In the Shadow of the Moon

by Karen White

  “It is at least ninety degrees out here, and if you think I’m going to wear a wool jacket, much less release my grip on this saddle to put it on, you’ve got another thought coming.” Sweat saturated my cotton blouse, making it cling tightly to my chest. His eyes widened as they rested on my shirt a little too long, and I hunched forward, having contracted a sudden case of modesty.

  “Mrs. Truitt, I really must insist. I do not want to be grist for the Roswell rumor mill and I am sure neither do you. It just would not look right for me to bring you into town wearing, well . . .” He looked me up and down as if trying to decide what to call my outfit. “Well, whatever it is that you are wearing.”

  Still feeling a bit dazed and confused, and not in the mood to argue, I took the coat and threw it over my shoulders. He lifted Willie up on the saddle behind me, shouldered his rifle, and began to pull the reins and lead the way.

  The terrain seemed vaguely familiar but we never came near enough to a main highway for me to get my bearings. I assumed we were sticking to horse trails. After about an hour, we approached a large wooden gate. A hint of recognition pressed on my memory as we passed through the gate onto a long dirt drive. I knew what I would see before I saw the house looming up in the distance. A buzzing sound ran through my head as we approached, and the front door swung open. A petite but very pregnant woman wearing a long, full dress waddled down the steps toward us. From her fingertips, a squeaking mouse dangled by its tail.

  “Stuart! Is everything all right?”

  I had come home. The one thing I was sure of was that this was my house. I didn’t know who these people were or why they were in my house, but I had my suspicions. The thought of it all made me very light-headed. I looked at the little creature, suspended by its tail, and suddenly I felt that time had me suspended, too, helpless in a world I knew and didn’t know. Feeling my head swim, my eyes transfixed on the swinging rodent, I promptly slid off the horse in a dead faint.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For time is the longest distance between two places.

  —TENNESSEE WILLIAMS

  I opened my eyes and found myself staring at close range at a rough cotton shirt. I moved my head and realized I was being carried up the stairs. Stuart stumbled, and my arms shot around his neck. I remembered his limp and attempted to get down.

  “You shouldn’t be carrying me—I can walk. Please put me down.”

  Ignoring my request, he crossed the upstairs hallway, entered one of the bedrooms, and laid me gently on a small spindle bed. My hands remained locked behind his neck as my head reached the pillow, and our gazes met. I had definitely seen those eyes before, but the wisp of memory floated beyond my grasp.

  His breath felt warm on my cheek, and I blushed realizing I was still holding on to him and keeping his face close to mine. Slowly, I let my arms fall to my sides.

  “I did not figure a woman who could face a catamount without a scream would faint at the sight of a mouse.” A wry grin touched his face but I could see relief there, too.

  “I didn’t faint.” I ignored his raised eyebrow. “I’ve never fainted in my whole life and I have no intention of starting now.”

  I looked around me to get my bearings. I recognized Annie’s room but a small bed and stark white walls now replaced the crib and pale pink wallpaper. I sat up with a start as I suddenly remembered where I was. I scurried out of the bed, ran past Stuart and out of the room to the balcony. The sight that greeted me confirmed my suspicions. Not an electrical pole in sight, nor any of the familiar streets and buildings that had surrounded my house. The urban blight of strip malls creeping their way up Highway 9 had been replaced by a red-clay road shaded by trees. But there was no doubt in my mind that this was my house.

  The sound of children’s laughter and a dog barking brought my attention to the backyard, where a little girl wearing high-topped black boots chased a boy I recognized as Willie. Stuart approached to stand beside me.

  “If you will excuse me, ma’am, my sister-in-law will be up in a moment.”

  With a brief nod, he headed down the stairs, not completely hiding a grimace of pain as he bent his leg to descend the steps.

  I looked back at Willie and the little girl. It was obvious he had forgotten all about the promise of a whipping from his uncle.

