Spinning the Moon (26 page)

The sound coming from her sounded like a bark, making me cringe. “I am not stupid, Laura Truitt. I know you are a traveler.”

The blood seemed to evacuate my body, leaving my extremities to tingle with dread. “A traveler?” My voice sounded foreign to my ears.

“When I heard that you had been found on Moon Mountain, I suspected. And then you sang that rainbow song. When you sang it when you were sick, then I knew for sure. What I do not know is who sent you.”

“Who sent me?” My mind reeled. How could she know about the traveling?

Her face narrowed into a tight pucker as she walked closer to me, the rifle barrel prodding me in the chest. “I will not be toyed with. And I would be happy to shoot you if you do not cooperate with me.”

Realization, white-hot as lightning, struck me. “Are you a traveler, too?”

She cackled again. “Of course. From 1953, to be exact. I'm here on a mission, and you are going to help me succeed.”

I remembered her astronomy books that she had sent down from Tennessee for safekeeping, and her ever watchfulness of me. But she
was here for a purpose. “No. That can't be,” I whispered. “You mean other people know about this?”

Her lipless grin showed small, even white teeth. “Oh yes.” She looked at me with hooded eyes and pulled up the sleeve of her dress. A dark crescent-shaped birthmark marred the whiteness on her forearm. I sucked in my breath.

“How did you get here?” I couldn't move my eyes away from her arm.

“The same way all Shadow Warriors travel: wrapped in the atmosphere of a comet intensified by a lunar eclipse.”

“Travelers,” I whispered.

“Yes, dear. Like you and me. And your daughter. I saw her mark when I found her on Moon Mountain. I knew I needed to keep her close by to see who came after her. It was so convenient when Julia's daughter died. Otherwise, I would have had to help her along.”

I felt sick. “Surely you wouldn't harm an innocent child.”

Her face was serious. “I will do whatever it takes.”

I swallowed my fear, eager for answers. “Are there many of us?” I began to shiver. Pamela grabbed the quilt off the bed and tossed it at me. Picking up my gun from the nightstand, she returned to where I was, pulled out a chair, and sat down opposite.

Still keeping the gun aimed at me, she began talking. “Not many—usually just one or two every generation. I thought I was the only surviving Shadow Warrior, but now I know I am wrong. I am a Southern Loyalist, and I am here to make sure the South wins. The South will rise again.” Her voice shook with vehemence.

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. “You can't be serious. You're only one person—you can't win a war single-handed.”

She leaned back in her chair. “You know, Laura, for a young woman of obvious intelligence, you can be dense at times.” Sitting up straight, she continued. “It is like playing the lottery, only you know the numbers beforehand. I am not alone. I have a group of loyal followers. And now I have you.” She drummed her fingers on the rifle butt. “Now, why are you here?”

I swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to clear my brain. “I really don't know. It was an accident. I was just trying to find my daughter on top of Moon Mountain and I ended up here.” My eyes widened
as I considered another possibility. “Do your loyal followers know who you really are?”

“Of course not. Who would believe anything like that? No, they have all been handpicked by me to be slow of brains but quick on the trigger. And a little low on morals. Money talks with these men, and I have got lots of that. I came here prepared.”

She laid the rifle behind her chair, but kept the handgun still trained on my chest.

I tried to reason with her, if only to keep my panic at bay. “I am not here for any purpose, and I refuse to help you do something that will deliberately change the course of history. Aren't you concerned that anything you change now might not have the repercussions you're planning on?”

Her eyes sparkled with energy as she leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “This war will bring the South to her knees, forever tying her to the yoke of Yankee dominance. These things will happen if I don't intervene. If I succeed, I can relieve the South's suffering by eliminating Reconstruction and lessening the effects of the Great Depression. I will be the South's savior.” Her eyes flashed with a fanaticism that chilled my skin.

“I will not help you. Even if the South wins now, it's only a matter of time before they're fighting again. The South cannot win, now or later. It doesn't have the resources. It's ludicrous.”

She leaned forward and hissed. “I am not asking for your opinion. It does not matter to me anyway. And besides . . .” A feral grain crossed her thin face. “If you ever want to see your daughter again, I suggest you listen very closely to what I ask of you.”

My heart tightened in my chest. “What do you mean? Where's Sarah?”

“She is with my associate, Matt Kimball. We tried to get rid of you before, remember? But Matt wanted to have a little fun with you before he killed you, and missed his opportunity. It is just as well, because now I have a better idea.”

“Why is Sarah with Matt?” My fingernails bit into my palms.

She smiled almost maternally. “That is my better idea. Matt is holding Sarah until you do what I ask of you. And if you do not . . .” The
smile vanished from her face. “Matt will not think twice about cutting her throat.”

