Spinning the Moon (13 page)

His eyes were shadowed as he answered. “I am beginning to think that myself.” He sat up unassisted and then hauled himself up to a standing position.

He held his hand out to me. “Come on. It is time for dinner.”

Ignoring his hand, I stood by myself. “In a minute. I've got to clean up this mess first.”

Without a word, he righted the overturned basket and began picking up peas.

*   *   *

Following dinner, the children were put to bed and the three adults retired to the parlor. Julia brought her sewing basket, and her slender fingers pushed the silver needle with lightning speed. By the end of the evening she had completed a pair of pants for Willie.

I volunteered to mend some of Sarah's stockings. After struggling to thread the needle in the dim candlelight and then ripping out most of my uneven stitches, Julia suggested I play the piano. I opened sheet music for the sad Confederate ballad “Lorena” and began to play, losing myself in the music while I concentrated on reading the unfamiliar notes.

A gentle sob came from behind me as the last note faded and I turned to look at Julia, whose head was still bent to her sewing. Stuart walked over to her and put a hand gently on her shoulder.

I quickly turned back to the piano. “How about something livelier?” I asked as I broke into a Scott Joplin medley. I was halfway through “Maple Leaf Rag” when Sukie entered to announce Dr. Watkins.

“What is that music?” he demanded. “It sounds like music from a New Orleans brothel.”

I lifted my hands from the keys. “And just how would you know what kind of music they play in a New Orleans brothel, sir?”

The doctor turned an interesting shade of red and glared at me.

Stuart intervened. “Now, Charles. Laura was only trying to lift our spirits—which she did marvelously. Sit down and tell us what brings you here this evening.”

Placated for the time being, the doctor turned to Julia, took an envelope out of his coat pocket, and handed it to her. “I was at the company store today and took the liberty of getting your mail.”

We all stared at Julia as she excused herself to open the envelope and read the enclosed letter. It took her a long while, and I realized she was reading it twice. She quickly dropped the letter on the table. Her mending slid onto the floor, but she didn't pick it up. Her voice was higher pitched than usual when she spoke. “My mother is coming from Nashville for a visit.” Lines of worry creased her forehead. “I do not know how safe that would be for her.”

Stuart leaned forward in his chair. “She will be fine. As I recall, she is a formidable force to reckon with. I would not want to be the one to stand in her way, and I pity the person who does.” Stuart grinned, but something else showed in his face that made me wonder what his true feelings were regarding Julia's mother. “When should we expect her?”

Julia glanced at the top of the letter and her eyes widened. “Oh, dear. This letter was written five weeks ago. She could be here any day now. There is so much to do.” She hastily folded up her sewing and shoved it back into the basket.

“Please excuse me,” she said as she stood. Anticipating my offer of help, she turned to me and added, “Laura, please stay here and play hostess for the gentlemen.” Not waiting for an answer, she left the room.

Turning toward the two men, I said, “I won't be offended if you two want to retire to the library for something stiffer than coffee.”

“Thank you, Laura. I think we will. But please continue to play the piano. Dr. Watkins has yet to enjoy your playing.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Only if she will choose something genteel this time. A lady should never consider anything else.”

Stuart sent me a warning look over the doctor's head, and I kept my smile plastered in place. As soon as the sliding doors between the parlor and library were shut, I spun myself around on the piano bench and started banging out another Scott Joplin rag. I hoped that it was shaking the starch out of the doctor's stiff white collar and annoying the hell out of him.

The Past—the dark unfathom'd retrospect!

The teeming gulf—the sleepers and the shadows!

The past! the infinite greatness of the past!

For what is the present after all but a growth

out of the past?

—WALT WHITMAN

T
he following Sunday, after donning one of Miss Eliza Smith's highly serviceable but barely fashionable dresses, I was ready for church. The muslin dress was a sedate brown, with small green flowers striping the skirt and bodice. A prim white collar and white undersleeves completed the ensemble and made me feel almost Puritan. Sukie coerced me into wearing a corset, explaining that without one, I could cause considerable embarrassment to the Elliotts. My ribs creaked as she pulled the laces tight. After walking two steps without being able to expand my lungs, I readily understood the need of a fainting couch.

I donned the requisite bonnet and kid gloves, then walked downstairs and out of the house, beads of sweat already forming on my forehead.

Stuart stood clutching a wooden cane beside the four-wheeled buggy.

I did a double take, as I had never seen him use a cane. “Is your leg hurting today?”

He made a big production of fiddling with the horses' harnesses. “No, the leg is fine. Doing much better, actually.”

“Then why do you have a cane? Any young ladies at church you're trying to impress?”

He sent me a withering glance. “Yes, I guess it is for show, but it is not what you think.”

Trying to tread lightly on the subject, I asked, “I don't mean to intrude,
but is it to make the other citizens of Roswell feel sorry for you so that they won't be so hateful to you and Julia?”

