Spinning the Moon (19 page)

“Eliza, it's not what you think. . . .”

But before the words were out of my mouth, she had turned without acknowledging me and walked quickly away, her wide skirts billowing around her like a circus tent.

A gust of wind struck me as swirls of leaves danced around on the sidewalk. I glanced at the front window of the rooming house and saw the black cat watching me, its feline eyes blinking slowly. I stared back, despair mixed with determination. I wasn't through with Matt Kimball. If he did indeed know something about Annie, I would find out. I had to.

I drove back to Phoenix Hall as quickly as I could. I needed to do a great deal of damage control before Eliza had a chance to wag her tongue. Thankfully, Stuart was away. At least I had time to get Julia firmly on my side before he returned. I pushed those thoughts aside, and as I sped through town, my mind drifted to thoughts of a little girl with strawberry blond hair and freckles across her nose, and of the daughter that seemed so near but so far away.

The house was deathly silent as I entered. I called for Julia but received no answer. I was about to head out back toward the kitchen when the sound of singing came from the dining room. I dropped the baskets on the floor in the hall and went in search of the voice.

Sukie was in the dining room, standing on one of the chairs while
attempting to swipe the dust off the crystal chandelier with a feather duster.

“Do you know where I might find Julia?”

She nodded and pointed with the feather duster. “She be out back in the kitchen, messin' with her herbs.”

I thanked her, but before I walked away, I thought of something else. I turned around to make sure we were alone in the room and then walked toward her, keeping my voice low.

“I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

She peered over a chandelier stem at me. “Yes?”

“I need to know how I'm supposed to manage these hoops without embarrassing myself. I swear I just about show everything under my skirt every time I attempt to sit down.”

She raised her eyebrows but nodded as she stepped down and pulled out another chair.

“Stand right here.”

I moved myself into position.

“Now back yourself up slowly. Now sneak your hand on top o' the metal hoop at the top of your leg. That right, you doin' real good, Miz Laura. Now pull it up gentle-like and sit. There?”

I was amazed that I had managed to sit in the chair without mishap. I smiled my thanks and stood. As she leaned over to pick up my chair and replace it under the table, the chain around her neck with the red flannel bag I had noticed before slipped out of her dress.

Sukie must have realized what I was looking at, because her fingers immediately flew to the bag. She covered it with her hand as if to protect it.

“What is that?” I stepped toward her.

She took a step backward as I approached. “Ain't nothin', Miz Laura.”

I stopped, confused at her reaction. The sound of footsteps from behind caused me to turn around. Pamela lurked in the doorway, her arms folded in front of her.

“It is a charm necklace, Laura. Sukie has powers, apparently. That little pouch carries all sorts of things, like frog bones, snakeskin, ashes. Right, Sukie?”

Sukie stared down at the floor while she hastily stuck the bag back into her dress.

Pamela continued. “Such foolishness, what these people bring with them from Africa. I really do not understand how Julia can allow it. I have tried to talk to her, but she has a mind of her own.”

Sukie excused herself and left the room without looking up.

Pamela's dark eyes coolly appraised me. “I would be careful around her. That is a powerful charm around her neck.”

I couldn't tell whether she was being serious. “I'll be sure to be very careful, then.” I hoped my words would placate her, as I had no desire to get into an argument with her regarding superstitions. I had it on good authority that magic was very real. I made a move to leave.

“Yes. You be careful, Laura. Be very careful. Your hold on the Elliotts is tenuous at best. I would behave myself if I were you.”

I stopped and stared at her, waiting for her to say something else. Instead she swept past me in a rustle of silk and climbed up the stairs.

An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach as I wondered if Pamela had somehow already heard about my visit to Matt Kimball. Slowly, I walked out to the kitchen house in search of Julia.

Julia had removed her hoops and donned a work dress and was busily crunching something with her mortar and pestle. Without looking up, she greeted me by name.

“Hello, Julia.” Eager to get this conversation over with, I blurted, “I'm afraid I've done something that might be deemed . . . inappropriate.”

She bent to rub her chin on the shoulder of her dress, and continued her work with the mortar.

I continued. “I met with Matt Kimball in his room at this boardinghouse.”

She stopped, the mortar paused in midair. “You did what with Matt Kimball?”

I shook my head quickly. “It's not what you think. I overheard Stuart telling your mother that Matt Kimball had information on my daughter. But when Stuart never approached me with it, I figured I had to do something on my own. I used the opportunity today to seek him out.”

