Juliet's Moon

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Juliet's Moon Page 2

by Ann Rinaldi


  He took the tea and sandwich from me and lifted me into his arms. "Show me where to put her," he asked Martha. And then I passed out.

  WHEN I AWOKE, I was in a pleasant room with organdy curtains and a canopied bed. In spite of the fact that it was early August, a low fire burned in the grate. I was up to my chin in sheets and a light blanket, and at the foot of the bed Seth and Martha were conversing in low tones, as if they were my mother and father.

  I wished they were. I wished they were wed and I was living with them.

  Seth came over to the bed. "You're awake," he pronounced.

  Outside the sun was setting. He'd taken off all his guns when we came in, allowed himself to be petted and fussed over by the Anderson girls, but now he had the revolvers on again. From downstairs came the whiff of food. He'd been fed and rested. He was ready to leave.

  "You're going back," I said.

  "I have to, Juliet."

  Tears came to my eyes. He reached out a hand and wiped them away. "You stay here and mind Maxine. And Martha. They're both good people. Help out. Make yourself useful. I'll be coming home from time to time. You hear?"

  I took his hand in both of mine and held on to it. "Don't do anything funny," he warned.

  "Like what?"

  "You know what I expect from you. I gotta go now." He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then took Martha by the elbow and led her out into the hall. From my bed I could see him kissing her, long and not just once. He'd end the kiss and they'd say a few words and he'd start in again, and then they commenced to walk down the stairs.

  I was proud of my brother. He sure knew how to kiss. He wasn't rough with her. He was tender.

  And now he was gone. I went back to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  I SLEPT FOR two days.

  I was conscious of Martha moving about me, spooning soup into my mouth, helping me to the chamber pot, washing my face and talking to me, all the while in that storybook voice of hers, as if all of this was going to have a happy ending. I recollect her telling me that her sisters went out riding by our house and it was still smoldering. And that my horse had been wandering loose nearby, so they'd thrown a rope around him and brought him here.

  He was, at this very moment, overstuffing himself with oats in the barn.

  "Don't let anybody be mean to him," I said as I started to cry. I had the jimjams.

  I wanted to go to the barn and see him. He must be dirty, I told Martha, but she promised me that Jenny would brush him down. That afternoon Jenny came up to my room to report on Caboose, who was doing fine. And then, she very carelessly slipped this into the conversation:

  "Oh, the boys are coming home. It would be so nice if you could get up and get dressed."

  "When?"

  "Tonight. And you'll never guess. They're bringing Sue Mundy."

  Sue Mundy! "But I have no clothes! Everything I had, except for the dress I wore here, was burned."

  Jenny, at fourteen, was the closest to me in age and size. We had sometimes traded dresses, and her brother, Bill, who was Seth's age, often said how much we looked like each other. She loaned me a calico dress sprigged with pink flowers and helped me arrange my hair. I had straight hair, brown and shiny. And with a dimple in my chin and an upturned nose and big eyes, I had been told by Seth that I was pretty, at twelve. While I knew he was proud, I also knew he felt that he had to "keep tight reins on me."

  "I'm in for some fun times," I once overheard him tell Martha. "She's got the men's eyes already." But he was joking. Or was he?

  At twelve I didn't even get my woman's time of the month yet. But I had bosoms. Though small, they were respectable.

  I was a bit shaky on my feet as I helped Maxine and Martha and the girls prepare the supper and get it on the table.

  And soon they came, riding into the yard in a cloud of dust, causing dogs to bark and chickens to scatter. I saw them dismounting, taking their Sharpe's rifles from their horses, and giving those horses over, with instructions, to the stableboys. Laughing and joking they were, backslapping and cussing, as men do.

  In the middle of all of it I saw Sue Mundy, with her dark hair tumbling out of her Confederate hat. She wore a full Confederate uniform. She washed up at the outside pump with the rest of them. Martha had brought out soap and towels for all.

