Spinning the Moon

by Karen White

“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.

  I found Stuart with two male slaves outside near the pigpen and was slightly relieved that we weren’t alone. As I walked into the backyard, I saw one of the men deliver a stunning blow to the pig’s head with the business end of a mallet. A bench had been set up with buckets beneath it to catch the blood, and Stuart and the other man held the animal down on top of it. The pig lay still, allowing Stuart to reach around and neatly slice its throat.

  The heavy smell of fresh blood permeated the area as the animal bled to death, the thick gush of fluid in the buckets slowing down to a final drip-drop. Quickly tying the hind feet together, the two men hoisted the pig up over a kettle of steaming water. I knew this was in preparation for scraping the bristles off the hide before the animal would be disemboweled and halved. No part of the pig would be wasted. From using the bristles for brushes to stuffing the small intestines with sausage, every last morsel would be utilized in some way.

  Knowing that my Christmas ham and the fresh roast pork for the following day’s party was in the process of being made, I had no intention of spoiling my appetite. I wanted to go, but I was reluctant to leave. Despite the chill of the day, Stuart removed his jacket, though he kept his shirt on. He sweated in his exertion, and dark hair stuck to his forehead. He swiped his face with his sleeve, leaving spikes of hair framing his face like a crown. I grinned at his porcupine look.

  He caught sight of me and approached, his face giving nothing away. “Good morning, Laura.”

  I swallowed quickly, my throat dry. “Morning.”

  “I went to town this morning to see Matt Kimball. His landlady says he has gone north to Dalton. She does not expect him back.”

  I met his gaze. “I guess that must mean I gave him information so important, he had to rush right off and share it.” My voice cracked, but I continued. “And I bet you didn’t stop to think that anything he might know about my daughter is gone with him.”

  Two dark eyebrows shot up. “I am not giving up on finding him. We are not done with Matt Kimball, you and I.” He swiped his face with his forearm again; then, with a short nod in my direction, he returned to the business at hand.

  Turning my back on the activity, I made my way toward the house. The door crashed open as I reached the steps, and Sarah catapulted into me.

  “Whoa, Sarah. Slow down. What’s the rush?”

  “Sorry, Miss Laura. Mama sent me to find you. She wants you to help her hang the mistletoe and some other decorations for the Christmas party tomorrow.”

  She made to move past me, but I firmly grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Just a minute, Sarah. I don’t think you need to be out back right now.”

  Sarah looked up at me, her eyes pleading. “But, Miss Laura, Mama’s let me watch before. And I ain’t scairt one bit. Besides, Uncle Stuart promised I could have the pig bladder.”

  “The pig’s bladder? What on earth for?”

  “Me and Willie like to fill it with water and throw it at each other.”

  “And your mother says it’s okay?”

  Her head bobbed up and down, her green eyes bright with excitement.

  If Julia approved, I couldn’t exactly stand in her way. “All right, then. But don’t make a nuisance of yourself, and stay out of the men’s way.”

  She turned to go, but I stopped her again.

  “By the way. Did you or your brother take anything of Sukie’s and put it in my bed?”

  Her eyes stared at me with clear confusion, and I knew that she was innocent. “No, ma’am. Me and Willie would never take anything that did not belong to us.”

  I nodded. “Okay. You can go now.” Wordlessly, she pounded down the steps.

  Julia stood in the hall, a large pile of greens and white berries overwhelming the circular table in the middle of the foyer. She offered me a smile as I approached.

  “I was thinking you would be the best person to tell me where to hang some of this mistletoe.”

  I tried to look nonplussed. “I suppose I’m as good as any.”

  She dropped her hands in her lap. “You can say what you want, Laura, but I happened to see two people out by the barn last night. And it did not look like they were watering horses.”

  “Oh.” I studied the intricate pattern on the wallpaper, not wanting to face her. “I . . . We . . . That was a mistake.”

