CHAPTER ELEVEN

The moments of the past do not remain still; they retain in our memory the motion which drew them toward the future, toward a future which has itself become the past, and draw us on in their train.

—MARCEL PROUST

The sound of approaching hoofbeats made me glance up. I shielded my eyes with a hand to block the glare of the summer sun and watched Stuart approach astride Endy. The sweat ran in rivulets down my back, making my chemise stick to my skin. I adjusted the egg basket on my arm and waited for him to approach.

I had gradually settled into my new life on a nineteenth-century plantation. I never stopped looking for Annie, but I knew I had time. According to my own calculations gleaned from Zeke’s astronomy books, the next total lunar eclipse wouldn’t occur until September first, 1864. Even then, the possibility of a comet being present, or even needed for my purposes, remained a mystery to me. I could only wait and see—and continue asking everyone I met if they had heard of a lost little girl on Moon Mountain.

The work was hard, but I reveled in the simplicity of it. No background noise of traffic, phones, or televisions. No texts or e-mails to distract me. At the end of each day, I eagerly anticipated the quiet evenings in the parlor spent with Julia and Stuart. Julia’s mother joined us most of the time, and we eyed each other warily. Since she never asked about where I was from, I assumed that Julia had filled her in with as much as she knew. Perhaps this was the source of her coldness toward me. There was no overt hostility, but it was clear that she somehow considered me a threat, and she continued to fill me with apprehension. About what, I couldn’t say.

I spent the majority of my days with the three children, either at lessons or assisting them with their chores. And I was learning as much from them as they were from me.

The approaching hoofbeats came louder as Stuart drew near, slowing Endy’s pace and finally stopping in front of me. My greeting died on my lips as I looked up and saw his scowl.

“I just came back from town. Matt Kimball’s been asking a lot of questions about you.”

“About me? Do you think he knows anything about Annie?”

He shook his head. “No. Those are not the sorts of questions he is asking. He wants to know where you are from and why you are here. Why do you suppose he is so curious about you?”

I put my free hand on my hip. “Why are you asking me? Why don’t you ask Mr. Kimball? I think he’d be better able to judge his own motivations. I told you I’ve never met the man before.” I took a deep breath, my frustration with the situation nearing the tipping point. “What do I have to do to make you trust me?”

He stayed high atop his black stallion, looking like a knight in butternut-stained wool. “You could start by telling me the truth.”

A dull wind stirred the dust around us, sending grit into my eyes. I blinked hard. How could I explain to him that I didn’t want to get involved in their lives any more than I had to? That my only goal was to return home with my daughter before I became inextricably immersed in this time and these people? Becoming emotionally attached could only bring me more pain, and I had had enough of that to last me two lifetimes.

“I am here to find Annie and bring her home. That’s all you need to know. I would never hurt you or your family. You should know that by now.” My eyes smarted, but I didn’t turn away.

Endy snorted loudly in my ear and I involuntarily stepped back. Stuart caught the movement and reined the horse in tightly. He dismounted, then reached into a saddlebag, bringing forth an apple like a peace offering. His face softened, his eyes almost apologetic.

“Perhaps you can gain Endy’s trust. He does not need truth, just kind and fair treatment.”

I moved closer to Stuart, trying to get away from Endy. “If you’re going to kill me, couldn’t you just shoot me? It would be a good sight easier than setting your horse on me.”

Stuart’s voice was soothing, close to my ear. “The only reason Endymion would ever hurt you is if you threatened him or something he considered his. Not very far from human nature, is it?”

I shook my head, my anger giving way to fear tinged with curiosity. Besides our trek down Moon Mountain, I had never been this close to a horse in my life.

“Endymion? What kind of a name is that?” I stared warily at the black beast, its huge eye examining me as it shook its massive head.

“William named him after the Greek god Endymion. Are you familiar with the story?”

“I’m afraid not. My Greek mythology is a bit rusty.” I continued to eye the big horse, hoping that Stuart had been joking when he had mentioned me developing some sort of relationship with this animal.

