by Karen White
I could tell how hard it was for him to put those thoughts into words and I had a strong impulse to hug him, but I refrained. I also hid my smile as I considered a fault in his reasoning. “Stuart, I don’t know how much you know about making babies, but a wounded leg wouldn’t interfere in the process at all.”
He stared at me for a long moment and opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it instead. Narrowing his eyes, he tossed the cane in the grass by the side of the drive and turned to greet Julia as she and Sukie emerged from the house, Sukie holding Robbie. Willie and Sarah appeared behind them, temporarily clean and presentable for church.
Stuart handed us all up into the buggy. Because of the tight fit, Sarah and Willie had to use an adult lap for a seat. Sarah chose mine, giving me the chance to study her closely. She looked like a cherubic angel, but having spent more time with her at her piano lessons, I knew better. She was full of mischief, but had an innate talent for music. I wondered which parent she had inherited that from and assumed it had to be from the absent William, who was growing in mythic proportions in my head every day.
This was my first time outside the boundaries of the plantation. Although I had lived in Roswell for seven years, almost nothing I saw on the short ride to the Presbyterian church was familiar. Only the church—the same church where my Annie had been baptized—remained relatively unchanged. An air of surprise greeted us as we entered through the massive front door. Julia kept her back straight, nodding to acquaintances on both sides of the aisle. I was relieved to see people nodding back. Stuart walked behind us, holding Sarah’s hand, and calling out “Good morning” as we made our laborious journey to the front of the church and took our seats.
I spent the remainder of the service surreptitiously scanning the congregation, hoping to find a girl that resembled the image I had created of an older Annie. Following the service, and after some particularly horrendous organ playing by Miss Smith, we all gathered in front of the church. I smiled at all the curious glances aimed in my direction and made myself busy by holding Robbie. Julia stayed close by my side, introducing me to the other churchgoers. Mostly they gave me curt nods and a “How do you do?” Oddly, no one questioned my sudden appearance in the Elliott household. I raised my eyes and caught Dr. Watkins looking at me. He must have already told the townspeople everything they needed to know about me—and I wondered if it had to do with mental illness.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Eliza Smith walking toward Stuart. He stood talking to Dr. Watkins and an older man with mutton-chop whiskers that I identified as the Reverend Pratt. She linked her arm possessively through his and smiled at him. While no one could ever accuse her of being beautiful, her face was transformed when Stuart smiled back at her.
Stuart caught my gaze and nodded. Eliza gave me a cold stare and grabbed his arm to capture his attention. Robbie whimpered, and I gladly turned back to him.
“Pardon me, ma’am, but I seem to have missed out on the introductions.”
I looked up into baby-blue eyes, clear and wide but not at all innocent.
“You must be Miz Truitt.”
Robbie burbled and I shifted him in my arms. “Yes, I am.”
The man appeared to be in his early twenties, with a thin covering of blond peach fuzz on his chin that I assumed passed for a beard. His dirty, fair hair was parted in the middle by a line that looked like a crooked mountain path, and hung down in straggly strands on each side of his narrow face. The stale odor of alcohol permeated his brown wool coat. I took a step back.
He grinned, revealing a jack-o’-lantern smile of missing teeth. I searched for Julia to rescue me, but she had left my side. The man’s slow drawl brought my attention back to him.
“I apologize for my manners. Allow me to present myself.” He touched a dirty finger to his forelock. “I am Matthew Kimball. Mostly known around these parts as just Matt.”
Robbie began to fret and I bounced him up and down in my arms, hoping he would start squalling and I could excuse myself. The man stood too close, his foul breath wafting over me. He reached a mud-encrusted fingernail up to Robbie’s soft cheek. I jerked the baby away, and his nail scraped the skin on the back of my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kimball.”
“Matt.” He gave me a wide smile.
“Right. Matt.” I turned my lips up in the hopes they’d approximate a smile. “It’s been nice talking to you, but I need to change the baby.”
