Spinning the Moon

by Karen White

  I had to kneel to see past the opening and was surprised to see a set of stairs. Sunlight poured into a high, round window. I had seen that window many times from the outside of the house but it never occurred to me that I had never seen it from the inside.

  I took Rebecca’s hands and helped her crawl out. “How did you ever find this place?”

  She looked at me with wide blue eyes. “Do you promise you will not be mad at me?”

  I nodded, my serious expression matching hers.

  Very solemnly, she said, “I spied on my mama. I saw her use it one day and followed her. It goes outside, behind the bushy green plants by the back porch. She used it a lot but she never knew that it was my secret, too.”

  Smoothing the hair off her forehead, I asked, “Did you ever see anybody else use it?”

  She looked down and did not answer.

  “Rebecca, you can tell me. I promise not to be angry.”

  “I saw my papa. But only two times. Once, he followed my mama. I saw her leave and then he left, too. I thought they were playing a game.”

  I spoke gently. “You said you saw your papa use these stairs two times. When was the other time?”

  She looked up at me with wide blue eyes. “On the same day Papa told me Mama had gone to heaven, I saw him coming back up these stairs with Mama’s traveling bag. But how could she brush her hair if she did not have her brush? Maybe Papa didn’t think she’d need it in heaven and that’s why he brought her bag back.”

  Small pinpricks of fear dusted the back of my neck. I forced a smile. “Did he see you?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No, I am too fast to let anybody see me.” She plucked at her skirt. “But I was not sad. I know Mama did not want to be here with me. She made me cry.”

  I watched as her lower lip quivered and touched her cheek to soothe her lonely heart, recalling how she would scream when I had first arrived and was easily confused for Elizabeth.

  “Did you see anybody else?”

  “Yes. Marguerite used them all the time. She says it is faster to get outside this way.”

  My fingers trembled as I stroked Rebecca’s cheek. Is this what Marguerite had meant when she told John that he had more to hide than she? And if Elizabeth had been running away, to whom had she been running?

  The sands of grief and loss sifted through my fingers again, yet I was afraid to catch them and look closely, unwilling to see the truth. So I let them fall to the ground, unheeded, and occupied my mind with plans to leave. My mistrust and doubts were enough for me. To know more would damage my heart beyond repair and perhaps move me closer to danger than I already was.

  * * *

  I found Philip Herndon two days later, his bloated body floating facedown in the pond behind the house. I had gone to rid myself of the conjure ball, having decided that whether I believed in it or not, it needed to be out of the house. I was walking, trying to organize my thoughts and to ignore the heavy weight of the ball in my hand, when I had spotted something undoubtedly human in the pond.

  My heart had twisted at the sight and I had dropped the ball, not able to stop my thoughts of Jamie. With a small relief, I soon realized that the form in the water was that of an adult. For a moment, I thought that it was John and I had sunk to my knees, unable to fathom the loss or my reaction to it. Someone, possibly Mr. O’Rourke, spotted me and shouted the alarm. Nobody made mention of the conjure ball at my feet, or if they did, I did not hear.

  I do not remember much past being led inside the house and the news whispered in my ear that it was Philip. I sat in the parlor with my feet propped on a footstool and recalled the night of John’s return, when I thought I had seen a light by the pond and then John’s wet hair. I felt the sickening realization that my love for John was wrong, that he had undoubtedly unleashed his fury on Elizabeth and her lover, and that I was in mortal danger. I should have realized that a woman as vain as Elizabeth would never have taken her own life. But my love for John had blinded me, and my unwillingness to see filled me with shame and remorse. I gathered my loss and grief around me yet again, finally forcing myself to stare the truth in the face.

  John rode to the Herndons’ plantation to tell them about Philip. As soon as he disappeared down the lane of oaks, I fetched Rebecca and went to find Mr. O’Rourke to ready our buggy.

  He protested at first, but after I reminded him that the threat of Philip no longer existed, he let me go. I snapped the reins and set off at a brisk trot. When I neared the end of the lane, out of sight from the house, a dark figure stepped out and waved me down.

  Instinctively, my hand flew to Rebecca, my main concern to protect her. I sighed with relief when I recognized Rose and slowed to a stop.

  “What are you doing out here, Rose?”

  “I be having dark dreams about you. You still carry that lodestone I gives you?”

  I patted the pocket of my dress, feeling the smooth lump underneath, and felt foolish. “Yes, Rose. I carry it with me wherever I go.”

  She stepped closer to the buggy. “Good. You needs it bad.” Placing a hand on the side of the buggy, she stared up at me. “You needs to tell the Herndons to put fresh eggs in Master Herndon’s hands, then tie his wrists together before they put him facedown in the coffin. Then sprinkle eggshells on top of his grave, and he who done kilt him be revealed.” She nodded, satisfied that she had told me.

  “Thank you, Rose. I will certainly think about it, but I am not quite sure that Mr. and Mrs. Herndon will take my suggestions. They will be grieving very much for their son.”

  Rose patted the side of the buggy before stepping away. “You just do you best, Miz McMahon. If’n you want the killer caught.” Her eyes were full of meaning as she glanced at me one last time before turning away back down the lane, toward the house.

