In the Shadow of the Moon

by Karen White

  Spots began dancing before my eyes again and I drew in a deep breath. I leaned heavily on the desk as I stared into his eyes and said, “Because you owe me your life.”

  He paused, blowing a puff of smoke into the still air. He nodded once. “Yes. That I do.”

  I closed my eyes and put my head on my arms. The general called for Captain Audenreid, and I felt myself being gently lifted from the chair. I held to the chair for a moment. “General?”

  He sighed. “I will have my men prepare space for you on a medical wagon.”

  I nodded my thanks, then allowed myself to be led away. As we crossed the foyer, the front doors were thrown open and two blue-clad soldiers struggled in, each of them clasping the arm of a man wearing a tattered gray uniform. The man’s head was slung forward, as if he were barely holding on to consciousness, blood and bruises covering the part of his face I could see. He had been beaten, and badly.

  “What is this?” William’s voice came from the top of the stairs as he descended.

  One of the soldiers saluted, almost losing his grasp on the prisoner, and addressed William. “Begging your pardon, Captain. The man claims to be your brother.”

  I looked back at the soldier, not completely comprehending until my gaze fell on the prisoner’s hands. Bruised and torn, and tied together at the wrist with a hemp rope, I recognized the strong, long fingers. The filthy and blood-encrusted bandage across his shoulder. Blood rushed to my head. I pulled away from Captain Audenreid’s grasp and ran. “Stuart? It’s me—it’s Laura.”

  Slowly he lifted his head like a marionette being pulled by a string. Dried blood and grime caked his face, and one eye was swollen shut. But the eye that did shine out at me was a deep blue, and I recognized him. I wanted to throw my arms around him, but knew of no place where I could touch him where it wouldn’t hurt.

  Instead, I turned to William. “He’s badly hurt and he’s got a bullet wound under his shoulder. Can we move him to a room upstairs and send for a doctor?”

  Ignoring me, William strode over to Stuart. “So, little brother. We meet again. What brings you here?”

  The dry, gravelly voice was almost that of a stranger. “I have . . . brought . . . Sarah.”

  The strangled sound came from my own throat. As if my wish demanded it, the door opened again and another soldier entered, pushing my daughter ahead of him. She seemed taller than I remembered and much thinner, but the light in her green eyes was the same.

  I fell to my knees, my strength finally deserting me, and opened my arms to her.

  “Papa!” she shrieked, as she rushed by me and flew into William’s arms.

  She nearly toppled him over in her exuberance, and he quickly put her aside, his face a mask of anger and confusion.

  “What in the hell are you doing bringing a child here, Stuart?”

  One of Stuart’s captors stepped forward. “We found them walking down the road from Dalton, just as plain and easy as you please, as if there ain’t no damned war goin’ on.” He coughed before continuing. “We, uh, didn’t give him a chance to talk first—sorry, sir. But later he said he needed to reach you, that he was your brother and this was your daughter.”

  Stuart’s eyes fell on me. “Am I . . . in time?”

  I nodded, seeing him through a blur of tears. He had somehow found Sarah, then risked his life to bring her here to prevent me from fulfilling my bargain with Pamela. My joy at seeing Sarah was clouded by my fear over Stuart’s predicament. He was in the enemy’s camp.

  Softly, I told him, “Pamela’s dead.”

  He nodded in understanding.

  “Miss Laura?” Sarah stood by herself, and I reached for her and she came to me. My fingers searched out her bony shoulders and thick head of hair, and I cried with relief at the solid presence of her in my lap. “I missed you, baby—I’ve missed you so.” I lifted her head and wiped the hair away from her eyes, studying her face. “Are you all right? Did anybody hurt you?”

  She shook her head, her hair whipping around her face. “No.” Her eyes blinked; then she leaned forward to rub her face in my neck. “Is my mama here? I miss her.”

  Her words were like a blow. I patted her back, ignoring the hollow feeling in my chest. “No, sweetheart. But I’ll take you home. Your mama will be so happy to see you.”

