by Karen White
On the last day of the month, I put Sarah to bed, and the three of us sat on the front porch, watching the fireflies dance across the lawn. Julia told me that Eliza Smith and many of our Roswell neighbors had also taken refuge in Valdosta, making the desertion of their homes a bit easier. Charles had joined the Roswell Battalion and hadn’t been heard from since. I told them a little about the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Except for washing machines and air conditioners, they weren’t too impressed. I somehow agreed with their sentiments. As we talked, my fingers clutched the key around my neck, thinking of things to come.
“Julia, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. When this war is over, times will be really tough.” I continued rocking, my toes tapping lightly on the floorboards. “And I want to try to make things easier for you.” I took a deep breath, trying to decide where to start. “First, forget about cotton. Try peanuts instead. You may have to buy some land farther south for a better growing area, but peanuts should make a profitable crop. Peaches, too.”
She looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Peanuts?”
“Yeah, peanuts. You know, goober peas. Haven’t you ever heard of peanut butter?”
She shook her head.
“Well, I’ll tell you about that later.” I slapped at a mosquito on my forearm. “But you also need to find a man in Atlanta by the name of Asa Candler. In about twenty years he’s going to get a patent for a nonalcoholic drink that will make him and all of his investors millionaires. Invest everything you can afford with him. You won’t regret it.”
“Asa Candler, peanuts, and peaches,” she murmured. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good,” I said, reaching for her hand. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re all taken care of.”
I didn’t let go of her hand, nor did I look at her. “And I’m leaving Sarah here. With you.”
She continued rocking and I felt her eyes on me. “I know.”
I turned to face her. “How did you know?”
With a soft smile, she said, “Because she still calls you Aunt Laura. You have never told her the truth. And besides.” She squeezed my hand tightly. “You love her.”
“I do.” Tears sprang from my eyes, but I did nothing to wipe them away. “I can’t believe that after all I’ve been through to find her, I can’t bring her home.”
Julia left her chair and kneeled before mine. “Come back, then, Laura. Come back after the baby’s born. We all want you here. With us.”
I shook my head. “But Stuart doesn’t want me.”
“Of course he does. I do not know what went on between you two, but whatever he said to make you believe that he did not want you is a lie. He must have been hurt or confused, but I know the man loves you.” She placed both her hands over mine. “Come back, Laura. Come back and stay.”
I pulled my hands away, unable to look at her, remembering the hateful words Stuart had said. “No. I won’t.”
She stood and sat back down in the rocking chair.
I looked out at the red dirt of the drive, committing it all to memory. “Take care of Sarah. Don’t let her forget her aunt Laura.”
“We will never forget you. Or stop hoping that you will return to us.”
We continued rocking in silence, until dark descended and the crickets began to cry.
* * *
The morning of September 1 dawned gray and misty. The fat clouds hovered in the sky all day, finally breaking out into huge thunderclouds by late afternoon. It had been decided that Zeke would accompany me back to Moon Mountain, so I said my goodbyes to Julia and Sarah at Phoenix Hall near sunset.
“Goodbye, Sarah.” I knelt, and she walked into the circle of my arms. I hugged her to me for the last time, transferring to her all my love and hopes for the child I had lost and found, and then given up. “You keep up your piano practicing, okay? And don’t fight so much with your brother.”
She sniffled into my shoulder. “I will.” She pushed herself away. “I have something for you.”
She handed me a sprig of rosemary, the silvery gray of the leaves almost glowing in the dim light of the day. “Rosemary—for remembrance. So you will remember me.”
I took it from her reverently. “I’ll treasure it always—not that I’ll need it to remember you.” I hugged her again, feeling one more time the solidness of her small body next to mine.
I then hugged Julia, who was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “What shall I tell Stuart?”
I felt a tremor at my temples. The hurt and anger were still very much alive. “I don’t care. Let him always wonder what happened to me.”
“I cannot do that, Laura. It would be too cruel. He does love you, you know.”
“He couldn’t. He so easily believed the worst of me. Just tell him . . . Tell him that I’ve gone back home.”
Her fine eyebrows knit together. “I will try, Laura. But I think he deserves the truth.” She gave me another tight hug. “Do not forget your key. I promise to write everything down and leave it in the secret compartment. I will let you know about the peanuts, all right?”
“You do that,” I said, my voice cracking. With one last goodbye, I turned away and began the long walk to Moon Mountain with Zeke.
By the time we reached the base of the mountain, the skies had unleashed their fury. Electrical bursts kept the heavens in constant illumination while the thunder rolled ceaselessly. We could see no comet or moon, but I felt the tingling on my skin reminding me of the time before. They were up there, all right, working their magic and pulling at me.
Then, mixed in the roll of thunder, the sound of heavy hoofbeats. I turned my ear toward the sound, imagining I heard my name shouted. A flash of lightning opened up the sky and the heavens, making all around us as bright as day. Standing close to me, I saw Endy and Stuart astride him. Stuart slipped off the horse and came to me without a word.
We stood in the rain, watching the play of light on each other’s faces.