  The men poured water over their hair. They took off their shirts; they shaved, propping mirrors up against the front fence posts. They reached for clean shirts from their saddlebags. I could not stop staring at them through the kitchen windows.

  Martha gave me a small spank on my bottom. "You going to cut that bread or stand there and stare all day? Didn't you ever see your brother without his shirt?"

  I had, but browned and broad as he'd been, Seth hadn't quickened me like this. He was my Seth, my brother, for heavens sake. It was the others I was looking at. I was becoming conscious of men and I felt myself blushing.

  They came in through the kitchen door. Martha made them stomp the dirt off their feet and check their rifles just inside the door, but she never made them remove their revolvers. She knew better.

  Seth introduced Martha and then me. "My intended," he said, and then, "my little sister."

  I knew Bill Anderson, whose sisters were now hanging all over him. But Lord knows I'd never met William Clarke Quantrill. And he was nothing like I had fancied him to be. He was blond haired and wore a slight mustache. Otherwise he was clean shaven and polite. He bowed to the ladies. He kissed Martha's hand.

  I bobbed a curtsy at him and he said, loudly, "You got a fine little sister here, Seth. Any time you get tired of takin' care of her, you can send her to me."

  "No chance of that," Seth answered, but I could tell he was trying to figure out if Quantrill was joking or if he was serious.

  I met two young brothers called Younger and another callow youth called Jesse James. He couldn't have been more than sixteen. Ail of them seemed to worship Quantrill and hung on his every word.

  And then I met Sue Mundy.

  "Hello." She stuck out her hand and I took it, not quite believing I was shaking hands with the woman I had admired and read about for so long now. Her grip was firm. Her eyes were friendly. She had pinned her hair back neatly and she could easily pass as a young Confederate soldier.

  "I've always admired you," I said, for lack of anything intelligent to say.

  Somebody gave out a whoop. "Gawd Awmighty, Seth, didn't you train her up any better than that?"

  Seth blushed. "C'mon, everybody, sit down. Bill's gonna say grace."

  "If'n Bill Anderson says grace, I ain't gonna eat none of the vittles," said one of the Younger brothers.

  "Come sit over here next to me," Seth directed.

  There was an empty chair next to Sue Mundy and I wanted to sit there. But everyone else was seated and I was holding up the meal. And all were waiting for me to make my move. I had to obey Seth or he'd never live it down.

  I didn't want to. Good Lord, did the first set-to between us have to be with half the Confederate army looking on?

  It lasted only a second or two. But it was written across the face of eternity. My brother, who raised his expressive eyebrows in my direction, saying nothing anybody could understand but me.

  I went around the table and sat next to him. Did everybody sigh, or was it my imagination? They all started talking at once.

  "Quiet now," Quantrill said, "you heathens. And let Bill say grace. It's his house, his table, his food, and his sisters who cooked it. Let's have some respect."

  Quantrill had spoken. They all fell silent. Bill said grace, making it personal, saying something about my pa and adding a bit about all the boys who'd fallen at Gettysburg.

  The food was scrumptious—rack of lamb, four chicken potpies, a side of beef, browned potatoes, about every vegetable known to man, roast pork, and three kinds of cake for dessert.

  The men stayed a week—to rest, eat, play chess and cards, dance with us girls, play their instruments of music
, groom their horses, race their horses, make cartridges, clean their guns, and sometimes just lie in the sun with their shirts off.

  They helped with the chores: chopping wood, hunting for fresh game, fishing in the creek, stocking the meat house, picking the tomatoes and beans and corn and anything else that needed picking.

  Even Sue Mundy worked. I saw her working, side by side, with my brother in the fields. And there was something between them, my brother and Sue, some lightning when words were exchanged. I saw Seth blush more that week than ever before. I saw him go shy in front of her, and that meant he liked her. I know Martha saw it, too.

  At the end of the week the whispers started to go 'round like the night vapors that the men were planning another raid. Not even we girls were told where.

  In that week, Seth asked me to take a ride with him to go and see his house. I knew something was coming, but I could count the stars in the sky before I would venture to guess what.