He stopped his fiddling and looked me square in the eye. “Since you seem to thrive on directness, I will be direct with you. There are some nasty rumors about who Robbie's father is, and I am hoping that if they see how badly I was incapacitated by my wound, they would not think that . . . well . . . that I could have done such a thing.”

I could tell how hard it was for him to put those thoughts into words and I had a strong impulse to hug him, but I refrained. I also hid my smile as I considered a fault in his reasoning. “Stuart, I don't know how much you know about making babies, but a wounded leg wouldn't interfere in the process at all.”

He stared at me for a long moment and opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it instead. Narrowing his eyes, he tossed the cane in the grass by the side of the drive and turned to greet Julia as she and Sukie emerged from the house, Sukie holding Robbie. Willie and Sarah appeared behind them, temporarily clean and presentable for church.

Stuart handed us all up into the buggy. Because of the tight fit, Sarah and Willie had to use an adult lap for a seat. Sarah chose mine, giving me the chance to study her closely. She looked like a cherubic angel, but having spent more time with her at her piano lessons, I knew better. She was full of mischief, but had an innate talent for music. I wondered which parent she had inherited that from and assumed it had to be from the absent William, who was growing in mythic proportions in my head every day.

This was my first time outside the boundaries of the plantation. Although I had lived in Roswell for seven years, almost nothing I saw on the short ride to the Presbyterian church was familiar. Only the church—the same church where my Annie had been baptized—remained relatively unchanged. An air of surprise greeted us as we entered through the massive front door. Julia kept her back straight, nodding to acquaintances on both sides of the aisle. I was relieved to see people nodding back. Stuart walked behind us, holding Sarah's hand, and calling out “Good morning” as we made our laborious journey to the front of the church and took our seats.

I spent the remainder of the service surreptitiously scanning the
congregation, hoping to find a girl that resembled the image I had created of an older Annie. Following the service, and after some particularly horrendous organ playing by Miss Smith, we all gathered in front of the church. I smiled at all the curious glances aimed in my direction and made myself busy by holding Robbie. Julia stayed close by my side, introducing me to the other churchgoers. Mostly they gave me curt nods and a “How do you do?” Oddly, no one questioned my sudden appearance in the Elliott household. I raised my eyes and caught Dr. Watkins looking at me. He must have already told the townspeople everything they needed to know about me—and I wondered if it had to do with mental illness.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Eliza Smith walking toward Stuart. He stood talking to Dr. Watkins and an older man with mutton-chop whiskers that I identified as the Reverend Pratt. She linked her arm possessively through his and smiled at him. While no one could ever accuse her of being beautiful, her face was transformed when Stuart smiled back at her.

Stuart caught my gaze and nodded. Eliza gave me a cold stare and grabbed his arm to capture his attention. Robbie whimpered, and I gladly turned back to him.

“Pardon me, ma'am, but I seem to have missed out on the introductions.”

I looked up into baby-blue eyes, clear and wide but not at all innocent.

“You must be Miz Truitt.”

Robbie burbled and I shifted him in my arms. “Yes, I am.”

The man appeared to be in his early twenties, with a thin covering of blond peach fuzz on his chin that I assumed passed for a beard. His dirty, fair hair was parted in the middle by a line that looked like a crooked mountain path, and hung down in straggly strands on each side of his narrow face. The stale odor of alcohol permeated his brown wool coat. I took a step back.

He grinned, revealing a jack-o'-lantern smile of missing teeth. I searched for Julia to rescue me, but she had left my side. The man's slow drawl brought my attention back to him.

“I apologize for my manners. Allow me to present myself.” He
touched a dirty finger to his forelock. “I am Matthew Kimball. Mostly known around these parts as just Matt.”

Robbie began to fret and I bounced him up and down in my arms, hoping he would start squalling and I could excuse myself. The man stood too close, his foul breath wafting over me. He reached a mud-encrusted fingernail up to Robbie's soft cheek. I jerked the baby away, and his nail scraped the skin on the back of my hand.

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kimball.”

“Matt.” He gave me a wide smile.

“Right. Matt.” I turned my lips up in the hopes they'd approximate a smile. “It's been nice talking to you, but I need to change the baby.”

“Where are you from, Miz Truitt?” The intense gaze of his eyes belied the casualness of his question. “I was wondering if we might perhaps have some mutual acquaintances.”

I examined him closely, wondering if he had mistaken me for somebody else. “I'm quite sure I wouldn't know any of your friends, Mr., ah, Matt. Why would you think—?”

Strong arms pulled Robbie from my grasp. “Time to go, Laura.”

Stuart held Robbie with rigid arms, his face stern as he regarded Matt.

Matt's face blanched slightly. “Now, Stuart, we wuz only having a little conversation. No harm in that, is there?”