  Heavy footsteps climbed the wood stairs and I turned to see the pregnant woman who had been holding the mouse. She carried a small box and a stack of clean linens. The memory of me fainting at our first meeting made my face flush, but her gentle smile quickly put me at ease.

  “I am Julia Elliott, Willie’s mother. Thank you so much for what you did today.” She smiled, hiding some of the exhaustion on her face. “I brought some of my herbs to make you feel better, but I can see you do not need them.” She stopped at the top of the steps, breathing deeply. “I am sorry to have startled you with that little creature. It is only that I had just caught him when I heard Stuart ride up.” Her voice was soft and fell easily on my ears as I recognized the gentle inflections of a true Southern accent. It reminded me of my mother’s voice, and a twinge of nostalgia made me suddenly wish for her.

  Her brows furrowed as she took in my outfit. Taking my arm, she gently guided me back to my room.

  “I’m not afraid of a mouse. I’ve just had a heck of a day and I think I finally succumbed to the exhaustion.” I allowed myself to be led and sat back down on the bed.

  She bent her head closer to study the sleeve of my blouse. “I have never seen such a weave—it is truly amazing. Where did you find such a thing?”

  I couldn’t think of a thing to say, so I stood mutely staring at her.

  Changing the subject, she asked, “Stuart said he found you on Moon Mountain. Do you live around there?”

  My mind seemed to be working at half speed, the seeming reality of my situation butting heads with the impossibility of it. I wanted to believe that I was dreaming, but my sore shoulder and the scent of herbs from the woman’s basket told me that this was all too real. The house and the surrounding fields, these people and their odd costumes all pointed in one direction: all pointed to the fact that I had somehow accomplished the impossible. I had traveled through time.

  I forced myself to answer. “No, I live in Roswell. At least, I think I do.”

  Her delicate brows knitted together as she studied me before speaking again. “Why don’t you rest some and then we will talk.” I decided the woman was probably in her mid-twenties, although her manner made her seem much older. Her light brown hair was pulled off her face into a bun, which couldn’t quite conceal the curls that popped out around her forehead.

  “Yes. I’d like that, if you don’t mind.” I wasn’t tired but I needed some time to devise a plan. I couldn’t tell these people that I had come from another century. I would wind up in an asylum for sure. I wasn’t completely convinced that I didn’t belong in one.

  “I will send Sukie up in a little while with a tray and some things for you to wear.” She studied my face closely. “You look pale but you do not seem to have a fever,” she said, placing the back of her hand to my forehead. “You are exhausted. Rest will be just the thing you need.”

  She glided out of the room and shut the door softly behind her.

  I lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. A breeze blew inside the tall windows, stirring the white lace curtains and moving the hot air around the small room. I needed to use the bathroom and was halfway to the door before I remembered that the hall bath had not been installed until 1921. I went back to the bed and looked under it. I reached to pull out the chamber pot and then decided it could wait. I was in no hurry to discover the inconveniences of the nineteenth century.

  The faint ticking of a clock in the hallway lulled me into a doze. I dreamed of Annie—not as an infant but as the young girl of seven she would now be. She was talking to me but I couldn’t make out what she was s
aying. She handed me a flower, and I bent to smell it and realized that it was a gardenia. I awoke suddenly with the potent aroma still in my nostrils. I got out of the bed and followed the scent to the window. Leaning out slightly, I discovered an entire row of gardenias growing below, their pristine petals luminescent in the late-afternoon sun.

  A soft rapping on the door preceded a middle-aged black woman entering while balancing a tray piled with food.

  “Good evening, ma’am. Miz Julia figured you might be starving by now.”

  She set the tray on a small table and turned to stare at me as I walked toward it.

  Her voice was thickly accented, her English embellished with unfamiliar phrasing and emphases. It was pleasing to the ear but hard to understand at first. “What kind of clothes is that? I never seen a lady wear such a thing. Now I see why Miz Julia wants some new clothes brought up to you. I be right back.”

