling the cool smoothness of the lodestone. I held it up to him and he took it. “Put this by Rebecca. It is to chase away evil and bring her goodness. She needs it more than I.”

Without waiting for a response, I kissed Rebecca's hot cheek and left. I would return to prayer, for that was the only thing I could do for her. Rose was in her kitchen, casting spells and offering up sacrifices. I no longer thought of it as pagan, for it seemed to take its root in this dark, humid place, seeming more at home than Christianity. As long as Rebecca recovered, it did not matter to me what means guided her there.

And when she was well, I would take her away. I would bring her home to the bright light that dispersed the darkness away from weary hearts and where the rhythm of the ocean waves lulled one to sleep and kept the nightmares at bay. And where a child could grow in a place without shadows lurking in every corner and where dark secrets did not obscure the purity of love.

I did not know when I had come to the decision to take Rebecca with me, but even with a heavy heart I knew that I had made the right choice. The walls of this place emanated deceit and danger, and I knew she would be in peril if she should remain. Leaving would save both our lives; of that I had no doubt. John would grieve her loss, for his love for her was greater than I had ever seen from a father toward his natural child. But that broken bond, I could not consider. The remembered pain of losing a child weighed heavily on my heart if I did, and I would not carry John's grief for him. For if I did, my scarred heart would surely break open, spilling out my resolve to leave along with the only chance of saving our lives and our very souls.

*   *   *

Rebecca's fever broke on the fifth day. I waited in the hall as Daniel examined her and then reappeared, a shadow of a smile on his face.

“I think she is well on the road to complete health. There seems to
be no damage to her sight or hearing, and I expect her to have a full recovery.”

Relief flooded my bones, making me shake. I wanted to throw my arms around him but restrained myself. “Thank you, Daniel, for caring for her.”

He put a calming hand on my arm. “I need you to take care of yourself, too. If you show the first sign of fever, you are to call me immediately. I do not think you realize the danger to your unborn child.”

Unbidden, my hands went to my bodice. “I will,” I promised. I walked the doctor down the stairs, my heart lighter for the first time in more than a week.

Daniel paused for a moment at the door, a perplexed expression darkening his brow. “I thought you might want to know that Marguerite is at Belle Meade now. We cannot afford to pay her, yet Clara insists that she stay, and Marguerite seems satisfied with a room and food. I hope that does not dismay you too much. John has told me of some of the doubts you harbored regarding Marguerite.”

I closed my eyes, shaking my head. “As long as she is out of my house, her whereabouts do not concern me, but thank you for telling me. I know she practically raised Clara, so I cannot fault either one of them for their closeness.”

I opened the door and he stepped out onto the porch. The late-afternoon sun glinted off his hair and I paused in midsentence, staring at it. It was so much like Robert's—all the gentle shadings of gold and yellow. So much like Rebecca's. I grabbed his arm and he turned, his gaze focused on my tight grip.

“What is wrong, Catherine?”

“You, Daniel. You . . .”

I could not seem to form the words. I thought back on Rebecca's secret place behind the burned plantation house, and how she had disappeared to a secluded place so Daniel and I could be alone. As if she had done it many times before.

He turned to face me, his expression one of worry. “What is wrong? Do you need to sit down?”

I shook my head. “No. No, I do not.” I could not tell him. I did not want to acknowledge it. Because then I would have to tell John.
Regardless of what I believed John capable of, my heart could not stand the knowledge that he would lose not only his wife and child, but his best friend as well.

His eyes remained guarded. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yes. Really, I am fine. I am just tired, I think.”

He kissed my hand, his gray eyes warm. “You are so strong, Catherine. John and Rebecca are very lucky to have you.” A deep and abiding sadness seem to cross his face for a brief moment, quickly replaced by his smile. “Take care of yourself, remember. It will take a long time for Rebecca to completely recover and regain her strength. You will have need of your own strength to see her through.”