Her hand shook slightly, her face now the color of the pestle. “Did he tell you anything?”

“No. He wanted . . . payment.”

She laid the mortar down and gripped the table with both hands. “I see. Did anyone see you enter or leave?”

I bit my lip, feeling like a scolded child. “I'm afraid so. Eliza Smith saw me as I was leaving. I'm sure I appeared disheveled—”

Julia interrupted, her expression worried. “Did he . . . hurt you?”

“Not that he didn't try, but no. I guess it was foolish of me to go into his room.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “And Eliza of all people.” She looked at me again. “I understand how desperate you are for information about your daughter, but you must be more careful with your reputation in future. Do not worry. I will speak to Eliza and try to undo any damage that she might have already caused.” She pursed her lips together. “My main concern at the moment is how we should tell Stuart. You know he will be furious.”

“Furious enough to arrest me? He'll believe I went to see Matt for other reasons.”

Julia's voice was quiet. “I do not know if he would do that. The man has feelings for you, Laura. You would have to be blind not to notice.” She returned to the mortar, rhythmically crushing its contents in an even, circular motion, and slipped a quick glance in my direction. “But I have known him to put duty and obligation over his heart before. I will see what I can do.”

I tried to ignore the flush of heat creeping up my cheeks. “Do we need to tell him at all?”

She nodded without looking at me. “Yes. Most likely he will know before he returns. Gossip travels swiftly, I am afraid.”

I stepped closer to her, the sharp smell of the crushed herb stinging my nose. “I'm telling you the truth about why I went to see Matt. I wasn't passing on information or anything. I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

Her left hand reached out and settled softly on mine. “I know, Laura. I believe you.”

She put down the mortar and began scooping the contents into a glass jar. Turning to me, she added, “Besides, we need to tell Stuart so he can get the information from Matt himself. Stuart has means of persuasion not available to us that he can use if he needs to.”

Julia reached for some dried herbs hanging upside down from the ceiling. “Matt's been a troublemaker for years. I cannot help but wonder where he got information about your daughter.” She paused to look at me. “Have you remembered anything more yet? Anything about where you came from or how you ended up here?”

I met her eyes, surprised at how easy lying had become to me. “No. Nothing more.”

She nodded, and then with a large kitchen knife she chopped off small chunks of the root portion of one of the herbs and placed these into the mortar. She picked up the pestle, but I stopped her.

“Julia, let me. Perhaps I might even learn something.” She smiled and let me take her place. “How did you ever learn all you know about plants and herbs? I can hardly tell the difference between rosemary and a rose.”

Her cheeks pinked with a becoming show of pleasure. “Pamela taught me everything I know. She started teaching me when I was still very young.”

“Hmm,” I murmured. “I somehow can't picture Pamela communing with nature.”

“Mama is a wonderful healer. I think she derives pleasure in the power it gives her.”

“Yes, I can certainly understand that.”

I crushed the plant with the pestle, quickly grinding it into a powder. The rhythmic thumping was like a soothing mantra, and I could feel the calming effects.

The powder smelled strange, and I took a pinch to bring it to my nose to get a better sniff.

Julia moved so fast, I didn't know what was happening until it was all over. She hit my hand, knocking it out of the way and causing me to tip over the mortar. It somersaulted through the air, throwing out powder in great puffs, and landed on its side with a solid
clunk
. I stared
at her in surprise. She was already kneeling on the kitchen floor and trying to salvage what she could of the white powdery substance.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I thought you were about to taste it. It is hellebore root—very poisonous.”

I bent down next to her and began to scrape up as much of the elusive powder as I could.

“I did not mean to hit you so hard. I apologize. And I certainly did not mean to knock this over, either. It grows in the North Georgia mountains, and I have to wait for a peddler to come around with it. But I think I have enough for the tea I was going to make for one of the field hands. He has a bit of a sore throat.”

I stared at her. “You're going to poison him because he has a sore throat?”

“Oh no.” She almost laughed. “Using a tiny bit in a tea has wonderful soothing properties. Anything more would kill a person. And I know the difference.”

“Good, then I'll let you make the tea.”

I left her to her own devices and went in search of the children. I tried to have a regularly scheduled lesson time for them, but between their chores and the haphazard nature of my responsibilities, it usually came down to whenever the three of us weren't doing anything else.