  Chapter Five

  THE DAY was a quiet blue one the second week of August when we rode to Seth's house. He got right to the point.

  "School soon," he said. "What'll we do this year? Damn Yankees are all over the place. I've talked to Martha. She agrees that if you girls go, they can walk right in your schoolhouse and gather you all up in one fell swoop."

  "Why would they want to do that?"

  "Don't know. But any time all the kin of the enemy is gathered in one place the enemy is vulnerable. Martha is keeping her sisters home. Goin' to head up their lessons there. You want to be part of that?"

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "No."

  Martha as a teacher. There was a new thought. "Martha's my friend," I said.

  "I expect you to learn nevertheless. No foolin' around. Martha can be a stern taskmaster."

  "Don't you like her anymore?"

  "Say what?"

  I repeated my question. He frowned. "First place, it isn't any of your business. Second place, it's the dumbest question I ever heard. This is Martha we're talking about."

  "I caught her crying after supper in the kitchen. She thinks you're smitten with Sue Mundy."

  He stared straight ahead. "And what did you say?"

  "Nothing. I didn't say anything. Because I don't know, the way you've been sweet-talking Sue all week. What's a person like me to think?"

  "A person like you is to mind her own business."

  Something in the way he said it made me decide that I never wanted to get on the bad side of him. Ever.

  "Some say Sue is a man and some say she's a woman," I reminded him, giving the conversation a new turn. "To me she's a woman and a heroine. Like Joan of Arc."

  He scowled. "I've noticed how much time you've spent with her this last week. Don't make friends there, Juliet." He was begging. "There are other girls I'd rather have you emulate."

  "Who?"

  "Martha."

  So he still did think highly of Martha. We were at the path that led to the holler now. From the distance you could hear echoes of hammering through the thickness of the trees. He slipped off his horse and gestured that I should do so as well. I did. Then I followed him down a steep path into the valley, where there was a trickling stream at the bottom. A narrow wooden bridge straddled it. I expected to lead my horse across, but we just stood there on the bank while the horses watered.

  "You can't even see it from here for the trees," I whispered to him. "All I can see is some big sprawling thing with fences and a porch and"—I stood on tiptoe—"why, it looks just like ours did, Seth!"

  "Does that surprise you?"

  "No, I guess not."

  "I've got everything Pa had. Parlors, big windows, an office, a nursery, I've even got a room for you. Upstairs. It's just that it's made of logs."

  "Really? Could we go see it now?"

  "No," he said. "Leave everyone to their work. The negroes we had at home are harvesting the corn and wheat and just about everything else. I've had some of them here working all summer, with Pa's permission. Now Maxine's stepped in as overseer."

  "Maxine?"

  "Don't laugh. She could put on a tall hat and be Lincoln, that woman. Look, I just wanted to let you know how to get here in case you need to someday."

  "Why would that be?" I pushed.

  We led our horses back up the hill. "If the Yankees come and fire the Anderson place. Or just run you girls off. Or if, in any instance, you just need a place to stay. I'd want you to bring the others here. Promise me that, Juliet."

  I knew what he was doing. Providing, in case something happened to him. "I promise," I said.

  "And, if I fall in a fight, I'd like you to stay in this house with Martha and her sisters. It's got everything you all will need. Course, it'd be your house then." He cleared his throat. "I've made some arrangements."

  "Seth, are you going to die?"

  He grinned. "Course not, honey, I'm too pumpkin-headed, toad-rotten mean to die."

  "I don't think you're mean, Seth."

  "Then let's hope I never have to be mean to you, honey. Look, anybody with half a brain has got to make arrangements. I've a lot to think about now. My wild days are over."

  "Are you going to marry Martha?"

  He had the decency to blush.

  "I've never kissed Sue," he said quietly. "I promise you that. But God help me, I am smitten with her. There's something about her that can bewitch a person. But I never kissed her or put a hand on her. Tell Martha that for me, will you, please? I know you two talk and tell secrets."

