by Karen White
Julia leaned against the headboard, her head propped on a pillow and the baby nestled in the crook of her arm, mouth open wide and still bawling. Her dark, wavy hair spilled over the white pillow like a spider’s web. Her eyes were sunken with exhaustion, the lids heavy.
I leaned over and gently lifted the baby from her arms. “Did he eat?”
Julia nodded. “And I changed him. But he still won’t settle.”
“Sometimes they do that. Let me take him for a little bit while you get your sleep.”
She nodded, her eyes already closing as I blew out the candle.
The full moon outside shone through the hall windows, bathing everything in its gentle radiance. I made my way down the stairs and entered the front parlor.
I stood by the window, absorbed into the tranquillity of the moonlight-flooded room. The baby fretted, so I took him off my shoulder and cradled him in the curve of my arm. He focused on the great orb filling the sky and he gurgled, raising a fist as if to grab a moonbeam and bring it back to earth. I leaned down to kiss his cheek and saw the moonlight reflected in his eyes.
Oh, moon, where do you shine tonight? Is my Annie looking at you now, as I am, and wondering where her mother is?
I began to sing softly, swaying the child gently in my arms. Without thinking, the words flowed automatically from my lips. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.”
A splash of moisture landed on Robbie’s chin and I realized I was crying. A door opened and an arc of light appeared on the wall next to us. It grew larger in circumference until the room seemed swallowed by it. At the sound of approaching footsteps, I faced the window again, hoping not to draw attention to myself.
Someone coughed quietly behind me. I pivoted and saw Stuart. He was still dressed, but his dark hair was tousled, as if he had been running his fingers through it.
He set down the lamp and took the baby from me. I had neglected to put on a cover over my nightgown and was painfully aware of my undressed state.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.
“Pardon me?”
“I thought a herd of cows was trampling you in your room, from the sound of it.”
“Oh, that,” I said, rubbing a bruised elbow. “No, I just decided a midnight waltz with my chest of drawers would be a good idea.” I smiled. “What are you doing up so late?”
Patting the baby’s back, he whispered, “I have been going over the plantation books. They are in a bit of a mess. I am afraid my brother did not have much interest in record keeping.” He swayed with the baby snuggled onto his shoulder, as if he had done it many times before.
He stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes as he stared at my face. “Why are you crying?”
I wiped the remaining tears off my face with the sleeve of my nightgown. “It’s just the moonlight. It always makes me think of Annie.” I walked closer to the window and pressed my forehead against the cold glass, my breathing making circular patterns and obliterating my reflection. “She disappeared when she was almost two. She’d be seven now. I don’t even know if I would recognize her if I did find her.”
“How did she disappear?” he asked quietly, still swaying with the drowsy baby on his shoulder. Soft sucking sounds filled the room.
I took a deep breath. “My husband and I took her up to Moon Mountain to view a comet during an eclipse. When it was over, Annie was just gone. She was sleeping, you see, so I had placed her on a blanket where I thought she would be safe. . . .” My voice broke and I stopped.
He rested his free hand on my shoulder, offering comfort. His touch was warm through the fabric of my nightgown, and I had the bizarre impulse to lay my head on his hand.
“Don’t blame yourself. No matter how good a mother you are, things often happen that are out of your control.”
I turned to face him. The baby was finally asleep and Stuart had stopped swaying. He looked at me intently.
“Thank you for trying to help. And I know you’re right. If only I had a grave to visit or some knowledge of what happened to her, I’d feel better. But I have no closure.”
His brows furrowed in his forehead. “Closure?”
I smiled at my careless use of twentienth-century psychobabble. “It just means that my grieving has no end. I’m not sure if I should be mourning her or searching for her.”
He nodded silently and I was struck, not for the first time, by how handsome he was. Not in the fair, evenly chiseled good looks that made women turn and stare at Michael, but in a dark, powerful way that made my eyes seek him out when we were in the same room together.
“Do you think Annie might be in Roswell?” His words brought me out of my examination, and I flushed when I realized I had been staring at him.
“I really don’t know. It’s been five years. She could be anywhere. Or she could be . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.
“If she is here, I am sure we will find her. But I will tell you that it is a small community. If anybody here or in the neighboring towns had found a child on the mountain, we would have heard about it. I do not remember anything—but Julia might.” He shifted the baby on his shoulder. “And then we need to find out where you belong.”
I swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet room. His expression changed, and his eyes flickered briefly in the dim lamplight. “Why do I feel as if you know more than you are saying, Mrs. Truitt?”
My palms moistened and I quickly swept them through my hair. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I could never allow myself to forget he was on the losing side of this conflict, nor the fact that I had knowledge that could possibly change the outcome of the war. I wanted to find my daughter, if she was here, and return home—my home with its host of memories. That was all I had left, and I wanted it back. I had no desire to get embroiled in these people’s lives. I just wanted to go home.