I stood, feeling as if I were high on a tightrope. “She's only a child. You can't do this. Please. Think of Julia—of what you'd be doing to her. I won't say anything, I promise. Just tell me where Sarah is.”

She smiled gently at me. “Now, where would be the fun in that?” She pushed the barrel of the gun into my chest and shoved me back in my chair.

“I want you to understand something. All it will take is a word from me, and you will never see your daughter alive again. But do as I ask, and I will release her to you. It is up to you, my dear.”

“Laura!” It was Stuart. He was getting closer, probably at the edge of the woods.

I gripped the seat tighter, willing myself to remain where I was instead of wrapping my hands around her throat and choking her to death. Only the cold steel barrel of her gun prevented me from moving.

“What do you want me to do?” My voice croaked, my breath vaporizing in the chill air.

“I need you to kill General William Tecumseh Sherman.” She paused, as if waiting for the enormity of her request to sink in. “We cannot let him take the city of Atlanta. If he is repulsed and forced to retreat, then the Northern war effort will crash. Our Northern neighbors are sicker of this conflict than we are—it will not take much to make them give up. Without a strong victory here, Lincoln will not be reelected in the fall. His opponent, McClellan, will win and sue for peace with the South. The nation will be torn apart—permanently. The Confederate States of America will be her own sovereign nation, never to be held in bondage by the Yankee oppressor again.” She tightened her hold on the gun. “I would do it myself, but I am much too valuable.”

I shook my head. “You are certifiable. There are a lot of ifs involved here. . . .”

She brushed my words aside with her hand. “Stuart's getting closer, Laura. All I have to do is shoot him through the door with my rifle. What are you going to do?”

I heard Stuart's voice outside again, coming closer. “Damn you! I can't—”

She picked the rifle off the floor and trained it on the door. “You can bury him next to Sarah.”

My mind reeled in a sickening kaleidoscope of bloodred fear. “All right. I'll do it.” My voice reverberated throughout the room.

Lowering the rifle, she smiled at me. “Good choice. I knew you were smart.” She stood, leaving the handgun behind on the chair. “Do not tell Stuart about this. I will find out, and I will kill him and Sarah both. And find an excuse not to go with them to Valdosta. I need you here.” She strode to the door. “Pack a carpetbag with whatever you will need for traveling, but keep it hidden. Make sure you include the red dress you wore at Christmas—General Sherman is sure to find you irresistible in it.” She paused, then added, “Be ready at a moment's notice.” She unlatched the rear door and let herself out, quickly disappearing in the swirling mists. The muffled sound of hoofbeats faded into the fog.

Dots danced before my eyes and I realized I had been holding my breath. Filling my lungs with great gulps of air, I stood and ran to the door, calling Stuart's name.

So many worlds, so much to do,

So little done, such things to be.

—LORD TENNYSON

I
flew blindly out the door, only stopping when I realized I stood in the middle of a wall of fog and could see neither the cabin nor the woods, although I knew the cabin was somewhere behind me. My breath came hard and fast, my lungs pressing on my ribs.

“Stuart!” I screamed, feeling the panic rise and struggle to choke me. Pamela was out there with her gun. “Stuart!” The swirling haze sucked up my voice, evaporating the sound.

A dark form emerged from the mist and I struck out in an automatic reflex. A strong hand grabbed hold of my wrist, but another scream died in my throat when I recognized Stuart.

“I have Zeke—he has been shot. Help me get him back to the cabin.” A thick shadow hovered behind Stuart's shoulders and I realized it was his grandfather.

“This way,” I said, leading him the way I had come.

Stuart laid Zeke on the bed and pulled a knife from his belt. Bright crimson spotted Stuart's jacket in an incongruous rose pattern as the coppery taste of blood lingered in the air. Stuart cut through Zeke's pants, peeling back the blood-saturated material. A hole in his right thigh, about the size of a quarter, oozed red, surrounded by black tissue. It looked surprisingly like a black eye in the middle of his thigh. Congealed blood spilled down his forehead, making his hair stick to his skin. A soft groan emerged from Zeke's cracked lips, letting us know that he was alive. But from the gray pallor of his skin, I wasn't
sure for how much longer. A large loss of blood would lead to shock. He needed a massive infusion of fluid.

I raced to the cold fireplace and took down the kettle, luckily filled with water. Using a ladle, I began feeding him the fluid his body needed.

“Give me your nightgown.” I hardly recognized Stuart's voice.

“What?”

“I need it to staunch the flow of blood.” Stuart reached for the hem of my nightgown.

He tore a hole in it with his knife, and, with a heavy jerk, made a large horizontal tear.