Charlie's barks led me to the side yard, where I found them busily engaged in a pinecone fight. I herded the children into the library. Because my nerves couldn't handle it, I had decided to dispense with a strict lesson and instead have story hour. We stopped abruptly in the threshold, and I felt Sarah's hand tighten in mine. Pamela faced us, and I recognized some of the astronomy volumes in her hands. I remembered how Stuart had told me that they were hers, left here when she moved to Nashville.

“Sorry. We didn't mean to disturb you.”

She gave us a brittle smile. “No, you did not disturb me. I was just choosing a few books to take up to my room and read. But I am done now.”

The children followed me into the room and sat down on either side of me on the green velvet sofa. They sat rigid and silent until Pamela had left the room.

“Miss Laura, can you tell us the Dorothy story again?” Sarah's green eyes pleaded.

“Well, I guess that can be arranged. But as soon as I'm done, we're going to work on writing our letters. Without any complaints. Agreed?”

The blond head and the dark brown head nodded quickly in agreement.

“But first, can you sing us that song again?” asked Willie.

I knew this was more of a stalling tactic, but I went along with them.

“Sure. Which song did you have in mind?”

“The one Dorothy sings about the rainbow.”

“Oh yes. That's a favorite of mine.”

I cleared my throat and began belting out “Somewhere over the Rainbow” in my best operatic rendition, sending both children into giggles.

I halted, the words “Why, oh, why can't I?” dying in my throat when I saw the darkening at the doorway. Pamela had returned.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her face a pasty white. I jumped up and grabbed her arm to bring her to the sofa. The children quickly moved away.

She allowed me to sit her down, but she knocked my hands away as I tried to unbutton the top of her dress. “No, really, I am all right. I think I just climbed the stairs too quickly.” Her eyes were wild but did not leave my face.

“I think we should call the doctor. You're not looking well at all.”

“No. I am fine. Really.” She leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes.

After a few minutes of allowing her breathing to return to normal, she stood and shakily made her way to the door. As if in afterthought, she turned around and asked, “Laura, that was a beautiful song. Where did you learn that?”

I quickly searched my head for a plausible answer. “Somewhere in my childhood, I think.”

She nodded and slowly walked from the room.

The light from the window suddenly darkened, and I looked outside to see dark swells of clouds rolling in and obscuring the sun. A small smattering of raindrops hit the window as the children snuggled
up next to me again. It felt so natural to be sitting there with them, in that house made for families. My thoughts turned to Stuart, as they often did, and I stared out at the storm, seeing him in it. “Be safe,” I whispered, hoping that the scattering wind would carry my thoughts to him, wherever he was.

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.

—NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

D
uring the cold, blustery evenings of December, Dr. Watkins continued to call and would sometimes bring the paper and read aloud any news of the war. This was how we found out about the fall of Chattanooga and the retreat of General Johnston's Confederate forces to Dalton, Georgia. I knew this was the beginning of the end of the war and that in the spring, Sherman would rout Johnston's army and chase them all the way to Atlanta. I looked at the faces around me, their eyes reflecting the firelight, and wondered what would become of us all when Sherman's army reached us here, as I knew they inevitably would. But Pamela would meet my gaze with her eyes' own fire, her jaws clenched. Her expression quickly returned to its controlled placidity before resuming her sock knitting—badly needed socks for Johnston's ragged army.

Zeke no longer came up to the big house—and I suspected Pamela's presence had something to do with this—so I took the children to see him at least once a week. I let down my reserve when I was with him, and it was refreshing to be out from under Pamela's watchful gaze.

On an unusually warm December afternoon, Zeke and I sat out on his front porch. The children's laughter could be heard nearby in the woods as they played hide-and-seek with Charlie. I snuggled down deeper into my shawl to keep out the chill caused by the dipping sun.

Zeke looked up at the sky where the circle of the moon near the sun could be seen. “It will be a full moon tonight.”

I shivered again but not from the cold.

His face remained bland, chin tilted upward to view the sun and moon in close proximity. “Stuart is safe.”

I stared at him. “How do you know? Have you heard from him? Where is he?”

“I know. The rest is not important. But he will return to you.”

“To me? Don't you mean to his family and home?”

“No. To you.”

I felt no embarrassment at his cool appraisal, for I recognized the truth in his words.

“Be patient with him, Laura. He understands even less than you do. Try to look past his anger and help him to trust you. He will need that trust in the months to come.”

“I don't know what else I can do to win his trust.”

“You will find a way. You must.” He didn't say anything else, but continued to rock.

