Spinning the Moon (20 page)

I found Stuart with two male slaves outside near the pigpen and was slightly relieved that we weren't alone. As I walked into the backyard, I saw one of the men deliver a stunning blow to the pig's head with the business end of a mallet. A bench had been set up with buckets beneath it to catch the blood, and Stuart and the other man held the animal down on top of it. The pig lay still, allowing Stuart to reach around and neatly slice its throat.

The heavy smell of fresh blood permeated the area as the animal bled to death, the thick gush of fluid in the buckets slowing down to a final drip-drop. Quickly tying the hind feet together, the two men hoisted the pig up over a kettle of steaming water. I knew this was in preparation for scraping the bristles off the hide before the animal would be disemboweled and halved. No part of the pig would be wasted. From using the bristles for brushes to stuffing the small intestines with sausage, every last morsel would be utilized in some way.

Knowing that my Christmas ham and the fresh roast pork for the following day's party was in the process of being made, I had no intention of spoiling my appetite. I wanted to go, but I was reluctant to leave. Despite the chill of the day, Stuart removed his jacket, though he kept his shirt on. He sweated in his exertion, and dark hair stuck to his
forehead. He swiped his face with his sleeve, leaving spikes of hair framing his face like a crown. I grinned at his porcupine look.

He caught sight of me and approached, his face giving nothing away. “Good morning, Laura.”

I swallowed quickly, my throat dry. “Morning.”

“I went to town this morning to see Matt Kimball. His landlady says he has gone north to Dalton. She does not expect him back.”

I met his gaze. “I guess that must mean I gave him information so important, he had to rush right off and share it.” My voice cracked, but I continued. “And I bet you didn't stop to think that anything he might know about my daughter is gone with him.”

Two dark eyebrows shot up. “I am not giving up on finding him. We are not done with Matt Kimball, you and I.” He swiped his face with his forearm again; then, with a short nod in my direction, he returned to the business at hand.

Turning my back on the activity, I made my way toward the house. The door crashed open as I reached the steps, and Sarah catapulted into me.

“Whoa, Sarah. Slow down. What's the rush?”

“Sorry, Miss Laura. Mama sent me to find you. She wants you to help her hang the mistletoe and some other decorations for the Christmas party tomorrow.”

She made to move past me, but I firmly grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Just a minute, Sarah. I don't think you need to be out back right now.”

Sarah looked up at me, her eyes pleading. “But, Miss Laura, Mama's let me watch before. And I ain't scairt one bit. Besides, Uncle Stuart promised I could have the pig bladder.”

“The pig's bladder? What on earth for?”

“Me and Willie like to fill it with water and throw it at each other.”

“And your mother says it's okay?”

Her head bobbed up and down, her green eyes bright with excitement.

If Julia approved, I couldn't exactly stand in her way. “All right, then. But don't make a nuisance of yourself, and stay out of the men's way.”

She turned to go, but I stopped her again.

“By the way. Did you or your brother take anything of Sukie's and put it in my bed?”

Her eyes stared at me with clear confusion, and I knew that she was innocent. “No, ma'am. Me and Willie would never take anything that did not belong to us.”

I nodded. “Okay. You can go now.” Wordlessly, she pounded down the steps.

Julia stood in the hall, a large pile of greens and white berries overwhelming the circular table in the middle of the foyer. She offered me a smile as I approached.

“I was thinking you would be the best person to tell me where to hang some of this mistletoe.”

I tried to look nonplussed. “I suppose I'm as good as any.”

She dropped her hands in her lap. “You can say what you want, Laura, but I happened to see two people out by the barn last night. And it did not look like they were watering horses.”

“Oh.” I studied the intricate pattern on the wallpaper, not wanting to face her. “I . . . We . . . That was a mistake.”

Julia's eyes were warm as they regarded me. “I wanted you to know that I have spoken with Stuart. To be honest, I think he is angrier over the fact that Matt tried to touch you rather than any information about the mills you might have passed on.” She picked up a clump of magnolia leaves, their shiny coating glowing dully in the dim foyer light. “But he is giving you the benefit of the doubt until he speaks with Matt.” She gave me a meaningful glance. “And he does not want you going anywhere on your own again.”

