by Karen White
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.
“Let me do that one, Miz Laura. She tends to get a bit broody.”
Sarah approached the offended hen by talking softly to it and then silently, stealthily, slid three eggs out of their warm home, one by one.
As we stepped back into the yard, Stuart approached, his ax held tightly in his hand. My eyes widened. “What are you going to do with that ax?”
He looked at me in surprise. “It looks like we are going to have chicken for dinner.” I knew where those neatly wrapped, skinless, boneless chicken breasts came from that I bought at the supermarket, but I had never known the animals personally before consuming them.
He walked past us into the chicken house. The desperate squawkings of the unfortunate victim reached our ears, and Stuart emerged holding up his feathered prize.
“You ladies might not want to watch this.”
Not really sure that I was up to witnessing the rudiments of meal preparation, I turned to Sarah. She rolled her eyes at her uncle’s words and put down her basket. “I ain’t scairt. Besides, I seen it lots of times.”
“Well, I’m not scared, either, but I don’t want it to spoil my dinner.” Seeing the stubborn jut of her little chin, I knew she couldn’t be budged. I resigned myself to learning more about nineteenth-century rural life.
He laid the chicken in the dirt, holding the struggling body down with one hand. With the forefinger of his other hand, he drew an imaginary line in the dirt from the chicken’s beak out to about a foot. The chicken immediately halted all movement and lay as if hypnotized. The shadow of the ax brought my attention away from the still chicken, and I turned my face away at the last minute. A solid thunking sound told me it was over.
Glancing at Sarah to make sure her young mind hadn’t been damaged in any way, I looked back at the scene of the carnage. The headless body of the chicken busily stumbled its way through the yard, its wings propelling the corpse and blood squirting in neat arcs.
I grabbed Sarah and backed up so we wouldn’t get sprayed. She placed her small hand into mine and said, “Mama says the blood’s good for keeping the bugs away and making the garden grow.”
Squeezing her hand, I looked down on her blond head. I felt a surge of affection for this child and her sturdy little character.
Stuart scooped up our dinner, who had since run out of steam and had flopped over in the yard. “I hope this hasn’t affected your appetite, Laura.”
“Not a chance. I’m so hungry right now, I could eat it with the feathers still attached.”
Sarah looked up at me, wrinkling her nose. “Ewww!”
I rumpled the top of her head. “Oh, Sarah, I was just teasing. I’d at least remove the feathers first. But I might not pause long enough to cook it,” I said, winking.
I hugged her shoulders as she grinned up at me, and my eyes were drawn to a movement from a back bedroom window. A dark shape stepped back out of view while I looked. I didn’t see her clearly, but I knew who it was. A cold tremor swept up my spine and I shivered in the hot summer sun.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The moments of the past do not remain still; they retain in our memory the motion which drew them toward the future, toward a future which has itself become the past, and draw us on in their train.
—MARCEL PROUST
The sound of approaching hoofbeats made me glance up. I shielded my eyes with a hand to block the glare of the summer sun and watched Stuart approach astride Endy. The sweat ran in rivulets down my back, making my chemise stick to my skin. I adjusted the egg basket on my arm and waited for him to approach.
I had gradually settled into my new life on a nineteenth-century plantation. I never stopped looking for Annie, but I knew I had time. According to my own calculations gleaned from Zeke’s astronomy books, the next total lunar eclipse wouldn’t occur until September first, 1864. Even then, the possibility of a comet being present, or even needed for my purposes, remained a mystery to me. I could only wait and see—and continue asking everyone I met if they had heard of a lost little girl on Moon Mountain.
The work was hard, but I reveled in the simplicity of it. No background noise of traffic, phones, or televisions. No texts or e-mails to distract me. At the end of each day, I eagerly anticipated the quiet evenings in the parlor spent with Julia and Stuart. Julia’s mother joined us most of the time, and we eyed each other warily. Since she never asked about where I was from, I assumed that Julia had filled her in with as much as she knew. Perhaps this was the source of her coldness toward me. There was no overt hostility, but it was clear that she somehow considered me a threat, and she continued to fill me with apprehension. About what, I couldn’t say.
I spent the majority of my days with the three children, either at lessons or assisting them with their chores. And I was learning as much from them as they were from me.
The approaching hoofbeats came louder as Stuart drew near, slowing Endy’s pace and finally stopping in front of me. My greeting died on my lips as I looked up and saw his scowl.
“I just came back from town. Matt Kimball’s been asking a lot of questions about you.”
“About me? Do you think he knows anything about Annie?”
He shook his head. “No. Those are not the sorts of questions he is asking. He wants to know where you are from and why you are here. Why do you suppose he is so curious about you?”
I put my free hand on my hip. “Why are you asking me? Why don’t you ask Mr. Kimball? I think he’d be better able to judge his own motivations. I told you I’ve never met the man before.” I took a deep breath, my frustration with the situation nearing the tipping point. “What do I have to do to make you trust me?”
He stayed high atop his black stallion, looking like a knight in butternut-stained wool. “You could start by telling me the truth.”
A dull wind stirred the dust around us, sending grit into my eyes. I blinked hard. How could I explain to him that I didn’t want to get involved in their lives any more than I had to? That my only goal was to return home with my daughter before I became inextricably immersed in this time and these people? Becoming emotionally attached could only bring me more pain, and I had had enough of that to last me two lifetimes.
“I am here to find Annie and bring her home. That’s all you need to know. I would never hurt you or your family. You should know that by now.” My eyes smarted, but I didn’t turn away.
Endy snorted loudly in my ear and I involuntarily stepped back. Stuart caught the movement and reined the horse in tightly. He dismounted, then reached into a saddlebag, bringing forth an apple like a peace offering. His face softened, his eyes almost apologetic.
“Perhaps you can gain Endy’s trust. He does not need truth, just kind and fair treatment.”
I moved closer to Stuart, trying to get away from Endy. “If you’re going to kill me, couldn’t you just shoot me? It would be a good sight easier than setting your horse on me.”
Stuart’s voice was soothing, close to my ear. “The only reason Endymion would ever hurt you is if you threatened him or something he considered his. Not very far from human nature, is it?”
