In the Shadow of the Moon

by Karen White

  I refused to think about Stuart. If I did, the tightness around my heart would tear at me, making it almost too hard to breathe. Instead I made plans. I had been alone before, and I knew I could do it again. The next conjunction of a lunar eclipse and a comet would be on September 1. I would leave the same way I had arrived—borne on the wind of a speeding mass of celestial particles. Stuart would assume whatever he wanted, and I would disappear from his world forever.

  By July 3, Sherman had entered Marietta, some fifteen miles west of Roswell. I was summoned to Kennesaw House, the town’s most fashionable hotel, where Sherman had set up his headquarters.

  I left Sarah on a bench outside the office. As I entered the room, the general stood by the window, caught in a fit of coughing. As soon as he finished, I heard the strident wheezing that reminded me of Michael’s asthma. To my astonishment, he picked up a cigar from the desk and began puffing on it.

  “General, do you think you should be doing that?”

  He frowned at me, his brows knitting together. “Pardon me?”

  “Smoking. It won’t help your asthma.”

  He continued to stare at me and puff on his cigar. “I will take that under advisement. Sit down, please.”

  He indicated a seat by the desk, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a letter and handed it to me. “This is a letter from me granting you and your possessions immunity from Federal authorities.” He came around the desk to stand in front of me. “Mrs. Elliott, for your protection, I have sworn to secrecy all who know about what happened to Mrs. Broderick. It might not go well for you if it were known by your fellow Southerners.” He smiled warmly at me. “But please do not think I am not grateful—I am. You did save my life. If there is anything that I can ever do for you, please do not hesitate to call on me.” With a sly grin, he added, “And there will be no payment required.”

  I ignored the flush rushing to my face. “I understand, and I thank you for this,” I said, indicating the letter. “I know of your men’s propensity for burning houses.” I shuddered, recalling the smoldering ruins we had passed on our way to Atlanta. All that remained of once-beautiful plantation homes were the lone chimneys—Sherman’s sentinels, as they were called.

  “I am sending you with Brigadier General Kenner Garrard, the commander of the Second Cavalry Division, to Roswell. It has been a real pleasure knowing you, Mrs. Elliott, and I wish you godspeed.”

  He moved back behind the desk and I knew I was being dismissed. I began walking toward the door but hung back, wishing to say one more thing. “General, I have a strong feeling you will be giving Savannah to President Lincoln as a Christmas present.”

  He leaned forward with both hands on the desk. “Really? Well, I certainly appreciate your vote of confidence.” He began shuffling papers on his desk, and I knew he had lost interest in the topic.

  “Goodbye, General. And thank you again.” I turned and shut the door behind me.

  I almost ran into Captain Audenreid as Sarah and I hurried down the stairway. He was coming up, his hat in his hand, and a small hatbox in his other. “Mrs. Elliott. I am glad to see you. I hope you do not mind, but I have brought something for Sarah. I thought she could use a bonnet to protect her skin in this hot Georgia sun. I love her freckles, but her mother might not.”

  Sarah squealed and took the box from the captain with a shouted thanks and immediately opened it. She slipped a straw bonnet on her head and asked me to tie the lilac ribbon under her chin.

  I smiled at the effect. “Captain, thank you so much—you shouldn’t have. But I’m glad I ran into you. I’m afraid this is goodbye. I’m returning to Roswell today in the company of General Garrard.”

  He looked genuinely sad as he reached for my hand and bent to kiss it, his mustache tickling my skin. “It has been an immense pleasure, Mrs. Elliott. I shall not easily forget you.”

  Despite his words, I did not feel uneasy. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you for everything.”

  He looked at me intensely. “Mrs. Elliott, please be careful. There are those whose intentions toward you aren’t completely honorable.”

  I knew to whom he was referring. “I will. I promise. And you continue to dodge bullets, okay?”

  He sent me a sad grin as I reached out and squeezed his hand. “Goodbye,” he said softly. He chucked Sarah under the chin. “And you take good care of your aunt, you hear?”

  Sarah nodded and gave him a hug.

  We turned and walked across the street toward Marietta Square, amid the hustle and bustle of civilians and soldiers.

  On Tuesday, July 5, General Garrard and his forces arrived in an almost-deserted Roswell. The Confederates had abandoned the little mill town, burning the bridge across the Chattahoochee as they left. Crossing the river would bring the troops closer to the prize of Atlanta, and I knew the burning of the bridge would be a sore point with General Sherman.

  So many of Garrard’s men suffered from heatstroke in the broiling Georgia sun, they were falling out of their saddles by the handful. One of the first things General Garrard did was set up hospitals for them on the front lawns of the Dunwody and Pratt houses, and also the Presbyterian church where I had been married. Anger rose in me as I saw the ripped-out pews tossed on the front lawn of the church, to be used as firewood, but I was helpless to stop them.

  I yearned to see my house again. I didn’t know what shape Phoenix Hall would be in, but I knew without a doubt it would still be standing. I was eagerly waiting to be told I was free to go home and to be offered an escort there, but they seemed to have forgotten us.