Stuart gave Endy a vigorous scratch behind an ear, making the horse nod with pleasure. “Endymion was the husband of Selene, the goddess of the moon.” A wavering grin split his face. “He was quite the talented fellow.”

I took a step back from the great nodding head. “Oh, really. How so?”

Polishing the apple on his pants leg, Stuart looked away, as if he shouldn’t be telling me. “He fathered fifty daughters by Selene, all while he was reportedly asleep.”

I smirked. “You’re right. He was pretty talented. Not to mention fertile. I hope your Endymion is equally as prolific.”

Slowly, Stuart shook his head. “No. Endymion’s children were all pale like their mother and sleepy like their father. Hopefully, Endy’s offspring will be a mite more vigorous.”

Stuart gave the beast a resounding pat on the side of the neck, apparently a gesture of affection. He pulled off his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, then handed the apple to me.

I stared at the fruit in my hand, nervously twisting the stem off the top. “I hope you don’t intend for me to feed him this apple. I’m afraid he’ll take my whole arm off if I get too near.”

The object of our conversation seemed oblivious to our presence as his thick, bushy tail swooshed back and forth in a vain attempt to rid himself of the nuisance flies that flitted about.

“Endy has never bitten anyone.” Stuart looked down at his feet and kicked sand at a small lizard scurrying about in the cool shadow created by the horse. “Not seriously, anyway,” he added with a twitch of his lips. “Of course, if you are scared . . .”

“I’m just not used to being around horses. Especially not one as big as that . . . that Goliath.” I wanted to take him up on his challenge, but the thought of getting near Endy’s numerous, and probably very sharp, teeth or his clublike hooves made me want to crawl away like the coward I was around horses. Even small ones.

“Let me take that.” He took the basket, then gently nudged me toward the horse’s mouth.

Stuart’s arm went around me, his other hand forcing my own open so that the apple lay flat on my palm. “You do not want him to think your fingers are little carrots. Would not do to get him liking the taste of human blood.”

Darting a quick glance at him, I saw him biting his bottom lip, but he couldn’t hide the merriment in his blue eyes.

I stretched my hand out toward the gigantic head, trying to keep my body as far away as possible. The horse seemed to eye me speculatively, determining if I were friend or foe. Then he opened his mouth and took the proffered apple.

I expected to feel the grazing of teeth against the skin of my palm and was surprised with just the gentle touch of soft lips delicately picking up the apple.

The thick jaws worked back and forth, the loud crunching sounding like the crushing of bones. Small bits of apple and a great deal of slobber formed around the horse’s mouth, spraying me and the vicinity. Instead of spitting out the core, Endy swallowed the entire thing.

The big head then looked at me, as if waiting for another morsel. Determined not to be the next item on the menu, I looked to Stuart for help, and was astounded to feel a velvet-soft nose coupled with a few juicy apple bits nuzzling into my cheek. Thoroughly disgusted with the messy show of affection, I jumped backward, only to be stopped suddenly by the force of Stuart’s body, almost knocking him over. He reached around my waist to steady me and pulled softly on the reins in his other hand to ease the attentions of my equine suitor.

“See? Look at that. You have made a friend.” His arm remained around me, and when I tilted my head, I could see the little crinkles at the sides of his eyes as he laughed.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Certainly not. Just admiring your bravery. And your appeal to males of all types.”

I turned to look at him, and he slowly dropped his arm. He stood very close as his smile faded, his gaze never wavering from my face.

Without moving back, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “You’ve got pieces of apple on your cheek.” He gently swiped at my face with the soft linen cloth. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look into his.

I opened them again when I realized he had stopped wiping but hadn’t moved back. The horse snorted to remind us of his presence, but neither one of us seemed to notice. We did, however, notice the small green projectile that suddenly sailed over our heads. Stuart’s battle savvy seemed to take over and he quickly forced me down to my haunches.

Before I could ask what was going on, Sarah and Willie emerged running from the side of the house, Willie in the lead. Another green missile landed on the ground in front of me. I reached to pick it up, rolling the hard, verdant bud in my palm.

“Damn!” said Stuart, plucking the object from my hand. “Begging your pardon,” he added absently, extending his hand to me to help me up.