I shook my head slightly, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. But I appreciate your opening your home to me. I promise to be gone and out of your hair as soon as I can find a way home—or at least find where home is.” I reached for the baby, and Stuart placed him gently in my arms. “Thank you. You have a way with babies, I think.” I smiled. “Good night, then.”
Before I got to the bottom of the stairway, I turned around with a question. “Who was that Indian man who brought the cradle for Robbie?”
Stuart limped over to me. “That was Zeke Proudfoot—my grandfather. He lives in a small cabin in the woods behind the house and only comes up here on special occasions.”
I nodded, then glanced down at his leg, where he was rubbing the knee joint. “Where were you wounded?”
“In the leg,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.
I grinned back. “Obviously. But which battle?”
“At Champion Hill, back in May.” He straightened and took a deep breath. “I am lucky to still have my leg. But Zeke rode out to bring me back and have Charles take care of me. Those army sawbones just want to chop everything off. Zeke and Charles saved my leg, and probably my life, too. We are lucky to have Charles—just look what he did for Julia today.”
I bristled with that last remark and paraphrased my favorite song under my breath, “Yeah. And Oz never gave nothing to the Tin Man that he didn’t already have.”
Stuart looked up at me with a quizzical expression. I explained briefly, “Remind me to tell you a great story when you have time. The main character and I have a lot in common.”
“In what way?” he asked, his mouth tilting upward. “Are you both steel magnolias?”
“No.” I smiled back. “She and I figure out that we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
He looked perplexed. “I will look forward to hearing that one.”
I put my foot on the bottom stair and commented, “I hope I get to meet Mr. Proudfoot.”
“Mrs. Truitt, I would be happy to take you out to his cabin to meet him. He might be able to help you with your memory. He is sort of a medicine man, though not like Charles.”
I paused on the bottom step. “I’d like that.” As an afterthought, I added, “Please call me Laura.”
He paused briefly before replying, the hall clock ticking in the silence. “I do not think that would be proper.”
Continuing my ascent, I said over my shoulder, “I promise I won’t be offended.”
Halfway up the stairs, he called out softly, “Good night, Laura.”
I stopped, grinning to myself, and replied, “Good night, Stuart.” I reached the hallway and went to tuck little Robbie into his cradle. Then I lay down in my bed and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.
* * *
I awoke the following morning to the rolling sound of thunder and the beating of rain against my windows. Sukie was already in my room, drawing the curtains back and laying clothes out for me on the fainting couch. I smiled every time I thought about a fainting couch. As if anyone around here had time to faint. I was relieved to find no cagelike contraption to wear under all the skirts, assuming I was dressing today more for housework than for show. The smell of hot food wafted over to me from the tray resting on the dressing table.
“Good morning, Miz Laura,” she said as she poured fresh water into the water pitcher.
“What time is it?” I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“It be after eleven.”
I bolted straight out of bed in a panic. “Oh no! I told Julia that I would help her with the children, and all I’ve done is lie in bed all morning!”
“Don’t fret. Miz Julia told me to let you sleep, seeing as how you was up with the baby last night.”
“How long has she been up?”
“Since before six. Miz Julia has lots to do, with all them slaves having gone off with Mr. William.”
“Stuart’s brother took slaves? Why?”
Sukie gave a derisive snort. “Who know what that boy thinkin’. He said President Lincoln freed the slaves and it was breakin’ the law to keep ’em. So when he left to go back and fight with the Yankees last September, he took a whole pile of ’em. The ones that were too old or just didn’t want to leave stayed here.”
“I guess that makes sense, seeing as how they’d been freed. But didn’t he think of how hard it would be for Julia to manage—especially without him being here to help?”
“Mr. William don’ usually think of anyone but hisself.” As if to herself, she added, “Hard to believe that he an’ Mr. Stuart be brothers.”
“Sukie, if you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you go?”
She shrugged. “Miz Julia, she said I was free to go. But this my home and the only family I got. Where would I go?” She fluffed the pillows and arranged them on the bed.
I stood there contemplating what she had just said as Sukie handed me clean undergarments. I was still pretty shy about having somebody help me dress, so I turned my back to take off my nightgown and slip on my underclothes while she busied herself making the bed.
As soon as I was finished dressing, Sukie attempted to make my hair presentable.
She held a thick lock of it between two dark fingers. “Why you cut it? You sick? Such a shame—so pretty and thick.”
I shook my head. “No. Just easier to take care of, I guess.”
Clucking her tongue, she led me to the dressing table. The breakfast tray was directly under my nose now and my stomach let out a growl. I recognized grits and hastily stuck my finger in it to give it a taste.
I could see Sukie’s reflection in the mirror, shaking her head in disapproval. Whether it was over the shortness of my hair or my appalling table manners, I didn’t know. But I felt as if my mother were judging me, and I made a mental note to begin scrutinizing my words and actions. Or else explain that I had been raised better, but that I’d grown accustomed to living by myself.
