by Karen White
I gently laid my head on his chest, and his fingers found my hair. “I’m sorry, Stuart. I’m so sorry.” I buried my face in his neck, kissing him softly, then lifted my head and stood.
He grunted, trying to sit up. “Laura, please. Do not go alone. We can find Sarah together.” His eyes burned into mine. “I love you.”
I swallowed my tears, my heart battling with my head. Telling him the truth of my feelings for him would bind us forever; would keep him searching for me long after I had gone. My head won, and I swiped away my nonexistent tears like I could swipe away my feelings. Matter-of-factly, I said, “If Sarah is not where you think she is and I don’t show up to see Pamela, they will kill her. I will not fail my daughter again.”
He crumpled back against the tree, and I turned to retrieve my carpetbag that Matt had dropped as we flew into our hiding spot. It was stuck under one of his legs, and I shuddered as I moved it to retrieve my bag, the rain hitting it with solid thuds.
I faced Stuart, clutching the red carpetbag. “There’s a bag of gold coins in Matt’s coat. Take it. You’ll need it after the war’s over.” I ducked my head. “Go home, Stuart. If I know you’re being taken care of, that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”
His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Do not go.”
Swallowing hard, I shook my head and turned away, then headed up the hill in the dense underbrush.
* * *
The rainstorm ended as quickly as it had begun, and I was grateful that I didn’t have to slog through mud. I was a poor navigator, despite my four years as a Girl Scout. All I knew was that the train I was on had been headed north to the town of Dalton. So I stayed in the woods but kept close to the edge, where I could follow the bends of the rail tracks. I listened for a while for the sounds of pursuit, and when none came, I relaxed a bit. I hoisted my skirts and knotted them as high as I could to make walking easier, only lowering them when the woods gave way to sparsely populated farmland. A road grew out of the fields, and I followed it for a while until a wagon ambled by piled high with lumber. The old man holding the reins showed no surprise at my disheveled appearance when I asked him if the road would take me to Dalton. He nodded solemnly and then offered me a ride. I didn’t need any persuasion to accept his offer, and climbed up onto the running board before he could change his mind. The man did not utter a word, and for a time, I thought he had drifted to sleep. I took off my shoes to examine my blisters, startling as the man shouted and slapped the reins at a bumblebee.
He dropped me off at the Dalton train depot, for lack of anywhere else to go. I thanked him, and he rode on, a single hand held up in farewell.
At the ticket window, I asked for directions for Mrs. Simpson’s rooming house, the place Matt told me Pamela was staying. Dreading every step, I headed off for the short walk.
Full dark had settled over the town, the streetlamps coloring the clusters of Confederate soldiers in a faded yellow. Women, many wearing black, scurried across streets with baskets over their arms or holding on to small children. I wondered if there might be a curfew, and quickened my step.
Pamela answered my tapping on the door. When she looked past me into the hallway, I told her, simply, “Matt’s dead. Confederate soldiers stopped our train and chased us into the woods. He was shot, but I managed to escape.”
I kept my voice steady and my gaze firm, knowing I couldn’t mention Stuart’s involvement. Her eyes flickered over my appearance, and then she held the door wide to allow me in.
“Does anyone know you are here?”
I shook my head slowly.
“Let us hope you are right.” She closed the door behind me with a final thud.
I gave myself a sponge bath behind the screen in the room and slipped on a nightgown, pleased to finally rid myself of my torn and tired traveling dress. If it weren’t for my growling stomach, I would have been too tired to make it to one of the two single beds.
To remain inconspicuous, we ate our dinner of chicken dumplings, yams, and corn bread in our room. Tight knots clenched at my stomach, but I still found my appetite and cleaned my plate, chewing slowly while my mind digested my thoughts.
Pamela’s teeth ground her food, her jawbones jutting out from the colorless skin on her face. As I studied her, my mind skittered in all directions. I hoped Stuart’s injuries ensured his return home to Phoenix Hall where he could completely recover. A part of me wanted him to stay weak for several more months, to keep him out of the war.
