by Karen White
Julia turned around, her eyes searching the sea of faces until they alighted on me. Walking past the other mourners, she pulled me over to stand next to her, never releasing my hand. The wind blew hard droplets of rain against our faces, and we snuggled deeply into our hooded cloaks, but Julia kept her face level, her expression set like ice, listening to Reverend Pratt’s short eulogy. I would have thought she was calm except for the tight grasping of my hand and the slight trembling of her arm.
Stuart and Charles lowered the tiny casket into the dark, muddy hole, the rain thudding against the lid. Sarah wept openly as they began to shovel the rain-drenched clay over the box. I reached for her, but she buried her face in her mother’s skirts, her tears mixing with the torrential rain as she shivered with the cold.
As everyone began to file out of the cemetery, I remained behind in the shelter of an oak tree, needing to be alone and gather my thoughts. The pungent aroma of wet leaves and moist earth seeped out of the ground. I sat on a cold stone bench under the tree, heedless of the wind whipping my cloak away from my body, welcoming the frigid splash of rain on my face.
If I had been sent to this place to find Annie, I had accomplished my goal. But could I, should I, bring her back home if I ever figured out how to accomplish it? She had a new family now and shared memories. The brief time she had spent with me was all but forgotten. I might do her more harm than good by bringing her with me and forcing her to leave all that she knew and held dear.
The rain stopped and only the occasional drips from the oak leaves overhead interrupted my thoughts. I heard a footfall behind me and turned to see Stuart taking off his cloak and throwing it over my shoulders. He sat down next to me, making sure our bodies did not touch.
“We were wondering where you were.”
“I needed time alone to think.”
“About Sarah?”
“About everything. About whether I will ever find my way home, and how I could possibly leave my daughter behind, knowing now where she is.”
He regarded me calmly, his dark blue eyes still and unreadable. “Why leave, Laura? Why not stay here?”
I recalled the pictures and stories of the devastation and starvation of Reconstruction, and knew then that at the very least I had to save my daughter from that. I would take them all if I could, but I knew that wasn’t possible. Besides, by virtue of the time they were born, they were made of stronger stuff than I. They would survive.
“Because I don’t belong here. This was never meant to be permanent.”
He stiffened next to me. “The way you pillage and burn, Laura, you must be a Yankee. You have come into our lives, our home—our hearts. And yet you would leave us without a thought.”
His words were so far from the truth that I couldn’t think of an answer. Instead I took his hand and brought the palm to my lips and kissed it. “I will leave with more regret than you could ever know.”
He brought my hands to his own lips and kissed the tops, his fingers resting on the gold wedding band I wore on my left hand.
“Memories are not flesh and blood, Laura.”
I bent toward him, seeking out his warmth in the blustery day. “No. But they’re safe. They can’t hurt me.”
Stuart bent and plucked a sodden oak leaf from the ground and began examining the delicate veins. He tore the leaf into small pieces and then let the wind pick them off his hand, scattering them across the cemetery. “All love does not lead to loss.” He picked up another leaf and held it in his open palm.
“It’s certainly been my experience. I think I’ll cut my losses and retire.” I tried to smile but failed miserably.
He leaned over and kissed me lightly on my forehead, his breath warming my cheeks. “What has not killed you has certainly made you stronger. It has made you a lot more resilient than you would like to believe. Sooner or later you will realize that what you had with your husband and Annie is gone, never to return, no matter how much you wish it, and it is time to move on with your life.”
I shook my head gently. “Even if I do, I still can’t stay. I’m not meant to be here.”
His face was close enough that I could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. “How do you know? What is it that pulls you from us?”
“There are things I cannot explain, even to myself.” I looked up, as if the answers were written in the sky. “I’m still not completely convinced that this isn’t just a dream.”
His fingers tightened on his thighs, then relaxed. We sat in silence for a while until I reached out my hand and touched his arm, no longer able to hold in my doubts and not entirely sure I was strong enough to hear the answer.
“How could you have not known about Sarah? Surely you or her father noticed it wasn’t the same child.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, the rain plastering it to his head. “I was away at university, and William . . .” He shook his head. “William never looked more than twice at his daughter. Even without the uncanny resemblance, he would never have noticed.”
He let go of the leaf and we watched it drift to the ground, its tender edges buffeted about by the strong breeze. “But I promise you I never knew the truth until yesterday. And I had no reason to doubt Julia. Please do not think ill of her. She thought the child abandoned and unloved. She has never loved her any less than she did her own children.”
We continued to sit and listen to the rain drip off the trees and onto the ground covering of leaves. Finally, Stuart spoke. “I have to go away again for a few days. But when I return, I am moving everyone down to Valdosta.”
I reached for his hand and squeezed. “Why are you trusting me on this?”
He cupped my jaw with one hand, his fingers tight on my jawbone. Troubled blue eyes searched my face, his brows knitted together as if deciding between answers. Finally, he said, “Because of Sarah. You would keep her family safe.”
I moved his hands away. “Is that the only reason?”
