Stars: The Anthology

by Janis Ian

  "But how does he do anything?" Annimae stammered.

  "In utter darkness," said Mrs. Nightengale. "Unrelieved by any ray of light. I have had chambers built for him in the center of this house, without windows or doors, reached only by certain secret means. The wicked dead never find him, for the whole of the house is designed as a maze to confuse them. They are seduced by bright colors and ornamentation, and so they go round and round but never find the dark center."

  "But… I was told he saw me, and fell in love with me," said Annimae pitifully.

  "And so he did," said Mrs. Nightengale. "Did you think I could keep my boy in eternal darkness? No indeed; the good spirits told me that he might come and go by means of a ruse, though it must be only on moonless nights. He wraps himself in a black shroud, and climbs into a box made to resemble a coffin.

  "When he signals, the servants carry it out to where I wait with the carriage. They load his coffin into the back; Sam drives us away; and the foolish dead never follow. Then Daniel climbs out and sits behind me, where he cannot be seen. He is greatly refreshed by the night air, and the chance to see something of the world."

  "Oh! You drove past our house every night," exclaimed Annimae.

  "So we did," said Mrs. Nightengale, looking grim. "And so he fell under the spell of an image glimpsed through a pane of glass, and would not rest until you became his bride. I must admit to you, Daughter-in-Law, that I was against it. Any disturbance of our domestic arrangements represents a peril to his life. But so taken was he with your beauty, that he threatened to destroy himself unless I spoke with your father. The rest you know."

  And Annimae was flattered, and felt beautiful indeed, to have won a man’s love at such cost. She warmed with compassion for him, too.

  "I promise you, Mother Nightengale, I will be a faithful and loving wife to dear Daniel," she said.

  "You will need to be more than that," said Mrs. Nightengale. "You will need to be a comrade-in-arms to me, Daughter-in-Law. We must wage a constant battle against the dead, if Daniel is to live." And she pressed her fingertips to her temples, as if in sudden pain.

  "What must I do?"

  "You will learn," said Mrs. Nightengale, a little distractedly. "Sam and Bridget will explain the arrangements. Oh, my migraine is returning; all these strangers in the house admitted malign influence, as I feared. Sam, I must retire to the thirteenth room. See to the girl."

  So saying she rose, dropping her napkin, and walked straight to a wall. Annimae, watching in astonishment with spoon halfway to her mouth, thought her mother-in-law was about to collide with the mirrored surface; but at the last minute a panel opened and Mrs. Nightengale stepped through, to vanish as it slid smoothly into place behind her.

  "How did she do that?" Annie exclaimed.

  "It was a mechanism concealed in the floor, Ma’am," Sam told her, retrieving Mrs. Nightengale’s napkin. "Triggered counterweights behind the paneling. There’s secret passages all over this house! She designed them herself, you know. My mistress is a most ingenious lady."

  "What happens now?" asked Annimae, looking about herself forlornly.

  "Why, I’ll serve you the rest of your luncheon, Ma’am," said Sam. "And then I’ll just clear away the mistress’s place, and take myself off to the kitchen. You want anything, you just ring."

  "Please—" said Annimae, suddenly afraid to be left alone in this glittering room full of unseen presences. "Won’t you stay and talk to me? I need to know things—" And she almost called him boy, but it did seem to her ridiculous, as august and white-haired as he was. And, mindful of his bent back, she added: "You can sit down while we speak, if you like. And you can have some dinner, too. I mean—luncheon!"

  He smiled at her, and the white flash from his teeth winked in every mirrored surface in the room.

  "Thank you, Ma’am, I surely will."

  He served out filet of sole to her, then drew up a chair and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Settling back with a sigh, he explained the complex system by which the house ran.

  On no account must any room ever be approached in the same way twice. There were a dozen different ways to reach any single destination in the house, and until she memorized them all, either he or another of the servants would guide her. There was no map, lest the dead see it and find their way where they weren’t wanted; in any case no map would remain accurate for long, because rooms were continuously being remodeled in order to confuse the dead. Doors and windows were put in and taken out at the direction of the good spirits. Chambers were sealed off and reopened. Some doors opened on blank walls, or into space, even three storeys up, so she must be careful; stairs might lead nowhere, or take a dozen turns and landings to go up only one floor.