We placed our trays outside the door; then Pamela began to dress for bed. As she removed her clothes, I heard the distinct sound of rustling paper. I turned and watched in amazement as she relieved her petticoat of its unusual fullness at the sides and rear by drawing out three newspapers.
On her bed she laid out the Cincinnati Enquirer, the New York Daily Tribune, and the Philadelphia Inquirer. I approached the bed and glanced at the dates—all recent editions.
“What are these for?” I asked, thumbing through the Philadelphia paper.
She snatched it out of my hands and stacked them on the floor next to her bed. “They are for our army, of course. To give General Johnston and his staff some insight on the status of Yankee morale and some such. Our neighbors to the north are worried about Grant’s losses in the east. One more staggering defeat of Federal forces and I do believe the Yankees will be ready to sue for peace.” She grinned widely at me. “The death of Sherman and the resulting loss of morale among his men will be the turning point in this war—you mark my words.” She practically beamed as she pulled the bedclothes from the bed. “Mrs. Simpson is a friend of mine and will be sure to deliver these to General Johnston tomorrow.”
I watched as she placed a revolver under her pillow and lay down. “Go to sleep, Laura. We have a very busy day ahead.”
Pamela turned down the lamp, and as I watched the flickering shadows disappear from the walls, a thought occurred to me. “How will we get to Chattanooga? It’s held by the Federals, and I can’t imagine them letting us walk right in.”
Her voice was sharp in the quiet night air. “We will have to depend on our own resources and the fact that you are related to an officer on General Sherman’s personal staff.”
I sat up straight in the bed, my eyes squinting in the dark in Pamela’s direction. “What do you mean?”
I heard the smile in her voice. “Your new brother-in-law, dear. Captain William Elliott, aide-de-camp for General Sherman. Stuart’s older brother.”
I recalled the arrow scar on Stuart’s chest and all the things I had heard about William. Knowing William’s relationship with his brother and Julia, I was unsure if he could be relied on to be an ally. “And he’s supposed to help us get rid of General Sherman?”
“No. And I know you are smart enough not to enlighten him on the matter. He believes me to be a Yankee spy. How else do you think I have been able to get the information to pass on to Stuart? William is merely our passage into the general’s company. And then you will take it from there.”
I thought of the red velvet dress with the low neckline I had brought with me. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Pamela. I haven’t a clue how to be a seductress.”
“Then you had better start practicing. But I do not think you will have to do much; men seem to flock toward you regardless.” I saw a dark shape against the whiteness of the wall, like a shadow in a nightmare, and realized she was also sitting up in bed, looking directly at me. “I will arrange for you and the general to be alone, to get to know each other. You will suggest a secret rendezvous and your complete discretion. When he meets with you, I want you to blow his head off.”
She’s insane. The thought struck me again as an owl hooted in a tree not far from our window, and I suddenly wanted to climb up the tree with him and watch all of this from a safe distance. Instead, I found myself an actress in the middle of this macab
re play, with only one way off the stage. I placed my hand on my heart and felt it fluttering rapidly. I willed it to slow by taking deep breaths. What if I succeeded in killing General Sherman? Would the war continue longer and the blood of thousands be on my hands? It was immeasurable, unfathomable, and certainly unpredictable. Then I thought of Sarah, scared and alone, her fate now an unknown, and knew I didn’t have a choice.
I lay back down on the cool cotton sheets, and eventually fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.
We left the rooming house before dawn, sneaking down the back stairs and out the door without detection, and headed north through the woods. I shivered in the dark air, trying to make out the moonlit-backed shapes in front of me. My long skirts caught on brambles and dead twigs, so I eventually hoisted them up over my knees, exposing stockings with more holes than fabric. After a couple of hours, I stopped from near weariness, cool prickles of sweat beading my forehead. I dropped my carpetbag, opening hands that had been clutching the handle and the skirts, and painfully stretched the small bones and muscles. The bloodred sun appeared low in the sky, bleeding light into the dark forest.