“Where are you from, Miz Truitt?” The intense gaze of his eyes belied the casualness of his question. “I was wondering if we might perhaps have some mutual acquaintances.”
I examined him closely, wondering if he had mistaken me for somebody else. “I’m quite sure I wouldn’t know any of your friends, Mr., ah, Matt. Why would you think—?”
Strong arms pulled Robbie from my grasp. “Time to go, Laura.”
Stuart held Robbie with rigid arms, his face stern as he regarded Matt.
Matt’s face blanched slightly. “Now, Stuart, we wuz only having a little conversation. No harm in that, is there?”
Ignoring Matt, Stuart grabbed my elbow. “Come on, Laura.”
He pulled me away before I had a chance to say anything else. I looked back at Matt and found all traces of politeness gone.
I stumbled, but Stuart didn’t even slow his step. “Let go of my arm. You’re hurting me.”
Stuart ignored my protests, as well as the curious stares we were receiving. Finally, he stopped on the fringe of the group and dropped my arm.
He bent his head close to mine, his voice low and serious. “Do you know that man?”
“I’ve never laid eyes on him before this morning when he introduced himself to me. I don’t think he’s a person one could easily forget, no matter how addled one’s memory is. Why? Who is he?”
Stuart’s eyes searched mine, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Slowly, he straightened. “He used to be a boyhood friend of mine—his father was even a preacher at a church outside town. But he is a deserter. Claims he is on medical leave, but it has been more than a year now without any outward symptoms of a physical handicap. There are rumors about his loyalties.” He looked closely at me. “Such as how they can be bought by the highest bidder.”
Anger flamed in me. “Is that what you think of me? That I could be associated with a person like that? I would have hoped by now that you would know me better than that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No, Laura. I do not know you very well—but not because I have not asked. You have left me with no choice but to make assumptions.”
He was right, but my anger refused to let me acknowledge it. I turned on my heel and ran right into Miss Eliza Smith. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.
Stuart stepped forward and made the introductions.
She nodded brusquely in my direction and I imitated her action. Knowing I needed more allies than enemies, I said, “Thank you so much for the clothes. They’re very much appreciated. And your organ playing today was very heartfelt. You must practice an awful lot.”
Two blotchy spots of red appeared unbecomingly on her cheeks, an apparent blush. I could feel her thaw a few degrees as she digested my compliment. “Thank you, Mrs. Truitt. Stuart mentioned that you are also musical.”
“Well, I try. I’m teaching Sarah and Willie the piano. Sarah is especially gifted. Willie tries, but I know he’d rather be outside, chasing Charlie.”
Robbie let out a loud howl, announcing it was his dinnertime. Stuart made our excuses, then found Julia and the children to return home. I sat across from Stuart in the buggy, our knees almost touching. I studiously ignored him, but I caught his gaze on me more than once.
Sunday as a day of rest was strictly adhered to in the Elliott household, and I was looking forward to immersing myself in Zeke’s astronomy books. Instead, as we pulled into the long dirt
drive, a mud-splattered coach was being led around the side of the house.
Julia leaned out of the buggy. “It must be my mother.”
I stole a glance at Stuart, who was looking at the coach, the muscles working in his jaw. Something about this visitor made him tense.
As soon as we pulled to a stop, Julia jumped from the buggy, not waiting for assistance, and ran into the house.
I gathered the children and we followed. Julia’s voice came from the parlor, and I ushered the children into the room, pausing on the threshold. A diminutive woman with gray streaks threading through her hair turned toward us. I couldn’t see any resemblance between this woman and Julia. Her small dark eyes were cold, and when I first walked into the room, I felt something akin to a frigid wind blowing through me.
Her eyes flickered over me before her gaze settled on the children. Sarah’s hand tightened in mine and she buried her face in my skirt. Willie was no less obvious as he took a step backward as she approached, as if to put as much distance as possible between them.