“What is it?”

“It’s a cotton bud. They’re not supposed to be stripping my crop before they have bloomed.”

Realizing that it was perhaps my negligence that was causing the children to run wild, I grabbed my basket and hastened after them. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to them.”

As I approached the rear of the chicken house, I narrowly missed being sideswiped by Willie as he dodged a small projectile.

“Willie, what do you think you’re doing?” I asked, picking up the errant missile.

Before he could answer, another torpedo shot through the air. I heard Sarah’s giggles before I saw her. She stopped when she spotted me, the avenging hen with arms akimbo.

“Children, stop it! How are we supposed to have a crop when there’s nothing left to pick? And, Sarah, don’t throw things at your brother. You might poke his eye out.” Approaching the unrepentant child, I added, “And shouldn’t you be practicing your piano?”

With a mumbled, “Yes, ma’am,” she walked slowly to the back door, trailing a line of cotton buds on the ground as they dropped from her opened fist. I spotted Willie out of the corner of my eye, trying to sneak off into the woods. “And you, too, young man. I’ll be in to check on your progress in half an hour.”

As Willie followed his sister into the house, I turned my head at the sound of hoofbeats and watched Stuart, tall in the saddle, riding out toward the fields. The foot of his injured leg was left out of the stirrup, his well-muscled thighs hugging the saddle. Strong hands held the reins, and I turned away, trying not to remember how they had felt when he touched my face.

With no one looking, I unbuttoned the top three buttons of my dress, pulled the fabric away from my damp skin, and blew inside, hoping to create the slightest cooling breeze. I closed my eyes tightly in a vain attempt to shut out the heat. I succeeded only in stinging my eyes with the salty sweat on my eyelids. Suddenly, an image of plunging into nearby Vickery Creek filled my imagination, and I immediately set off to fetch Willie and Sarah. Surely keeping the children out of Julia’s hair would be a big help.

After depositing the basket with Sukie in the kitchen, I walked to the back door. The sound of Sarah’s crying greeted me as I stood in the threshold. Hurrying to the parlor, I was horrified by what I saw.

An angry red handprint stained the side of Sarah’s face, creeping up her delicate skin like poison ivy. She was crumpled on the floor, but her grandmother held her wrist tight. Willie sat on the piano bench, his shoulders hunched forward as if to make himself as small as possible.

Without thinking, I rushed to Sarah. “Did you hit her?” I knelt by Sarah and put my arm around her. She buried her head in my shoulder, muffling her sobs.

Pamela let go of Sarah’s arm. “This child must learn to respect her elders. I will not take any disrespect from a child.” Two bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “And how dare you speak that way to me. You both need to be taught some manners.”

I glared up at her. “I don’t know how you were raised, but I am quite sure that striking a child is a very ineffective way to teach her anything.”

Fuming and unable, or unwilling, to control the deep flush of anger that rose to her face, she hissed at me, “I do not know who you are or why you are here. But you are out of place in your interfering with the way I discipline my grandchildren.” Her hands shook with fury.

Sensing the children’s fear, I attempted to lighten the situation. “I think somebody’s grumpy and needs a nap.”

Sarah’s head snapped up to look at me, her eyes wide with surprise. Her look was echoed in her grandmother’s expression.

Pamela bent her face toward mine, her beady eyes narrowed. “Do not think that I do not know what you are up to. And you will not get away with it. Not while I am around.”

She walked out of the room, almost militant in her stride.

I brushed aside the tinge of fear that had begun to grow inside me and gave Sarah a hug, wiping her tears with the sleeve of my dress. “What did you say to her?”

Sniffling, Sarah explained, “She told me that I had no emotion for the music I was playing on the piano.” Pausing to hiccup, she continued. “And I told her she was wrong.”

I was unable to see the error in Sarah’s reasoning and unsure of how I should approach the situation. Wiping the damp tendrils of hair off her forehead, I whispered conspiratorially, “Well, you were right. But perhaps next time, you should just agree with your grandmother. After all, it’s apparent that she appreciates music as much as a rock would.”

