In the Shadow of the Moon

by Karen White

  “I’m . . .” He stopped, gasping to fill his lungs. “I’m . . . I’m sorry . . . for . . . leaving.”

  I paused, not quite knowing what to say. “It’s okay. Don’t worry any more about it. You’re forgiven.”

  I gave him more water and looked to see if there was anything to be done with his wound. My eyes stopped when they reached his abdomen. His jacket and shirt had been pulled out of his pants and hunched in disarray over his prostrate form. The grass between us was drenched with dark red blood, already humming with tiny insects. His entire side was missing, exposing bone and torn tissue and vital organs. I looked back at his face, now still and peaceful, his vacant eyes reflecting the open sky.

  I put his head back on the ground and closed his eyes with shaking fingers.

  I stood and looked out over the sea of gray and blue. A coppery taste settled on my tongue, making me gag. I took a swig from a canteen to wash it away, but to no avail. The putrid taste was in the air. I shuddered, realizing it was blood. Collapsing to my knees, I began to retch. I dug my fingers into the dirt and touched my forehead to the grass, breathing in the sweet smell of it. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and could only gag on dry air. I wanted to expel the vileness in the air that seemed to saturate my body.

  But still the croaks for water continued, bringing me to my feet again. Medics rushed to place the wounded on litters, racing to the rear those who could be helped and leaving those with no hope on the ground where they had fallen.

  By dusk my canteens were empty and the cries of the wounded had stilled. I saw a large rock by a tree and walked toward it. My foot stepped on something hard, and I bent to retrieve whatever it was. It was a small pocket Bible, no bigger than my hand, the binding worn as if it had been opened many times. It fell open to a page upon which a dried rose lay. I picked up the rose and it crumbled in my hand, its withered petals scattering in the wind. A single verse had been underlined with thick, black ink, and I read it aloud.

  “To everything there is a season,/ and a time to every purpose under the heaven:/ a time to be born and a time to die;/ a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal.”

  I stopped, the words blurring before my eyes. My shoulders sagged, the canteens sliding off into the well-turned earth. The field was scattered with personal effects of the dead: eyeglasses, letters, and diaries. I couldn’t look at them and not see the mothers, wives, and daughters who would be waiting for news. I placed the Bible back on the ground by the large root of the tree. The breeze picked up slightly, blowing vanished voices away on the wind.

  I looked up at the sound of hoofbeats and recognized Captain Audenreid astride the horse fast approaching me. He tipped his hat as he drew close. “Mrs. Elliot.”

  I stood quickly, my head light from the effort. I steadied myself on the tree.

  The captain dismounted, holding the reins loosely in his hands. “Your husband’s sent a courier. He left a missive with General Sherman.”

  I stared at him mutely, his words not quite registering. “Oh,” I said, not quite sure what my next course of action should be.

  “I thought you would be pleased to hear your husband is no longer a prisoner.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, suddenly springing into action as I gathered up the empty canteens and raced toward General Sherman’s tent, the captain doing his best to keep up with me.

  The general was seated in a camp chair outside his tent, holding a piece of paper. William sat next to him in stocking feet, polishing his boots. They stood as I approached.

  “Mrs. Elliott, I have some news for you.”

  “Yes, I know. Captain Audenreid told me. When can I see him?”

  A glance passed between William and the general. “Your brother-in-law and I were just discussing it. We cannot allow you to go into their camp. You are somewhat of a heroine here, and your capture could be used as quite a bargaining point. I would like to suggest a meeting in the middle of the field, on neutral ground.”

  I stood close to the general, noticing the smattering of freckles on his nose, a marked contrast to the stern expression on his face. “All right. When?”

  “I have arranged for tomorrow at dawn. Can you be ready?”

  I gave a faint smile. “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  Dawn came early. I shivered from cold as I stood to dress, the walls of my tent damp with morning dew. I gasped as I threw icy-cold water from the washbasin onto my face.

