by V. J. Banis
Despite Alicia’s interruptions, the dinner went well. There was some brief conversation among the men regarding the prospective grange, but that was generally deferred until the ladies had withdrawn.
Jennifer understood a little about the organization. It was generally regarded as the country’s first important farmers’ movement, and it had begun in the Midwest, where farmers there had begun to form organizations they called Patrons of Husbandry, which became commonly known as granges. They were organized to combat the unfair practices of railways and grain elevators, and they had been successful in having protective legislation passed, legislation that touched deeply upon the subject of states’ rights. As a result, granges had begun to spring up about the country, even in the Deep South where farming before had been an independent and gentlemanly pursuit.
She saw the looks of surprise from the men when she joined in their conversations on the subject and indeed she would have been glad to pursue it but the men did not think that suitable.
“We don’t want to bore the ladies with such serious talk,” Mr. Morton said and the others nodded agreement and began to discuss the opera in New Orleans before the war.
Jennifer and Helen exchanged a quick glance. In some ways it was still very much the Old South, Jennifer thought. Women were meant to be pretty playthings, with little practical value.
When dinner was finished, the women retired to the withdrawing room while the men lingered over their port and passed around cigars.
For herself, Jennifer would as soon have lingered with the men. Although she suspected all the women present were intelligent and thoughtful, she was dismayed to see that their conversation was limited to “women talk.” They discussed their homes, their husbands, their children. They would not be persuaded by Jennifer to discuss literature nor the state of the South since the war, nor anything else of consequence.
Jennifer escaped once to look in on the children. With those who had come with the visiting couples, plus the Dere children and Liza, there were an even dozen. A table had been set up for them in one of the spare rooms, where they had eaten. By this time their meal was over too and the table had been cleared so they could play games.
When Jennifer came into the room, Liza was holding court. She was only slightly older than some of the others, but the impression she gave was that she was minding them all and doing so by keeping them entertained. At the moment she was engaged in telling them some story, the import of which Jennifer did not get.
“...By a witch,” was all she heard as she came in, but at the sound of the door opening, Liza’s narration stopped and everyone turned in Jennifer’s direction.
“I was only looking in to see that everything was all right,” Jennifer said, aware that her presence was a distraction. “Do go on, please.”
She left, and not until the door had closed and she was walking away did she hear the murmur of Liza’s voice begin again.
By this time the men had finished their port and the entire party was now assembled in the parlor. When Jennifer came in, someone said, “Here she is now.”
Helen said, “I promised them you would play some music for us.”
Embarrassed, Jennifer said, “But I am really not very accomplished.”
“I would certainly enjoy to hear some music,” a voice close to her said. She looked up into Walter’s eyes and knew she could not refuse after that request.
“Very well,” she said, taking a seat at the pianoforte. “I will play, but only if everyone sings.”
She brought her hands down upon the keys, hesitantly at first and then with more confidence, and began to play a spirited rendition of “Camptown Races.” Shyly at first and then with gusto, those who gathered about the piano began to sing. By the time she was playing the second chorus, everyone was singing loudly and happily, making the walls ring with their voices.
She kept them singing with “Nellie Gray.” And then she grew more serious, beginning to play an Irish song she had heard during the war, “The Rose of Tralee.” Until then she had not sung but now, as the others did not know the song, she began to sing it for them, her sweet girlish soprano only a whisper as she began, then soaring until it filled the room with the song’s haunting melody and the tender lyrics.
When she finished, she was surprised by the brief hush that lingered after the last chord. Then, in unison, her listeners began to applaud. She flushed with embarrassment.
“That was lovely,” one of the women said, and another said, “It filled my eyes with tears.”
Jennifer looked around and saw that Walter, who had stepped back a pace or two, was beaming at her with pride. His smile thanked her more than the spoken words of the others.
She played “Annie Laurie” next, insisting that they all sing with her, and then, so that the party not become too maudlin, she finished with “Captain Jinks.”
By the time she rose from the instrument the mood of fun and gaiety had been restored. There were loud protests that she should stop playing.
“My hands are not accustomed to the effort,” she said. “I am afraid I am too tired to continue to play.”
She again excused herself, thinking that she would look in on the children. This time when she opened the door to the room they were in, they paid less attention to her. They did not even seem to notice her, in fact, so absorbed were they in what Liza was doing.
She was at one end of the table with the others clustered in front of her, their eyes glued to her hands. She held what looked to be a crude doll, fashioned, so far as Jennifer could see from the doorway, of feathers and straw, and apparently intended to represent a chicken. Liza moved it back and forth, jiggling it to give a remarkably effective impression of a hen waddling.
“Cluck, cluck,” Liza said. She held her “hen” up, so that everyone could see it clearly. Then she put it on the table and began to wave her hands over it as if performing some magic ceremony.
“What...?” Jennifer started to ask, but someone shushed her so firmly that she held her tongue and watched, as mesmerized now by Liza’s mysterious actions as the children were.