  "I never knew there were such things," said Annimae, feeling as though her head were spinning.

  "Oh, folk have always protected themselves from haunts, Ma’am," said Sam, leaning over to serve her a slice of coconut pie. He took a slice of bread for himself. "Horseshoes over the door for good luck, eh? And the red thread, and the witchball, and the clover with the four leaves? They keep away all harm, so people say. Mistress just has the money to do it on a big scale, all modern and scientific too."

  "Scientific," Annimae repeated, impressed.

  He looked at her a long moment, over his smoked spectacles.

  "Don’t you be afraid," he said at last. "Just you do like you been told, and it will all fall out pretty as any fairy tale. Romance and a happy ending, yes indeed."

  "Can you tell me more about Daniel?" asked Annimae. "Is he handsome?"

  Sam shrugged.

  "I reckon he is, Ma’am. I haven’t laid eyes on the master since he was a baby. But he has a beautiful voice, now. How he sings for love of you!"

  "When may I go see—that is, when may I meet him?" Annimae set down her napkin. "Can you take me there now?"

  Sam coughed slightly, and rose to his feet. "That would be my old woman’s business, Ma’am. You wait; I’ll send her."

  He left the room, and Annimae shivered. She looked about and met her own timid gaze everywhere. For the first time, she noticed the motif that was repeated on the fine china, in the carpet pattern, in the mosaic arrangement of the mirrored bits and even in the panes of glass that made up the skylight: spiderwebs, perfect geometric cells radiating out from an empty center.

  She scarce had time to contemplate the meaning of all this before a door opened and a woman all in black strode in briskly, upright though she too was very old. Her hair must have been red as fire when she’d been a girl, for a few strands of that color trailed still through the rest, which was white as smoke; and her eyes behind their dark spectacles were the hot blue of candle flames.

  "I’m to take you to himself, now, Ma’am, am I?" she inquired, politely enough; but her eyes flashed dangerously when Annimae put her hands to her mouth in horror.

  "You’re Sam’s wife? But—!"

  The old woman looked scornful as she curtsied. "Bridget Lacroix. Bless you, Ma’am, you needn’t be surprised. There’s no scandal at all in me marrying Sam Lacroix. Don’t you know how many of us Irish came to Ameri-kay as slaves? White chimpanzees, that’s all we are; or so that fine Mr. Kingsley said. And if the mistress don’t mind it, I’m sure you shouldn’t."

  "I am so sorry!" said Annimae, much distressed. "I never meant offense."

  Bridget looked her over shrewdly. "No, I don’t suppose you did. Sam told me you was innocent as a little baby. But it’s time you grew up, me dear." She grinned. "Especially as it’s your wedding day."

  She led Annimae out of the dining room and through another, where jets of flame burned brilliantly in wall-mounted glass globes. The globes were all colors, hung with prisms that threw swaying rainbows everywhere. And there were more windows set in the walls, stained glass repeating the spiderweb pattern Annimae had noticed before. They, too, were lit from behind by the strange cold light she had wondered at in the chapel. Annimae, who had only ever seen candles and kerose
ne lamps after dark, exclaimed:

  "What is this place?"

  "O, this is just the Room of Eternal Day," said Bridget. "The dead don’t like passing through a place so bright, and it shows up that they haven’t any shadows besides, and that embarrasses ‘em, don’t you know. All very up-to-date in here! That’s gaslight, of course, but for the windows she’s laid on that new electrical light. Clever, isn’t it?"

  They went on through that room, and came to another that was lined floor to ceiling with clocks, and nothing else. Great inlaid grandfather clocks stood in the corners and ticked solemnly; French bisque clocks sat on shelves and ticked elegantly, as painted Harlequins and Columbines revolved atop them; old wooden regulator clocks thumped along wearily; and little cheap brass clocks beat away the seconds brightly. But no two clocks were set to the same time.