  In my joy at learning Stuart had been released, I hadn’t yet thought of what I would say to him. My hand slid to my abdomen, my thoughts unsettled. For my child and me to both survive, I could not stay in this time. But if what Pamela said was true, maybe I could learn to navigate time, holding on to the tail of a comet’s orbit. I kissed the still-sleeping Sarah, then left my tent. I shivered again, but not from the cold.

  I was surprised to see William waiting for me and holding the reins of two horses. He handed one to me, a mock smile on his face.

  “It has been decided that I will accompany you, little sister. After all, he is my brother.”

  I stilled my protest, not wanting a confrontation to spoil my reunion with Stuart.

  He assisted me into the saddle, his hand sliding casually down the length of my leg. He then pulled a wooden pole from the ground, a rectangular white flag tied to it, and mounted.

  The sky had an ominous red cast to it. Red sky at morning; sailors take warning. I crouched lower in my saddle, trying to warm myself and stop my teeth from chattering. Campfires roared throughout the field as men bustled about, preparing their breakfast. My stomach churned at the thought of food, while at the same time grumbling from hunger, another sign of impending motherhood.

  I didn’t have time to be nervous about riding the horse; I was too busy scanning the far side of the field for a familiar figure. We trotted slowly out onto the tortured ground, scarred from the mortars and trampling feet of the previous day. My horse shied away from the decapitated body of another horse, sidestepping quickly, its hooves slipping on the dew-moistened dirt. I held on tightly, following William, who had not paused.

  A lone figure emerged from the dusk-shadowed woods on the far side. I heard the thin echo of hoofbeats vibrating the ground beneath me. I recognized Endy first, his black coat fuzzy in the morning dimness. Clinging tightly to my reins, I dug my heels into my horse’s sides, heedless of William’s shouted warning.

  The wind stung my eyes but I refused to close them, lest I lose sight of the tall figure in gray atop the large black horse. He, too, broke into a gallop, clods of dirt flying behind him. I reined my horse in tightly, making it rear. I slid off the side, my skirts catching on my saddle and giving any and all spectators a brief and complete show of my undergarments.

  I ran as fast as I could, the sounds of William’s horse close behind me. Stuart had also dismounted and he stood next to Endy, waiting for me. He started walking, and then running as I neared, catching me as I flung myself at him. He swung me around to regain his balance, my skirts flying and his arms wound tightly around my waist. I buried my face into his neck, feeling the unfamiliar fuzz of a new beard.

  “Thank, God,” I mumbled into his beard.

  His voice searched for sure ground. “You are still as beautiful as the first time I saw you.” His fingers traced my face, caressing my jaw. “This is the face I see each night before I sleep.”

  I smiled, tilting my head back to look into his face for the first time, and keeping my uninjured arm around his neck. His face, still showing signs of his beating, was thinner and a jagged scar showed through the beard on his jaw. I kissed it first and then kissed him full on the mouth. He responded, his lips hard against mine.

  He rested his chin on the top of my head, his arms wrapped tightly around me. “It will be your face I will be searching for when this war is
over.” He cupped his fingers around my skull, his eyes searching mine, a hint of danger hidden behind the dark blue recesses.

  I jerked my head back, my gaze touching his jaw. My hand drifted to my abdomen and I thought of the child that should be bringing us together but was the one thing that could separate us forever. “I have to go away for a while. But if there’s any way in this universe that I can return to you, I promise you I will.” There had been no decision for me to make. The truth had been in my heart for a long time, and all I had to do was look and find it.

  His hold on me tightened. “You still have secrets, Laura. How can you not trust me after all we have been through together?” His eyes were cold, but I could feel his craving for me in the touch of his hands and the smell of him. I was nearly breathless in my wanting of him, yet he held me away.

  I touched his face, in the sensitive part below his ear, the place that made him moan when I touched it with my lips. “You’ve earned my heart and my life, Stuart. I can’t keep any more secrets from you.”

  He stepped back suddenly, his hand touching upon the revolver in his belt as he looked behind me.