Several nights later, I tossed and turned in my bed, thinking of Zeke's words. The furniture in my room hovered about me like great hulking beasts, the room partially illuminated by the bright moon outside. I was slowly drifting off to sleep when I thought I felt a breath on my neck. I sat up abruptly, my eyes scanning the darkness. A horse whinnied outside.

I sat still until I heard the sound again.
Stuart.
I got out of bed and grabbed a shawl and silently crept down the stairs and out the front door. The night was still, bathed in the cool glow of the moon. A shadow moved near the barn, and I walked toward it.

At first I thought it was an apparition or a trick of my eyes. But when he started walking toward me, I began to run through the damp grass.

I stopped when I reached him, my breath loud and labored in the still night. I wanted him to reach for me, but he remained where he was, hands at his sides.

“You're back.” My voice was winded from running.

“So it would appear.”

Belatedly, I realized how ridiculous I must look. “I've been worried. I . . .” I stopped, wishing I could read his face, but it was hidden in shadow. “I'm happy you're home safe.”

“Not as happy as I am sure Matt Kimball was to see you walk across his threshold.”

My gut clenched. “I made a mistake.”

He took a step toward me. “No. I am the one who made the mistake. I trusted you, Laura.” He coughed, a dry, racking cough most likely caused by nights sleeping outside in the cold rain. “I am only surprised to find you still here.”

I looked at him calmly, pushing away the growing anger. “If you will just give me the chance to explain . . .”

He coughed again. “Explain how you and Matt are working together? And then you went to his rooms unaccompanied? Your reputation in this town—”

“My reputation?” I no longer tried to keep my voice quiet. “Who cares about my reputation? I only went to see him to get information about Annie—information you were supposed to find out about and never did. I overheard you talking with Pamela. Didn't you think it important enough to tell me?”

He moved quickly, placing his hand over my mouth, his other arm reaching around me. He smelled of leather and wood smoke, and I tried desperately not to notice how good it felt to be close to him again.

His voice caressed my ear. “I went to see him about it, but he had left town. Why do you think I took so long to go on my trip? I was waiting for him to return. But I needed to leave. I wanted to talk to him myself before I told you. I do not trust the man and believe that he is merely thinking of a reason to talk with you.” He dropped his hand from my mouth. “Assuming, of course, that you were unaware of his motivations.”

I pulled away from him. “Of course I was unaware of his motivations. Do you think I would have willingly put myself in a position to be . . . ogled by that man?”

Stuart gripped both my shoulders, the scratchy wool of my shawl digging through the thin nightgown. “Did he touch you?”

“No. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered it if I truly believed he knew anything about my daughter.”

He shook me none too gently. “Don't ever say that again. Not ever. I do not want you to even glance in his direction; do you understand?
I will deal with him.” His hands tightened on my arms. “I will find out why you went to see him, Laura. And I hope, for all our sakes, that he has information about your Annie.”

I balled my hands into fists and pushed against his chest. “I don't answer to you, Stuart Elliott. And I will find my daughter with or without your help.”

He released his grip on me. “So be it. But do realize that there will be consequences if you disobey me again. I have told you before. These are dangerous times.”

I bowed my head, staring at my bare feet beneath my nightgown, their whiteness like glowing rocks in the sea of grass. “Yes, they are.”

He touched my chin and brought my face up again. “What are you afraid of, Laura? Why will you not let me help you? I could take hearing that you are a Yankee spy. It is the not knowing that is killing me in small measures.”

I wanted to tell him then, to ease the tension between us. But the less I told him, the thinner the bond between us, and the easier it would be to say goodbye. I shook my head, missing the feel of his touch as he moved his hand away.

His words were curt, abrupt. “Go back to bed, Laura. You will catch your death out here.”

I turned to leave and felt the shawl slip from my shoulders. He bent to pick it up, then moved nearer to drape it on me again. He wrapped his arms around me as he settled it over my back, but he didn't move away. His breathing was warm and heavy on my cheek and I made the mistake by turning to see him clearly in the moonlight.

His lips covered mine before I had a chance to read what was in his eyes. His arms tightened behind me until I felt the buttons of his jacket pressing against my chest. My arms, seemingly of their own accord, went around his neck as I stood on my toes for a deeper kiss, feeling the rough stubble of his unshaven chin. The shawl slid again onto the grass as Stuart's hands moved over the cotton of my nightgown, molding to the curves of my back and hips.

He pulled back suddenly, his eyes wide, a question stalled on my lips.

“I am sorry. I am so sorry.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I am no different than Matt Kimball.”

