In the Shadow of the Moon

by Karen White

  The thick smell of dust, presumably from the sacks of grain propped against the counter, permeated the room, making me sneeze. Tall, empty glass jars lined the top of the counter. I imagined them filled with assortments of fudge and gumdrops. A little girl walked over to one filled with honeyed popcorn balls and touched it gently, but, with a firm shake of her mother’s head, she retreated to the back of the store. I knew how dear sugar had become at this point in the war, and the prices for the candy were exorbitant.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am.” The tall, lanky shopkeeper wore a loose apron over his shirt and pants and had long wisps of sparse hair creeping across his scalp like spider legs. “Mr. Northcutt, proprietor, at your service. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Laura Truitt. I’m staying at Phoenix Hall.” I handed him Julia’s list. “Julia Elliott sent me to pick up a few things.” I lifted the egg basket. “I’ve brought eggs.”

  He settled bifocals and regarded the list. “I will get these things together for you, if you care to wait.”

  A woman I remembered vaguely from church leaned across the counter next to me. “Is that coffee on the shelf behind you, Mr. Northcutt?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have five pounds of it. Brought to me yesterday by Samuel Baker, who is on leave on account of an injury to his arm. Says he got it off a dead Yankee.”

  “How much are you asking?”

  “It is worth about thirty dollars for a pound. Or half a hog.”

  The woman slowly shook her head. “You tempt me, Mr. Northcutt. But I just cannot afford it.” She sighed and gave me a brief nod, then left the store.

  While Mr. Northcutt gathered the items for Julia, I strolled around the store, my feet kicking up the sawdust scattered on the floor, and examined the mostly empty shelves. I was surprised to see a few cans of corn and other vegetables, and thought that this was mostly a modern technology. I wondered if their source was the same as the coffee beans.

  Empty hooks hung from the rafters with a few batches of tobacco leaves hung upside down on them. The fading stench of raw meat told me what had been hung previously.

  My toe struck something hard and I turned to see a wooden barrel on the floor. Lifting the lid, I was met with the biting smell of pickles that wafted up, and I could see the dark green pickles floating within. Every available shelf space and much of the floor was littered with all sorts of baskets, most empty but some full, and sacks and barrels filled with a few things I recognized, like eggs and molasses, and many items I didn’t. The tempting aroma of baked goods led me to the front of the store again, where an assortment of fresh-baked pies sat suggestively on a low shelf. The Elliott house had not had sweets for some time because of the scarcity of sugar, and my mouth watered as I looked at the flaky edges of the piecrusts.

  My heels tapped across the oak floor planks, echoing in the small room. A shadow blocked the light from the doorway, and I turned to see who had entered.

  The woman was dressed in head-to-toe black mourning. The severity of her costume was not even alleviated by a single jet brooch or other piece of jewelry. A little girl of about seven or eight, also dressed in black, followed her, her eyes never leaving the floor.

  Stepping into the shop, the woman raised the black veil that had covered her face. Piercing gray eyes alighted on me momentarily before moving on toward Mr. Northcutt. The woman seemed to be in her early forties, but the signs of strain under her eyes and stretching across her forehead added years to her face. I remembered seeing her at church but had not been introduced. Her only son had been killed at Gettysburg, and for this reason she had snubbed Julia. Despite the hours Julia spent rolling bandages and knitting socks for the Confederates, and all the food stores she had given to the Southern armies, her marriage to a Yankee branded her.

  My attention was drawn to the little girl, who was now standing facing a wall full of shelves. A doll with a porcelain face and exquisite clothes was propped up on the lowest shelf, and the girl was staring at it.

  My heart jumped at the sight of the strawberry blond hair. It had been pulled back in a single braid running down her back. It was the shade of Annie’s hair, although I had always assumed it would darken, as most children’s did, as she grew older.