“Do you have any idea where you’re going, Pamela?”
She stopped about ten yards ahead of me. “Of course. I have studied this terrain for years. Now pick up your bag and keep going. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
I stayed where I was, swaying with exhaustion, tiny gnats flitting about my face. “How many miles from Dalton to Chattanooga?”
“About thirty. But do not worry—we will commandeer a horse as soon as we see one.”
I grabbed my bag and hurried up behind her. “You want us to steal a horse?”
She didn’t answer, and we plowed on. We followed closely to the railroad tracks of the Western & Atlantic, trying to stay out of sight of the tracks while using it to direct us. A few miles west of town, we had to walk on the tracks through a narrow gap in two facing rock walls, which Pamela called Rocky Face Ridge. I said a silent prayer that no trains would come, as there would be no room for us to escape.
By midmorning we reached a clearing. Pamela motioned me back, and I peered from behind her to see a wooden rail fence enclosing a large pasture. The morning breeze carried the pungent aroma of horse manure, and I knew we had reached the right place. A saddleless horse stood on the far side of the pasture, its head buried in the tall grass. I looked past the horse to the farmhouse with fading whitewash, where a woman stood next to a wood pile, her ax raised before she drove it into a log. Two little boys ran around barefoot in the dirt, causing the mother to stop her chopping and bark at them, with little to no effect.
A husband was nowhere in sight—a familiar occurrence in these times. I worried about her vulnerability, perched as she was between two opposing armies. My eyes traveled down the side of the house until I saw her only protection, a long rifle leaning against the brick chimney.
“We can’t take this woman’s horse,” I said. “It looks like it’s the only piece of livestock she’s got left.”
Pamela snorted. “If we do not take it, the Yankee Army will. Probably kill it, too, just to prevent the rebels from getting it. It is well past its prime, but it will do.”
“But she’s got a gun.”
Pamela patted her pocket. “So do we.”
I turned to see if she was bluffing, but could tell from the glint in her eye that she wasn’t.
“Follow me to the other side of the fence to the gate.”
She led me to the edge of the woods before ordering me to crawl. I longed for my jeans. Maneuvering in long skirts on this journey had been the hardest part so far. We reached the other side without incident and stopped by the rail fence, not ten feet away from the horse. It regarded us with lazy eyes and resumed munching.
“What now?” I whispered.
“Give me your bag.”
I complied, not sure what my other options were. She reached inside and pulled out a carrot, one of several we had taken from a root cellar earlier in the morning, and handed it to me.
“Go show this to the horse and make him come to the fence so we can mount him.”
I still hated horses, even though I had eventually learned how to get along with Endy. But even mild-mannered horses like this one made me jittery. I knew it was hopeless to argue, so I took the carrot and entered the fenced-in area.
The horse showed only mild curiosity as I approached, but at least raised his head from the grass. I showed him the orange vegetable and he began walking toward me. The reverberating thwacks in the distance told me the woman was still chopping wood and hadn’t noticed that her only form of transportation and plow pulling was being stolen right from under her nose.
I backed up, the carrot raised in front of me, until I felt the fence at my back. Pamela had climbed to the top rail and easily slid her leg over the back of the horse. I flattened my hand, as Stuart had shown me, and gave the entire carrot to the horse. While he busily munched, I handed up the carpetbags, climbed the fence, and settled in front of Pamela.
It was then I noticed that the chopping sounds had ceased. We both turned in time to see the woman race toward the side of the house and grab the rifle.
