Spinning the Moon

by Karen White

  Every night I remembered to close my curtains tight, just in case there would be a full moon to scare Sarah, so I stumbled in the dark to the window and threw open the curtains to peer out. I didn’t see anything, but smelled the heavy scent of smoke in the air. “Sarah. Get up,” I said as I knotted a shawl around my shoulders. She groggily rolled back over into her pillow, and I had to pick her up and get her off of the bed so I could remove the blanket. Just in case.

  I ushered her out into the hallway. “Fire!” I shouted, deciding to err on the side of caution, even if no flames were detected. Julia emerged from the sickroom, the bundled form of Robbie in her arms.

  “Can Willie walk?” I asked. She shook her head as I strode past her and picked up Willie. He had a slight frame and I estimated he could weigh no more than fifty-five pounds. Light enough to carry—if not for very far.

  “Sukie! Stuart!” Shuffling feet sounded from downstairs and the flickering light of a candle illuminated Sukie as she poked her head up the stairwell. Stuart’s door opened from the other end of the hall and he emerged, hastily buttoning up his shirt. Pamela ran out of her room, her hair unbound and flying wildly about her thin face.

  Heavy wisps of smoke now floated haphazardly in the air, infusing everybody with a show of alarm. We all clambered down the stairs, Julia with Robbie in the lead, the baby protesting with thick, croupy coughs.

  Sukie ran ahead and opened the front door, allowing the rest of us to take refuge on the front lawn. Leaving Willie with Julia and the children, I followed Stuart around the side of the house, in search of the smoke source.

  “Damn!” I heard him swear and then I echoed him as I saw the kitchen house and the adjoining storehouse engulfed in flames. Smoke from the burning wood coated my throat while the heat licked at my face, making me step back. The surprising aroma of bacon cooking filled the air.

  Three dark forms ran toward us from the direction of the slave cabins on the other side of the field. Turning abruptly, Stuart said, “Run to the barn and bring every bucket you can find. It might be too late to save the kitchen, but we might be able to salvage the storehouse.”

  I ran as fast as I could, ignoring the chill as I stepped away from the heat of the flames, the hem of my nightgown heavy from the moisture on the grass.

  The five buckets I found were readily pressed into service as we formed a system for bringing water from the creek near the springhouse. Stuart told me to go back with Sukie and Julia, but I ignored him, knowing that every arm helping could make the difference between starvation and having enough food to get us by until the spring.

  Sparks flew in every direction, and I caught Stuart’s worried gaze as a stray one would shoot near the house. My muscles ached from the hoisting of the heavy buckets filled with water, but we all struggled on, black and white, fighting the common enemy.

  A loud splintering split the air as the roof over the kitchen crashed down, blowing puffs of flame rolling toward us. We all ran back until I heard Stuart’s voice shouting, “The meat box! Get the meat box!” He rushed forward, disappearing in a wall of smoke and flame. My heart stuck in my throat as I stared at the spot where he had gone.

  Within minutes he reappeared, dragging the meat box. One of the other men rushed to help him, pulling the precious store of food with them.

  Stuart shouted at me over the din to get the other women and children to the relative warmth of the barn, which was far enough away from the flames as to pose no danger. As they ran back to the kitchen, a rumbling sounded overhead. All faces turned upward in open appeal, and were quickly rewarded with the splattering of icy-cold raindrops.

  Stuart’s face, awash with the light from the flickering flames, wore a crooked grin as the clouds started their onslaught, washing the black smudges from his forehead and jaw. A cry of delight went up as the flames diminished, the hissing and popping slowly dying to a low steam.

  I threw my arms around Stuart, our drenched clothes sticking to each other, and I was grateful for the shawl that granted me a modicum of modesty. A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky briefly and was soon echoed by more rumbling thunder as sheets of rain fell on us, saturating hair, clothes, and earth.

  Placing me gently to his side, Stuart turned to the others. “You men go on home. There is nothing else we can do tonight while it is still smoking. We will see what we can salvage in the morning.” Slowly, the other men walked away, back to the dryness and warmth of their cabins. Stuart grabbed my arm and led me to the shelter of the back porch.