After eating, I went downstairs to seek out Julia and offer her whatever assistance I could. Seeing as how I didn’t garden, cook, or sew, I knew that child care would be my best bet.
I heard the sound of an ax striking wood and followed it out the back door. The morning rain had stopped and the air was thick with the fallen moisture and the heady scent of moist dirt and saturated flower petals. Standing on the back porch, I paused to admire the view under leaden skies. Instead of the row of lofty pine trees separating my backyard from the highway, long rows of cotton plants and other crops that I didn’t recognize stretched as far as I could see. The dark shapes of five or six people leaning over hoes and several mules working in the fields stood out in bold relief, like a painting from a history book. Stuart watched me approach as he stood near a large pile of wood and rubbed his wounded leg. His skin had an olive cast, making his blue eyes stand out under the dark hair.
“Good morning, Laura,” he said, with a touch of a smile on his lips.
“Good morning, Stuart.” I stopped a few feet in front of him. “What are you planning on doing with all that cotton?” I indicated the furrowed field behind him. “I would think the market’s a bit slow these days.”
He raised an eyebrow, as if he wasn’t used to those sorts of questions coming from a woman. “The Roswell mills will take most of it, and I’m hoping to sell the rest to a blockade runner bound for England.” His gaze scrutinized me as he spoke.
“What are you staring at?” I asked, feeling a touch self-conscious at his appraising look.
“To be honest, I was just wondering to myself whether it would be better for you to go back to wearing your men’s clothing or to find someone besides Julia to borrow clothes from.”
Julia was a good size smaller than I was, and I did feel the uncomfortable pull of the dress across my chest, not to mention that the skirt barely brushed the tops of my shoes.
“Wouldn’t do for me to burst my buttons in front of Dr. Watkins, would it?”
Serious now, he replied, “No, it would not. I’ll talk to Julia about it.”
“Really, there’s no need. These will do. I don’t plan on staying here forever. But I did want to talk to Julia about my daughter.”
He leaned on the ax handle, taking the weight off his leg. “I asked Julia this morning at breakfast. She doesn’t recall hearing anything, but promised to ask around town.” He narrowed his eyes. “We also need to ask if anybody recognizes you. I know that if I had seen you before, I would remember.”
I looked away, uncomfortable, and unsure what to say. Searching for Annie here, in this place and this time, might be fruitless. I had no idea how the powers that had brought me here worked. Annie could be anywhere. In any time. Or this was some horrible dream and I couldn’t wake up.
Turning, I saw Julia with a large basket brimming over with an assortment of vegetables hanging on her arm. Her face was shaded by a large straw hat, obscuring her expression. It was hard to believe that she had given birth so recently.
“I’m sorry to have slept so late. I promised to help you, and I’m afraid I haven’t done much more than lie in bed. Tell me what I can do.”
The back door opened and Willie and the little girl I had seen on my first day stepped out on the back porch. Charlie yapped excitedly at their heels, his droopy eyes making me grin.
“Hi, Willie. Is this your sister?”
They both stood there, shuffling their feet until Julia approached.
“Willie, Sarah, this is Mrs. Truitt. Mrs. Truitt, this is my daughter, Sarah. You’ve already met Willie.”
Willie gave me an exaggerated bow and Sarah curtsied. Sarah was taller than her brother by a good two inches. Her blond hair was sun-streaked white in places and hung in two heavy braids on each side of her head. A smattering of freckles decorated the bridge of her nose, and clear green eyes stared levelly out at me.
&
nbsp; “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I responded with a curtsy of my own.
“Mrs. Truitt has kindly offered to help me take care of you and the baby until she is ready to return to her own home. I expect you to treat her as an honored guest.”
A loud rumbling in the sky made us crane our necks upward. An ominous black cloud hovered overhead and I knew it would be only a matter of seconds before the sky opened up.
“I’ll check on the baby,” I said to Julia. Turning to Willie and Sarah, I said, “Quickly, children. Let’s go inside before we get soaked. How would you like to hear a story?” I herded the children in through the back door.
“What kind of a story?” they asked in unison.
“Well, it’s about a little girl and her dog who get lost, and an evil witch is chasing them. So she makes friends with a lion, a tin man, and a scarecrow, who help her find her way home.”
“Is this the girl from Kansas?” Stuart asked as he shut the door behind us.
I nodded. “And she’s a long, long way from home,” I added, as we all headed into the front parlor just as the sound of rain began pelting the windows.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Whoso desireth to know what will be hereafter, let him think of what is past, for the world hath ever been in a circular revolution: whatsoever is now, was heretofore; and things past or present, are no other than such as shall be again: Redit orbis in orbem.
—SIR WALTER RALEIGH
The summer rainstorm lasted for more than an hour, saturating the fields and yard. Muddy puddles of red clay beckoned the children outside, but I restrained them with the promise of another story.