  William stepped forward and looked down at me. “Am I to understand that my brother knew about the plot to assassinate General Sherman?”

  General Sherman stepped out of the library. “What in the hell is all this commotion?”

  William addressed his commander. “I believe we have in custody another member of the group who planned your assassination.”

  I made to stand, but my foot caught on the bottom of my skirt and I ended up on the floor at his feet. “No, William. He’s your brother—don’t do this.” I hugged Sarah close, not wanting her to witness the scene.

  William shot me a cold look. “Are you denying that he knew about it?”

  “No, but . . .”

  He cut me off and spoke directly to the two guards. “This man is a prisoner. Take him someplace where he can be held under lock and key.”

  “No!” I screamed. “He needs immediate medical attention.” I turned to the general, on my last leg of strength. “Please— Please don’t let them send him away.”

  His face was closed to me. “I am sorry, Mrs. Elliott. But until we can ascertain the truth, we need to hold him as a prisoner.”

  Dots spotted my eyes again, and I heard myself shouting for Stuart. Warm air rushed at me as the door opened. I didn’t hear Stuart struggling, but I knew he was gone when the door slammed shut. Sarah squeezed my hand and I held on to it as I stared at the closed door for a long, long time.

  Woodenly, I headed up the stairs to my room and lay down on the bed with Sarah, willing sleep to come if only so I could forget what I’d just seen.

  When I awakened, I was in my bed and Captain Audenreid sat next to me, a look of concern creasing his face. I sat up, wincing at the pain in my bandaged arm. “Where’s Sarah?”

  “Mary is with her. She is giving her a bath and a fresh change of clothes—not to mention a hot meal.”

  I lay back, my mind not completely at ease. “But what about my husband? He’s wounded—he needs medical care.” I turned to him. “Please. I beg of you. Can you see to it that he at least gets medical attention?”

  He rubbed his jaw, as if needing the movement to make a decision. “I most likely can, Mrs. Elliott. But that is all. He is a rebel officer, and he will have to face charges.”

  “But he’s innocent.” I tried to sit up in bed, but the captain held me back.

  “Then he can defend himself on those grounds. In the meantime, I will see what I can do to get him a doctor.”

  I nodded, then lay back in the bed, staring at the ceiling again and praying for a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  We left before dawn on the morning of Thursday, May 5, 1864, after saying goodbye to Mary Audenreid and the other officers’ wives. The throbbing pain in my arm masked any trepidation I should have felt at being one of only a few women on this march. William ignored us as he rode out in front of the column of men, leaving Captain Audenreid to help get Sarah and me settled. We had originally been placed in the back of a covered medical wagon, but the jostling over the rough terrain was causing more injury to my person, so I begged to sit up front with the driver.

  I didn’t know where Stuart had been taken, and nobody would answer my questions. I tried not to think of him in a dark cell somewhere, starving to death. At least I knew his wounds had been tended, thanks to Captain Audenreid. As I hugged Sarah close to me, I made plans to petition General Sherman for his release. I was out of bargaining chips, but I had to try.

  The long column of men stretched out on either side of me in an uninterrupted wave of blue. The dus
t rising from the ground in their wake wafted over to me, and I could feel the grit settle in my hair and clothes. I longed for a bath.

  The soldiers’ methodical marching was interspersed occasionally by singing. I recognized some of the songs, and Sarah and I would join in for lack of anything better to do and to take my mind off of Stuart. I vacillated between utter joy at having her with me, close enough to touch and hear her laughter, and the pain in my heart over Stuart. I tried to be angry at him for not returning to Phoenix Hall. But then that would have meant I wouldn’t have Sarah.

  Captain Audenreid pulled up on his horse to ride next to the wagon.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Elliott,” he said, tipping his hat. “And you, too, Miss Elliott.” Sarah giggled, then hid her mouth with her hand as she stared up at the handsome officer. Strands of reddish blond hair peaked out from under his hat. A single dimple punctuated his smile and his light gray eyes appraised me openly. The scar on his face did nothing to lessen his handsomeness. It might have even added to his appeal.