  I snapped the reins again and felt Rebecca tugging at my sleeve. I had almost forgotten she was with me. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  She nodded, then reached over with her small hand and patted the lodestone in my pocket.

  I had not been to Judge Patterson’s home since my return, but I remembered where it was located. Off the main River Road, it was set back on a smaller parcel of land than Whispering Oaks. He had raised oranges and rare birds instead of investing in cash crops, his fortune having been inherited from his father, a shipping merchant. I remembered the exotic screens, vases, and artwork from my visits to his raised cottage as a child. I would always wonder if it was our visits to Gracehaven that had fueled Elizabeth’s wanderlust. The Oriental paintings, with their odd black splashes that substituted for our alphabet, and the unique teas and curries we’d dine on always lent an otherworldly feel that would last for days after our visits with our grandmother.

  A man came to help us and take the buggy as we approached the single-floor structure. The redbrick pillars supporting the white house reminded me of pelicans with their skinny legs standing on muddy banks, their fluffy white torsos perched precariously on top.

  The judge greeted us warmly and then, as if reading my mind, sent Rebecca to the kitchen for something sweet. She lifted her face, still peaked after her illness, with a questioning look.

  “You may go, but just eat a little. You are not used to eating very much right now. And if you get tired, come back to me.” With a bright smile on her pale face, she left us, and the judge ushered me into his library.

  He rang for tea and then offered me a seat by the fire. Joining me in an adjacent chair, he regarded me with a warm expression. “Forgive me for my bluntness, but you are not looking well, Catherine.”

  I shook my head, then lowered my gaze to my lap, trying to find my composure. His sympathy was all I needed to lose the control I had so tightly maintained in the last weeks. Finally, I raised my eyes to his. “You once offered your assistance in whatever way you could, and I have come to call you on your offer. I need to leave here—wi
th Rebecca. And I cannot let John know that I am leaving.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I have known you since you were a little girl, Catherine, and I know you are not prone to flights of fancy. But what you are asking of me is very serious, and I need to be sure that this is not a rash decision on your part. Because once you leave, it would be very difficult for you to return.”

  I nodded. “I thank you for your concern, but this is a decision that has tormented me for quite some time. I have made up my mind and there is no turning back.”

  “I see. Does this have anything to do with Elizabeth?”

  I looked at him sharply. “Yes, in a way. I . . . I think John may have been responsible for her death. And now Philip Herndon has been found dead.” I paused for a moment, weighing my words. “I think we both know that John would have had the best motive for wanting Philip killed.”

  My hand was shaking and he put his gnarled hand over mine, and I relished the warmth. The tea arrived and he poured for me, though I still could not trust my hands to hold a teacup.

  “How did Philip die?”

  “I found him in the pond behind our house. I overheard Dr. Lewiston telling John that Philip had a severe gash on the back of his head. And his . . . his tongue had been cut out.” I shivered despite the roaring fire in the fireplace.

  He took a sip. “Do you have proof of John’s involvement in either death?”

  “Two nights before, when John returned to Whispering Oaks, I thought I saw lights out by the pond. And then John appeared inside, and he was wet, as if he had been outside in the rain.”

  The judge spoke gently. “But if he had just returned from his trip, he would have been traveling in the elements. It would not be inconceivable that he would be wet from the rain.”

  I nodded. “But he also lied to me. He told me that when he found Elizabeth’s body, his glove and an evil gris-gris were next to her. He removed them, telling me that Elizabeth had placed them there to implicate him. He never mentioned her traveling bag, but Rebecca saw him bringing it into the house after she disappeared, and I remember seeing her personal items reappear on her dressing table after her death.”

  I told the judge about John’s pipe in the attic and the buried letterbox with the missing letters and the scent of earth on John’s jacket. The old man nodded silently while I talked, his fingers steepled under his chin.

  I pressed my cold hands against the cup, trying to draw the warmth. “I know that most of my suspicions can be construed as purely coincidental, which is why I cannot go to the authorities. I only have suspicions and doubts—and Rebecca’s recollection. It would appear that Elizabeth was intent on leaving John when she was killed.” I looked the judge squarely in the eye. “I do not know a great many people who are contemplating suicide who pack a traveling bag.”

  He nodded. “And the words of a four-year-old would never be accepted in a court of law.”

  “Nor would I subject Rebecca to the torment. I need to take her far away from here, away from him.” I choked back a sob.

  “You love him.”

  I stood, nearly knocking over the tea table. “I cannot help myself. There is so much goodness in him, but to know that he is also capable of such violence . . .” I took a deep breath before facing the judge again. “Which is why I need to take Rebecca away. It will kill him to lose her, but I have to think of what is best for her.”

  Judge Patterson stood next to me, and I put a hand on his arm. “And I also wanted to tell another person of my suspicions. My sister is dead, and no matter how she might have provoked him, justice should be served. I will tell you everything I know so that in future, perhaps you might stand in a court of law and see John McMahon pay for his crimes.”

  My voice had descended into a whisper, my agony ripping the strength from me. He helped me sit again and handed me back my cup. After I had calmed down, I reached for my reticule. Slowly and deliberately, I pulled out the pearl necklace that John had given me as a wedding gift.