I reached over to the bed and snatched the sheet off of it. “Use this instead.” I had already realized that one of us had to run for help, and I certainly didn't want to do it naked.

Stuart and I began ripping at the sheet, aided by the knife.

“It was Pamela, Stuart. I saw her.”

Stuart didn't pause. He vigorously ripped the fabric and then moved to Zeke's side to apply it with pressure to the gaping wound.

He looked at me, blue eyes blazing. “She was here?”

I paused, not knowing how much I could tell him. “Yes. I heard your shout, so I opened the door and she was there. She had a gun, but she ran when she heard your voice.”

I couldn't look at him, afraid he'd see the lie in my eyes. I went over to Zeke and lifted his arm. The skin on his forearm felt clammy and cold. “One of us needs to get help.”

“I know.” He looked at me closely. “But I have experience with gunshot wounds.” Our eyes met over Zeke's still form. “Endy knows the way blindfolded and can get you to Phoenix Hall quickly.”

I swallowed. The thought of riding Endy at a trot in full daylight was harrowing. The thought of riding him through the woods in heavy fog at breakneck speed was unthinkable. I looked down at Zeke, whose shallow breath barely made his chest rise and from whom the stench of blood rose thick in the air. The thought of him dying under my unskilled hands was worse. “All right. I can do it.”

He nodded. “You will be fine.” His voice held all the conviction I lacked.

I stayed with Zeke, applying pressure to the wound, while Stuart saddled Endy.

The fog had begun to lift and hovered amid the higher branches of the trees, the murky sun making an effort to penetrate the cloud and illuminate us below.

Stuart wrapped me in his warm coat and strapped his holster and gun around my waist. I knew I had nothing to fear from Pamela, but accepted the gun without comment. As he lifted me into the saddle, he said, with a weak grin, “Do not shoot the horse.”

I couldn't make my facial muscles return his grin. “Yeah, sure.” I grabbed hold of the pommel. My voice shaking, I said, “Okay. I'm ready.”

He gave me the reins, patted the horse on the rump, and shouted, “Go!” The earth slid out from under me as the great beast lurched forward, his speed steadily climbing as he began to cover the distance. All the riding tips and pointers that Stuart had given me during my informal lessons fell by the wayside. The only thing I could think of was holding on for dear life to avoid being thrown off and trampled. The thought of Zeke's pale body on the bed spurred me on, and with renewed fervor I kicked the sides of the horse, making him gallop harder.

The outlines of Phoenix Hall appeared, and I leaned over the horse's neck, giving him the lead. The air was sucked out of my lungs, my fingers numb from gripping the saddle so tightly.

Endy stopped at the back porch, and I was relieved to see Julia at the door, as I had no idea how to dismount from the horse by myself.

“Julia, Zeke's been shot.” I left out the detail of who had shot him. That would come out soon enough. “He might be dying, and he needs help.”

“Where is he?”

“He's at his cabin with Stuart.”

She stepped forward, grabbing my arm. “Sarah is missing. Have you seen her?”

“Yes.” I swallowed, trying to still the shakiness in my voice. “She's fine right now. We'll talk about it later.”

She didn't release her grip. “Did you say anything to her to make her run away?”

“No, Julia. I promised you I wouldn't, and I didn't. We'll talk about it later—we've got to help Zeke now.”

Too distracted to notice my dress, or lack thereof, Julia turned around to go back up the porch steps, her skirts swirling around her. “I will get my medicine and take Endy back to the cabin. You go get Charles and bring him there.”

Within minutes, we had exchanged places and I watched her disappear into the woods, her skirts flying around the black flank of the horse, her long hair streaming unbound behind her.

Charles's office and residence were only about one mile from Phoenix Hall, and I ran all the way. I was out of practice, but the adrenaline pushed me down the dirt lanes and brick road to his house.

A rumpled Dr. Watkins was busily trying to erase the sleep from his eyes when he finally answered my banging on the door. His robe was belted over his nightshirt, and his face registered shock at my appearance. His eyes took in Stuart's coat thrown over my torn nightgown and my bare toes peeping out from under the ragged hem.

I pushed open the door. “I am sorry to bother you so early, Dr. Watkins, but we need you. Zeke has been shot.”

The disapproving frown disappeared from his face as he sprang into action. “I will be down in a moment.” He paused on the top step, looked at my disheveled appearance once again, and opened his mouth to say something. He closed it, then ran up the rest of the flight of stairs.

Knowing the buggy wouldn't fit through the path in the woods, we rode the doctor's horse. I kept pulling my nightgown over my legs as best I could, but eventually gave up, hoping Dr. Watkins had more important things on his mind than my alarming lack of modesty.