She gave Sarah a brittle smile before turning to Willie. “Willie, will you not give your nana a hug?” Her voice was surprisingly deep for such a petite woman.
With a prod from Julia, Willie dutifully stepped forward and gave her a preemptory hug. I expected her to ask one from Sarah, too, but instead she stepped toward Stuart, who held baby Robbie.
“So, this is my new grandson.” She reached to take the baby from Stuart. A strong maternal instinct made me want to knock her away. I knew I was being irrational, but the feeling that I should keep the children away from her pulled hard at me.
As she tried to jiggle the baby to find a comfortable position to hold him, Robbie screamed. I quickly reached for him and plucked him out of her arms. Immediately, his cries were extinguished as I held him snugly on my shoulder.
Giving me the brunt of her harsh gaze, she stood in front of me. Her petite stature in no way diminished the full force of her character. I could feel the maelstrom created by her personality in the air she breathed out.
“And who is this?” Although looking directly at me, she directed her question elsewhere.
“Mother, this is Laura Truitt. She is a good friend and is staying with us for a while. I am eternally grateful to her because she not only saved Willie from a catamount attack on Moon Mountain, but also saved Robbie’s life.” Julia walked over to me and put her arm around my shoulder. It seemed as if she were trying to protect me.
“Oh, really? And just how did she accomplish this?” Her gaze finally left my face as she turned to Julia.
“It was the most peculiar thing. When Robbie was born, he was not breathing. So Laura laid him on the floor, pushed on his little chest to make his heart beat, and then breathed the air into his mouth until he started doing it on his own.”
Her head snapped back to me, her eyes narrowing slightly as they considered me.
Julia squeezed my shoulders. “We are very much indebted to her.”
The older woman stepped closer to us. “Really. I suppose that I am also in your debt.”
I finally found my voice. “No. I’m indebted to the Elliotts’ hospitality. They’ve opened their home to me.”
“Where are my manners?” Julia gushed. “Laura Truitt, this is my mother, Mrs. Pamela Broderick.”
I was grateful for Julia’s intervention. I don’t think I could explain my sudden appearance on Moon Mountain to one more person, for I was sure that was the older woman’s next question. I smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She inclined her head slightly. “Likewise.”
“Stuart.” She held out both hands to him, which he grasped, and kissed him on both cheeks. “I am so glad to see you safe. We are so lucky, you know. Most families in the county have lost a son, father or brother. And you and William are still in one piece.”
Julia interrupted. “Mother, have you news of William?”
“Yes. Did I forget to mention that to you in my letter? He has been assigned to General Sherman’s staff. He has been in Nashville these last few months. Has he not written?”
Julia’s face fell. “No. I have not heard from him since last September.” She pointed her chin at Robbie, who was busy sucking noisily on his fist.
Turning her full attention to Julia, Mrs. Broderick reached for her and cupped her face in her hands. “Daughter, do not fret. There is a war going on, and William has very important duties to attend to for General Sherman. He would have come with me if he could—you know that.”
Julia kept her eyes down, hidden from her mother, and nodded solemnly. Forcing a smile on her face, she looked up at her mother and added, “You must be exhausted. I had Sukie prepare a room for you so you have a place to rest, if you would like.”
“Yes, thank you. That would be nice.” She slipped her arm through her daughter’s and slowly ascended the stairs. Stuart and one of the field hands, Elbert, followed with a large trunk and smaller bags.
Feeling the need for fresh air, I left the children with Sukie and stepped out onto the front porch. I took deep gulps, filling my lungs and wondering why that woman had seemed to take the oxygen out of the room.
The sound of the door shutting behind me and the jangling of keys told me Julia had joined me. I knew her storeroom keys never left her side—being keeper of the food stores of the plantation was one of the myriad duties of the mistress of the house.