  "Yes, Seth, I'll tell her." Proud to be confided in, I was. Proud that he trusted me, this brother of mine. And I wanted to say something to let him know how much I loved him. And all the rest of it was teasing on my part. But he knew it, I was sure. Brothers always did, didn't they? When it came right down to it, when push came to shove, they'd die for you, wouldn't they? Bill Anderson's sisters knew that about Bill, and I would know no less about Seth.

  We rode back to the house in near silence. There was nothing more to be said.

  Chapter Six

  THE MEN left at five the next morning, just as old Caesar, the rooster, was welcoming the day, which was as yet all mist. I heard muffled talk, laughter, from downstairs. I smelled coffee and bacon. I put on my robe and slippers and crept down to see them all huddled around the dining room table, still using lamplight, which, in itself, cast long shadows over the scene.

  Judah, the Andersons' girl, was making pancakes. I sat on the lower step and watched, unseen for a moment. And then the ever and all-seeing Quantrill spotted me and nudged Seth, who got up and came over.

  "Go back to bed," he said.

  "I want to eat with you all."

  "We're going soon."

  "Then I want to say good-bye."

  "I thought we did that yesterday on our ride."

  "Are you going to kiss Martha good-bye?"

  "Checking up on me, is that it?"

  "I think you should take her out on the porch and kiss her. I think she needs it."

  "And what do you need?"

  My eyes swam with tears. "For you to tell me I'm a wonderful little sister and you love me."

  He touched the side of my face. "Course I do. Would I put up with you all these years if I didn't?"

  I reached up and put my arms around him and kissed him. He had a stubble of beard on his face. "You didn't shave."

  "Didn't have time. Look, Sue Mundy isn't coming along on this trip. She's here to protect you girls in case the Yankees come."

  "As a girl or as a man?"

  "Does it matter? She's a good shot as either one."

  "I like her better as a woman," I told him.

  "I've spoken to Martha. You're not to be a pest to Sue. You're not to spend too much time with her. You're to help out around here and do as Martha says. And do your schoolwork. Now I've given Martha money for your keep and to buy fabric for new dresses for you in town. Fall's coming. Think of warm clothes."

  "Oh, thank you, Seth. You
're the best brother."

  He kissed me and, listening to my advice, when they all went outside, he did take Martha aside on the porch to talk. And when they were alone, he kissed her. I know I shouldn't have been watching, but I did. Oh, he was a fine kisser. I wondered where he'd learned all that.

  "You oughta be spanked, watchin' your brother like that." It was Judah. She'd come to clear the table. "Bad girl. You want me to tell him?"

  "No, please, I ... just ... have a special interest. I told him to kiss her good-bye, and I just want to make sure he did it, is all."

  "You doan have to make sure that brother of yours knows how to kiss, missy. He sure do from what I seen. Now come on. You might as well sit down an' have breakfast. We goin' to town today."

  IT WAS that very day that I found out the shocking truth about Sue Mundy.

  I'll never forget the way she told me. It was the first time I felt really betrayed in my life. And the feeling made me sick inside.

  I'd been standing aside in the grape arbor after we got back from town, a safe distance from Sue Mundy who was practicing her shooting. She was dressed in her Confederate uniform, right down to the double row of brass buttons in front, with her sash around her waist and shined boots, her hair tucked under her hat, looking very dashing.

  She hit the target nearly every time.

  She had stopped to reload her pistol when I said to myself: "All these years I've worshipped her, and here she is within feet of me. I ought to do something, say something, and stop acting like a jackass in the rain." True, I'd been in her company all week, but never alone. Always there had been someone else along. And always I'd wanted to say something to her.

  Always I'd sensed that she knew it.

  I could almost see what there was about her that attracted my brother. She had an aura of confidence, a swagger, a sauciness that Martha did not have.

  She stopped shooting just then, holstered her pistol, and waved me over. I went.

  "Well," she said, "I'm beginning to think I have a shadow. What did you think of my shooting?"

 

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