A shadow fell over his face, closing his gaze off from me. “It’s enough of a reason.”
He stood, grabbing my hand and pulling me up. His cloak fluttered about me like a big gray bird flapping its wings. His voice was quiet, the wind pulling the words toward me. “Stay with us, Laura. Make this your home.”
I looked down at our feet, his worn boots half-hidden by leaves. “I can’t. You don’t understand.”
His voice changed, his words pressing, insistent. “Then make me understand. Tell me what you are afraid to tell me. You have asked me to trust you. And I am asking you for the same.”
I forced myself to look at him again, seeing his gray uniform and remembering what it stood for, understood his loyalty to a lost cause. I could see how easily he could convince me to play with history and tip the scales. By saving Robbie’s life, I had already played that game and had lost. I cared too much about Stuart, about the Elliotts, to tempt fate again. “It is bigger than you think; bigger than both of us. Please, Stuart. Please don’t ask me again.”
He moved away abruptly, taking the warmth of his body with him. “Damn you, Laura. Damn you.” Turning on his heel, he walked away, his footsteps swallowed by the soaked earth.
The wind began to blow again, bringing thick blobs of rain with it, and I shivered, feeling more cold and desolate than I ever had in my life. I turned my face to the rain, impervious to the cold wetness on my skin, and began to walk home, imagining Stuart’s cloak was his arms wrapped around me.
* * *
With little food in the house and Willie still sick, the mourners had not lingered. The last buggy was pulling away as I walked up the front drive. A form rocked on the front porch, a dark smear against the white paint of the house. As I approached, I recognized Julia. She raised her head and smiled. I sat in another chair and rocked in silence, ignoring the weather, the floorboards creaking in rhythm.
She surprised me b
y reaching for my hand. “Thank you for my Robbie, Laura. You saved him when he was born, remember? You gave us six wonderful months with him.”
I studied her face, so calm and serene, and felt only deep shame. Shame at all the times I had cursed my fate, hated having had a child so I could know what I missed.
I couldn’t speak and looked at our hands clenched together, her capable fingers rubbed red and raw from the constant cleaning of the sickroom.
“Will you be taking Sarah home with you?”
Dropping her hand, I stood and walked toward the railing. “I don’t know. It’s all so mixed up, isn’t it?” Facing her, I said, “I’m not going anywhere for the time being, so we both have time to think. To figure what’s best for Sarah.”
According to the astronomy books, September 1, 1864, was the next date for a comet and a lunar eclipse. That gave us nearly nine months to figure out the impossible.
“That’s fair.” She kept her head down, staring at her hands. “What I wouldn’t give now for some cream for my skin. My grandmother would be mortified to see my hands. . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“Should we tell her?” I asked.
She stood and I saw how straight her back was, how calm her hands. But she could not hide the grief from her face. “I think we should wait. Robbie has just died, and I think it would be too much.”
She tilted her head. “When Robbie and Willie were so sick, you said that Sarah couldn’t get sick, too. How did you know?”
I almost told her then, how in 150 years children would be protected from diphtheria and smallpox and polio. But I stopped, my burning secret left to smolder on my tongue. “She had it before. When she was a baby.”
She nodded and I watched her walk inside, the cold breeze drying my tears on my cheeks.
After a while I followed her, remembering the Christmas gift I had made for Stuart. I wanted to give it to him before he left. I raced up the stairs but paused before going into my bedroom at the sound of gagging coming from Willie’s room. I rushed in to find Sukie pounding Willie on the back, a breakfast tray on its side in the middle of the bed.
“What’s happening?”
“He tried to swallow some johnnycake and he started choking.”
“Stop pounding him—that will only make it worse.” I rushed to the side of the bed and put two arms around his middle, preparing to deliver the Heimlich maneuver. But before I could, Willie gave one last cough and a white, thick membrane shot out of his mouth, landing on the edge of the tray.
Sukie swallowed, probably to keep herself from throwing up, and I did the same. Picking up the cloth napkin, I wrapped the offending tissue in it. “Willie, I think this means you are firmly on the road to recovery. And I doubt you will ever be able to face a johnnycake again.”
I retrieved Stuart’s gift from under my bed, then went searching for him, half expecting that he had already left without saying goodbye. I found him in the library, facing the window. He turned as I entered, looking handsome in his uniform. His face remained blank as he regarded me, but his eyes brightened.
I stepped toward him. “Merry Christmas.” I handed him the barely wrapped present.
He took it, but instead of opening it, he laid it on the desk. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a tiny brown parcel and handed it to me. “You go first.”
I sat down on the sofa and pulled open the paper. A gold filigree chain lay inside. I held it up, the intricate work reflecting the light in the room. “It’s exquisite.” Slowly, I lowered the necklace down on the paper. “But I don’t know if I can accept it.”
“I apologize if it seems too forward, Laura, but I wanted you to have it—especially now, before I leave.”
I looked him in the eye. “Why?”
“You seem so reluctant to take anything of ours, or to make your mark on us. You want to vanish from our memories as soon as your back is turned. Perhaps this necklace will make you think of me when you are gone, and remember me.”