I dug my heels into the sides of the horse just as I felt a ripple of air to my right and the resounding report of a gun behind me. The horse lurched forward, nearly toppling both of us off his back, and then began what passed for a gallop. Luckily, the horse wore a halter, which gave me more of a grip. I leaned forward over the neck, Pamela clinging tightly to my middle, the carpetbags tucked securely between us. I felt us listing to the right but maintained a tenacious hold as I heard another shot fired from the house. I threw one last look behind me and saw the woman standing in the middle of the pasture, her arms loose at her sides, staring forlornly at us as we disappeared with her horse into the woods.
We slowed our pace once we were within the shadow of the woods. We found a well-worn dirt road through the forest and headed north. Soon after, we heard hoofbeats in front of us. Quickly guiding the horse off the road, we hid among the tall trees and underbrush as a detachment of Yankee soldiers rode by, their navy blue uniforms a marked contrast to the well-worn and varying uniforms of the Confederate soldiers we had seen in the previous days. As the last soldier passed us, Pamela whispered, “We are almost there. Be prepared to be stopped by the Yankee’s advanced guard. Do not protest—they will shoot.”
We pulled back on the road and resumed our ambling pace, the old horse frothing slightly at the mouth. I felt sorry for it, and tried hard not to shift my weight too much.
I swiped my forehead with my sleeve. “How did you come here to this time?”
“The same way all of us marked as Shadow Warriors travel. Wrapped in the atmosphere of a comet intensified by a lunar eclipse.” The droning of a fly interrupted her and she swatted it away with her hand. “Every comet has a set orbital time period. For instance, Halley’s Comet reappears every seventy-six years. It has been doing this since the beginning of time and will continue until the end of time. And a Shadow Warrior, being in the right place and the right time, can be swept up in the tail of the comet and moved within the comet’s orbital time period.” She took a deep breath. “With practice, one can navigate within any orbital time period.”
“What do you mean, ‘navigate’?”
I glanced back at her, and she gave me a look with the exaggerated patience of a teacher talking to a slow student. “If I want to travel back two hundred years, I do not necessarily need to find a comet with a two-hundred-year orbit—just one in which the time period between now and then is divisible into two hundred. Like a fifty-year comet. One would just need to navigate to arrive in the correct time.”
“But how does one learn to navigate?” I asked, more confused than ever.
She touched my forehead with a long, pale finger. “You use parts of your mind that are usuall
y ignored.” A thin smile appeared on her lips. “But sometimes it happens accidentally. Just like you and Sarah with Genetti’s Comet.”
The name startled me. “How did you know about Genetti’s Comet?”
She laughed, a dry and brittle sound. “I know the orbits of every comet that have been and will be. And I also know the places where the powers are strongest. Moon Mountain is one of only three.”
My heart beat faster. Finding the answers to my questions would allow me to control my own future—assuming I had one. “One of three? How did you learn about this phenomenon? It’s not exactly science-textbook material.”
She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face, then placed it back in her skirt pocket. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “For centuries the Cherokees and other native people around the world have passed down legends. As a history major at Vanderbilt, I became fascinated, obsessed almost. And when I found a picture of an ancient Cherokee carving that matched my birthmark, I knew there had to be some truth to the stories. The legend of the dragons on Moon Mountain that would mysteriously appear and disappear certainly fascinated me. There seemed to be a void or a warp there that would trap ancient, or perhaps future, creatures in this place. But they were always hunted down and killed. As were the people who were caught traveling through time. They were an aberration of nature and needed to be destroyed.” She shrugged. “The one thing I have not been able to ascertain is how many there are of us. I suspect the number is quite small—perhaps one every generation—otherwise we would not be alone.”
I shifted, her words making me uncomfortable. “Don’t you miss your family, your friends? Aren’t they worrying about you?”
She snorted. “People disappear every day. My disappearance certainly would not be beyond the usual. Besides, there was no one to miss me. I made sure of that.”
I thought of my parents and my friends, my coworkers and students, and wondered if they were still looking for me and how long they would continue searching before they gave up. And then I thought of Stuart, and I knew in my heart that he would search for me forever.