  Smiling, I nodded in his direction.

  “I hope you are not finding this trip too unpleasant.”

  “Not too much. It’s bringing me home.” I had long since lost any feeling in my lower extremities, and I squirmed on the hard wagon seat to bring the blood flow back.

  Noticing my discomfort, the officer said, “You might be more comfortable in a saddle. I would be more than happy to find you a horse.”

  The captain smiled affably at me, sitting easily astride his mount. I had come to the conclusion that one must be born to the saddle to truly be comfortable. Judging from my sudden jitteriness at the mere mention that I should ride a horse, there was no hope for me.

  Sarah squealed with delight. “I want to ride a horse. Can I? Can I?”

  I turned to her with worry. “No, Sarah. You might get hurt. . . .”

  She was already pushing herself to my side of the wagon. “Please, Aunt Laura? Please?” It took me a moment to realize that she’d called me Aunt Laura.

  The captain reassured me. “I will be careful with her.”

  I nodded and he reached down to lift Sarah onto his saddle. He smiled at me. “You are like a mother to her.”

  Sarah interjected. “She is my aunt Laura. We are going to see my real mama in Georgia.”

  I looked down at my lap. “Yes. We will be home soon.” I had explained to Sarah that Julia and her brother were in Valdosta, but that I would write to them as soon as I could to let them know we were on our way home.

  We continued riding in a companionable silence, moving relatively quickly over the bumpy terrain. I wanted to get down and walk, to get the blood flowing again in my posterior, but was unsure I could keep up with the grueling pace.

  I began humming to myself to keep my mind off of the painful thoughts racing around my head. I started to enjoy the scenery, admiring a Southern springtime in full bloom. Suddenly, my humming stopped.

  I recognized the area immediately—the small farmhouse tucked inside the clearing with rows of wilted plants stretching out from the house like sunbursts. Clothes still hung on the clothesline outside, dancing a jig with the breeze.

  The officer at the head of the column raised his hand, and the lines of soldiers stopped behind him. The driver of my wagon pulled off to the side, allowing me a full view of the farm from the slight rise we were on. Only the soft whinnying of the horses and the jangling of their harness penetrated the silence. I immediately saw the woman’s rifle against the side of the house and felt the first ripple of apprehension course through me. From my brief experience with her, she would not have gone far without it.

  I strained my ears for the shouts of her little boys, but could hear only the dry clothes snapping on the line.

  “Jenkins, Duffy, Lee—you men head down and check things out. This is rebel territory, so be careful.” The officer eyed the brown and cracked leaves of the newly sprung plants and the wilted stalks in the kitchen garden. “If there are any provisions to be had, take them.”

  “Wait.” I leapt from the wagon, wincing as I jarred my arm. The officer looked at me and halted his men. “I know the woman who lives here. She has two small children and might be inside and scared. Perhaps I should go, too.”

  Captain Audenreid rode up beside me and lifted Sarah back onto the wagon seat. “Only if I accompany you.” He dismounted and gave the reins to another soldier. He came with me behind the three infantrymen, their rifles raised in readiness.

  With a word to Sarah to stay where she was, we walked through the field and over the dead plants, plowing them into the earth from which they had sprung, and halted outside the porch. A wooden train lay upended on the floorboards, waiting for little fingers to play with it. A mending basket sat expectantly next to the white rocker, a piece of brown thread trailing down the side. The door stood open in invitation.

  It was then I noticed the smell. It had been hovering around me like an unpleasant memory, but I had pushed it to the back of my mind. Only as I stood looking at the farmhouse, the breeze teasing my hair and separating the odor in the air, did it hit me in the face. I had smelled that smell before when I was a child. I had been walking through the woods behind our house with my father on a hot July afternoon. The odor had appeared suddenly, permeating my clothes, hair, and the inner lining of my nose. It burnt with sickening ferocity and I couldn’t escape it. Even after I had heaved my guts out, I couldn’t stop gagging. My father had left me, choking on empty air, to investigate and had found a female deer. Its abdomen had been slit, exposing its entrails and creating a veritable feast for all the beasts and insects of the forest. My father had picked me up and brought me home. But I had never forgotten that smell.