  Growing worry gnawed at me. “Do you think there will be anything left to salvage?”

  His profile was a mere shadow in the dark, but his warm breath licked at my cheek.

  He shook his head. “Not much. We had just about everything in that storeroom—salt, syrup, tallow, lard, potatoes, turnips—everything. It is all gone. Luckily, most of that hog we butchered is still in the smokehouse.” He lifted a hand in the darkness and wiped his dripping hair off his forehead. “But I doubt it is enough.”

  “Enough?” I hated that word. Although there hadn’t been any Confederate requisitioning parties to deplete us further of our already-low food stores, there never seemed to be enough cornmeal, eggs, flour, meat, and medicine for the sick children. Somebody was always hungry. But when the Yankees came, in less than a year’s time, there would be even less.

  “Stuart.” My voice cracked. “You need to send them away.”

  His callused fingers rubbed my skin as he cupped my face, his fingertips delicately brushing my temples. “Why? What do you know?”

  A sob escaped my throat. “Because it’s true—Roswell isn’t safe for them. The Yankees will be here, Stuart—don’t ask me how I know, but I do. You need to trust me just this once.”

  His fingers tightened on my skin, pushing on the hard bones of my skull. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  I couldn’t see him, but the tense urgency in his words gripped me like claws. I paused, knowing already the choice I had to make. My tears mixed with the rain on my face, and the pressure of his fingers increased. “The Yankees will be here, Stuart—in less than a year. Atlanta will be theirs by September. And then they’ll push through Georgia to the sea, destroying everything in their path. They’ll be in Savannah by next Christmas. Take Julia and the children south—to Julia’s aunt in Valdosta. They’ll be safe there until the end of the war.”

  My hands covered his and forced them away from me. He stood, facing me, his eyes glittering in the dim night. “How do you know this?” He pulled away from me. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Don’t you know? I love them, too. Julia, the children, Zeke. Even . . .” I was going to say, You, you thickheaded, stubborn man, but I stopped, not wanting to complicate matters further. Instead, I said, “I want you all out of harm’s way. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I did nothing to protect you.”

  His voice carried softly to me on the night air. “Tell me, then. Who are you, Laura, really? Where do you come from? How do you know these things?”

  I shook my head and turned from him. “I’ve told you enough. I can’t tell you any more. Just let me help you.”

  The silence between us grew heavy, the hissing of the dying fire filling the emptiness.

  I shivered in my damp nightgown, my teeth chattering. Coldly, he said, “Go to bed. We do not need you catching your death out here.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked off in the direction of the barn.

  I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. But I didn’t stay asleep long before I heard a little voice beside me. “Miss Laura? Are you awake?”

  I opened my eyes to see a pair of green ones staring back at me, a warm body pressed up against mine. “Sarah?”

  “Are Robbie and Willie going to die?”

  I sat up, wide-awake now. For a child so young, Sarah was incredibly perceptive
, and I knew better than to try to gloss over the truth. I gave her a reassuring pat to her arm.

  “They’re both very sick right now, but we’re doing everything we know to make them get better.”

  “Oh.” She paused for a moment. “I ain’t scairt of dying, Miss Laura. I done it before.”

  I remained completely still, willing her to continue. When she didn’t say anything else, I prompted. “You think you’ve died before?”

  She nodded. “It was dark for a long time, and then I was here.”

  I stared at her in the darkness and recalled Stuart telling me about Sarah’s imagination. Having no idea what to say, I just put my arm around her and hugged her.

  She turned her head on the pillow and I tucked the blankets under her chin. On impulse, I kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams.” She smiled sleepily, and as I drifted off to sleep, I heard the reassuring rhythm of her breathing beside me.

  The following day was Christmas Eve. Despite the war shortages, Julia had done her best to find presents for the children. She had even helped me make a few things, including a pair of socks for Stuart. With paper being such a rare commodity, the socks were tied only with a hair ribbon and hidden under my bed. I recalled the extravagant gifts that Michael and I had exchanged and knew that these socks were more a labor of love than anything I had ever given.