  One small hand reached up to stroke the lace skirt of the doll, and I noticed the smattering of freckles on her hand and wrist. My heart thumped wildly and my mouth went dry as I slowly walked over to stand next to the girl.

  She looked at me with wide eyes, withdrawing her hand guiltily. Her large brown eyes answered my question: She was not my Annie. My heart sank in disappointment, but I smiled at her and returned to the front counter to settle the account with Mr. Northcutt.

  As he handed me the items, I asked, “Would you by any chance know where I might find Matthew Kimball?”

  The shopkeeper looked at me with tight lips, and the bereaved mother sent me a withering glance. “No. I am afraid not, Mrs. Truitt,” he said, his clipped words effectively informing me that even if he had, he wouldn’t have shared the information with me.

  Embarrassed, I thanked him and stepped outside. I was immediately confronted by a blast of wind sending an icy chill up my skirts. I loaded the baskets into the buggy and was contemplating driving around the town in the hopes I might catch sight of Matt Kimball when I spotted the man crossing the town square.

  Recognizing that yelling to him wouldn’t be appropriate, I followed him with my gaze until he disappeared inside a two-story brick building on the east side of the square.

  Making sure the reins were tethered properly, I turned and walked toward the building.

  I stopped in front, under the painted sign that read AUNT CLAIRE’S ROOMING HOUSE. I knew this was a bad idea, that if Stuart, or even Julia, found out that I had followed Matt Kimball into a rooming house my credibility would be gone. But I’d been searching for Annie for so long, and my desperation erased any second thoughts. I knocked, and when nobody answered, I turned the knob.

  It swung open into a deserted hallway. Tall, narrow stairs led upward against the wall on the right, and a short corridor stretched out in front of me on the left. A baby cried somewhere above me but was quickly drowned out by a man and woman shouting. Two closed doors, old brown stain faded to gray, could be approached by the hallway. There were no mailboxes, signs, or anything else to tell me who lived in the house. With shaking hands, I knocked on the first door.

  I stood in the still hallway, listening to the hushed sound of other people’s lives around me and trying to hear any movement behind the door. I knocked again for good measure before moving on to the next door.

  Before my fist struck the wood panel, the door flew open. A hatless Matt Kimball stood in the doorway, a darkened room behind him.

  I forced a smile. “Hello, Mr. Kimball. I’m Laura Truitt. We met at church.”

  “Of course. Not a person I am likely to forget.” He separated his lips, showing the bottom edges of his teeth, in an apparent smile. “What brings you to my door?”

  I decided to be blunt, not really wanting to prolong any conversation with him. “I understand you have information regarding my daughter.”

  He nodded. “Ah yes. I am surprised it took you this long.” He remained in the doorway, making no move to invite me in.

  “I wasn’t able to come any sooner.” I deliberately shifted my gaze over his shoulder. “May I enter so we can talk?”

  He raised his eyebrows, and I knew I had crossed the boundary of propriety. But I didn’t want to think about that. I needed the information about Annie and would get it any way I could.

  With a mocking grin, he moved back. “Why, of course.”

  The stench of sweat and unwashed sheets hit me and I immediately regretted my decision. Resisting the impulse to cover my nose with my hand, I glanced around for a place to sit and was horrified to find the onl
y furnishings consisted of a bed and a chest of drawers. A scrawny black cat sat upon the grimy pillow and acknowledged my presence with a bored yawn. The back of my nose tickled, calling to mind my cat allergy.

  I stayed with my back against the closed door and tried to appear calm. He didn’t step back, but remained directly in front of me, so close I could see specks of food on his collar.

  “Mr. Kimball.” I swallowed hard, trying not to sneeze or choke on the filthy air. “I heard you had news of my daughter.”

  He looked confused for a moment and then a grin slipped over his face. “Oh yes. Now I remember. Your daughter.” He leaned toward me with an outstretched arm, bracing his hand on the door behind me.