I leaned down and gathered a few sprigs of mistletoe. Holding one up over the door, I said, “We can hang this here for when Dr. Watkins arrives and you answer the door.”

“Laura! How could you say that about Charles? He is a dear old friend.”

“Ha! And you call me blind.”

She shook her head as she slid a chair to the middle of the hallway. “No, Laura, I am not blind. I just prefer not to recognize it. That way, he and I can still be good friends. And besides, I am a married woman.”

“Maybe we can get Charles and Eliza under the mistletoe together.”

Julia laughed softly and shook her head. “What did we ever do without you?”

We spent the next hour in contented silence, with only the occasional comment as to the perfect placement of magnolia leaves on the mantels or holly arrangements on the tables. As an afterthought, I hung some of the mistletoe in the library, on the inside, over the door. I hummed to myself, trying to remember the last time I had felt any joy at Christmas.

The Road goes ever on and on,

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can. . . .

—J. R. R. TOLKIEN

I
stared at myself in the mirror, quite pleased at what I saw. Julia had unearthed a gown that had belonged to Stuart's mother, Catherine, and, with Sukie's help, had altered it for me as a surprise. I was touched at their efforts, not to mention the fact that the dress was breathtakingly beautiful. The two women had updated the style to make it fashionable again and made the necessary adjustments so that it would fit. The bloodred velvet accentuated the darkness of my hair, which Sukie had left down with lots of loose curls and tendrils, only anchoring the sides with mother-of-pearl combs. The off-the-shoulder neckline revealed more décolletage than I thought appropriate. I kept trying to hoist the dress up until finally Julia slapped my hand away. I acquiesced to wearing a corset, and Sukie cinched in my waist to a size I was sure it hadn't been since I was eight. I felt like I was playing dress-up. And I loved every minute of it.

As Sukie was putting the last touches on my hair, a slight tapping sounded on the door. At my request, the door opened and Stuart hung back in the threshold, his expression unreadable.

“Have you come for a Christmas truce? Or are you going to just stand there and gawk?”

Sukie quickly grabbed a shawl and threw it over my shoulders while she whispered in my ear, “You don' want to spoil the surprise.”

“I suppose you may call this a truce of sorts.” He entered the room
and placed a small black box on the dressing table in front of me. “These were my mother's, and when Julia told me you would be wearing that dress, I knew you had to wear these, too. I remember my mother wearing them together.”

Curious and touched, too, I reached for the box and opened it. The beaded onyx earrings sparkled in their nest of black velvet, every bead glistening and reflecting the candlelight. I picked them up and jiggled them to catch them in full effect. I swallowed deeply and searched his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Stuart, these are wonderful. Thank you.” I slipped the posts into my pierced ears and shook my head at the mirror, hearing the slight clicking as the beads bumped into each other.

“Allow me.” Sukie stepped back as Stuart leaned over and plucked the matching necklace out of the box and placed it on my neck. The cool beads chilled my throat, but his hands were warm where they rested on my skin while he fastened the necklace. I caught his reflection in the mirror, making me think of a parallel universe. Perhaps Stuart, and these people who now filled my life, had always lived behind the glass, their warm flesh blocked by its coldness and only accessed by the most inexplicable of events.

“You look beautiful, Laura.”

“Thank you.” I turned my attention to his clothes, the same ones I had seen him in earlier. “Shouldn't you be getting dressed yourself?”

“Yes, ma'am. I will see to it right away.” Bowing formally, he walked out of the room, almost bumping into Julia on the way in.

“Laura, you look absolutely stunning.”

“You're not so bad yourself,” I said, admiring her powder blue silk with the noticeably higher neckline covered with a lace fichu.

Julia caught sight of my earrings and touched one delicately with her fingers. “These were Catherine's.”

“Yes, I know. I hope you don't mind me wearing them.”

“Of course not. They are not mine, anyway. They were given to Stuart by his mother before she died—not to William. His mother intended that they should go to Stuart's wife.”

