The Mirk and Midnight Hour

by Jane Nickerson

  “I think,” I continued, “you should call me Violet without the ‘cousin’ business attached, and I’ll call you Seeley. Much more convenient. And by the way, this little baby I’m holding is Cubby. His parents are around here somewhere. In fact, I need to hurry and tell his mama to toss lots more potatoes in the stew to make it stretch for everyone who’ll be eating it. As soon as you’ve washed up and brought in your things, I’ll introduce you to the others.” I turned back to the Tingles. “Please get yourselves settled and I’ll call y’all for supper shortly.” I started to usher Seeley indoors.

  He hung back. “I’d rather eat out here.”

  “Seeley!” Dorian said sharply. “You’re not a Yankee. Maybe you’ve forgotten that civilized people dine at tables.”

  The boy stammered something apologetic, and I found myself immediately on his side and not at all hesitant to go against Dorian.

  “No,” I said. “He’s right. I love twilight too. I guess I’m not civilized either. Let’s all sit on the porch. The mosquitoes aren’t bad yet, and we’ll be more comfortable outside than in the stuffy dining room.”

  Seeley shot me a swift upward glance. He was not a particularly attractive little boy, but he had beautiful, long-lashed eyes. I smiled at him. “I’ll go tell Laney where we’ll be.”

  “What’s that?” he asked as I was turning to go. He was pointing to where, barely visible, a shadow darted across the lawn like a thing possessed, pouncing first here, then there.

  “That’s our mad cat, Goblin,” I said. “There’s moths out there and she’s being the mighty hunter.”

  “Would she let me hold her, do you think?”

  “I’m not sure we can catch her when she’s in her wild creature form. Once she comes in for the night, though, just try to keep her off you. Wouldn’t you rather hold Cubby? He’s a very nice baby and only scratches when he’s trying to pull your nose off.”

  Seeley shook his head, but I was rewarded with a faint smile.

  “If we eat on the porch,” I said, “we’ll lure Goblin with food. She’ll be your friend for life if you feed her the rabbit stew we’re having tonight. She likes her rabbit neatly chopped up with vegetables. Especially parsley. Isn’t she silly for a mighty hunter?”

  My young cousin grinned. His teeth were too big for his mouth and pointed chin, but maybe his face would grow around them eventually.

  Dorian followed me inside. “Rabbit stew, eh?” he said. “So y’all in Mississippi have been driven to living off the land. Soon you’ll be scrounging for catfish whiskers to nibble. Or—don’t tell me—are you already?”

  I widened my eyes. “Well, we Mississippians don’t care for that sort of thing, but if y’all Virginians have a hankering for whiskers, we’ll find you a cane pole so you can go fishing tomorrow.”

  Over Dorian’s head I saw Sunny pause at the top of the stairs. She wore the paisley voile she’d worn at the wedding. Since she’d sported blue muslin earlier, she must have thrown on the voile at the first inkling of company. Her hands smoothed down the fabric over the curve of her bosom and then over her hips as she prepared to descend.

  Dorian was still laughing about catfish whiskers when she swept up to him.

  “And who do we have here?” she asked, inspecting Dorian with her head cocked slightly to one side. The light shining from the doorway sent fiery glints shooting through her chestnut hair. She looked rather bold and very beautiful.

  As I introduced my cousin, I caught his glance fix on her low-cut neckline for a second too long before he bowed slightly and took her hand.

  “Hopefully you’ll stay for a good while, Mr. Rushton,” Sunny said, looking up at him through her lashes. “Long enough to appreciate our Mississippi hospitality.”

  “As Violet said, we needn’t bother with titles,” he said quickly. “Call me Dorian since we’re all family. And I’m sure I will enjoy your … hospitality.”

  I drew in my breath. I wasn’t sure, since I was already turning away, but he might have winked at her.

  At suppertime the two of them—Sunny and Dorian—sat together on the front porch steps. Sunny’s skirts were spread so wide there was little room for anyone else. Since the Tingles and Miss Elsa occupied the rockers, I hunched on the bottom step, trying feebly to join in the conversation, which mostly was about my cousin’s blockade-running.

  Sunny raised her hem high enough to expose her ankle and shapely calf encased in delicate lace. “So,” she said, “you, sir, are one of the valiant gentlemen responsible for bringing Southern ladies their pretty Parisian finery, such as my new stockings. A girl really shouldn’t have to give up everything for the Cause.”

  Dorian’s eyes twinkled. “How noble of you, Miss Sunny, to remind this gentleman of some of the pleasures of home worth fighting for.”

  She giggled. “It’s a demanding responsibility, but someone must do it.”

  Miss Elsa, who had been rocking dreamily, only occasionally interjecting into the conversation, roused herself enough to softly say, “Anna Bess,” in mild remonstration. She settled back into her seat, her motherly duties done.

  Meanwhile, I, bunched below in my stiff black calico, was thoroughly squelched—the effect Sunny always had on me around gentlemen. I fiddled with the amber amulet Amenze had given me, which I wore beneath my bodice nowadays. The feel of it under my fingers was heartening somehow. I made myself stop. It would not do to draw attention to the stone and have to explain it.