I stared back at him, the blue shadows from the moon accentuating the planes of his face. “Yes, you are.” My fingertips brushed the stubble on his chin. “I wanted you to touch me.”

His breath grew white in the night air, and I watched it rise toward the sky. “Not as much as I wanted to touch you.”

Two worlds separated us, his and mine, and suddenly I was afraid of what might happen should they collide. I felt for a moment as if I held the country's fate in my hands.

A horse whinnied from the barn. I turned away and scooped up my shawl, my fingers fumbling as I attempted to tie the ends in a knot. “Good night, Stuart.” I didn't look back.

I started for the house, listening for his words, but he remained silent. But I knew his eyes followed me until I entered the house.

Heedless of my wet footprints, I ran across the foyer and up the stairs. As I reached my bedroom door, I heard a soft
click
from somewhere in the house. I knew it wasn't Stuart, or I would have heard him follow me. I silently opened my door and slipped inside. Still chilled by the night air, I left my shawl on and crawled into the cotton sheets, shivering as their coolness touched the bare skin on my legs.

I stretched out, hearing my spine pop as I pointed my toes and reached my hands over my head, yawning in the process. My foot hit something in the bottom of the bed, something that hadn't been there before. I reached down and pulled it out from under the covers. I didn't need a candle to see what it was. The smooth pouchlike feel was enough. A pungent herbal odor emanated from the soft cloth, almost making me nauseous. I hastily threw it on the floor, eager to get it away from me. What was Sukie's charm bag doing in my bed? I had no idea, but would certainly find out in the morning.

I awoke to the feel of someone bouncing on my bed. Full daylight flooded my room, telling me it was at least midmorning. Sarah was eagerly jostling me awake, and enjoying it immensely, to judge by the grin on her face. I had no idea what time I had finally fallen asleep, but from the numbness of my head, I hadn't been asleep for long. Still, I was embarrassed to have slept so late.

“Miss Laura, Miss Laura! Time to get up! We are slaughtering Mr. Porker today!”

I glanced at her, dubious of the apparent joy at something that I was a bit apprehensive about. I threw the covers back and slowly slid out of bed.

“And Uncle Stuart's back, too. Mama told me to come up here and let you know.” I felt my face redden at the thought of him and turned quickly to the washbasin.

Someone had already brought in fresh water in my pitcher, and I hastily splashed my face with the lukewarm water, hoping to make myself more alert. It did not.

“Stop bouncing, Sarah. It's hurting my head.”

She stopped and gave me her most endearing smile. “All right. But if you are not downstairs in two shakes, I am coming back up to bounce on your bed and make your head hurt again.”

I pretended to threaten her with my hairbrush as she raced from the room, her mock squeals descending with her down the stairs.

As soon as she left, Sukie came in. Seeing her, I immediately thought of the pouch I had found in my bed. I raced over to the side of the bed where I had thrown it. The floor was empty.

“Where is it?”

“Where what is, Miz Laura?”

I scrutinized her face, but her bland expression hid all thoughts.

“Your charm bag,” I said, starting to feel annoyed.

She reached for the rope around her neck and pulled out the familiar red pouch. “It be right here. I never take it off 'cept when I sleep.”

“Well, it was here last night—in my bed. I threw it on the floor and now it's gone.”

Her eyes widened and her hands tightened on the bag. “No, ma'am. Not this one. It be where I left it last night.”

“Then someone must have taken it and returned it. Who would have done such a thing?”

Her gaze darted around the room, looking at everything but me. Feeling nervous, I approached her and took her arm to make her look at me. “What does it mean, Sukie?”

Her warm brown eyes stared levelly at me. “It mean you be careful.”

“Careful? Careful of what?”

“Careful of someone who do you harm.”

I was losing patience with this line of conversation. “I don't believe that. One of the children must be playing a prank.” I waved my hand in dismissal, wishing I could dismiss my uneasy thoughts just as easily. “I don't want to talk about it anymore. What does one wear to a pig butchering?”

Later, dressed in the simple floral cotton dress that had become somewhat of a uniform for me, I descended the stairs just in time to see Pamela leaving to go into town. She made these trips at least once a week. She always insisted on going alone, and would return humming with an electric energy. I had no doubt that she was deeply involved in espionage. I had even seen her unrolling a piece of paper, presumably a secret message, from her coiled hair once. I did wonder who she went to see and if Matt Kimball were involved. Regardless of where she got the information from or who her cohorts were, it was clear that Stuart would again be needed to transmit to the Confederate Army whatever information she had gathered.