Spinning the Moon (9 page)

“Where was I before I was born?” . . . Perhaps, in the beginning, there was a curious room, a room like this one, crammed with wonders; and now the room and all it contains are forbidden you, although it was made just for you, had been prepared for you since time began, and you will spend all your life trying to remember it.

—ANGELA CARTER

W
ailing pierced the silence and I shot straight up in darkness. Disoriented, I leapt out of bed, only to crash against the chest of drawers. Steadying myself, I gradually remembered where I was and what the noise was all about. I groped my way to the door and pulled it open.

After the birth of Julia's baby, whom she had named Robert and immediately shortened to Robbie, I had gone up to my room to sleep and collapsed, unaware of the time. I had no idea how long I had slept, but it was still dark outside. After a futile search for a light switch, I trailed my hand on the wall and followed the shrieking to the master bedroom. Tapping gently on the door, I walked in. This room never ceased to startle me, as the furniture and its placement were identical to the way it was in my own time. The candle on the bedside table cradled the two occupants of the bed in a soft, glowing light.

Julia leaned against the headboard, her head propped on a pillow and the baby nestled in the crook of her arm, mouth open wide and still bawling. Her dark, wavy hair spilled over the white pillow like a spider's web. Her eyes were sunken with exhaustion, the lids heavy.

I leaned over and gently lifted the baby from her arms. “Did he eat?”

Julia nodded. “And I changed him. But he still won't settle.”

“Sometimes they do that. Let me take him for a little bit while you get your sleep.”

She nodded, her eyes already closing as I blew out the candle.

The full moon outside shone through the hall windows, bathing everything in its gentle radiance. I made my way down the stairs and entered the front parlor.

I stood by the window, absorbed into the tranquillity of the moonlight-flooded room. The baby fretted, so I took him off my shoulder and cradled him in the curve of my arm. He focused on the great orb filling the sky and he gurgled, raising a fist as if to grab a moonbeam and bring it back to earth. I leaned down to kiss his cheek and saw the moonlight reflected in his eyes.

Oh, moon, where do you shine tonight? Is my Annie looking at you now, as I am, and wondering where her mother is?

I began to sing softly, swaying the child gently in my arms. Without thinking, the words flowed automatically from my lips. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.”

A splash of moisture landed on Robbie's chin and I realized I was crying. A door opened and an arc of light appeared on the wall next to us. It grew larger in circumference until the room seemed swallowed by it. At the sound of approaching footsteps, I faced the window again, hoping not to draw attention to myself.

Someone coughed quietly behind me. I pivoted and saw Stuart. He was still dressed, but his dark hair was tousled, as if he had been running his fingers through it.

He set down the lamp and took the baby from me. I had neglected to put on a cover over my nightgown and was painfully aware of my undressed state.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.

“Pardon me?”

“I thought a herd of cows was trampling you in your room, from the sound of it.”

“Oh, that,” I said, rubbing a bruised elbow. “No, I just decided a midnight waltz with my chest of drawers would be a good idea.” I smiled. “What are you doing up so late?”

Patting the baby's back, he whispered, “I have been going over the
plantation books. They are in a bit of a mess. I am afraid my brother did not have much interest in record keeping.” He swayed with the baby snuggled onto his shoulder, as if he had done it many times before.

He stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes as he stared at my face. “Why are you crying?”

I wiped the remaining tears off my face with the sleeve of my nightgown. “It's just the moonlight. It always makes me think of Annie.” I walked closer to the window and pressed my forehead against the cold glass, my breathing making circular patterns and obliterating my reflection. “She disappeared when she was almost two. She'd be seven now. I don't even know if I would recognize her if I did find her.”

“How did she disappear?” he asked quietly, still swaying with the drowsy baby on his shoulder. Soft sucking sounds filled the room.

I took a deep breath. “My husband and I took her up to Moon Mountain to view a comet during an eclipse. When it was over, Annie was just gone. She was sleeping, you see, so I had placed her on a blanket where I thought she would be safe. . . .” My voice broke and I stopped.

He rested his free hand on my shoulder, offering comfort. His touch was warm through the fabric of my nightgown, and I had the bizarre impulse to lay my head on his hand.

“Don't blame yourself. No matter how good a mother you are, things often happen that are out of your control.”

I turned to face him. The baby was finally asleep and Stuart had stopped swaying. He looked at me intently.

“Thank you for trying to help. And I know you're right. If only I had a grave to visit or some knowledge of what happened to her, I'd feel better. But I have no closure.”

His brows furrowed in his forehead. “Closure?”

I smiled at my careless use of twentienth-century psychobabble. “It just means that my grieving has no end. I'm not sure if I should be mourning her or searching for her.”

He nodded silently and I was struck, not for the first time, by how handsome he was. Not in the fair, evenly chiseled good looks that made women turn and stare at Michael, but in a dark, powerful way that made my eyes seek him out when we were in the same room together.

“Do you think Annie might be in Roswell?” His words brought me out of my examination, and I flushed when I realized I had been staring at him.

“I really don't know. It's been five years. She could be anywhere. Or she could be . . .” I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence.

“If she is here, I am sure we will find her. But I will tell you that it is a small community. If anybody here or in the neighboring towns had found a child on the mountain, we would have heard about it. I do not remember anything—but Julia might.” He shifted the baby on his shoulder. “And then we need to find out where you belong.”

I swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet room. His expression changed, and his eyes flickered briefly in the dim lamplight. “Why do I feel as if you know more than you are saying, Mrs. Truitt?”