  Sarah was already gone when I awoke, and I hastily washed and dressed. The door to the sickroom was open and I peered around the door. Sukie sat in the rocking chair, holding a gasping Robbie, and Willie was sitting up in his bed, his neck swollen, but with a big smile for me. A dry, raspy wheeze came from Robbie as his chest sucked in to get air.

  Sukie looked at me, her eyes shadowed. “Miz Julia’s gone get Dr. Watkins. Robbie took a turn for the worse over the night.”

  I laid a hand on the burning cheek. “But Dr. Watkins said that the disease will get worse before it gets better.”

  She nodded. “Miz Julia want the doctor here.”

  “Sukie, why don’t you let me hold him for a while.” I reached for the swaddled form. A dark-colored liquid oozed from both of his ears and nose, producing an almost overwhelming stench. Sukie handed me a wadded rag and I wiped his little face. She dipped another rag in the washbasin and laid it on his forehead. Walking over to Willie’s bed, she tucked the covers snugly around him and then left the room.

  A thin, grayish white membrane had grown weblike over Robbie’s tonsils and was getting thicker every day. It interfered with his breathing and swallowing, making it almost impossible for him to suck milk. It was with painstaking care that we were able to feed him a drop of liquid at a time from a spoon, and even that was mostly spit back. Willie had the same thing, but perhaps because of his age, he had been able to cope with it better and was managing liquid foods. Trying to dislodge the membrane only caused it to bleed, and we realized that there was nothing we could do about it until the sickness passed and it expelled itself.

  The sharp stench of camphor wafted up to my nose from the hot bundle in my arm. It was supposed to help him breathe, but I don’t think it had much effect. I tried to hold him upright in an attempt to help get air in his lungs, but nothing seemed to matter. Every breath was a struggle, and he strained and kicked in his efforts but he didn’t cry. It seemed almost as if he knew he needed to save his energy. I held him close and sang to him. It was the only thing I could do, and it seemed to soothe him.

  Sarah hovered in the threshold, not daring to enter. It had been a week since Willie and Robbie had become sick, and Sarah still did not show any symptoms of the disease. But that didn’t mean she was immune, and was kept out of the sickroom and away from her brothers. She slid down the doorframe and sat in a heap on the ground, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. She smiled wanly at me, her green eyes uncharacteristically subdued.

  I leaned back in the rocker, patting Robbie softly on his back, and began singing my favorite nursery song, one that I had sung to my Annie when she was a baby and one I had not sung since the night Robbie was born.

  “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. . . .”

  A little voice sounded from across the room, clear and compelling, “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

  I stopped rocking, frozen. Robbie fussed, but I couldn’t move. “Sarah, where have you heard that?”

  Her clear green eyes, so much like mine, stared back at me. “From before.”

  My arms shook so much, I was afraid I would drop the baby. I tried to concentrate on holding him steady, but my mind turned furiously, putting all the puzzle pieces in place.

  “From before?”

  She nodded. “From before I died.”

  Robbie had fallen into a restless sleep, and I carefully carried him over to his cradle and lifted him inside. With shaking legs I walked over to Sarah and crouched in front of her. My hands cupped her cheekbones, solid and real underneath my fingertips.

  Green eyes fringed with black lashes looked at me. “Why are you crying, Miss Laura?”

  “I need to see your arm. Can you pull up your sleeve?” I helped her with the small buttons, then pulled up the muslin. I knew what I would see before I gently turned her arm, but it still shocked me. Her crescent-shaped birthmark was paler than mine, almost indistinguishable from a blemish except for its peculiar shape, and nearly hidden on the inside of her forearm. I thought of the times I had seen her swimming in the creek and I had never noticed. Most likely because I had never thought to look for it. I thought of Julia lying to me when I asked her if Sarah was her daughter. She is mine.

  I hugged her tightly, so tightly that she cried out. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just so happy to see you.” I hugged her again, gently this time, feeling her sturdy body in my arms.