“Oh,” I said, unsure of what that meant. I looked at Julia's expression in the mirror and caught a slight grin.

Sukie excused herself and then reappeared with a tray and two
glasses of red wine. “Miz Catherine always say a glass of wine afore a party to soothe the nerves,” she said, handing Julia and me a glass of what I knew to be from one of the quickly diminishing bottles from the wine cellar.

I took a sip and immediately felt the warmth traveling through my veins. “This will help my nervousness.”

Julia sat on the edge of the bed. “You will be the belle of the ball. Do not allow any mean-spirited people to spoil your fun. You have been through a lot, and I daresay you deserve to have a little fun.”

She drained her glass and reached for my empty one. “And it is time for our guests to arrive. Would you be so kind as to receive with me?”

I nodded and stood on shaky legs. I caught Julia eyeing me with a worried expression. “Maybe you should not have any of my punch, either. You will need every ounce of strength to fight off all the men tonight. Well, maybe not all of them,” she added with an uncharacteristic smirk.

I smirked right back at her. “Oh, I think I hear the good doctor downstairs. I will make sure to shove you both under that bough of mistletoe in the dining room.”

Julia looked genuinely shocked. “You would not dare!”

Seeing my smile, she gently took my arm in hers and led me out the door.

There was a murmur of male voices that conspicuously stopped as Julia and I appeared at the top of the stairs. Stuart and Dr. Watkins openly stared. Feeling self-conscious, I glanced behind me to see what they were looking at, only to have Julia elbow me in the ribs.

We descended slowly, my hand gripping the banister to steady my wobbly legs. I made a mental note to avoid any further alcoholic beverages for at least another hour. At the bottom of the steps, Stuart took my hand and bent over it, kissing it gently. I felt a small electric shock, and wondered if anybody else had noticed.

“Are you all right, Laura? Your face is all flushed.” His broad grin belied his concern.

“It's just the wine. And the realization that what they say is true.”

He quirked a dark eyebrow. “What who says is true?”

“About men in uniform.” I was brazenly appraising him now, my
boldness empowered by the wine. I had never seen him in full dress uniform and it was indeed a magnificent sight. His tall, lean form was well suited to the gray knee-length frock coat with black facings and trimming. The gilt buttons gleamed in the bright light of the foyer but did not outshine the resplendence of the braided trim of his rank on the cuffs and collar. Around his slim waist he wore a narrow red silk sash under his waist belt, and his broad shoulders accentuated the masculine line of the coat. My knees felt weak, and I wasn't sure if it was from the wine.

“It must be the jacket,” he said, straightening both arms in front of me so I could admire the handiwork. “Julia made it.”

I felt a quick pang dimming the excitement of the evening for just a moment. Before I could respond, Sukie opened the front door, allowing in a cold blast of air and the first guests. I recognized Eliza Smith along with her mother and sisters from the endless meetings of the Ladies' Aid Society. These meetings consisted mostly of interminably rolling bandages and listening to idle gossip about other townspeople. I had found no information there about Annie and would just resign myself to two hours of fending off questions from the well-meaning ladies.

All four women nodded to me, Eliza staring at my neckline, her lips pursed in a show of displeasure. Stuart fussed over her and took her wrap and gallantly kissed her hand. She bristled with the pleasure of it and blushed becomingly.

I recognized most of the guests from the Presbyterian church and from my excursions into town. They were all exceedingly polite to me but slightly aloof, for which I did not blame them. Most of them had lived in Roswell all their lives, as had their parents. I was an outsider, a stranger of unknown origins.

Pamela appeared, her eyes raking over my outfit without comment, before turning on her social face and becoming the gracious hostess with Julia.

The mingled scents of perfume, smoked ham, and fresh pine danced eagerly through the rooms, delighting the senses. All the faces reflected a genuine gaiety, obliterating all thoughts of war and suffering, at least for one evening. Eliza and I took turns at the piano, and I was quite impressed at her repertoire, if not her habit of thumping on the keys.
The furniture in the parlor and hall had been pushed against the wall, and several of the guests used the space for dancing.