“Cluck, cluck” Liza said again and, seizing the straw hen, she lifted it from the table. There, immediately beneath where it had lain, was a fresh egg. The children applauded this sleight-of-hand and Jennifer impulsively joined in, wondering how on earth Liza had managed to pull off the stunt.
“Do it again,” one of the children cried.
“Yes, do it again,” Came a chorus of voices.
Liza looked toward the door and Jennifer. She had been so engrossed in her trick that she had not even noticed Jennifer come into the room until she lifted the hen to show the egg. Seeing Jennifer, she looked doubtful and even, Jennifer thought, a little frightened.
No wonder Alicia thinks she is a witch, Jennifer thought, if Liza can perform her little tricks so neatly. Aloud, she said, with an encouraging smile, “Yes, please do it again. I should like to see it.”
The performance with the image of straw and chicken feathers was repeated. Jennifer observed that Liza, like all good performers, kept her audience’s attention where she wanted it. So effective were her hand movements that Jennifer forgot to watch to see how she slipped the egg into place until it was too late.
Once again the hen was lifted to reveal a shining white egg on the tabletop. The sight was greeted with a chorus of giggles and cheers from the children. It was this unfortunate moment, however, that Alicia had chosen to appear in the doorway, and her reaction to the stunt was far less appreciative.
“There!” she cried from behind Jennifer, who had not even been aware of her approach. “Didn’t I tell you she was a witch? That proves it.”
“Alicia, I....” Jennifer tried to take hold of her, to calm her down, but Alicia was beside herself. She rushed into the room and seized the egg from the table.
“You see, it’s still warm, just as if it had come from a real chicken.” She turned on Liza and before Jennifer could stop her, she h
ad struck the child across the face.
“Witch!” she screamed at the top of her voice. “Witch, witch, witch!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Throughout the evening Alicia had sulked in her room. What right had they to have a party when she was too ill to attend? It showed gross indifference to the state of her health. For all they cared, she could die here while they had their party.
And that simpering companion, Jennifer. “If you feel you are being left out, why don’t you get out of bed and join us for dinner? I’m sure everyone would be delighted and I’ll be glad to help you all I can.”
As if there were nothing at all wrong with her, as if she were just making it all up. She knew that was what they believed, all of them, probably even that stupid doctor. What did they know of what she suffered every day? If they knew, or cared at all, Walter would have done what she asked long ago and gotten rid of that awful witch-child.
They were fools, all of them, taken in by that put-on air of innocence. That child of the swamp. And while they simpered and prattled and had their dinner parties, she, Alicia, was dying.
She caught at her throat, tugging at the ribbon she wore there. If felt as if it were choking her. With a gesture of impatience she yanked it free and threw it on the floor, but the feeling lingered, as if ghostly hands were squeezing at her throat.
“It’s that girl and her tricks,” she muttered. From the parlor came the sound of singing. She listened to a girlish voice. It must be Jennifer, it certainly could not be Helen, singing a song she did not know. It had a poignant, lingering melody and suddenly her eyes filled with tears.
She felt so alone, so unloved and unwanted. She thought of Walter and nearly reached for the bell to ring for him, but at the last moment she stayed her hand. He would come along when she rang, sit and hold her hand, his face wooden and his voice unfeeling, and assure her that everything was all right.
Annie Laurie. Now they were singing Annie Laurie, and even at the distance she could pick out Walter’s rich baritone and Jennifer’s sweet soprano.
Those two, always exchanging glances. As if she weren’t supposed to see, as if she were too stupid to figure them out. She had seen Walter’s eyes devouring Jennifer’s slim young figure, had seen lust in his eyes—naked, ugly animal lust. He never came to his own wife’s bed, but he could lust after any pretty young woman who came around.
Well, let him lust, Alicia thought, smiling bitterly to herself. So far it hadn’t done him any good, she was sure of that.
Would they never finish with that blasted song? “Gave me her promise true...which ne’er forgot will be....” She mouthed the words, her voice a hoarse croaking whisper.
Of course, if Jennifer ever encouraged him...but she wouldn’t, not her. And it suited Alicia to have her around. At least she was someone who listened to her, who gave her a little bit of attention. Besides, she was keeping her eye on that Liza. Jennifer had promised she would do that.
If only she could catch Liza up to her shenanigans. Then they would all know she was right, and that she wasn’t crazy. Then Walter would have to get rid of the brat.
Hardly even thinking about what she meant to do, she got out of the bed and grabbed the robe that was always close at hand. She would discover for herself what mischief Liza was up to.
She was not even aware that the singing had finished some minutes before. She stole along the hall, knowing where she would find the children.
As she came near, she heard the sound of childish laughter and applause. She paused for a minute or so, wondering what the children were doing. Perhaps she should wait until Liza was alone.
Curiosity prodded her to go on, however, and she went to the open door. She was surprised to see Jennifer in the room, her back to the hall, and the children were all gathered around the table, watching something.
Noiselessly Alicia moved into the room, so that she could see past Jennifer’s shoulder. She saw Liza holding something in her hand, moving it around. When she set it down, Alicia saw that it was a kind of doll, done up to look like a hen.