  While the impromptu hospitals were being set up, Sarah and I took the opportunity to join several of the soldiers in picking our fill of blackberries. We seemed to have been forgotten, and easily settled ourselves on the side of the road in the middle of town while the soldiers went about the business of setting up camp. I laughed at Sarah with the blackberry juice dripping down her chin. I was busily popping berries into my own mouth when I saw the flames. From the direction they were coming, I realized it was the cotton mill, burned under General Sherman’s orders. I knew the Elliotts’ main source of income was as stockholders of the Roswell Manufacturing Company, and this would make them destitute.

  The flames licked at the sky, large particles exploding into the air. I thought of Phoenix Hall and how a deserted house would lure looters, and I itched to get there as soon as possible. I assumed Zeke had long since joined Julia in Valdosta, but a part of me wished he were still there to greet us when we returned home.

  I stood and glanced around me to be sure no one watched. I took my carpetbag from the back of the wagon, as well as Sarah’s hand, then began walking the three miles to the house. I had barely crossed the town square when I heard my name being shouted. I turned to face William Elliott.

  I hadn’t seen him in the trek from Marietta, and I had assumed he had stayed with Sherman. Knowing his deviousness, however, I was sure he had managed to come here, where he knew I would be. I knew without a doubt that his being in Roswell had nothing to do with him wanting to see his home and family.

  I continued walking, barely pausing long enough to shout over my shoulder, “I’m free to go, William. And we really need to get home.” I patted the pocket in my dress to reassure myself that General Sherman’s letter was still there, then turned back and resumed walking.

  He raced to catch up with us, falling in step beside us. “It is my home, too, Laura, and I have offered the grounds as an encampment area. It certainly would not be proper for you to be staying there with all those men without being chaperoned by a male member of your family. Besides, I wanted to be near my daughter.” He ruffled Sarah’s hair, causing her to smile up at him.

  I stopped to stare at him. “A bit like the fox watching the chicken coop, wouldn’t you think?”

  He threw his head back and laughed, the sound grating my nerves. I turned an
d continued walking with Sarah as William watched us go, our pace quickening as we neared my destination. My heart fell when I reached the gate. The top hinge was broken, the gate hanging drunkenly by the remaining hinge. The grass grew high around the post, and a tiny green lizard poked its head out from the grassy base. We walked through the gate, noticing the weeds pushing up through the rocky dirt of the drive. Sarah let go of my hand and began running. I dropped my bag and followed her, grabbing her hand and running together.

  My breath caught in my throat when I saw the chimney appear as we crossed the bend in the drive. As the entire house loomed into view, I began to shout. I shouted people’s names: Julia, Willie, Sukie, Zeke. But the shutterless house stood silent, its windows vacant.

  I barely noticed the peeling paint and missing floorboards on the porch as we climbed the stairs and turned the doorknob. It opened without resistance, and hot, dusty air blew over me. I stepped into the empty hall and stood in the stillness, letting the familiarity settle around me. A slight breeze from the open door danced around me, making the dusty crystal chandelier tinkle a greeting. We had come home.

  Sarah darted in and out of rooms, slamming doors and shouting names. I walked around the house more slowly, my fingers making crevasses in the thickly heaped dust atop the furniture. Besides the dust and dirt, everything seemed intact. I collapsed onto the piano bench and ran my fingers across the keys. I wept with joy as I banged out familiar tunes on the horribly off-key piano, my only audience Sarah and the mice and insects that had been inhabiting the house in our absence.

  I retrieved my carpetbag from the end of the drive and soon settled down to practical matters. We had no food to eat. The kitchen garden had long since been taken over by weeds, and the root cellar stripped clean of everything Julia hadn’t been able to fit in the wagon. We would have to return to camp and beg for our dinner.

  At the sound of horse’s hooves, I stepped outside to peer into the sun-speckled lawn, squinting my eyes to see who approached. I stayed in the shade of the porch until William drew nearer. Clouds of red dust told me more soldiers were on their way.

  He doffed his hat as he stopped in front of me. “Mrs. Elliott. How kind of you to offer your home to us, the conquering army. I apologize for impinging on your hospitality at such short notice.” He swiped at the sweat dripping off of his forehead. “A few of my troops will be camping out in the yard.”

  Sarah came out and stood next to me, her hand clutched on my skirt, and tilted her head at the man she called her father, as if she no longer recognized him. I leaned against a pillar, my arms crossed in front of me, and watched the soldiers march toward us on the dirt drive. “I don’t know what kind of hospitality you’re looking for, but you won’t find it here. The house is empty of all food and the garden is dead. Even if there were food, there would be little we could eat.” I couldn’t resist a small smile. “I don’t cook.”

  William sent me a brief glance before sliding from his horse. “Not to worry, Laura. We have brought enough provisions, and I am sure one of the men can do the cooking.”

  He walked up the steps toward me. I stepped back, giving him a wide berth to walk past us and into my house.

  We settled into a familiar routine revolving around mealtimes. Happily, this was the only time I was forced to endure his company. The rest of the time I spent in my room or in the library, reading to Sarah. We took long walks in the woods and visited Zeke’s deserted cabin several times until Sarah asked that we not go anymore. She said it made her too sad. I wrote to Julia in Valdosta, letting her know of my return with Sarah, and I waited each day for her reply.