I thanked him, grateful for Rebecca's recovery but concerned over the delay in my departure. “How long do you think it will be before she is well again?”

He brightened. “By Christmas, I expect. She loves the bonfires along the levee, and she should be well enough by then to join in the festivities.”

By Christmas, then.
I had plenty of time to finalize my plans. Daniel said his goodbyes, and I watched him get into his carriage, his hat not completely hiding his hair, the sun glinting off those beautiful yellow-gold strands.

W
ith Rebecca out of danger, the darkness that had seemed to be hovering over me lifted, although my troubles did not go away. John had been sleeping on a small pallet in her room, but now she no longer needed him there. I could not allow John to return to my bed. His touch had a way of lowering my defenses, of creating breaches in my wall of reason. I wondered how long it would take John to demand my presence in his bed again.

On a chilly November evening, John and I sat facing each other at the dining-room table. I forced myself to eat for the sake of the baby, whose presence was now made known by a small mound under my loosened corset. John also seemed to have other thoughts on his mind. From the corner of my eye, I saw him eat little but refill his wineglass three times. When I forced myself to look at him directly, I found his black eyes scrutinizing me as a hunter watches his prey.

I excused myself before dessert, with plans to change for bed and be fast asleep before John came up. He had begun the habit of retiring to his study for a cigar and brandy, thus giving me ample time.

As I ascended the stairs, I felt a presence behind me and turned. John had followed me and was walking up the steps in my wake. I headed down the hall toward our bedroom, hoping he would go to Rebecca's room. Instead he followed me, even opening the door of the bedroom for me.

I moved to ring for Mary, but John stayed my hand. “I will help you with your dress.”

Knowing I had no choice, I bent my head forward and allowed his hands to unfasten the buttons and slide the gown over my shoulders. Long fingers slid down my chemise, sliding forward to cup my breasts, now heavy and swollen from my impending motherhood. One hand
slid down farther, touching the mound of my stomach as he moved me against him.

I wanted to turn in his arms, to forget all that had happened between us and all my doubts and suspicions, but I could not. I owed it to the child that grew inside me, as well as to Rebecca, to make sure they were safe forever.

I stepped away, pulling up my fallen bodice to cover myself. “Stop. Please.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Why, Cat? I know you miss me as much as I miss you.”

“It is . . . the baby. I do not think we should.”

Stepping forward, he lifted my chin and stared into my eyes for a long moment, his own eyes dark and secretive. “Is that really the reason?”

I closed my eyes and turned away from him. “Of course it is. I do not want anything to happen to this baby.”

He was silent, and I moved to my dresser to remove a nightgown, keeping my hands busy so I would not have to listen to my heart.

He moved so silently that I was not aware of it until I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes, recalling the passion we had shared for such a short time, and a longing to recapture it pulled at my resolve. He held my heart, for I had seen the goodness that resided inside him. But there was darkness, too, one I fleetingly wished I could cut out like a surgeon's knife on a cancer. I had tried and failed, and now I knew I had to escape the darkness that threatened to suffocate me like a heavy cloak.

For the long years of the war and the time afterward, I had lived in such a shadow that I would rather die than return to it. Rebecca and the child growing inside me were my light, guiding me through the blackness that encroached, moving me toward the brightness that beckoned at the end of my journey home.

“You cannot deny me, Catherine. It is not the child—there is something else.” His soft voice caressed my skin, the temptation pulling at me like fingers in honey. “Tell me.”

I straightened, making him step away. “It is the child, John. It is not safe for me to share your bed until he is born.”

His hands were rough as he forced me to turn and look at him. “I know that is not true.” He lowered his face close to mine and I could feel his all-consuming heat. “Marguerite is gone. What is it that you fear?”

