by Karen White
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 t
he 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 than 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.”
A small smile crossed her face. “I feel it, too. We have certainly been through quite a bit since we met, have we not? It is terribly selfish of me, but I would want you to stay here as long as possible.”
I looked down at my hands. “But this isn’t where I belong. As soon as I find my daughter, assuming she’s even here, I’m going to bring her back home.”
She paused and looked at me, her hazel eyes suddenly cool. “What if you cannot find her?”
“I can’t allow myself to ever believe that, because then I am lost. I will search for her until my last breath. You’re a mother. You understand.”
Children’s laughter carried over to us from around the corner of the house, and we turned to watch Willie chasing Sarah, her blond pigtails flying. I remembered again that shrug she had given me that was so much like Michael’s, and I stared at her fair hair, my mouth suddenly dry.
I swallowed thickly. “Julia, Sarah is around the same age my Annie would be now.”
Her clear eyes studied me, the breeze stirring the curls around her face. As if hearing my unspoken question, she said, “Sarah is mine.” Her gaze never wavered. “Her birth is recorded in the family Bible, and Dr. Watkins was present at her birth. He will verify everything I have told you.”
Silence settled between us as she resumed her chore, and I joined in, hoping I was pulling the weeds and not the vegetables. Suddenly, without looking at me, she said, “I gather such strength from this garden.” She grabbed a handful of dirt and let the thick muddy clods fall slowly from her fist. “It is not much, but it is the only buffer my family has against starvation.” A crooked grin settled on her lips. “Before the war, I never would have dreamed of sticking my hands in dirt. It is amazing what one will do to protect one’s family.” She looked directly at me. “I do not know if there is anything I would stop at to protect mine.”
A cloud drifted across the sun, creating large pools of shadow. I shivered and rubbed my hands over my arms. Was she warning me? Did she really think I was a spy? She gently placed a gloved hand on my forearm and smiled. “Laura, you have already saved the lives of two of my children. I am in your debt and I will do all I can to help you.”
I dropped the weeds clenched in my hands on the pile and looked down at her as I stood. “Thank you, Julia. I appreciate that. But I don’t know if anybody can help me.” I brushed at weeds clinging to my skirts, ignoring the mud. “If the children are done with their chores, I’ll go see about starting their lessons.”
Leaving Julia, I trudged to the house to search for the children, who had mysteriously disappeared, as if they knew I’d be looking for them. I went inside and noticed a piece of the broken teacup left in the middle of the library floor. I picked it up, then moved to the window to see if I could spot Willie and Sarah. I saw them by the kitchen, and, forgetting the broken piece of china, I squeezed my hand into a fist to hammer on the window. I cried out, dropping the china, and watched the blood ooze from a thin line bisecting my palm. I stared dumbly at my seemingly disembodied hand, wondering absently what I should do.
A movement from the doorway made me look up. I turned away from Stuart’s scowl and looked back at my hand, my eyes tracing the path of blood as it dropped down my wrist and landed in spots on the dark wood floor.
“What happened?” He strode into the room, lifted my arm, and looked at my cut.
“I cut my hand on your broken teacup.” I looked into his eyes to see if my barb had had any effect. “If you just want to close the door, I’ll be happy to stay in here and bleed to death.”
He frowned, but I allowed him to lead me to a sofa. His voice was brusque. “Sit here for a minute.”
He came back quickly with what looked like sewing scraps. He retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and sat down next to me. “Since you believe alcohol cures all things, we will use this. It might hurt a bit.”
I gave an unladylike snort. “Like that would bother you.”
He ignored me as he bent to his task of pulling a small shard of china from the wound. His hands were gentle as he soaked a cloth with whiskey and began to bathe the cut. Waves of pain shot up my arm, but I bit my lip, resisting the urge to scream.
“Go ahead and scream. I know it hurts.”
I kept my face turned away. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”
He had stopped cleaning the wound but still held my hand. I turned back to him and found him scrutinizing me. I tried to jerk my hand out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Despite what you might think, I do not relish inflicting pain on you or anybody else. Unless, of course, something of mine is being threatened.” His hand tightened on mine, but I refused to wince. “I would like to suggest a truce between us. If we are going to be living under the same roof, we will have to learn to be civil toward each other—at least for Julia’s sake. But do not be mistaken.” His blues eyes narrowed. “I will still be watching your every move. I will also be accompanying you every time you leave the house. So you had better get used to my company.”
I seethed inside but knew that I had no choice but to agree. “All right, then. A truce. Just promise me one thing.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“When you discover that you are wrong about me, I want an apology from you.”
His eyes widened, mocking me. “Agreed.”
He put a piece of material in his mouth and b
it it, tearing it in half. “Why are you hiding something from us? You have nothing to fear from us here—unless you really are a Yankee.”
I looked down to where he was wrapping the bandage around my hand. Denying that I was holding something back would only make his suspicions worse, so I said nothing.
He looked at me, his eyes solemn, as if awaiting an answer. Shaking his head, he continued his bandaging.
I had always hated the sight of blood and tried to distract myself by looking at the bookshelves. A single title grabbed my attention. General History of Nature and Theory of the Heavens by Immanuel Kant.
“What do you know about astronomy?”
He raised his eyes to my face, his expression curious. “Not a lot.” Following my gaze, he saw the book. “Oh, those are Julia’s mother’s books. She had a feeling Nashville would fall to the Yankees and sent them down here for safekeeping.”
I studied the thick brush of dark hair as his head bent back to his task. “Would it be all right if I borrowed one to read?”
He looked at me, his face unreadable. “Of course. But if you really want to learn about astronomy, you should speak with Zeke. He is known as an expert on such matters.”
As he knotted two ends of the bandage together, I asked, “Is Zeke’s house far?”
“No, not far at all if you ride. It is quite a bit of a walk, though.”
“I would prefer to walk, if you can show me the way.”
“You want to go now?”
Deciding the children’s lessons could wait, I nodded. “Yes, so if you could just—”
“You are not going without me, remember? I will accompany you.”
I gave him my patient-teacher smile. “I assure you, that is not necessary.”
“And I assure you, madam, that it is. I must protect my family.”