The cloying aroma of brewing herbs struck me as we entered the cabin. A soft groan came from the bed, and I sighed with relief knowing Zeke was still alive. Realizing I could only get in the way, I approached the now rekindled and blazing fire, my frozen fingers and toes aching with cold.

“Thank you again, Laura.” I startled at the soft voice behind me and whipped around to see Julia, her hands caked with blood and droplets spattered on her dress in a macabre pattern.

“For what?”

“For once again coming between my family and disaster.”

I waved my hand at her, feeling guilty for my part in this particular disaster. “I haven't done anything but be a messenger. I feel quite helpless, actually.”

She sat down next to me in the rocker. Nodding in the direction of the bed, she said, “He is in good hands now. I have faith that Charles can save him.”

Julia began to tuck stray ends of hair behind her ears. Then, in a barely audible voice, she said, “It was Pamela who did this?”

I answered simply, “Yes.”

Her shoulders slumped and she looked down at her lap. “I blame myself, then. I knew she was not in her right mind. I should have had her committed long ago.” Her hands rested in a tight ball in her lap. “But she was the only family I had left. I never thought she could do something like this.”

I stared into the fire and saw two dark eyes staring back at me over the muzzle of a rifle. “She has Sarah.”

She stood so suddenly her chair would have crashed to the floor if I hadn't steadied it. “What? Where is she? We have to find her.” Her eyes widened as the color drained from her face. “She is not safe with Pamela.”

“Sit down,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm.

After a brief hesitation, she did as I'd asked. I leaned closer so as not to be overheard. “She's blackmailing me. If I do something for her, she'll keep Sarah safe.”

Her fingers gripped the chair arms. “What does she want you to do?”

I shook my head. “I can't tell you—it would put all of us in jeopardy. And you can't tell anyone what you know, either—especially not Stuart. She's threatened all of you if I whisper a word. We already know what she's capable of.” I glanced at Zeke. “I will do whatever it takes to get her back. Do you understand?”

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking from silent sobs. I knelt in front of her chair. “Do you understand, Julia? You're not to tell anyone. You need to trust me.”

She nodded, then raised her head, her eyes rimmed with red. “When will this war be over and we can resume our lives again? Nothing is
as it should be anymore, and I am starting to doubt that we can survive it.”

I grabbed her with a hand on each shoulder. “Listen to me. This war will be over in slightly more than a year. You've already made it through almost three years of hardship and worry. I know you can go a little bit more. And I can promise you that you will not lose your house.” I wondered if I had said too much, but I couldn't bear to see her give up now.

Her sobs had stopped and she stared at me. “How do you know these things, Laura? How could you possibly know?”

I glanced at the two men by the bed, tending to Zeke and out of earshot. “You're going to think I'm crazy, Julia, but I swear it's true. I don't know why or how—all I know is that it really happened and I'm as sane as I've ever been.”

She leaned forward, her swollen eyes open wide. “What are you talking about?”

I took a deep breath and blurted out everything before I could change my mind. I didn't leave out any details, as if by including everything, it would seem more believable to us both.

I paused briefly and finished. “I was born in 1979. Technically, I haven't been born yet and won't be for another one hundred and sixteen years from now.” I could now see the whites all around her irises.

“Ouch! You're hurting me.” Her fingers had become clawlike as they gripped me.

She immediately released her grip. “Sarah, too?”

I had to lean closer to hear her, her voice was so quiet. I nodded. “And Pamela. But I don't know how long she's been here. She said she was from the nineteen fifties.” I felt the burden of my secret release a bit of its hold on me.

Julia blinked, as if she were trying to focus on something she couldn't quite see. “How is this possible?” she whispered.

“I don't know. All I know is that there's some kind of a connection between Moon Mountain and the dual specter of a lunar eclipse and a comet. And this.” I showed her my birthmark. She sucked in a deep breath, and I knew she was recognizing it from Sarah's arm. “Besides that, I don't know. But I suspect Pamela does. It was no accident that found her here in this time.”

I looked closely at her. Her face blanched, her eyes dark circles of color in her white face. “Are you okay?” I rose to be able to catch her if she decided to fall out of her chair.

She nodded, but I remained unconvinced. “This is a bit of a shock.” She stood shakily. “But this is the least of our worries right now,” she said, indicating the tableaux by the bed.

“I don't know why I'm here—if there's even a reason for it. And I don't know what repercussions there could be. No one knows but you. And Pamela. She knows about Sarah, too.”

She gave me a weary nod of her head and stood. “I want to argue with you, to force you to bring me with you to save our daughter. But I do trust you. Just as much as I understand that you must do this alone. I do not like it, but I cannot fight it.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Please bring Sarah back safely, Laura. Without her . . .” She looked away, unable to finish her sentence.