Ignoring Matt, Stuart grabbed my elbow. “Come on, Laura.”

He pulled me away before I had a chance to say anything else. I looked back at Matt and found all traces of politeness gone.

I stumbled, but Stuart didn't even slow his step. “Let go of my arm. You're hurting me.”

Stuart ignored my protests, as well as the curious stares we were receiving. Finally, he stopped on the fringe of the group and dropped my arm.

He bent his head close to mine, his voice low and serious. “Do you know that man?”

“I've never laid eyes on him before this morning when he introduced himself to me. I don't think he's a person one could easily forget, no matter how addled one's memory is. Why? Who is he?”

Stuart's eyes searched mine, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Slowly,
he straightened. “He used to be a boyhood friend of mine—his father was even a preacher at a church outside town. But he is a deserter. Claims he is on medical leave, but it has been more than a year now without any outward symptoms of a physical handicap. There are rumors about his loyalties.” He looked closely at me. “Such as how they can be bought by the highest bidder.”

Anger flamed in me. “Is that what you think of me? That I could be associated with a person like that? I would have hoped by now that you would know me better than that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, Laura. I do not know you very well—but not because I have not asked. You have left me with no choice but to make assumptions.”

He was right, but my anger refused to let me acknowledge it. I turned on my heel and ran right into Miss Eliza Smith. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

Stuart stepped forward and made the introductions.

She nodded brusquely in my direction and I imitated her action. Knowing I needed more allies than enemies, I said, “Thank you so much for the clothes. They're very much appreciated. And your organ playing today was very heartfelt. You must practice an awful lot.”

Two blotchy spots of red appeared unbecomingly on her cheeks, an apparent blush. I could feel her thaw a few degrees as she digested my compliment. “Thank you, Mrs. Truitt. Stuart mentioned that you are also musical.”

“Well, I try. I'm teaching Sarah and Willie the piano. Sarah is especially gifted. Willie tries, but I know he'd rather be outside, chasing Charlie.”

Robbie let out a loud howl, announcing it was his dinnertime. Stuart made our excuses, then found Julia and the children to return home. I sat across from Stuart in the buggy, our knees almost touching. I studiously ignored him, but I caught his gaze on me more than once.

Sunday as a day of rest was strictly adhered to in the Elliott household, and I was looking forward to immersing myself in Zeke's astronomy books. Instead, as we pulled into the long dirt drive, a mud-splattered coach was being led around the side of the house.

Julia leaned out of the buggy. “It must be my mother.”

I stole a glance at Stuart, who was looking at the coach, the muscles working in his jaw. Something about this visitor made him tense.

As soon as we pulled to a stop, Julia jumped from the buggy, not waiting for assistance, and ran into the house.

I gathered the children and we followed. Julia's voice came from the parlor, and I ushered the children into the room, pausing on the threshold. A diminutive woman with gray streaks threading through her hair turned toward us. I couldn't see any resemblance between this woman and Julia. Her small dark eyes were cold, and when I first walked into the room, I felt something akin to a frigid wind blowing through me.

Her eyes flickered over me before her gaze settled on the children. Sarah's hand tightened in mine and she buried her face in my skirt. Willie was no less obvious as he took a step backward as she approached, as if to put as much distance as possible between them.

She gave Sarah a brittle smile before turning to Willie. “Willie, will you not give your nana a hug?” Her voice was surprisingly deep for such a petite woman.

With a prod from Julia, Willie dutifully stepped forward and gave her a preemptory hug. I expected her to ask one from Sarah, too, but instead she stepped toward Stuart, who held baby Robbie.

“So, this is my new grandson.” She reached to take the baby from Stuart. A strong maternal instinct made me want to knock her away. I knew I was being irrational, but the feeling that I should keep the children away from her pulled hard at me.

As she tried to jiggle the baby to find a comfortable position to hold him, Robbie screamed. I quickly reached for him and plucked him out of her arms. Immediately, his cries were extinguished as I held him snugly on my shoulder.

Giving me the brunt of her harsh gaze, she stood in front of me. Her petite stature in no way diminished the full force of her character. I could feel the maelstrom created by her personality in the air she breathed out.

“And who is this?” Although looking directly at me, she directed her question elsewhere.

“Mother, this is Laura Truitt. She is a good friend and is staying
with us for a while. I am eternally grateful to her because she not only saved Willie from a catamount attack on Moon Mountain, but also saved Robbie's life.” Julia walked over to me and put her arm around my shoulder. It seemed as if she were trying to protect me.

“Oh, really? And just how did she accomplish this?” Her gaze finally left my face as she turned to Julia.

“It was the most peculiar thing. When Robbie was born, he was not breathing. So Laura laid him on the floor, pushed on his little chest to make his heart beat, and then breathed the air into his mouth until he started doing it on his own.”

Her head snapped back to me, her eyes narrowing slightly as they considered me.