  "How strange!" cried Annimae, and Bridget chuckled and said:

  "O, this is the Room of All Time and None. It’s just to confound the dead. They work very particular shifts, what with midnight being the witching hour and all. If one of ‘em strays in to see what o’clock it is, he’ll be stuck here guessing with all his might and main."

  They left that room and soon came to another, no less curious. There was no spiderweb motif here; rather the recurring image was of a tiny white moth or butterfly, but it was repeated everywhere. It figured in the wallpaper pattern like so many snowflakes, it was woven into the design of the carpet, and into the brocade of the chairs and the inlay of the tables and cabinets, and etched into the very window glass. The curio cabinets held nothing but pressed specimens of white moths, displayed against a blue velvet background.

  "What on earth are all these butterflies for?" asked Annimae.

  "O, it’s only the Soul Trap," said Bridget. "Because, you see, the nasty dead are a bit stupid, and they have a compulsion to count things. Any haunt comes through here, here he must stay until he’s numbered every blessed one of the little creatures. Generally by then the ghost will have forgot whatever wickedness he was up to."

  "What a good idea," said Annimae, because she could not imagine what else to say.

  They proceeded deeper into the house, and as they did it grew dimmer and dimmer, for there were no windows nor light fixtures here, and the corridors turned and turned again ever inward. At last Bridget was only a shadow beside her, that cleared its throat and said:

  "Now then, Sam told me you might want a little learning. You know, don’t you, what it is a bride does with her husband?"

  "Well," said Annimae, "As nearly as I recollect, we’re supposed to fall on each other with kisses of passion."

  "Hm. Yes, me dear, that’s how it starts."

  As far as Annimae had been aware, there was nothing more; and in some panic, she racked her brains for what else happened in books and poems.

  "I believe that then I’m supposed to swoon away in a transport of love," she said.

  "So you must,’ said Bridget, sounding exasperated. "But there’s a great deal goes on between the kissing and swooning, sure. Think of what the stallion does with the mare."

  "Oh," said Annimae, who had seen that many a time. She walked on in thoughtful silence, drawing certain conclusions, so intent that she scarcely noticed when it became pitch dark at last. Bridget had to take her hand and lead her through the fathomless gloom.

  Soon they heard glorious music, close by but muffled. Someone was playing a Spanish guitar with great virtuosity, each note chiming like a bell even through the wall’s thickness.

  "Why, who’s that?" asked Annimae.

  "O, the jewel, the darling! He’s serenading his bride," Bridget exclaimed with great tenderness. There was a sound suggesting that she had put out her hand and was sliding it along the wall as they walked. Presently she stopped, and rapped twice.

  The music halted at once. An eager voice said:

  "Annimae?"

  "She’s here, charming boy," said Bridget. "Hurry now, while it’s safe."

  There was a click, and then a rush of air that smelled of gentlemen’s cologne. Annimae felt herself prodded gently forward, closer to the scent, into a warmer darkness. Something clicked again, behind her now. She fought back a moment of wild terror, realizing she had been locked in; but at once warm hands took her own, and they felt so live and steady that her fear melted away. She touched the wedding ring on his finger.

  "I’m here, Daniel Nightengale," she said. "Your own true love—"

  "Oh, my own Annimae," said the new voice, breaking on a hoarse sob. And Annimae, feeling brave now, leaned forward in the darkness and sought her husband’s lips. She encountered his chin instead, for he was a little taller than she was. He bent to her and they kissed, and the kiss was nicer than anything Annimae had ever known in her whole life. The face of the baby angel in the locket came before her mind’s eye; in the table of her thoughts it grew, became the face of a handsome man..

  She had compiled a list of rapturous phrases to murmur in his ear, but somehow she couldn’t stop kissing, nor could he. Their arms went around each other, they grappled and swayed. Annimae felt once again the dizzy happiness she had known high up in the cottonwood tree, when she seemed about to lift free of the dry earth and soar away, into a green paradise.