I was rewarded with a small smile. Then I added, “How about a swim?”

A loud whoop from Willie was a clear answer for both of them.

We took the same path that led to Zeke’s cabin, but turned at a different fork in the trail, hoping that Willie really did know where he was. I welcomed the cool shade of the tall pines and longed for the water of the creek.

The children immediately stripped to their undergarments and stood on the edge, their bare toes wiggling among the stray strands of grass and rocks. Where we were, the creek was neither wide nor deep, but it filled our criteria of being wet and cool. With a nod from me, their gleeful cries filled the air as they flung their young bodies into the refreshing wetness.

My first impulse was to strip down to my chemise, but I hesitated. I was sure the children wouldn’t have noticed, but I didn’t want to be discovered by someone else standing in the middle of the creek, in nothing but a sheer piece of wet cotton. Resignedly, I pulled off my ankle boots and peeled down my stockings. Glancing around to make sure no one was lurking, I hoisted my skirts above the knees and sighed loudly as I waded into the stream.

The children splashed me in their exuberance, but I declined to chastise them. The spattering of water droplets on my face was too refreshing. I eyed the children enviously, their bare arms and legs glinting in the sunlight. Sweat still poured down my face, so I scooped a handful of the moving water and splashed it over my head.

The whinnying of a horse jerked me upright. I dropped my skirts in the water as I hastily turned around. I eyed my soaking clothing with dismay and quickly picked my skirts up again as I waded back to the shore. Charlie bolted past me and landed with a loud splash, his presence greeted with happy squeals from the children.

I faced Stuart as he gingerly dismounted from Endy. “Not to sound discourteous, but what are you doing here? Making sure I don’t bolt?” I wiped a stray water drop off the tip of my nose. “I hate to tell you this, but the only covert activity I’m guilty of is trying to cool off in this creek without showing too much skin.”

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Stuart replied, “I was paying a visit to Zeke. I have not seen him since Julia’s mother arrived. But I heard all this caterwauling and I came to see what had got caught in a trap.” He loosely tethered Endy to a tree and walked over to where I stood dripping.

“I thought the children could use a nice respite from the heat.” I picked up the edge of my hem and squeezed it tightly, the water droplets scattering dust as they fell.

“The children, hmm?”

“Oh, all right. I was about to melt. And I’d just about give my left arm to be able to take off these clothes and go for a swim.”

He looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to be shocked or amused. “I see.” He sat upon a large rock at the edge of the stream and began to remove his boots. “As much as I might enjoy the spectacle, I would not recommend it. You would scandalize the town.”

He was struggling with the boot on his injured leg so I went over to help him. He held up his hand to stop me. “Laura, that is really not proper. . . .”

“Stuart, you need help. Believe me, bare feet have never gotten anybody into trouble.”

His eyes widened, but he wordlessly handed me his foot and I pulled off the boot. He winced slightly but nodded his thanks as he pulled off his socks.

I waved my hand in front of my face. “Well, the sight isn’t scandalizing me, but the smell sure is. Is that a secret weapon to kill more Yankees than a single bullet?”

Leaning back, he shook his head and laughed. “You know, Laura, I can always depend on you to say what is on your mind. A rare but admirable trait.”

“Thank you. I think.” I carefully picked my way back into the water and found a seat on a partially submerged tree trunk.

Sobering slightly, he said, “Why such a mystery, Laura? What is so dangerous that you have to keep it hidden?”

I didn’t dare look at him. Staring down at the bright reflection of the water, I shrugged. “I hit my head, remember? I don’t recall much more about my past life than you don’t already know.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “You must think me quite stupid.”

“No, I don’t. And if I’ve kept anything from you, it’s merely self-preservation. You have nothing to fear from me.”

A welcome interruption came in the form of Charlie bounding through the water toward me, inviting me to play. Grasping hold of the bottom of my skirt, he began tugging.

“Charlie, stop it! I can’t go in. Willie! Sarah! Please come get Charlie and make him stop.” I wrinkled my nose at the smell of wet dog as I vainly tried to remove my dress from Charlie’s clutches.