  I didn’t flinch but surreptitiously felt behind me for the doorknob. I looked up at him expectantly. “My daughter disappeared on Moon Mountain when she was two and I haven’t seen her since. I heard you might know something about that.”

  He leaned nearer to me, his stale breath washing over me. “And just what did you have in mind as payment?” His gaze shifted to my chest and insolently traveled back to my face.

  I had had my doubts about Mr. Kimball, but I had never once anticipated this turn of events. “Payment? You want payment for telling me about my own daughter? Believe me, Mr. Kimball, I have no intention of paying you for anything in the manner you are insinuating.” I pressed my back against the door, my hand clutching the cold brass knob.

  “Why else would a woman come alone to a man’s room?”

  My fists clenched in rage, and I struck out without thinking. I managed to clobber him on both sides of the head, making him reel backward. I was sure it was more from the shock of a woman hitting him than from any pain I might have caused. Regardless, it gave me the opportunity to twist the knob and run out into the foyer. He had made it to his doorway by the time I reached the outer door. I yanked it open and ran outside and down the short flight of steps to the pavement. I looked back at the rooming house in time to see the front door slam shut.

  My breath came in deep gulps of air, and I noticed to my dismay that a thick strand of hair had fallen from my upsweep and dangled in front of my face. I raised my hands to fix it, and at that moment noticed Miss Eliza Smith on the sidewalk, stock-still and staring directly at me.

  Her pinched face had the eerie resemblance to an apple that had been on the ground too long. I would have laughed if I weren’t so shaken, and if I hadn’t realized that whatever she thought she had seen would be quickly transported back to Stuart.

  “Eliza, it’s not what you think. . . .”

  But before the words were out of my mouth, she had turned without acknowledging me and walked quickly away, her wide skirts billowing around her like a circus tent.

  A gust of wind struck me as swirls of leaves danced around on the sidewalk. I glanced at the front window of the rooming house and saw the black cat watching me, its feline eyes blinking slowly. I stared back, despair mixed with determination. I wasn’t through with Matt Kimball. If he did indeed know something about Annie, I would find out. I had to.

  I drove back to Phoenix Hall as quickly as I could. I needed to do a great deal of damage control before Eliza had a chance to wag her tongue. Thankfully, Stuart was away. At least I had time to get Julia firmly on my side before he returned. I pushed those thoughts aside, and as I sped through town, my mind drifted to thoughts of a little girl with strawberry blond hair and freckles across her nose, and of the daughter that seemed so near but so far away.

  The house was deathly silent as I entered. I called for Julia but received no answer. I was about to head out back toward the kitchen when the sound of singing came from the dining room. I dropped the baskets on the floor in the hall and went in search of the voice.

  Sukie was in the dining room, standing on one of the chairs while attempting to swipe the dust off the crystal chandelier with a feather duster.

  “Do you know where I might find Julia?”

  She nodded and pointed with the feather duster. “She be out back in the kitchen, messin’ with her herbs.”

  I thanked her, but before I walked away, I thought of something else. I turned around to make sure we were alone in the room and then walked toward her, keeping my voice low.

  “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

  She peered over a chandelier stem at me. “Yes?”

  “I need to know how I’m supposed to manage these hoops without embarrassing myself. I swear I just about show everything under my skirt every time I attempt to sit down.”

  She raised her eyebrows but nodded as she stepped down and pulled out another chair.

  “Stand right here.”

  I moved myself into position.

  “Now back yourself up slowly. Now sneak your hand on top o’ the metal hoop at the top of your leg. That right, you doin’ real good, Miz Laura. Now pull it up gentle-like and sit. There?”

  I was amazed that I had managed to sit in the chair without mishap. I smiled my thanks and stood. As she leaned over to pick up my chair and replace it under the table, the chain around her neck with the red flannel bag I had noticed before slipped out of her dress.

  Sukie must have realized what I was looking at, because her fingers immediately flew to the bag. She covered it with her hand as if to protect it.