I fingered the chain, the metal cold to the touch. “I won’t need a necklace to remember you.” I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “I’ll never forget you.”
He turned suddenly to face the window, his back to me, and rubbed his hands through his hair, the static electricity making it wild. “You are speaking as if you are already gone.”
“No. I have a few months yet, I think. I just thought it was only fair to let everyone know that I won’t be here indefinitely.”
He walked to me and took the necklace from my fingers. Standing behind me, he placed the gold chain over my neck and fastened the clasp. I closed my eyes to better feel the nearness of him and the accidental touch of his fingers. My head turned toward him, my cheek brushing his hand. Slowly, his hands dropped to my shoulders, then deserted me completely.
Shaken, I stood and stepped away. “It’s your turn.” I indicated the package on the desk.
He untied the ribbon and held up the gray wool socks to examine them. “They are not even square,” he said, referring to my first few failed attempts at knitting socks.
“If you’re going to be ungrateful about it, you can just give them back.” I stepped forward to grab them out of his hands.
“No, Laura, they are perfect. And thank you. I shall definitely be needing these.” He rolled the socks into a ball, examining them as if they were a rare jewel. “I have been told that Sherman’s amassing troops in Chattanooga, making preparations for a huge campaign. Like striking south into Georgia.”
I focused on the buttons on his coat. “Just keep your family safe.”
He grabbed both of my shoulders in a tight grip. He clenched his jaw, and for the first time, I was aware of his sheer strength as his fingers dug into my flesh. “What about me, Laura? Do you care what happens to me?”
“Oh, Stuart.” I touched his cheek. “I care more than you know, more than I want to.”
His voice shook as he spoke. “I knew it the minute I saw you here, when you fainted on the front lawn. You belong here—with us. With me.” His kiss was hard, brutal, and I tasted blood in my mouth. It was as if by sealing his words, it would make them true.
I pulled away, my tongue running against my cut lip.
He released his grip, but his strength of will kept me standing. His voice was very low, coming from between clenched teeth. “When all this madness is over, I will come back for you. Wherever you are, I will find you, and you will tell me the truth.”
He grabbed his hat off the desk and walked out of the room, taking my heart with him and leaving the socks I had given him resting on a chair.
I walked out into the hall and almost ran into the black-clad Pamela. Her eyes blazed as she looked at me. I had no idea if she had overheard my conversation with Stuart, and I didn’t care. I walked past her without speaking to find Julia. I was desperately in need of companionship.
I found Julia in the dining room, a large basket resting in the middle of the table, its contents spilled out on the polished mahogany surface. She looked up as I entered.
“It was surely an act of Providence that my herb basket was not in the kitchen the night of the fire.” She picked up a jar to examine it and then put it back on the table. “I had wanted it nearby in case Willie or Robbie needed something in the night.” Her voice caught, but she averted her head, hiding her eyes.
“Stuart’s leaving now.”
“I know. He already said goodbye to the children and me. He does not like long goodbyes, preferring to ride off on his own. Stubborn man,” she said, almost as an afterthought.
I pulled out a chair and sat down next to her. “What are you doing—anything I can help you with?”
“There will be—there is so much to do. Stuart said he had mentioned it to you, that we are going to have to take refuge in Valdosta.”
“Yes. He mentioned it. For the record, I th
ink it’s a very good idea.”
She went back to perusing the contents of her basket, continuing to arrange jars, bottles, and pieces of dried herbs back in the basket. “I cannot decide if you are a coward or just plain stubborn.”
“What do you mean?”
She placed her hands neatly in her lap and looked at me, her chin tucked slightly, as if preparing to give a scolding. “Laura, life is never easy—especially for us women. We are the ones left behind to pick up the pieces, to make the men whole again or to comfort our children when they ask for their fathers.” She lifted a stray piece of hair off her forehead and attempted to tuck it into her bun. “But when life gives us something and our heart tells us it is something good, we need to grab it with all our strength, regardless of what our head is telling us. What is a life without risk? If the seeds in my garden did not risk the cold winter snow, we would never see their glorious blooms in the spring. Stuart loves you, Laura, more than he has ever loved anyone before, I suspect. Open your heart to him. It could erase all those shadows in your eyes.”
I felt foolish as the tears started to flow. I wiped at them impatiently. “Julia, you’re the one who just lost a baby. I should be comforting you, not the other way around.”
She grabbed my hand as if to emphasize her point. “We have all lost something, Laura, and giving comfort is just as good as receiving it.” She squeezed my hand before letting go, the warmth in her eyes genuine.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out something I immediately recognized, something that made my heart lurch at the sight. I reached for the small stuffed giraffe, its one eye missing, its fur matted and rubbed off in spots. Annie’s giraffe.
I bent my head into its fur, sniffing the musty toy, any scent of the little girl it had once belonged to long gone.
Gently, she said, “I thought you would have guessed the truth. Did you not have any suspicions? She looks so much like you, you know.”