  I didn’t have the heart to play the piano, as it reminded me of happier times with Stuart. And I made sure my door was bolted every night, knowing that William was in the house and watching me like a cat would a mouse. Mostly, I bided my time, knowing September quickly approached.

  The second week after my return, the nights turned suddenly cool, offering a brief respite from the sticky heat of the day. I threw my windows open wide, allowing the bright moonlight to illuminate the room, and drifted to sleep listening to the cicadas and other night creatures.

  The hand over my mouth startled me and brought me to the edge of sleep, not quite awake. When I tasted salty sweat, my eyes flew open to stare at the dark form hovering over me.

  “I will move my hand if you promise me you will not scream, little sister. And if you break your promise, you will be sorry.” His other hand rested on my neck, and he applied enough pressure to make me choke. I silently nodded.

  William removed his hand but kept hold of my arm so I couldn’t escape as he sat on the side of the bed. He smelled strongly of alcohol, and his hot breath stung my eyes. I backed myself against the headboard as far as I could go.

  He reached out his hand and caressed my cheek. “Surely you find me more attractive than General Sherman.” I saw a flash of white in the darkness and could picture the leer across his face.

  I bent my knees back and kicked him in the chest with both of my feet, loosening his hold on my arm, then lurched for the other side of the bed. I became entangled in the bedclothes and tumbled to the hard floor. He leaned toward me. In panic, I scooted away from the bed and felt his hand grab hold of the hem of my nightgown. My feet managed to find the floor, and with a loud tearing sound, I ran for the door.

  “You bitch!” he roared, grappling to his feet.

  I reached the door and pulled. It was locked. I turned around, my hands pressed against the door, and saw him lunge at me. I did the one thing that I remembered from my self-defense course. I raised my knee and brought it in direct contact with his crotch.

  The effect was immediate. He dropped to his knees, his forehead against the wood floor. I turned the key and opened the door wide. Leaning over him, I hissed, “Get out of here. And if you ever try a stunt like that again, I will personally tell General Sherman. I would do it now, except for the disgrace you would bring to this family.”

  He tilted his head up to me, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “You will pay for this, Laura. You sanctimonious little whore.” He swiped at his mouth with his sleeve, his breathing ragged. “You have not seen the last of me.”

  He staggered to his feet and left the room without a backward glance.

  I stood in the doorway long after I heard the latch to his door click into place. I slammed my door, then raced to the windows, shutting them tightly one by one. I should have realized that any boy who had been raised in this house would know which trees to climb.

  I didn’t see William for several days. I knew that there was a flurry of activity around the burned bridge as the Yankees worked diligently to rebuild it. I assumed William was thus occupied, and breathed a sigh of relief. Still, I spent most of my hours in my room or Sarah’s, spending as much time with her as I could, as if my mind realized something my heart couldn’t yet see. We read a lot, and sometimes I just stared out the window, thinking of Stuart whenever my mind would catch me off guard.

  On the evening of July 14, I sat in my room after Sarah had gone to bed, watching dusk gather in the sky, one hand resting on my abdomen. Despite being nearly four months pregnant, I barely showed, the rise under my nightgown hardly noticeable. The sounds from the men encamped around the house changed subtly, and I got up to look out the window. Holding the curtain aside, I peered out at the dozen or so campfires dotted around the yard. In the field beyond, a colony of fireflies glowed and dimmed, glowed and dimmed in a primal mating dance. A movement by the side of the house caught my attention. Three uniformed men staggered together, one of them holding a lit torch. Their drunken laughter carried up to me, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that they were heading for the smokehouse. The grass was dry and withered and it wouldn’t need much of a fire to burn everything up, including the house.

  Grabbing my shawl, I unbolted the door and flung it open. I had reached the t
op of the steps when the front door flew open and two men on horseback rode into the foyer, sabers raised, slashing at the walls and upholstered furniture, bringing to mind Mrs. Cudahy’s words. Soldiers stood outside with torches. I ran back to wake Sarah, then grabbed Sherman’s letter and raced down the back stairs and out the back door.

  I left Sarah on the porch with the letter and with instructions not to move and to scream if anybody came near her, then flew across the backyard, my bare feet gripping the cool grass as I ran toward the torches, realizing too late that in my haste I hadn’t grabbed a weapon.

  I reached them just as the taller soldier was opening the door to the smokehouse, preparing to toss the torch inside. All three soldiers swayed, apparently in no condition to walk a straight line. Lunging myself at the soldier, I knocked him out of the way. The torch flew from his hands and landed in the brown grass several feet away.

  I took the shawl in both hands and beat furiously at the torch and small fire feeding itself on the dried grass. My arms pumped at a frenzied pace and I continued to beat the helpless ground until only dust rose to drift out over the field.

  Finished with my task, I turned my fury on the three soldiers swaying on their feet and staring at me with disbelief and anger mingled on their faces.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing? You idiots! You could have burned the whole house down—with me and my daughter in it. You have the combined brains of a pea!” Having no weapon, I stuck my toes in the dirt and kicked it at them.