  “What is that?” I stepped toward her.

  She took a step backward as I approached. “Ain’t nothin’, Miz Laura.”

  I stopped, confused at her reaction. The sound of footsteps from behind caused me to turn around. Pamela lurked in the doorway, her arms folded in front of her.

  “It is a charm necklace, Laura. Sukie has powers, apparently. That little pouch carries all sorts of things, like frog bones, snakeskin, ashes. Right, Sukie?”

  Sukie stared down at the floor while she hastily stuck the bag back into her dress.

  Pamela continued. “Such foolishness, what these people bring with them from Africa. I really do not understand how Julia can allow it. I have tried to talk to her, but she has a mind of her own.”

  Sukie excused herself and left the room without looking up.

  Pamela’s dark eyes coolly appraised me. “I would be careful around her. That is a powerful charm around her neck.”

  I couldn’t tell whether she was being serious. “I’ll be sure to be very careful, then.” I hoped my words would placate her, as I had no desire to get into an argument with her regarding superstitions. I had it on good authority that magic was very real. I made a move to leave.

  “Yes. You be careful, Laura. Be very careful. Your hold on the Elliotts is tenuous at best. I would behave myself if I were you.”

  I stopped and stared at her, waiting for her to say something else. Instead she swept past me in a rustle of silk and climbed up the stairs.

  An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach as I wondered if Pamela had somehow already heard about my visit to Matt Kimball. Slowly, I walked out to the kitchen house in search of Julia.

  Julia had removed her hoops and donned a work dress and was busily crunching something with her mortar and pestle. Without looking up, she greeted me by name.

  “Hello, Julia.” Eager to get this conversation over with, I blurted, “I’m afraid I’ve done something that might be deemed . . . inappropriate.”

  She bent to rub her chin on the shoulder of her dress, and continued her work with the mortar.

  I continued. “I met with Matt Kimball in his room at this boardinghouse.”

  She stopped, the mortar paused in midair. “You did what with Matt Kimball?”

  I shook my head quickly. “It’s not what you think. I overheard Stuart telling your mother that Matt Kimball had information on my daughter. But when Stuart never approached me with it, I figured I had to do something on my own. I used the opportunity today to seek him out.”

  Her hand shoo
k slightly, her face now the color of the pestle. “Did he tell you anything?”

  “No. He wanted . . . payment.”

  She laid the mortar down and gripped the table with both hands. “I see. Did anyone see you enter or leave?”

  I bit my lip, feeling like a scolded child. “I’m afraid so. Eliza Smith saw me as I was leaving. I’m sure I appeared disheveled—”

  Julia interrupted, her expression worried. “Did he . . . hurt you?”

  “Not that he didn’t try, but no. I guess it was foolish of me to go into his room.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “And Eliza of all people.” She looked at me again. “I understand how desperate you are for information about your daughter, but you must be more careful with your reputation in future. Do not worry. I will speak to Eliza and try to undo any damage that she might have already caused.” She pursed her lips together. “My main concern at the moment is how we should tell Stuart. You know he will be furious.”

  “Furious enough to arrest me? He’ll believe I went to see Matt for other reasons.”

  Julia’s voice was quiet. “I do not know if he would do that. The man has feelings for you, Laura. You would have to be blind not to notice.” She returned to the mortar, rhythmically crushing its contents in an even, circular motion, and slipped a quick glance in my direction. “But I have known him to put duty and obligation over his heart before. I will see what I can do.”

  I tried to ignore the flush of heat creeping up my cheeks. “Do we need to tell him at all?”

  She nodded without looking at me. “Yes. Most likely he will know before he returns. Gossip travels swiftly, I am afraid.”

  I stepped closer to her, the sharp smell of the crushed herb stinging my nose. “I’m telling you the truth about why I went to see Matt. I wasn’t passing on information or anything. I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

  Her left hand reached out and settled softly on mine. “I know, Laura. I believe you.”