She came to stand next to me, looking directly out in front of her toward the front drive. “My mother can be a difficult woman to get to know. I hope she did not offend you.”
I sat down in one of the white wooden rocking chairs. “No, I wasn’t offended.”
Julia sat in the chair next to mine and slowly began to rock, her feet gently slapping the wooden boards of the porch floor. “She is from Savannah—that is why her ways are much more formal than they are here. It can be very off-putting to people who do not know her well.” She turned her head to face me. “Pamela is my stepmother, but she is the only mother I have known. My mother died when I was three. My father died when I was five years old, so I did not know him very well. He was born and raised here in Roswell and this is where he brought Pamela after they were married. She and Stuart’s mother were the best of friends. Very different people, though. I suppose that is why they got along so well.” She continued her rhythmic rocking, her face and eyes focused on the past. Her rocking was contagious, and I copied her back-and-forth motion.
“What’s your mother doing in Nashville?” Somehow, knowing that Julia was not Pamela’s flesh and blood made it harder for me to understand the affection she had for a woman whose very name made me so apprehensive.
She looked down at her hands gently folded in her lap. “My mother enjoys a more cosmopolitan lifestyle. She likes to be among the politicians and policy makers. She has even invested in several businesses there and made her home in Nashville to oversee her interests.”
Julia sighed and then pulled herself to her feet. “I do not know what I was thinking, dawdling out here. I have a thousand things to do before dinner. I know this is our day of rest, but I suppose God would understand that we have a guest to entertain. Would you mind, Laura, picking the pole beans from the bean patch?” Her mind already elsewhere, Julia walked toward the door. Stopping, she turned abruptly. “Could you see if you can hunt down Sarah and have her bring in the eggs from the chicken house? I am going to have Sukie make some corn bread with the little bit of cornmeal we have left.” Without waiting for an answer, Julia sailed through the door, her steps making a rapid tapping on the floors inside.
I gave one last leisurely rock and then stood. The first halting notes of “Greensleeves” told me in which direction to go to find Sarah. She was seated on the piano bench, her eyes glued to the black-and-white music in front of her.
She smiled when I walked in the room and hastily scooted
over to one side of the bench to make room for me. As soon as I sat down, she started plunking out a new tune I had taught her, “Heart and Soul.” I added the treble accompaniment and struggled to keep up with her as she raced faster and faster through the repetitions. We ended up collapsing in laughter when the music reached an inescapable end.
Julia peeked in, her finger raised to her mouth. “Sshhh. Nana’s sleeping.”
I looked up guiltily and nodded. “Sarah, your mother wants you to gather eggs. Come on, I’ll go with you. And then you can show me what a pole bean is.”
We stopped in the detached kitchen first to pick up a basket and then went to the chicken house. A pitiful rooster strutted his way across the backyard, perhaps lamenting the loss of the rest of his harem. The Elliotts were down to three laying hens, courtesy of the Confederate Army. Using the few eggs we could find so extravagantly on the corn bread was a rare treat.
I held the basket for Sarah as she reached into each nest. She counted them out slowly to me as she laid each egg gently into the basket. Five. I hoped it would be enough, as I had my heart set on corn bread, and so did my ever-grumbling stomach.
Studying the girl as she stood on her tiptoes to reach into another nest, I grew curious. “Sarah, how old are you?”
Concentrating on her task, I could see her shrug a shoulder. “Seven.”
“Really? But you’re so much taller than Willie and he’s eight. When’s your birthday?”
She turned around to look at me, clutching one more egg in her hand. “June. It is written in the Bible. I cannot read it, yet, but Mama says it is there.”
I surreptitiously approached a hen, her plump roundness filling the circular cavity she had made to lay her eggs. I attempted to remove her prize and was rewarded with a nasty peck.
“Ouch! That hurt!” With my hands on my hips, I gave mother hen my most threatening look. Her small glassy eyes continued to dart back and forth, as if I were nothing more than a kernel of corn.