  I grabbed the front of my skirt and held it against my nostrils. Captain Audenreid motioned the other men back, then pulled his sidearm out of its holster. I walked up the porch steps, close behind the captain. “Hello,” I called to the dark space behind the door.

  The wind pushed at the wooden door; it sighed quietly, allowing a fresh outpouring of the stench to wash over me. I swallowed thickly as my stomach churned.

  “Hello,” I called again, walking slowly to the open door. The captain shoved it gently with his arm. It yawned wide, and we stepped in.

  It took my eyes almost a minute to adjust to the darkness. Only two windows illuminated the entire one-room house, creating a murky interior in shades of gray. My eyes squinted in the dimness until they rested on the shape of a double bed.

  Swarming flies hovered over me as I approached, the buzzing of the insects growing louder. The two small boys lay on their backs, heads touching and arms folded neatly over still chests. Empty eye sockets stared up at me, and the light reflected off something white and twitching. I leaned forward and saw the maggots swimming in and out of the dark holes. I lifted a hand in an age-old maternal desire to smooth the hair back on a troubled brow. My hand stilled when I noticed what was left of the ear on the child nearest me. A jagged tear ripped the ear in half, dried blood outlining the wound. A pillow lay at the foot of the bed, and I guessed how the children had died. Gingerly, my hand shaking, I put the pillow aside and pulled the quilt over the two bodies, the buzzing of the flies now screaming in my ears. I felt their mother close by, but I wasn’t afraid.

  I heard heavy breathing behind me and turned to put a hand on the captain’s arm. I was surprised to find it trembling.

  A loud rustling erupted from a corner of the room. The bushy tail of a fox darted out through the open door, dust rising in its wake. Shots from outside followed its progress.

  Captain Audenreid coughed and held his hand up to his face.

  I took another step backward, my foot sticking to the floor. I bent to investigate the dark pool and I saw her hand. Two slits bisected her wrist, and gnaw marks from an animal had nearly severed the hand from the arm. She lay on her side by the hearth, her
skirts settled purposefully around her, like she was posing for a portrait. Her face was mostly gone, but all I could see when I looked at it was the expression of lost hope I had seen as she stood in the middle of her empty pasture.

  “Oh, my God,” I mumbled, staggering to my feet and stumbling through the door. I walked blindly ahead, away from the soldiers. I needed to be alone. To grieve for this woman and her lost children, and for whatever part I may have played in her final, desperate act.

  Quick footsteps approached me, but I kept walking, breathing in the sweet April air in a futile attempt to eradicate the vile stench of death.

  “Mrs. Elliott, stop! We have to move on now.”

  I continued walking, almost running, calling back over my shoulder, “You go on. I want no more part of your war.”

  The captain quickened his pace and I soon felt his hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “I am sorry you had to see that. But that had nothing to do with this war—surely you could see it was a suicide.”

  I turned on him in fury, knocking his hand off my arm. “How can you say that? Didn’t you see? She was alone here on this farm with two small children. Where was her husband? Most likely obliterated by this war.” I swallowed back the tears that threatened on the surface. I thrust my arm out in the direction of the little house and spat out my words. “Those are just three more victims of this war. You men who speak of glory and victory. Tell me this: Can you look at the faces in there and tell me that anybody can truly win?”

  The tears won and spilled down my face.

  I struck out at him with my good arm, and he allowed me to pummel him in the chest. He pulled me to him and patted my back, murmuring words of comfort until my tears subsided.

  Too embarrassed to raise my head, I mumbled into his dark blue jacket, “Can we at least bury them?”

  He paused, weighing Sherman’s orders for haste with the scene inside the farmhouse.