by Karen White
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.
Willie pointed out toward the cotton field, and I spotted Stuart astride Endy. A tall man stood next to him, and as I walked toward them, I recognized Zeke Proudfoot. I stayed to the side of the turnrow, not wanting to trample the plants underfoot. Some of the creamy white blossoms had already turned red. Soon they would be sprouting burst bolls stuffed with a fluffy white mass of cotton fibers.
Stuart had climbed off his horse and was squatting on his haunches, his long fingers manipulating the leaves on one of the plants. Both men looked at me as I approached. Zeke’s rich chocolate brown eyes were edged with deep creases. I had the odd sensation that I had been the object of their conversation.
Stuart stood slowly when I stopped before them, the footprints behind me in the sticky red mud marking my passage. Stuart’s eyes were cold as he looked at me, and my stomach lurched. The last time I had felt this way was when I had worn my mother’s favorite scarf without her permission and ruined it. I looked up at him, prepared to do battle. I didn’t know what I would tell him, but it had to be something good to keep me here. I had no place else to go.
Stuart tipped back his hat to glare at me. “Well, Mrs. Truitt. It seems you have an ally in my sister-in-law. I think she is too trustworthy. But she wants you to stay.”
Relief flooded me, but his words made my relief short-lived.
“Just realize that I will not let you out of my sight. And one wrong move from you, and I will personally escort you to the proper authorities and see you tried as a spy.”
I moved closer. “I am not a spy, Yankee or otherwise.” I met his blue gaze unblinking.
Zeke walked toward me and placed his hand on the top of my head, his brown eyes softening slightly as he stared into my face. Too stunned by his actions to move, I remained still. “You travel in the shadow,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question.
“What do you mean?” His eyes were warm and I felt a familiarity with his presence.
Removing his hand and turning to Stuart, he continued. “She will not harm you. Her heart is good and her powers are strong. Listen to her and trust her. Salvation will lay in her hands.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the woods.
“What does he mean?” I asked, half-afraid of the answer.
“Zeke tends to talk in riddles. But I think he is wrong here. He wants me to trust you, but you are holding something back. I have an odd way of not trusting people who are not honest with me.” He paused briefly to call for Endy. “Laura, I can only hope that you will tell me everything in due course.” He hoisted himself into the saddle, wincing slightly as he put his wounded leg in the stirrup. “But I will find out everything. Sooner or later, I will find out who you are. And if your motives are to cause us harm by spying or otherwise, then you will wish you had never come here.”
Without another word, he galloped away from the field, Endy’s hoofbeats muted by the soft, damp earth.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery.
—JOSEPH CONRAD
I stood motionless, watching Stuart ride off, feeling more hurt than I cared to admit. I slowly walked back toward the house, my thoughts in turmoil. I hadn’t asked to be dropped into their lives, and I certainly didn’t want to be there any more t
han they wanted me. I kicked a hapless cotton plant as I walked by. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to just find Annie, if she were even within my reach, and then go home. I certainly didn’t want to care about Julia, her family, this house. Or Stuart. I only hoped it wasn’t too late.
At the thought of home, I looked up. The sweet aroma from the Osage orange trees drifted in the rain-soaked air. They had been planted when the house was built to discourage flies and rodents. The ancient oak tree with its sprawling limbs was still rooted to the same spot in the backyard, looking a great deal smaller than in my own time. There was even a swing on a lower branch, just as Michael had made for Annie. I slowed my pace. How was I going to find her? I stopped completely when I considered my next thought. How was I going to get home?
I felt utterly alone. The children were nowhere to be seen, so I turned the corner of the house in search of Julia. I found her amidst cucumber plants and potatoes, furiously pulling weeds. Not seeing me approach, she appeared startled when I spoke her name.
Shielding her eyes with her hand, she looked at me with a frown. I knelt down beside her in the sodden ground among the ridges and began pulling weeds, the moist earth crumbling easily off the roots and the smell of freshly turned soil reminding me of an open grave. I wrinkled my nose and turned to Julia.
“I can do this, Julia. You just gave birth two days ago—shouldn’t you be resting?”
She wiped at a piece of dirt clinging to her forehead, smearing it across her skin. “I do not mind, really. It keeps my mind off . . . things. Besides, there is so much work to be done and only a few pairs of hands.”
I sat on my heels, watching her attack the weeds. “I wanted to thank you for what you said to Stuart. I promise you that your trust hasn’t been misplaced. I swear I’m not a spy.” She yanked up more weeds, throwing them with a vengeance into a pile. I continued. “I have only known you for a short time, but I feel as if I really know you—you’re almost like a sister to me.”