  “Hello, little brother. So, we meet again.” William put his arm around my shoulders, giving me a little squeeze. “We did not get to talk much last time we saw each other, but I wanted to say that I have found your wife absolutely delightful.”

  I jerked away from William’s hold and stepped toward Stuart. “Go away, William. I have things to discuss with my husband.”

  He shook his head in an exaggerated way. “I do not think so, sister. You have been privy to too many discussions involving our General Sherman. I do not believe it would be wise of me to allow you to converse any more in private.” He smiled broadly. “Besides, I wanted to have a chance to talk to my brother.”

  Stuart’s jawbones moved under his cheeks. “I have nothing to say to you, William. I can scarce believe you are actually my brother.”

  “But I think you might want to hear what I have to say anyway.”

  I suddenly remembered the stealthy footsteps I had heard following my conversation with General Sherman. Dread filled me as I waited for William to speak.

  “Were you not surprised to be released from prison so quickly? And let us not forget your medical care. Did you ever stop to wonder how that was all arranged?”

  I turned on William. “Shut up! Everything you say is a twisted lie. Don’t listen to him, Stuart—he’s trying to make things sound worse than they are.”

  Stuart slid a glance in my direction. “Just a moment, Laura. I want to hear this.”

  “She does not want you to hear it, Stuart. Or you will find out what kind of a woman she really is.” William turned to me. “Tell him about your conversation with General Sherman. Tell him what you offered the good general in return for Stuart’s release.” He faced Stuart again. “And it was not our mother’s jewelry, little brother. Oh no. Your wife offered him the most precious thing of all.”

  Stuart moved closer to me. He looked into my eyes, and I met his gaze. “What is he talking about?” His eyes widened as comprehension hit him.

  I looked closely at him, at the beloved lines and soft skin of his neck, wanting to be away from this place with him, and all this behind us. Our gazes clashed and all sounds seemed to disappear; even the small insects in the grass lay still, waiting for my answer.

  “Tell me he is lying.”

  I looked away, then back at his accusing eyes. “It is true, but nothing happened. I promise you nothing happened.”

  He stepped back. “But you would have.”

  I squeezed my hands into fists, wanting to strike out at William—at Stuart. “Yes, damnit, I would have. I would have sold my soul to the devil to save your life.”

  Shock registered on his face and he shook his head as if trying to erase a thought. “Is this the kind of secret you have been holding back from me all this time?”

  “No. No! Of course not. Oh, God, Stuart. I love you. I need to tell you everything so you’ll understand.”

  He walked up so close to me that I could feel his heat. “Then tell me.”

  I wanted to blurt out everything, to erase the look of hurt on Stuart’s face, but William’s presence stopped me. He couldn’t be trusted with the truth. I shook my head.

  Stuart turned and began walking back toward Endy. I couldn’t let him leave. William held me back by my wounded arm as I tried to go to Stuart.

  “Tell him our news, Laura.”

  I pushed William away and rushed after Stuart, grabbing hold of his jacket. His eyes were bright with anger as he glared at me.

  “I’m going to have a baby.”

  His gaze flickered down at me and then over to where William stood. Then he looked me level in the eyes. “And who is the father?”

  For a moment I couldn’t breathe. And then I slapped him as hard as I could across the face.

  He didn’t flinch. He simply mounted Endy and rode out to the edge of the field, disappearing into the dim shadows of the woods.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I have been a stranger in a strange land.

  —EXODUS 2:22

  “I brought you and your little girl something.”

  I sat back in the wagon, feeling the heat of the late-June afternoon press down on me. I smoothed my hand over my dress, feeling the slight swelling of my abdomen. Looking at the private walking toward me, I cocked my head.

  The soldier pushed a black-and-white cow forward, its large brown eyes lazily browsing the crowd of men who had gathered near the wagon train after setting up camp.