  The whole time, her young fingers were exploring, touching, tracing out the strange new shape of a man. Such broad shoulders, under his linen shirt! And such smooth skin! Such fine regular features! His hands were exploring too, feverish and fast, and fever woke in her own blood. She thought about mares and stallions. He lifted his mouth from hers and gasped,

  "Please, let’s lie on the bed—" and she was making sounds of agreement, though she hadn’t any idea where his bed or anything else in the room might be. He half-carried her a few yards, and they collapsed together on what must be the counterpane. She understood what he wanted and, remarkably quickly considering how much effort and care had gone into putting on her wedding dress, she writhed out of it.

  Then the smooth counterpane was cool under her and he embraced her so close, and, and, and…

  Long afterward she recollected the rapturous phrases, and duly murmured them in his ear. Now, however, she knew what they meant.

  Now she believed them.

  ~~~~~

  So began Annimae’s married life. She was as happy as any new bride in any of her books, even with the strange constraints upon her life. There was no question that she loved Daniel Nightengale with her whole heart, and that he loved her.

  "You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in all my life," he sighed, as they lay close together in the dark. "The window shining out across the darkness, and you framed there bright as an angel. I loved you so! You were the very image of everything I’d ever wanted, in the life I’d never be allowed to live. And I thought, I will live it! I will marry that girl!"

  "Your Mamma said you threatened to die for love of me," said Annimae.

  "I would have," he said, with a trace of sullenness. "Just opened that door and walked out through the house, and I’d have kept walking until I found the sunlight."

  "Oh, but that would be a terrible thing!" said Annimae. "With so many folks who love you? You mustn’t ever do it, my dearest."

  "I never will, now that you’re here," he conceded, and kissed her.

  "And after all," she said, "It’s not really so awfully bad, like this. You’re no worse off than a blind man would be. Much better, really! You needn’t beg for your dinner on a streetcorner, like poor old Mr. Johnson in town. Instead you’re my handsome prince, under a spell. And, who knows? Maybe someday we’ll find a way to break the spell."

  "If only there were a way!" he said. Then, hesitantly, he asked: "Do you think my mother is crazy?"

  "Well, I did wonder at first," she admitted. "But I guess she isn’t. Spiritualism is a big religion, I hear, and they wouldn’t let all those people run around loose if they were crazy, would they? And everything in the house is so modern and scientifical!"

 
He sighed, and said he guessed she was right.

  Their days began around ten o’clock in the morning, when a gentle rap at the panel signified that Sam had brought a wheeled cart with their breakfasts. Annimae would scramble through the heavy velvet curtains that cloaked the bed—only there in case of emergency, for the room was black as ink at all hours—and, finding her dressing gown by touch, slip it on and open the secret panel. Sam would enter along with Gideon, who was Sam’s son and Daniel’s valet. She became quite skilled at pouring coffee and buttering toast in the dark, as Daniel was shaved and dressed sight unseen, and Sam made the bed and collected their linen, all by touch alone.

  The four of them often conversed pleasantly together, for Gideon would bring the news culled from the morning’s Mercury, and Daniel was eager to hear what was going on in the world. They might have been ordinary people in an ordinary household, Annimae thought; and the reassuring domestic details comforted her, and further convinced her that her life wasn’t so strange, after all.

  After breakfast she would leave Daniel’s suite for a little while, to take the sun. It appeared painfully bright to her now; she saw why all the servants wore smoked spectacles, and begged a pair of her own from Bridget. Then she could wander the gardens, feeding the fish in the reflecting pools, admiring the exotic flowers, picking fruit from the bushes and trees. She brought back bouquets of roses for Daniel, or apron-pockets full of blackberries warm from the sun.

  She seldom met the gardeners, the twins Godfrey and Godwin, who were also Sam’s sons. Most of the servants had adjusted to a nocturnal schedule over the years, for the mistress of the house kept late hours too. Annimae did wander out now and then to the perimeters of the house, where the workmen were always busy hammering, sawing, extending the vast and gorgeous edifice with raw new redwood that still smelled of the wilderness. They were always too busy to speak, though they doffed their caps to her, blushing.