  The rich fragrance of the food reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Despite the turmoil going on in my head regarding my apparent trip through time, my appetite, absent since Annie’s disappearance, came back with a vengeance. I smiled to myself at the thought of Scarlett O’Hara’s Mammy admonishing her to eat like a bird because gentlemen didn’t like ladies with big appetites. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about squeezing into a corset.

  I was just polishing off the last slice of ham when Sukie returned. Her arms were overloaded with flounces and fabrics and what appeared to be enough clothes to dress me for a month. She dumped the whole pile on the bed.

  She stared at the empty plates. “My, you sure was hungry.”

  I guiltily laid aside my knife and fork. “It was delicious. Thank you for bringing it.”

  “Miz Julia asked me to help you get dressed. This here should fit you.” She pointed to the pile on the bed, and I stared at it for a long moment. If I put it on, I’d be agreeing to continue with this charade, that I’d convinced myself this was all real. But maybe this was my reality for now. Because it certainly didn’t appear that I had any other options.

  I began to disrobe while Sukie sorted through the clothing and laid it out in an orderly fashion.

  First came the chemise and calf-length cotton drawers. I was a little disconcerted to find that the drawers were split in the middle from the front to the back and only attached at the waistband. After viewing the piles of clothing that would go on top, I quickly figured out that the split drawers would show their usefulness when it came to utilizing the chamber pot.

  The chemise and drawers were very comfortable and I would have been fine wearing just these all day, but I knew there was more to come. A pair of white cotton knee-length stockings with ribbon garters followed. When Sukie next held up what I recognized to be a corset, I adamantly refused.

  “No way am I wearing that thing. I won’t be able to breathe. Please put the rest of the stuff over me and we’ll just forget about the corset.”

  Sukie’s eyes widened in surprise. “But all ladies wear corsets!”

  I took the offending garment from her hand to examine it. My fingers kneaded the unbending whalebone stays and I quickly thrust it back at her. “Thank you for your help—it’s greatly appreciated. But I really would prefer not to wear a corset. If anybody complains, just tell them that I refused. Besides, I don’t have enough curves for a corset to hold in. Nobody will even notice.”

  She shook her head slowly while clucking her tongue but complied with my wishes.

  The next part of the ensemble was almost as bad as the corset. It resembled a cage with a framework of flexible steel hoops joined by vertical bands of fabric tape. I stepped into it and Sukie tied it at my waist. On top of this came two white cotton petticoats. I was heavily perspiring by this time and I longed for a tank top and shorts.

  Finally, a simple long-sleeved cotton blouse with a matching skirt in a light green floral pattern was put on me, and Sukie deftly buttoned up the front. I felt completely confined and amazed at how heavy the whole ensemble was. But at least I was done. Or so I thought.

  Sukie looked at my straight shoulder-length hair and shook her head. But after suffering for what seemed like an hour of her brushing and pinning my hair, she had arranged it in a neat coil in the back of my head, a severe part bisecting my scalp. Nodding with approval, she stood back to get a better view. “You have beautiful hair. And that dress match your eyes. Don’ know why you dress in them men clothes.”

  While adding two decorative combs to my new hairstyle, she caught my reflection in the mirror. “Mr. Stuart say he found you up on Moon Mountain. What you doin’ up there?”

  Something flickered in her eyes as I looked at her. “I was looking for my daughter, but I couldn’t find her. I . . . lost her on Moon Mountain when she was just a baby, and I hoped . . .” My voice drifted off, and I stared at her reflection again.

  “She die?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. She just . . . disappeared.”

  She quickly reached for something around her neck. It appeared to be a small red flannel bag attached to a thin cord. She touched it briefly and then tucked it back into the neck of her dress. “Moon Mountain’s a mighty strange place. I know only one other lady who would go up there by herself,” she said, patting the lump inside her dress.