Stuart claimed me for a waltz and, despite my protests of not knowing how to dance, swept me up in his arms. I managed to stay off his toes and follow his lead, most likely due to the fact that he was an accomplished dancer. His leg had nearly completely healed, his limp almost imperceptible as he effortlessly led me through the steps. He waltzed me down the hall and into the library, where a single candle glowed, its reflection softly illuminated in the glass of the window.

“I believe we just passed under some mistletoe,” he said, his lips close to my ear.

I pulled away slightly. “You wouldn't want to be accused of consorting with the enemy.”

“Shh,” he whispered in my ear. “Truce, remember?”

He bent his head nearer mine, then stopped. “May I kiss you?”

I answered by standing on my toes and touching my mouth to his. His lips were warm and full, his tongue pushing my own lips apart. Immediately my arms went around his neck, and his arms around my back, his fingers splayed wide.

His hands caressed my back through the soft fabric of the dress. “I have been waiting all evening to find you under the mistletoe.” His lips traveled to the bare skin of my shoulder, causing gooseflesh to ripple up my skin.

“Me, too,” I murmured as I tilted my head back farther. “But I was afraid you wouldn't. Now I'm afraid that you'll stop, like you did the last time. And I'm afraid . . .” I wanted to say “afraid that you'll mean too much to me,” but I stopped.

His fingers lingered on my neck as his eyes searched mine. “What is this between us, Laura?” He paused for a moment, the music, laughter, and disembodied voices flooding the space between us. “Since the moment I first saw you, it was . . . as if I have always known you. As if there was not a time in my existence in which I did not know you.”

I remembered the feeling of familiarity I had felt when I'd first looked into his eyes on Moon Mountain and knew that no matter how I tried to push him away, there was a connection between us. A connection that had nothing to do with linear time.

I thought I heard someone calling my name from outside the room and Eliza's voice saying I was in the library, but I quickly dismissed them from my mind to concentrate on the feel of Stuart's lips on mine and the thickness of his hair under my fingers.

“Miss Laura!” My head snapped up and I quickly disengaged myself.

Sarah stood in the threshold, her eyes wide. “Mama needs you right now. There's something wrong with Robbie.”

After a reluctant look back at a slightly disheveled Stuart, I followed her out of the room and up the stairs to the master bedroom. Julia sat on the bed, Robbie cradled in her arms. His weak cries sounded like a wounded puppy's, not like his usual lusty wails. His face was flushed slightly, with pinkened cheeks and glazed eyes.

As I approached the bed, she pulled the baby's gown up over his abdomen and lifted a pudgy leg. “Would you please take a look at this, Laura?”

I stared at the round mark on the back of Robbie's thigh. “Did something bite him?”

“I am not sure. I thought you might know.”

I examined the mark more closely and determined that it wasn't a bite because there seemed to be no holes marring the surface of the skin. “Me? Why would you think that?” I sat down next to her on the bed, my hand stroking Robbie's warm cheek. His fretting subsided slightly.

Julia looked at me. “You are so smart.” She lifted her hand to halt my objections. “No, you do not know much about sewing and gardening. But you always seem to figure out the right thing to do.”

“Have you called for Charles to come up?”

“Not yet. I called for you first.”

“I really think we need a doctor here.” Turning to Sarah, who had brought me upstairs, I said, “Go get Dr. Watkins, please. And ask him to bring his bag, if he has it with him.”

I placed the back of my hand across Robbie's forehead and felt the fever burning his skin.

There was a soft tapping on the door and the doctor entered, followed by Sarah. With a brief nod to Julia and me, he took the baby from Julia's arms and laid him on the bed. Robbie started whimpering again as the doctor lifted his gown and prodded his abdomen. Robbie emitted
a hoarse howl as the doctor tried to pry his mouth open to examine his throat and then continued to protest as Dr. Watkins ran his fingers over the glands in Robbie's neck.

Pamela appeared at the door. “Julia, what is wrong?” She glided into the room, her black silk gown swooshing across the floor and trailing the scent of a musky perfume.