  Julia’s eyes were warm as they regarded me. “I wanted you to know that I have spoken with Stuart. To be honest, I think he is angrier over the fact that Matt tried to touch you rather than any information about the mills you might have passed on.” She picked up a clump of magnolia leaves, their shiny coating glowing dully in the dim foyer light. “But he is giving you the benefit of the doubt until he speaks with Matt.” She gave me a meaningful glance. “And he does not want you going anywhere on your own again.”

  I leaned down and gathered a few sprigs of mistletoe. Holding one up over the door, I said, “We can hang this here for when Dr. Watkins arrives and you answer the door.”

  “Laura! How could you say that about Charles? He is a dear old friend.”

  “Ha! And you call me blind.”

  She shook her head as she slid a chair to the middle of the hallway. “No, Laura, I am not blind. I just prefer not to recognize it. That way, he and I can still be good friends. And besides, I am a married woman.”

  “Maybe we can get Charles and Eliza under the mistletoe together.”

  Julia laughed softly and shook her head. “What did we ever do without you?”

  We spent the next hour in contented silence, with only the occasional comment as to the perfect placement of magnolia leaves on the mantels or holly arrangements on the tables. As an afterthought, I hung some of the mistletoe in the library, on the inside, over the door. I hummed to myself, trying to remember the last time I had felt any joy at Christmas.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Road goes ever on and on,

  Down from the door where it began.

  Now far ahead the Road has gone,

  And I must follow, if I can. . . .

  —J. R. R. TOLKIEN

  I stared at myself in the mirror, quite pleased at what I saw. Julia had unearthed a gown that had belonged to Stuart’s mother, Catherine, and, with Sukie’s help, had altered it for me as a surprise. I was touched at their efforts, not to mention the fact that the dress was breathtakingly beautiful. The two women had updated the style to make it fashionable again and made the necessary adjustments so that it would fit. The bloodred velvet accentuated the darkness of my hair, which Sukie had left down with lots of loose curls and tendrils, only anchoring the sides with mother-of-pearl combs. The off-the-shoulder neckline revealed more décolletage than I thought appropriate. I kept trying to hoist the dress up until finally Julia slapped my hand away. I acquiesced to wearing a corset, and Sukie cinched in my waist to a size I was sure it hadn’t been since I was eight. I felt like I was playing dress-up. And I loved every minute of it.

  As Sukie was putting the last touches on my hair, a slight tapping sounded on the door. A
t my request, the door opened and Stuart hung back in the threshold, his expression unreadable.

  “Have you come for a Christmas truce? Or are you going to just stand there and gawk?”

  Sukie quickly grabbed a shawl and threw it over my shoulders while she whispered in my ear, “You don’ want to spoil the surprise.”

  “I suppose you may call this a truce of sorts.” He entered the room and placed a small black box on the dressing table in front of me. “These were my mother’s, and when Julia told me you would be wearing that dress, I knew you had to wear these, too. I remember my mother wearing them together.”

  Curious and touched, too, I reached for the box and opened it. The beaded onyx earrings sparkled in their nest of black velvet, every bead glistening and reflecting the candlelight. I picked them up and jiggled them to catch them in full effect. I swallowed deeply and searched his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Stuart, these are wonderful. Thank you.” I slipped the posts into my pierced ears and shook my head at the mirror, hearing the slight clicking as the beads bumped into each other.

  “Allow me.” Sukie stepped back as Stuart leaned over and plucked the matching necklace out of the box and placed it on my neck. The cool beads chilled my throat, but his hands were warm where they rested on my skin while he fastened the necklace. I caught his reflection in the mirror, making me think of a parallel universe. Perhaps Stuart, and these people who now filled my life, had always lived behind the glass, their warm flesh blocked by its coldness and only accessed by the most inexplicable of events.

  “You look beautiful, Laura.”

  “Thank you.” I turned my attention to his clothes, the same ones I had seen him in earlier. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed yourself?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will see to it right away.” Bowing formally, he walked out of the room, almost bumping into Julia on the way in.

  “Laura, you look absolutely stunning.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” I said, admiring her powder blue silk with the noticeably higher neckline covered with a lace fichu.