What on earth, she wondered, frowning? The child began to wave her hands over the doll and Alicia felt a cold chill, and then a glimmer of triumph. Perhaps this was it, the opportunity she had been waiting for, to catch that evil child in one of her witch acts.
Liza lifted the doll—and there on the table was an egg. It had not been there before, Alicia was certain of that. It had been laid, by a handful of straw and feathers. And if that wasn’t witchcraft, she surely didn’t know what was.
That was when she screamed.
* * * * * * *
It was unfortunate that the incident had to occur with so many people in the house, Jennifer was to think later. If they had been alone—but then, Liza would probably not have been performing her little stunt.
As it was, Alicia’s screams brought everyone from the parlor, crowding into the room with the children. Jennifer tried to assure them it was only a trick, but Alicia was hysterical and had to be carried back to bed. By that time, Liza was so frightened she could not do her trick again, to show the others how harmless it was.
“Well, show us how you did it, anyway,” Helen demanded.
Jennifer saw that Liza was on the verge of tears, and she interceded. “Please,” she said, “I think Liza needs to go to bed.”
Despite disappointment, the others had to agree that she was right, and Jennifer managed to spirit Liza away from the crowd and up to her room.
Liza was even more than usually subdued, but she allowed Jennifer to help her undress and get ready for bed. For perhaps the first time since they had met, she did not seem to be at odds with Jennifer.
When she was almost ready for bed, Liza said, “Do you think Walter will be angry with me?”
“I think it is safe to say you caused a bit of an uproar,” Jennifer said. “Alicia will not get over this too quickly.”
Liza shot her a startled look. “What will she do?”
“Why, I...I don’t know,” Jennifer said, seeing genuine fear in the girl’s eyes. “Now I don’t think you need to worry unduly about that. Alicia is a little hysterical but at heart she’s probably very fair. And Walter certainly will not let anything too terrible happen.”
“She’ll make him send me away. Oh, don’t let them do that.” She suddenly threw herself against Jennifer and flung her arms about her, clinging wildly.
For a moment Jennifer had the odd feeling that Liza was only play acting. She saw that Liza’s tears were genuine, however, and the feeling passed. She patted her shoulder comfortingly. “There, now, there’s nothing to be gained by getting yourself worked up over this.”
“But promise me, you won’t let them send me away.”
“Why, it’s not up to me, I’m sure. I only work here, don’t you remember?”
“But they listen to you. Alicia listens to you, and Walter likes you, so he’ll listen. He’ll do whatever you tell him to do.”
Jennifer stiffened and although they were alone in the room, she felt her face turn red. Liza didn’t know what she was saying, of course, she did not mean it to sound the way it did.
“I think you had better get into bed now,” she said firmly. But when Liza was in bed and Jennifer on her way out, she said, “You will talk to them, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will talk to them.”
* * * * * * *
Alicia’s hysterical outburst had effectively ended the party. Amid the flurry of leavetaking, Jennifer could not help but observe the scarcely contained excitement of the ladies. By midday tomorrow, no doubt most of the countryside would know of Alicia’s latest outburst, with vivid details, perhaps some of them invented.
She joined the Deres while they bade their guests goodnight. When the door had closed on the last of them, Jennifer went alone to the parlor. She felt the need of a few moments to compose her thoughts.
Liza had observed something between her and Walter, something that transcended physical contact. Even
if she did not really know what she was saying, Liza’s remark must indicate that she had seen, or instinctively guessed, the threatening closeness between them.
There was only one thing she could do. She must leave Darkwater, before others reached the same conclusion. What if Alicia should discern how she felt? Or even Helen. It would be scandal. More than that, it would mean pain for Walter and his family, pain she had no right to inflict. No, she must go away. Even in her short time here, she had accumulated some money, enough to take her away, at least. She had found this position, surely she could find another. She would tell Walter at once.
She jumped to her feet and went in search of Walter, determined to resolve things while she still had the will to act.
Walter and Helen were not in the hall near the door, where she had left them. She wondered if perhaps they had gone up to bed. But, no, they would not do that without putting out the lamps.
She heard their voices coming from the dining room. Not until she was at the door did she realize they were quarreling. Her first instinct was to leave, but before she could do so, she could not help overhearing a part of their argument.
“That child must leave,” Helen was saying in a firm voice. “If there is to be any peace in this house ever again, you must send her out to work.”
“I can’t,” Walter said. “You know what that means for a young girl. I won’t do it.”
“You must. It is the only way.”
“I gave her my word I would see she was taken care of.”
Jennifer did not hear the rest because she was already walking away. She did not wish to be guilty of eavesdropping. At the same time, though, she had promised Liza she would speak to the Deres on her behalf. She hesitated, wondering if perhaps this would not be the best opportunity to do so.
Instead, she returned to the parlor. She did not know what she should do. She could admit that there was some validity to what Helen had said. There was no doubt that Liza was a part of the discord that reigned here at Darkwater, seething just below the surface and sometimes erupting as it did tonight.