I need you, dear sister. I am so afraid.
The images of Elizabeth's letter, John's glove, and the empty letterbox jumbled in my mind, and I nearly suffocated with the urge to shout out all my suspicions. But I held back, knowing if I did, I would jeopardize all. In the deepest part of my heart, I knew that he would not give me answers. And his reticence would be for reasons that my soul could not bear to contemplate.

I stared into his eyes as they flashed with anger. He dropped his arms but did not step back. “What about this trust between us that you hold so dear? Practice what you preach, Catherine, and tell me why you suddenly have no desire to share my bed.” His lips narrowed as his eyes became guarded, blocking out all emotion. “Have you found someone else who stirs your passions more than I?” His gaze slid down to my stomach, coming to rest on the small mound.

I sucked in my breath, shocked to hear him so blatantly voice his suspicion. I drew back my hand to slap him, but he grabbed my wrist. I knew I was being a hypocrite; at least he had the courage to speak of his doubts. But I knew my own truth, whereas his truth was muddied and twisted like the grass in the fields after a hard rain.

He let go and turned away, and my arm fell to my side, useless. He glanced back at me from the doorway. “I do not want you to leave Whispering Oaks without me or Mr. O'Rourke. And if you should leave with Mr. O'Rourke, I want to know about it beforehand.”

I took a step toward him. “You want to make a prisoner out of me! I am not a slave or your kept woman with no mind of her own. You cannot do this.”

He opened the door. “As your husband, I can. It is for your own protection. Philip Herndon has not been found, and I know he has sworn to harm me and those I love.” His gaze flickered to the swell of my abdomen once more. “And I will not suffer the embarrassment of having you seek him out.”

The implication was clear. My anger, softened by his mention of love, rekindled itself. “Is this why Elizabeth was trying to get away
from you? Because you accused her of vile things and then tried to keep her locked in this prison? I am not Elizabeth, though I do not think you will ever understand that. But maybe, finally, I think I can understand why my sister behaved the way she did.”

His face paled. Inexplicably, I felt sick with the knowledge that I had hurt him badly. I wanted to go to him, to tell him I was sorry, but my pride, anger, and suspicion held me back.

Slowly, he opened the door. “From the first day of my marriage to Elizabeth, I thought that I had married the wrong sister. And now I see it really did not matter.”

Words strangled my throat and my eyes blurred as I watched him walk through the doorway and close the door behind him. The last image of him was of his eyes—eyes of a wildcat who had been hunted into a corner, but whose intention was to fight to the death those who threatened him.

*   *   *

I did not see John for two weeks. I learned from Mr. O'Rourke that he had gone to Baton Rouge on business. I slept in our bed, safe in the knowledge that John was far away, and had the pallet removed from Rebecca's room. She was out of danger from the fever but still very weak.
But for this,
I told myself,
I would take advantage of the opportunity of John's absence and flee.

As it was, I did not leave the plantation. The threat of Philip Herndon lingered, although to a lesser degree, since he seemed to have vanished. I knew John had hired guards to keep watch over the plantation night and day, and it offered a measure of security. Mr. O'Rourke found excuses to work close to the house, and I wondered if it were for my protection or to keep John informed of my whereabouts in his absence.

Even with John gone, I did not sleep easily. Several times I would lie in bed and imagine I heard footsteps in the hallway. When I rose to investigate, I would find nothing. Twice I thought that I detected the faint smell of lavender, reminding me of Elizabeth. I would stare out into the hallway, cloaked in night, for long moments, as if waiting for my dead sister to appear. Always disappointed, I would close my door and turn the key before returning to bed for another restless night.

Two weeks after John's departure, I awoke with a start out of a dark
dream in the deepest part of night. The sound that had brought me awake had been the distinct noise of a door latch snapping into place. I blinked my eyes, trying to identify the dark shapes of the furniture.

Rain pelted at the glass like unseen fingers tapping to gain my attention. I left the bed and moved to a window, pulling aside the curtains and staring out into the rain-clogged fields. As a child I had always loved the heavy rain from the ocean-born tempests. My father had made a habit of pacing the front porch of our house during storms, as if to guard the house from lightning and wind, and at a very early age I had joined him.