I turned from him, but he pulled me back. He had to shout to be heard over the din of the storm. “I was a fool, Laura. William always brings out the worst in me—that is my only excuse.”
My skin tingled. I didn’t have much time. “Why are you here?”
He moved closer to me. “To ask your forgiveness.” His hand tightened on my arm. “I am risking being shot as a deserter. The least you can do is forgive me.”
He touched my cheek and I put my hand over his. “I love you, Laura—I will never stop.”
I hesitated for a moment, feeling the changing atmosphere around me. There was no more time for anger between us. I fell into his arms, the rain cleansing us in its harshness, Stuart’s lips bruising on mine. His hands swept over my back and then to the rising mound of my abdomen. The child kicked, and Stuart jerked back, his eyes wide with amazement. I brought his lips back down to mine, pushing my body into his, the proof of our union guarded between us.
A crash of thunder rolled high above us and Endy screamed, his front hooves pawing the air. Zeke moved to stand before us. “It is time, Laura.”
I smelled gardenias again and quickly reached out to Stuart. He grasped for my hand, but his fingers seemed to pass through mine.
Zeke held his hand up, the rain pouring over him and sticking his long hair to his head, like two wet snakes on either side of his face. The rain seemed to part on his face, miraculously circumventing his eyes. He stared straight at me, unblinking. “May the spirits of the ancient Shadow Warriors be with you, Laura, in all your travels.”
I opened my lips to speak to Stuart, but the rain flooded my mouth, making me choke. The aura around me became electric, and I could almost see the burnt ions splitting the air in front of me. Bubbles of air burst in my head and I felt myself sink to the rain-soaked earth. Stuart’s voice reverberated in my head, but I could no longer tell where it was coming from. “Laura, come back!
I love you—please come back!”
I remember shouting Stuart’s name, and then nothing more.
* * *
I awoke in a hospital. Not the dirty mayhem of a field hospital in the middle of a battlefield, but an antiseptic white world of stainless steel and hushed voices.
I blinked suddenly and tried to sit up in the bed.
“John, she’s awake!”
I recognized my mother’s voice as I focused my eyes on my parents by the side of the bed.
A nurse hurried toward my bed and checked the readout on a machine by my head, then rushed from the room.
“Laura? Do you know who I am?”
I stared into my mother’s familiar face and I reached for it. “Oh, Mom. Of course.”
Her tears drenched my cheek as she gathered me to her. She smelled of Colgate and Chanel No. 5, and I clung to her silk blouse. “Laura, what happened to you? Where have you been?”
I had no desire to spend countless hours with therapists questioning my sanity. I blurted out the first thing that came to me. “I don’t remember.”
My mother leaned over me and whispered, “But you’re pregnant, Laura. Surely you remember something?”
I shook my head, and my father, who had been hovering in the background, came to the other side of the bed.
He held my hand, his palm warm and rough. “Laura, it doesn’t matter to us. You’re here now, and we’ll stand by you. We’ll be ready to listen when you’re ready to tell us.”
I nodded, not sure if they’d ever be ready to hear the truth.
“Did I have something in my hand—like a sprig of rosemary?”
My parents glanced at each other, and my mother spoke. “We wondered what that was. We had it put with your personal effects—including an unusual ring we’ve never seen before. But it must be an antique, because it looks very old.”
I said nothing.
I spent the first week at my parents’ house being coddled and fed. My mother scheduled an appointment with an obstetrician. He must have been coached beforehand, because he didn’t mention anything about the baby’s father. He poked and prodded and pronounced me fit, if a bit undernourished. He sent me home with instructions for my mother to put some weight on my bones.
My parents had kept Phoenix Hall, not willing to accept the fact that I might not come back. It still stood, the paint a little worn and dust sheets over the furniture, but still glorious in my eyes. Amid huge protests from my parents, I moved back in to the house that held so many memories for me.
My mother hired a housekeeper, Mrs. Beckner, to cook and clean for me and, I’m sure, report back to her if I wasn’t taking care of myself. My father brought in the suitcases of all the maternity clothes they had bought for me and set them inside the foyer. I tentatively walked up the steps and hovered in the doorway.
I took a deep breath and walked inside. I examined the polished banister, the gleaming wood floors, the electrified chandelier. I heard the central air shut off and the hall clock steadily marking off the minutes. The piano stood in its same spot in the parlor, the veneer still missing from the G key. I smiled, remembering how it had happened. I half expected to turn and see Stuart standing behind me, his blue eyes smiling. I slammed my hand down on the keys, making my father jump.
“What’s wrong?” He rushed to my side, his hands firmly on my upper arms.
“Nothing, Daddy. Nothing that can be fixed.”
He put my head down on his chest and patted my back. “In time, sweetheart. In time.”
Mrs. Beckner left at five o’clock, leaving me blissfully alone to enjoy the long shadows creeping along the floor. I resisted turning on the electric lights, finding their glare too bright, as if they might illuminate things in the corners I did not wish to see. So I walked slowly through the darkened house, imagining I could hear the brush of long skirts against the wooden floors, and listened for a footfall.