  I recognized the man as one of Sherman’s bummers, one of the many swarms of soldiers assigned to forage for food. Generally, these men gleefully stripped the land and its inhabitants of anything valuable and anything edible. But as Sherman drove deeper and deeper into enemy territory, foraging was the only way to supply his army. Still, I felt guilty as I ate three square meals a day, knowing from where the food had come. My pregnancy meant I was hungry constantly, and several of the soldiers, knowing my condition, would always make a point of saving the best pickings for me.

  Someone shouted from the crowd, “Hell, O’Rory, if I thought you was that lonesome, I would have loaned you some money to come inta town with me.”

  The shouting was met by catcalls and a loud moo from the cow. The soldier faced the growing crowd. “Aw, you all shut up. I thought Mrs. Elliott would like some steak.”

  “Yeah, O’Rory. And if she don’t, I bet you’ll take ole’ Daisy May back to your tent.”

  More ribald laughter and comments followed this remark, and the young man’s face grew stern. He turned back to me.

  “Please accept this gift, ma’am.”

  I glanced over the cow, noticing the very full udder and the panicked look in the cow’s eyes. I looked back at the soldier. “Well, she certainly does have nice calves.”

  The group of men exploded in laughter as the man’s face turned a deep red. I climbed off the wagon and put my hand on his arm.

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve made a joke and I couldn’t resist. But I can’t accept this cow. This is a milk cow. Where did you get it?”

  He looked down at his boots, scuffing the dirt with his toe. “From a farm not two miles from here. Stupid rebs left her all alone in the pasture.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “This cow is full of milk—somebody’s been milking it regularly. Probably a mother with young children. I think she needs it more than we do.”

  He stepped between the cow and me, as if to protect his prize. “No, ma’am. They’s just rebs. They deserve to starve to death.”

  I was a good head taller than he was and I stepped closer to him to take full advantage of the difference in stature. I leaned over him and said, “Women and children are not your enemies. They’re just tryin
g to survive. Imagine if it were your wife and children.”

  He gave me a defiant look. “I ain’t got no wife.”

  My retort was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Audenreid. Since my meeting with Stuart, he had stayed close to my side as much as possible. He never asked about Stuart, and I would not talk about him, but the captain seemed to know that all was not well. I had seen him closely regarding William as Stuart’s brother doggedly pursued me, and Captain Audenreid would put himself between my brother-in-law and me when he could.

  He took one look at my blanched face and ordered a camp chair for me. “Are you ill, Mrs. Elliott?” His solicitous look was warming.

  I shook my head. “No. It’s just that, well, I want this soldier to take the cow back from where he stole it.”

  The captain was apprised of the situation, and ordered the soldier to return the cow.

  With much grumbling, the private retreated, the cow faithfully in tow.

  I reached out and squeezed the captain’s hand in gratitude. He looked at me, startled. “I’m sorry, Captain. I apologize if I was being forward. But I wanted to thank you for that.”

  His face softened as he regarded me in the hot sun. “Remember, I was in that farmhouse, too. I shall never forget it, nor shall I ever forget you.”

  I turned away, flustered, not knowing what to say.

  “I apologize. I did not mean to cause you discomfort. I just wanted to let you know that I hold you in high regard. And that you can rely on me to get you home safely.”

  I looked back at his face, my hand shielding the sun from my eyes. I could see a slight flush under his sunburn. “Thank you, Captain. I shall treasure your friendship.”

  Smiling warmly at him, I watched him remount and ride away, his hand raised in farewell.

  I had traveled with Sherman’s troops through the hot months of May and June as his massive army continually flanked the Confederates and forced them to retreat farther and farther south toward the inevitable confrontation at Atlanta. I kept myself busy in the hospital tents, doling out what little mercy I could. I enjoyed the time I had with Sarah, and we spent it becoming better acquainted. I found that her favorite color was blue and that she loved most vegetables but especially corn. I learned the name of her best friend, and the way she liked her mother to plait her hair. But I didn’t know what it had been like when she lost her first tooth, nor what gifts she had received for her last six birthdays. Nor did I know what songs her mother sang for her at bedtime, or the words of comfort she listened for when she had nightmares. She still called me Aunt Laura, for I had not yet told her otherwise.