  “That’s really all I remember. I think I hit my head. I’m sure it’ll all come to me eventually.”

  She nodded and smiled approvingly at my new hairstyle. “That look nice. I’ll tell Miz Julia you dressed.”

  I gave up trying to sit down on the bed and just leaned against it, assuming it would be a short time before the mistress of the house found me. I looked at my wrist, forgetting again that my watch was gone. A half hour passed before I finally got up and opened the door.

  Craning my neck out of the doorway, I looked around the hallway. As far as I could tell, I was alone in the house. All the sounds of people going about their daily business seemed to be coming from outside. My surroundings greatly unsettled me. I was familiar with it, yet it was different. The hardwood banister beneath my hands was the same, as was some of the furniture. But the knickknacks and wall hangings all belonged to another family, making me a stranger in my own home. I looked closely at a needlepoint on the wall. It was an elaborate sampler with all the letters of the alphabet in an uneven line and a small Bible verse at the bottom. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. The bottom right contained the stitcher’s signature, Margaret Elliott, May 14, 1814, age twelve years.

  I descended the stairs cautiously, the voluminous skirts hampering every step. I should have practiced walking and sitting down in the privacy of my own room before venturing out, as my skirts threatened to throw me headfirst down the stairs. I couldn’t see my feet, so I hovered precariously over each step as I felt my way down. In the main hallway below, a cool breeze flowed through the passageway and alleviated a little of the mugginess that clung to my skin. I thought of the central air-conditioning that Michael and I had installed, and longed for the cold blast of air from a vent and an ice-cold Diet Coke from the fridge.

  Ghostlike, I flitted through the rooms, examining every detail. There was no kitchen and that puzzled me at first, until I remembered that it would have been separated from the main house to protect it from fire. In the front parlor the upright piano stood in the same spot I remembered. The dark wood was polished to a gleam, and the G key above middle C still had its ivory veneer top. The smooth keys beckoned me and I itched to feel them under my fingers, to touch something hard, solid, and real.

  After quite a lot of maneuvering, I arranged myself on the bench by tucking all my skirts under me and began to play Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” I was soon lost in the magic of the music and my surroundings faded from my sight, to be replaced by images of my grandmother whispering her warning to me and, surprisingly, of Stuart. I felt th
e heat rise in my cheeks. I had never fainted in my life, and it irked me to think that he might have thought that I was some damsel in distress who needed rescuing. I had survived on my own for more than a year and I had long since outgrown the need for Prince Charming.

  As the last note died, solitary applause sounded behind me. Startled, I swung around on the bench and neatly clipped the edge of the music stand with my elbow. My injured shoulder ached at the movement, and I winced as the stand crashed down on the keyboard. The sheet music fluttered to the floor and scattered throughout the room. I unceremoniously scooted off the bench, my skirts held high, to face my audience and found myself staring into the mirth-filled blue eyes of Stuart Elliott.

  “You could have given me a heart attack! Do you normally sneak up on people with the intent to scare the living daylights out of them?”

  Without waiting for a reply, I bent down to start picking up the music and my large skirts tipped the bench so that it came crashing down on the hardwood floor. Stuart righted it, then leaned over to help me with the music. His thick black hair fell over his forehead as he bent down, and he impatiently brushed it away.

  “What’s this?” he asked. He was holding what looked like a piece of ivory. I looked up at the keyboard and found that the ivory veneer on the G key was missing. A small tremor went up my spine, as well as a foreboding sense of déjà vu.

  My voice shook as I reached for the ivory. “I am so sorry. I’m not usually so clumsy.” I looked up into his face again and saw him struggling not to laugh. I not too gently thrust the ivory back into his hand. “Usually only when people sneak up and startle me.”

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Truitt. I stepped into the house to tell my sister-in-law the doctor was riding up and heard the piano. I did not mean to startle you.”

  He didn’t look the least bit sorry as his mouth kept twitching into a smirk. I started to say something else when I heard a throat cleared.