I stood, prepared to retreat to the safety of the water line, when I found footing on a deceptively slippery rock. One moment I was standing; the next I was sitting on my backside, partially immersed in the water.

Once I had recovered from the shock, I politely refused all offers of help in righting myself. Instead, I lay back in my impromptu bath, allowing the water to wash over my face.

I sat up and shouted, “Oh, that feels wonderful! I wish I had thought of that to begin with.” And then I promptly lay back again, feeling my hair move with the soft current.

Opening my eyes under the water, I was surprised to see two dark, wavy figures on the bank. I immediately sat up and was relieved to see Zeke with Stuart.

“Hi, Zeke!” I called out, waving my hand and creating an arc of water, and acting as if sitting fully dressed in the middle of a creek was something I did all the time.

He raised his hand in greeting, his face stoic but a corner of his mouth twitching.

I stood and slogged my way over to the bank, my skirts heavy. I did my best to squeeze the excess water out of my hair and dress but felt confident that the burning sun would efficiently do the rest.

I blinked at the two men as a water droplet from my hair plopped into my eyes.

Zeke nodded silently at me. Turning to Stuart, he said, “Julia’s mother has come. The dark cloud over your house has told me this.”

I looked in the direction of the house and saw only clear sky.

“Yes, she is here. And she has brought word of William. He has been assigned to General Sherman’s staff in Nashville.”

Zeke grunted. “That is not far enough. Does he know you are here?”

Stuart shook his head. “Not as far as I know. We have had no contact with him for almost a year. Unless Julia mentioned it to her mother in a letter and Pamela told him.”

Zeke shook his head. “Then he knows. You should leave as soon as you can.”

His words made me start. I knew Stuart was a soldier, but it had never occurred to me that he might actually leave and go back to war so soon.

Stuart’s fists tightened at his side. “Am I the only one around here who has doubts that the Yankees could ever come this far?”

Zeke looked at Stuart, his eyes steady. “You are no fool. And you know as well as I do that a well-supplied Yankee army that easily outnumbers Confederates could do as they please with little consequential opposition.”

Stuart sat down and began pulling on socks and boots. Brusquely waving aside my offer of help, he yanked them on, oblivious to the pain it caused his injured leg. “I need to get back, regardless of my leg. I am so useless here.”

“I wouldn’t call holding this family and plantation together useless.” I had no thought as to why I felt a sudden panic at the thought of him leaving.

“My regiment is fighting for their country, and I am here, living as if the war is not even happening.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like you chose to be shot in the leg, for goodness’ sake. And what good do you think you’d be to your men right now? Would you expect them to carry you in a battle because your leg won’t let you keep up?”

Stuart and Zeke stared at me with raised eyebrows. Making an effort to lower my voice, I continued. “You are far more useful to your home and family right now than you would be to the Confederacy.”

Stuart grunted and stood quickly, almost pitching forward as his leg gave out on him. Zeke caught him before he fell. His face flushed red with anger, and he glared at me. “You are a real enigma, Laura. You do not remember anything about yourself but you know a good deal about what is good for me. Why do you want me to stay? Do you need a reliable informant?”

His soft voice cut the humid air with its vehemence. I took a step forward, my hands on my hips. “I was only trying to help. Fine. Go back to your regiment and get killed. I hope a cannonball lands right on your head.” I kicked at a rock and turned away, trying to look as dignified as I could with water dripping from my hair and clothes.

Stuart limped past me without a word and untethered his horse. Ignoring him, I called for the children to come out before their skin grew dimpled like raisins.

Drying themselves as much as possible on the linen towels we had brought with us, they then threw their dry clothes over their wet underclothes and trudged after Stuart, leaving me to follow behind. Zeke sent me a look of understanding and nodded goodbye as we passed the fork in the trail that led to his cabin. We took a separate path from the one I had been on previously and soon came upon the black gates of a small cemetery. I passed through the gates, hoping Stuart would take the children home and leave me to sort out my thoughts alone. I stood in the quiet, realizing I’d been here before.