My palms moistened and I quickly swept them through my hair. I couldn't tell him the truth. I could never allow myself to forget he was on the losing side of this conflict, nor the fact that I had knowledge that could possibly change the outcome of the war. I wanted to find my daughter, if she was here, and return home—my home with its host of memories. That was all I had left, and I wanted it back. I had no desire to get embroiled in these people's lives. I just wanted to go home.

I shook my head slightly, not meeting his eyes. “I don't know. But I appreciate your opening your home to me. I promise to be gone and out of your hair as soon as I can find a way home—or at least find where home is.” I reached for the baby, and Stuart placed him gently in my arms. “Thank you. You have a way with babies, I think.” I smiled. “Good night, then.”

Before I got to the bottom of the stairway, I turned around with a question. “Who was that Indian man who brought the cradle for Robbie?”

Stuart limped over to me. “That was Zeke Proudfoot—my grandfather. He lives in a small cabin in the woods behind the house and only comes up here on special occasions.”

I nodded, then glanced down at his leg, where he was rubbing the knee joint. “Where were you wounded?”

“In the leg,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.

I grinned back. “Obviously. But which battle?”

“At Champion Hill, back in May.” He straightened and took a deep breath. “I am lucky to still have my leg. But Zeke rode out to bring me back and have Charles take care of me. Those army sawbones just want to chop everything off. Zeke and Charles saved my leg, and probably my life, too. We are lucky to have Charles—just look what he did for Julia today.”

I bristled with that last remark and paraphrased my favorite song under my breath, “Yeah. And Oz never gave nothing to the Tin Man that he didn't already have.”

Stuart looked up at me with a quizzical expression. I explained briefly, “Remind me to tell you a great story when you have time. The main character and I have a lot in common.”

“In what way?” he asked, his mouth tilting upward. “Are you both steel magnolias?”

“No.” I smiled back. “She and I figure out that we're not in Kansas anymore.”

He looked perplexed. “I will look forward to hearing that one.”

I put my foot on the bottom stair and commented, “I hope I get to meet Mr. Proudfoot.”

“Mrs. Truitt, I would be happy to take you out to his cabin to meet him. He might be able to help you with your memory. He is sort of a medicine man, though not like Charles.”

I paused on the bottom step. “I'd like that.” As an afterthought, I added, “Please call me Laura.”

He paused briefly before replying, the hall clock ticking in the silence. “I do not think that would be proper.”

Continuing my ascent, I said over my shoulder, “I promise I won't be offended.”

Halfway up the stairs, he called out softly, “Good night, Laura.”

I stopped, grinning to myself, and replied, “Good night, Stuart.” I reached the hallway and went to tuck little Robbie into his cradle. Then I lay down in my bed and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

*   *   *

I awoke the following morning to the rolling sound of thunder and the beating of rain against my windows. Sukie was already in my room, drawing the curtains back and laying clothes out for me on the fainting
couch. I smiled every time I thought about a fainting couch. As if anyone around here had time to faint. I was relieved to find no cagelike contraption to wear under all the skirts, assuming I was dressing today more for housework than for show. The smell of hot food wafted over to me from the tray resting on the dressing table.

“Good morning, Miz Laura,” she said as she poured fresh water into the water pitcher.

“What time is it?” I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“It be after eleven.”

I bolted straight out of bed in a panic. “Oh no! I told Julia that I would help her with the children, and all I've done is lie in bed all morning!”

“Don't fret. Miz Julia told me to let you sleep, seeing as how you was up with the baby last night.”

“How long has she been up?”

“Since before six. Miz Julia has lots to do, with all them slaves having gone off with Mr. William.”

“Stuart's brother took slaves? Why?”

Sukie gave a derisive snort. “Who know what that boy thinkin'. He said President Lincoln freed the slaves and it was breakin' the law to keep 'em. So when he left to go back and fight with the Yankees last September, he took a whole pile of 'em. The ones that were too old or just didn't want to leave stayed here.”

“I guess that makes sense, seeing as how they'd been freed. But didn't he think of how hard it would be for Julia to manage—especially without him being here to help?”

“Mr. William don' usually think of anyone but hisself.” As if to herself, she added, “Hard to believe that he an' Mr. Stuart be brothers.”

“Sukie, if you don't mind me asking, why didn't you go?”

She shrugged. “Miz Julia, she said I was free to go. But this my home and the only family I got. Where would I go?” She fluffed the pillows and arranged them on the bed.

I stood there contemplating what she had just said as Sukie handed me clean undergarments. I was still pretty shy about having somebody help me dress, so I turned my back to take off my nightgown and slip on my underclothes while she busied herself making the bed.

As soon as I was finished dressing, Sukie attempted to make my hair presentable.

She held a thick lock of it between two dark fingers. “Why you cut it? You sick? Such a shame—so pretty and thick.”

I shook my head. “No. Just easier to take care of, I guess.”

Clucking her tongue, she led me to the dressing table. The breakfast tray was directly under my nose now and my stomach let out a growl. I recognized grits and hastily stuck my finger in it to give it a taste.

I could see Sukie's reflection in the mirror, shaking her head in disapproval. Whether it was over the shortness of my hair or my appalling table manners, I didn't know. But I felt as if my mother were judging me, and I made a mental note to begin scrutinizing my words and actions. Or else explain that I had been raised better, but that I'd grown accustomed to living by myself.