In the Shadow of the Moon

by Karen White

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 S
arah’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 bundle 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.

  I sat down at the piano, my fingers poised over the keys but unable to play. I brought my fists down on the keyboard, my raw nerves impervious to the sound. Robbie was dying, and my daughter was as gone from me now as if she, too, were being taken away from me for the second time.

  “Julia has asked me to solicit your help in filling the children’s stockings.”

  Jerking around on the piano bench, I found Stuart, a grim smile on his lips. I had forgotten it was Christmas Eve. I remembered Julia telling Sarah and Willie that although Santa would try his best to run the blockade, he might not be able to bring them very much this year. I pushed my somber thoughts aside and stood to join Stuart. I would not ask him about Sarah, not now. I needed a respite from my thoughts, and preparing Christmas for the children was all I wanted to think about.

  He hammered three nails into the mantel, and then we got down to the business of playing Santa.

  Zeke had carved a wooden doll with jointed limbs for Sarah. Julia and I had made two little dresses for it, and I was quite proud of my handiwork. Stuart had made a stick horse for Willie with a rare piece of tanned leather for a bridle. Robbie’s stocking held only a stick of plaited molasses, and I tried to think of him enjoying it once he got better. I stepped back and smiled at our efforts, knowing how delighted the children would be. But my smile could not warm my heart.

  We both turned as we heard a noise from the doorway. Julia stood in the threshold, holding Robbie and looking at me with hollow eyes.

  “Is he better?” My breath stuck in my throat.

  Slowly, she shook her head. “No.” Her gaze circled the room, then focused on me again.

  The string of popcorn I had been holding fell to the ground, scattering the white puffs to roll soundlessly on the floor. I walked over to Julia and looked down at Robbie. I imagined I heard the beating of wings and a soft brush of feathers on my cheek, and I knew he was gone.

  I stroked his still-warm cheek and bent to kiss his forehead. “He looks like he’s sleeping,” I whispered, my voice sounding loud in the hushed room.

  “He is, Laura.” Julia’s voice was deceptively strong, until it broke on the last word. “Would you like to say goodbye?”

  I nodded, touched that she would release him to me. She kissed the smooth forehead and then handed the bundle to me. I took it, holding it gingerly at first, and then clutched it tightly to my chest.

  I turned and walked out of the house to the front porch, not expecting Julia to follow. I had given him life as much as she had, an understanding between mothers.

  I sat in the rocker and rocked, staring up at the unforgiving moon. The inert form in my arms felt lighter than the child I had known, as if his little life force had held all his weight and with it gone, only bones and flesh remained. The chair slid back and bumped into the house. I stood hastily, covering Robbie’s head with the blanket, and then let it slide off again, realizing the foolishness of keeping the cold air off the small head. The door opened and shut behind me.

  Stuart stood beside me and touched my arm. I flinched and moved away.

  “Don’t. Please don’t touch me.”

  He stayed close but didn’t make another move to touch me. “Julia told me about Sarah and how she came to live with us. I promise you, Laura, I did not know—not before tonight.” He laid a hand on the baby’s head, caressing the delicate skin. “It seems we are both capable of believing the worst about each other.”

  I walked away toward the railing, my footsteps hollow on the wooden floorboards. “I was thinking that maybe it would have been better if I had let Robbie die when he was born. Then you and Julia and the rest would have been saddened, but not as much as now. Now, after we’ve known him for so long. Now that there’s something to miss.”

  Naked branches swayed in the December wind, and I summoned their shadows for a place to hide my heavy heart.

  “But then I thought if it would have been better to have never known Annie than to stand her loss, and I realized that I would never give up one precious minute of knowing her. No matter what happens, we will always have our memories of Robbie and Annie, and no one can ever take those away from us.”

  He came to stand behind me, and I felt his lips on the back of my head. “Promise me one thing, Stuart. Promise me that if I go away and Sarah is still here, that you will make sure she is taken to Valdosta. Then I’ll know she’ll be safe.”

  His hands gripped my shoulders, then relaxed. “I will keep her safe, Laura. I promise you.”

  Turning, I buried my face in his chest, cradling the baby between us and feeling the rough wool of his coat against my cheek. His hand stroked my hair, soothing me as if I were a child. Eventually, he took the baby from me and I laid a hand on his cheek. “Thank you.” I again looked at the serene wh
ite face, luminous in the light from the window, his pale lashes closed in restful sleep. I shivered, remembering Michael’s face in his coffin the moment before the lid was closed.

  “Did the real Sarah die?”

  Stuart nodded. “Yes. Sarah had never been strong—she was born too soon and never seemed to gain any strength. Julia took her to the mountains, to a healing spring there, but she died. Shortly afterward, before Julia sent word of Sarah’s death, Pamela discovered a child about the same age as Sarah on Moon Mountain, and she bore a striking resemblance to Julia’s daughter. Pamela brought the child to Julia, and Julia took her in. She knew if she told the townspeople she had found an abandoned child, people might not be kind to her—perhaps speculate that she was illegitimate or unwanted.” He sighed softly in the cold air, his breath gently rising in the night. “So she buried Sarah quietly and raised your Annie as her own.”

  He held me for a while, his body warming mine. Letting me go, he said, “It’s time to go inside.” Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped my face, then led me back into the house.

  I lay awake for most of the night, listening to Willie cough and straining to hear a baby’s crying. But the house remained still and hushed, while the insistent ticking of the hall clock continued to mark the time minute by minute and hour by hour.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The present is the ever moving shadow that divides yesterday from tomorrow. In that lies hope.

  —FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT

  The black-clad figures huddled under umbrellas, the hems of skirts and cloaks liberally splashed with red clay mud. With the war now in its third year, there was no lack of black mourning clothes in Roswell.

  Despite the heavy downpour, most of the townspeople gathered around the small pine coffin at Founders’ Cemetery. Willie, not yet fully recovered, was the only member of the household not present. I stood back from the immediate family, uncomfortable with my place and not quite sure where I should stand. Even the dog Charlie was there, unusually subdued, and sticking close by Sarah. Zeke stood separated from the crowd and as far away from Pamela as he could get. Pamela stayed with Julia, her back rigid, her eyes dry.