I woke in the middle of the night with a furious kicking from my womb. I sat up and placed my hand on my swollen belly and felt the roils of limbs pressing at me from inside.
“Mama’s here, little one. You’re not alone.”
My voice seemed to calm the baby, for the kicking ceased. I looked across the moonlit room, gazing at the familiar furniture. It was then that I noticed the strong scent of lavender. I sat straight up in the bed, wondering where the smell was coming from. The windows were all shut, and I could hear the humming of the air conditioner. I slid from the bed to look out onto the front lawn. My throat went dry when I realized there was no moon. The glow was coming from inside my room.
I turned, my back against the window, and heard the distinct sound of rustling skirts. The glow began to shrink and take on the vague form of a person. It undulated with small light bursts until it bore the unmistakable resemblance to a woman wearing an old-fashioned long dress.
“Julia,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. The temperature had dropped by at least fifteen degrees and I began to shiver, despite the sweat trickling down my spine.
She stood at the foot of the bed, and I saw her smile. She then turned, and with a glowing hand pointed to the armoire.
I left the window, no longer afraid, and stood next to her.
“What, Julia? What are you trying to tell me?” The smell of lavender was stronger now, as if I were in a field full of it.
She looked directly at me and then pointed at my chest. My fingers flew to my neck, and I realized the chain holding the key was gone. And I suddenly knew what she was trying to tell me.
“The secret drawer?” I whispered.
She nodded. I reached out my hand to touch her, but my fingers only grasped cold, empty air. The apparition faded into nothingness, and I could almost hear a whispered goodbye as the room closed in on darkness.
I flipped on every light switch in the house as I raced downstairs to the foyer table. I remembered my mother putting my few personal effects in the drawer when I had moved back in. With shaking fingers, I pulled it open. Light from the chandelier glinted off the metal key still attached to the chain Stuart had given me. Gingerly, I picked it up, then clasped it tightly in my palm.
As I began to slide the drawer back in place, the corner of a picture frame caught my attention. I lifted the picture from the drawer and stared at it. It was undoubtedly the picture Mathew Brady had taken of me on my journey to Dalton. With trembling hands, I shut the drawer, and, clutching both the picture and the key, raced back up the stairs.
I threw open the doors of the armoire, sneezing at the faint aroma of cedar mixed with lavender. I knelt in front of the massive piece of furniture and my fingers, like spiders, crept along the inside wall to the back, where I felt the outline of a drawer in the false back.
The overhead light barely reached to the back of the cabinet, and I had to use my sense of touch to open the lock with the key. I grew frustrated feeling the key slip at the outside of the keyhole. I was about ready to give up and wait until morning when I felt the key slide home. I turned it and heard a click. Pulling on the key, I heard wood slide out. I grabbed the entire drawer and lifted it out into the light.
Old papers, their edges yellowed and ragged with age, had been placed inside the narrow drawer. They had all been rolled together to allow them to fit inside the tight compartment. I spread them on the bed, using various items from my dressing table to hold the pages flat.
Many of the documents appeared to have been removed from ledger books. My eyes widened as I stared at the numbers reflecting dividends from the Coca-Cola Company. The handwriting wasn’t Julia’s. Instead of her small, flowery style, this was much tighter and bold. I didn’t believe I had seen it before. I smiled to myself, realizing Julia had heeded my advice and had indeed invested in Asa Candler’s fledgling company.
There were more documents pertaining to peach orchards and peanut production and even a recip
e for peanut butter. I sat back for a moment to rub my eyes. Julia had obviously prepared this drawer with meticulous care to let me know what had become of them all. It struck me then that they were all dead now—even my Annie. I hastily wiped back the tears, not wanting the wetness to smudge the ink on the pages. The baby kicked again, and I was once more reminded of the endless cycle of life and death. It was through this child that these people I loved could live again. I picked up another page, unrolled it, and began to read.
August 21, 1867
My dearest sister,
It has been three years now since we have last seen you, and a day does not go by that we do not think of you or wish that you were here.
You would be so proud of the children. Willie and Sarah continue to grow strong and sturdy—due mostly, I am quite sure, to their great fondness for peanut butter. Sarah promises to be a great beauty, although most of the boys here are a bit humbled by her brains and wit.
As you can see by the enclosed papers, we are surviving, thanks to you. It is still a bit of a struggle, because nobody has anything, much less any capital to invest in a new farming venture. Matt Kimball’s gold has helped considerably. But we are managing, and the future of our new ventures seems most promising.
We have not heard from William. I assume he is either dead or in the western territories. Either way, I have no husband and my children have no father. But I am not sure if it isn’t for the best.
Stuart returned home from the war thin but otherwise healthy in body—but not in spirit. It is heartbreaking to see him, Laura. On the night you disappeared, we told him the truth. I know you didn’t want that, but I don’t think we had any choice. He wanted to know if you planned to return, and when we told him no, he has not asked about you since. But I know you are never far from his thoughts. His eyes are so sad. Fighting in this war nearly killed him, and I almost think he wishes it had. He moves about his daily business, but his heart isn’t in it. He loves you desperately, Laura, and if he could see you but once again, I know that the wonderful spirit of him would return.