  “I want you to sell this for me. I will need cash for my journey, and this should give me a bit left over, too. I will be going to my mother-in-law’s home in Brunswick, Georgia, not far from Saint Simons. I eventually will want to return to my home, but John will look for us there first. Robert’s mother has not spoken to me since his funeral, but I have nowhere else to go. Bringing her funds and an extra pair of hands to help should be welcome. Since Robert’s death, she has been all alone.”

  I swallowed at the thick cloud of despair that threatened to settle over me. My mother-in-law had become a shriveled, unhappy woman over the course of the war in which she had lost not only her husband, but also her three sons. I was sure she blamed me for Robert’s suicide, and the loss of the one child who had had the skill and luck to survive the war but not the strength of spirit to survive the anguish of coming home.

  He clasped my hands in his. “When will you need the money?”

  “I plan to leave at Christmas—in less than three weeks’ time. Dr. Lewiston said Rebecca would be well enough to travel by then.”

  The judge looked at me in surprise. “Does he know, then?”

  “No. He is John’s friend and I will not jeopardize that.” I thought back on the day when the terrible knowledge came to me concerning Rebecca’s father.

  “Will you need to stay at Gracehaven until you leave?”

  I shook my head. “That would only alert John’s suspicions. Besides, he will be gone for two of those weeks on business in New Orleans. For the remaining week I will be very watchful. And I do not intend to be alone for a single moment.”

  “Surely the child you carry will keep you safe.”

  I looked down at the ground, my face heating. “John does not think it is his.”

  The judge had the good grace not to appear shocked. “He has never truly recovered from Elizabeth’s infidelities. Perhaps it has driven him mad.” He patted my hand. “I will call frequently to check in on you. How is that?”

  Impulsively, I kissed his cheek. “I would welcome that under any circumstances. Thank you.”

  “I do not want you to worry about anything. I will see that everything is arranged for you.”

  I found Rebecca in the kitchen, eating a helping of corn bread heaped with butter, and my heart softened at the sight. She was too thin from her illness, and to see her with an appetite again filled me with joy.

  The judge tucked a blanket around us in the buggy, warding off the chill December air, and stood waving goodbye until we rounded a bend and he disappeared from sight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The first week after my visit to Judge Patterson left my nerves on edge and my mind fractured like a war-worn battlefield. John had been aloof yet watchful. He asked me to accompany him to New Orleans, suggesting that while he was conducting business I could use the opportunity to select fabrics and furnishings for the nursery we would soon be needing.

  I had looked away, afraid that my lack of preparations in this area had alerted John to my plans. I had declined, stating my unwillingness to leave Rebecca before her complete recovery. John seemed to accept my answer, but at times I would find him watching me closely, his eyes narrowed and his expression blank, making me feel like a corpse under the measuring gaze of the undertaker.

  I continued the pretense of calm serenity, outwardly going about my duties as mistress of Whispering Oaks, while in my head I marked the days until my departure. I had not yet told Rebecca. Not only was I afraid that she would be unable to keep the confidence, but I was also afraid that she would not leave her father.

  I grieved for her, knowing the depth of her loss and knowing that I could never tell her the real reason of why we had to go. I would bear the weight for her and free her innocent soul from the torment of knowing the truth.

  Rebecca bristled with excitement over the coming holidays, and
I pretended to join in her enthusiasm. The traditional bonfires were to be lit on Christmas Eve, and I would use the noise and confusion of the festivities to disappear under cover of darkness.

  Two days before Christmas, while John was still in New Orleans, Daniel called at the house to check on Rebecca. I had just put her down for a nap, so I brought him up the stairs to her room.

  By the time we arrived, she had already settled into a heavy slumber. I watched Daniel carefully as he studied the child. He stood by the side of her bed for a long moment, watching her sleep. Reaching out a hand, he tenderly pushed her gold hair from her face.

  “She is so much like her mother,” he said.

  I stepped closer to the foot of the bed. “But not anything like her father.” I watched his face carefully.

  To my surprise, he showed no reaction to my words. Instead he turned to me. “I used to think that Elizabeth was the most intoxicating woman ever born.” He stared at me intently. “Until I met you. But your beauty is deeper than your arresting face. Something Elizabeth could never claim.”

  Embarrassed, I felt heat color my cheeks. “Really, Daniel. I do not think you should be speaking to me in this way.”

  He set down his black bag and approached me. “But surely you have guessed my feelings for you.”

  I looked away from the intensity of his gaze. “We are friends, Daniel. Nothing more. Nor are we free to pursue a deeper relationship, even if that were something I desired.”

  He reached for my hand but I pulled away. “Catherine, my feelings for you have grown far beyond friendship. I know it is wrong, but I cannot seem to help myself. I want to be with you. Always. And I know you are not happy with John. I have sensed a restlessness in you this last month. He made Elizabeth’s life miserable and now I see he has done the same to you.”

  I stepped back. “Daniel, I want you to stop this now. Please do not destroy the high regard I have for you. I am not my sister, easily seduced.”