Our waterlogged conversations had created a bond between us, a bond that even Elizabeth could not traverse and which was not broken until his death. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, missing him as suddenly as if he had just died, and feeling more alone and adrift than I had in my entire life.

A movement by the pond caught my attention and I squinted, trying to see through the blur of raindrops. A light, as if from a bobbing lantern, glittered through the rain for a brief moment and then extinguished. I stared out the window for a long time, not knowing if it had been my imagination. I thought I saw a brief flicker moving toward the pond before that, too, disappeared. My eyes strained to see into the eternal darkness of the night, but saw only the blackness pressing in on me.

My nape prickled, and I realized that the blackness came from within the house as well, as if it were a dark soul whose menacing presence infested the very air I breathed. I slowly backed away from the window, convincing myself it had been my imagination and pressing away more morbid thoughts.
Will I, too, soon be hearing voices of the dead calling me to come to them?

I took a lit lamp and walked quickly out of the room and down the hall to Rebecca's. I pushed open the door and held the lantern high, my heart tumbling with relief when I spied her small body tucked under the covers, Samantha pressed against her cheek.

I left the room and noticed for the first time the strong odor of something burning fill my nostrils. Moving toward the stairs, I sniffed deeply. Too strong to be the lingering odors from the burnt mill, and
definitely not the scent of burning wood. I would remember that smell until the day I died, as I had good reason to never forget it.

Gingerly descending the stairs, I followed the scent to the library. John's pipe sat in an ashtray and I lifted it, feeling the warmth of the bowl. The fire in the grate still burned strong, as if recently tended, and I moved near, seeking warmth.

Putting down the lamp on the desk, I stood in front of the fireplace, my hands outstretched. My fingers straightened and clenched, then stilled as if of their own accord as my gaze rested on the pile of ash under the grate.

I knelt and reached in a hand, pulling out the corner of one of several burnt envelopes, its edge raw and sooty. A black slash of ink from a pen formed part of a word, the remainder obliterated forever by fire. The stroke of penmanship seemed oddly familiar to me, but there was not enough of it to identify. It gnawed at the back of my mind as I gazed at the heap of ashes, the heat from the fire burning my face.

Grabbing a poker, I scraped out what remnants of letters I could find, realizing with disappointment that no piece was large enough to be of any use.

I stood, the inevitable questions filling my mind.
Are these Elizabeth's letters?
I reached my hand in again, desperate for some word from my lost sister, but my hand got too close to the flame and I burned my finger and rapidly withdrew.

Stepping away and sucking on my singed finger, I stared into the fire, my mind in deep thought. Grabbing the lamp, I made my way cautiously up the stairs to Rebecca's room. Even without the light from the lamp, my body screamed in awareness of John's presence, betraying my resolve that I stay immune to him.

“Good evening, wife.”

His voice held a note of flippancy, but I sensed a deeper, darker emotion—more akin to grief and loss.

“John,” I stammered, his presence filling the room and shaking my senses. “I did not know when to expect you back.” A brutal gust of wind knocked at the house, jarring me further.

He did not respond but leaned forward in the chair, his elbows
resting on his knees. Finally, he spoke, but his gaze rested on the sleeping child.

His voice sounded tired and very far away. “When I first saw Rebecca, she was well past the newborn stage and already had a look of you about her.” He rubbed his hands over his face, the sound of skin against beard stubble rustling loudly enough to be heard over the tapping of rain.

“And as she grew, she became more and more as I remembered you—the girl you had been when I first saw you. Not so much in the way she looked, but her free spirit and her sweetness and joy for life. She reminded me so much of the girl dancing barefoot on the beach in Saint Simons, her hair loose in the wind. I wanted to spoil Rebecca by giving her all the love and attention that I would never be able to give you.”