White headstones dotted the quiet, shady knoll, the grass meticulously cut short. From this vantage point I could see two of the cotton mills of the Roswell Manufacturing Company and a sawmill that lay between the two. Seen from afar, all was a picture of the hustle and bustle of activity. But from where I stood amid the gravestones, a welcome breeze brushing my face and lifting the wet tendrils of hair off my forehead, it was curiously silent.

A prominent white marble monument towered over the other gravestones and I walked over to it. It had been erected in memory of the town’s founder, Roswell King. I had seen this marker before when I had visited what was then known as Founders’ Cemetery with my father. Besides being a bit whiter, there had been little change through the years. I touched it with both hands, my anchor in the sea of time.

I listened to the hum of insects as I strolled through the tiny cemetery, glancing briefly at each rounded headstone and marker. Kneeling down in front of a small stone, I traced my fingers lightly over the carved letters of a child who had died at age two years, nine months.

I strolled slowly through the cemetery, examining every headstone, conscious that I was looking for the grave of a child with no name. I squinted to see the small lettering on the tombstones and felt a cold chill in my heart when I saw the large number of children who had been buried in the cemetery between the years of 1840 and 1841.

Feeling a light touch on my shoulder and realizing it was Stuart, I stifled a scream. Sensing my question before I asked it, he explained, “Scarlet fever. There was almost no family in Roswell that did not lose a child.”

I nodded in silence, not yet wanting to speak, my anger toward him still strong. A small relief passed over me as I realized that whatever dangers Annie might encounter in the nineteenth century, childhood disease would probably not be one of them. As an infant, she had been immunized against diphtheria, measles, polio, and a small assortment of others. Assuming Annie was in the nineteenth century, this was no small comfort.

“Are you thinking of Annie?” His voice was low, concern replacing his anger.

“Yes.” I paused for a moment to kneel by another tiny tombstone. “I’m also thinking of all the parents of these children. There can be no greater pain than the loss of a child.” Thoughts of Annie consumed me and I began to cry. I stood and furiously tried to wipe the tears away, ashamed to have anyone see me fall apart. He tried to put an arm around me, but I pushed him away and tried to walk back to the gate.

His footfall sounded behind me as his hands grabbed me and spun me around. Wordlessly, he gathered me in his arms and held me against him.

It had been so long since I had felt the warmth and compassion of someone’s arms around me, and it made me cry harder. The smells of horseflesh, leather, and sweat pervaded his shirt, and I found them oddly comforting. His chest was hard and solid but made a remarkably soft pillow for my head as I soaked his shirt with my tears. Long minutes later, I was cried out, with only soft hiccups remaining. I felt Stuart’s hands on the sides of my head as he tilted my face upward. With his thumbs, he wiped the tears off my face. He brought his lips close to mine and paused for a moment. I closed my eyes and felt his lips gently brush mine.

His words barely audible, he said, “You are not alone anymore. Let me help you.” He let go of me and took two steps backward. Small clouds of tiny flying insects began to hover about us in the dwindling twilight. “But you have to be honest with me and tell me who you really are. And why you are here.”

My hand closed over my mouth. What had I done? This was not allowed. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

He stepped closer. “What are you afraid of?”

I looked down at the ground, my hair dripping into the dirt around my skirts. I searched for what truth I could tell him. “Of more loss. I could not survive it.”

He tilted my face back up to his. “You are strong.”

My gaze rested on his lips and I knew I wanted him to kiss me again. I tried to turn away, but his hands held me captive. “No. I’m not. You’ve misjudged me.”

His eyes darkened. “There is something else—I see it in your eyes. What is it? What is it you cannot tell me?”

I could do nothing but look at him and then lower my eyes.

He dropped his hand. “Why do you make me feel as if I am consorting with the enemy?”

“I’m not your enemy. I wish you would just trust me.”

“I wish I could.” Walking past me, he left the cemetery and grabbed Endy’s reins, which had been dragging in the red dirt. He paused momentarily. Without looking at me, he said, “I am not a patient man, Laura. I will find out. And if I discover you have been playing with our affections and deceiving us, you will live to regret it.”

Tugging on the reins, he walked on ahead of me, leaving a trail of red dust.