  The sound of horses’ hooves and buggy wheels on the front drive reached us. “Julia,” I said out loud. The name made me flinch, her betrayal almost more than I could stand. I looked anew at Julia’s face for any signs of duplicity as she entered the room. But all I saw was her look of concern as she reached for Robbie. She laid him on Sarah’s empty bed, and the doctor began his examination. He loosened the bandage that had been covering the skin ulcer on the baby’s leg, wrinkling his nose at the foul odor. Eventually, he straightened and closed his black bag.

  “Charles, what are you doing? There must be something you can do.” Julia’s voice held a frantic note in it, her fingers clutching at the doctor’s sleeve.

  His whole face dropped as he regarded her. Taking her hands in his, he slowly shook his head. “I am sorry, Julia. All we can do is wait and pray for a miracle.”

  Julia bent her head and let go of the doctor. He gave her a tender look she didn’t see, then picked up his bag. “Rosa Dunwody’s parents asked me to see her. I am afraid she is not doing well. I will be back here afterward.”

  With a brief nod to me, he left, his boots clattering on the wooden steps. Sarah scrambled down the stairs behind him. Rosa was Sarah’s best friend. Children in this time learned about death much too early. I listened as Sarah called out the doctor’s name, wanting to call her back but knowing I couldn’t protect her from grief.

  Julia sat down in the rocking chair and began the incessant rocking that all mothers of sick babies are familiar with. I sometimes even felt myself rocking in my sleep. Her expression softened as she looked at Robbie’s pale face. I had seen that look before when she gazed upon Willie and Sarah. She loved all three of her children. There could never be any doubt about that. Perhaps she hadn’t lied; perhaps in her heart, Sarah was her daughter.

  I slowly rolled up my sleeve, then hesitated, unsure if she could handle my revelation. But then I thought of all the times we had spoken of my daughter, and her betrayal stung anew.

  I knelt by her rocker, the smell of camphor heavy from the bundl
e in her arms, and spoke her name. She looked at me, her eyes like dark smudges on the white canvas of her skin, and I felt a moment of pity. Wordlessly, I held up my arm, the crescent-shaped birthmark like an island on the smooth skin of my forearm.

  “My Annie has the same mark. But you know this, don’t you? You’ve seen it before.”

  She continued rocking but bent her head to Robbie’s. His labored breathing slid against my conscience, but still I pressed on. My pain was like a piece of fabric caught on a nail, and I kept tugging until something ripped loose.

  “You knew,” I whispered. “All this time you’ve watched me searching for my daughter, yet you knew where she was the whole time. Why?”

  Tearstained hazel eyes looked at me. “You already know the answer to that, Laura. Because we both know what it is like to lose a child.”

  Wailing came from downstairs as the back door slammed and little feet ran up the stairs. My daughter rushed into the room, tears streaming down her cheeks, and holding her elbow.

  “Mama! I fell and hurt myself real bad. It think it might be broken.”

  I opened my arms to her but she rushed to Julia’s side, burying her face in an available patch of lap. My stomach curled, as if it had just been punched. I was just a woman she called Miss Laura. I had been relegated in her memory to a shadowy image singing her lullabies. Julia was the only mother she knew.

  I stood watching Julia comforting both children while also telling Sarah to leave the room because it wasn’t safe.

  “She can’t get diphtheria, Julia. Let her stay.” Without waiting for an answer, I left.

  Julia stayed in Robbie’s room for the rest of the day, and I was glad, as I was not sure what I would say to her. I kept myself busy, avoiding Stuart, too. I was unsure of his complicity in Sarah’s true identity, and I wasn’t yet ready to face him. Not that I needed to avoid him; he was doing a good job of that on his own.

  I skipped the midday meal, having no appetite, and instead ensconced myself in the parlor with a book. I had no idea what the book was, as my eyes kept blurring over the words. Sarah came in at one point, and all I could do was stare at her. She played something on the piano for me; then, after a brief peck on my cheek, she skipped off to sit in the sickroom.