  Out on the lawn the Tingles’ servants had lit cooking fires. Their dark shapes moved back and forth between the gleams and flickers, casting distorted shadows on the woods behind. Low voices and occasional laughter drifted up. Someone had a harmonica, and the mournful, wailing tones trailed off into the night.

  Seeley was slouched cross-legged just outside the lantern beams from the porch, facing away. Goblin had engorged herself on the boy’s supper before daintily trotting off to take care of whatever business cats take care of at night. My cousin looked small and alone. Poor little boy.

  I gave up on being a third wheel and went to join him. He was rubbing his thumb back and forth over something miniature that lay in his hand. It was a tiny horse, molded of lead and brightly painted. When he noticed me standing above him, he hurriedly slipped it into his pocket.

  I sank down to the grass. “You might have noticed you can’t see the stars very well tonight. It’s because of the humidity. When the wind blows it away, they’re bright here as anywhere.”

  He gazed up at the hazy blackness for a moment before saying hesitantly, “I know all the names of the constellations.”

  “On the next clear night maybe you’ll point them out. My brother, Rush, used to do that, but without someone to show me, I can’t make out anything.” I paused. My breath had caught, as it always did these days, when I said my twin’s name. But no more grieving. I had promised. “If you like lead horses and soldiers, Rush had lots of them.”

  Seeley shrugged.

  “They’re up in the attic,” I said. “I’ll bring them down tomorrow. They’ve been unhappy without a boy around for so long.”

  He raised his thin shoulders again. “If you like.”

  “There’s boys’ books you can have too. And a bandalore. Have you ever seen one of those?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “No, ma’am. Is it like a banjo?”

  “It’s a spool tied on a string. You hold one end and sort of tug on it and it rolls and unrolls and goes up and down. At least it will if you know how. Rush could do lots of tricks with it, but I never had the knack. I bet you could.”

  He gave me a quick look. “Why?”

  “Why do I think you could? Because you seem to be the sort of boy who can do things. Like my brother. He was my twin, you know. He and I and our friend Laney used to have the best times together. Rush did girl things with us, like dressing chickens in doll clothes, and we did boy things with him, like swinging out on vine
s over the river.”

  “Is that person Laney?” He jutted his chin toward Sunny.

  “No. That’s my stepsister, Sunny. Laney’s in the kitchen. She’s our servant but also my friend.”

  “I’m glad that person’s not Laney. She has mean eyes.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

  “Can I swim in the river sometime?” he asked while I was still smiling.

  “Of course,” I said. “This is your home now, and you’ll have lots of time to do everything since school won’t start up again till fall.”

  “Panola is my home.” A defiant little gleam came into his eyes. “I own it.”

  “Yes, you do, and you’ll go back there someday. But you couldn’t stay there by yourself.”

  “I wasn’t by myself.”

  “True, but Aunt Lovina’s too old to continue caring for you.”

  “I had Mammy. Mammy took good care of me.”

  “I’m sure she did. But the responsibility was too much, especially with the beastly Yankees so close. Aunt Lovina thought you’d be safer here.”

  “It wasn’t Aunt Lovy. Dorian wanted it. It was Dorian’s idea. He said I needed to be sent farther away from the war. Mammy asked to come with me, but Dorian wouldn’t let her.”

  So that was what was wrong. Seeley hadn’t wanted to leave Panola and resented Dorian for making him. Hopefully he’d get over his sulks soon. “Well, I’ll be here for you.” I hesitated. “I’ve been lonesome since Rush died. I need someone to help me do the things I used to do with him. Hunt for arrowheads and explore the woods and that sort of thing.”

  “I wish I had a brother.”

  “You have Dorian. He always lived with you at Panola as an older brother would. I bet he thinks of you that way.”

  “Maybe. He never took me exploring, though.”

  “When he came out and stayed here with us one summer, he was a lot of fun. He could think of the most amusing adventures.”

  “He doesn’t ever play with me—we’ve never had any adventures.”

  “He’s a lot older than you. Probably that’s why.”

  “Maybe.” Seeley turned away and gazed off into the darkness.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t get him talking again. Over on the porch Sunny and Dorian were doing a great deal of bantering and laughing.

  It was late and Seeley had to be tired. I stood and reached out a hand. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s take you up and tuck you in bed. You get to sleep in Rush’s old room.”

  Again he shook his head and remained sitting. “I’ll sleep out here.”

  Dorian evidently had been watching. He strode up behind us and nudged Seeley with his knee. “Stand up, boy.”

  My little cousin’s features were set in stubborn rebellion, so Dorian gripped his shoulders and lifted him to a standing position.

  “Go with Violet,” Dorian ordered. He glanced at me. “It doesn’t do, coz, to mollycoddle him.”

  Seeley ducked under Dorian’s touch, glaring out into the darkness and refusing to look at either of us.

  “Go with her,” Dorian said, “unless you want me to tuck you in bed instead.”

  I walked off, unable to watch how badly the older cousin handled the younger. Seeley scurried to join me. I put an arm across his back, but he flinched away. “Sorry,” he said, very low. “I don’t like being touched.”

  “How about I bring Goblin up to you in bed?” I said, dropping my arm. “You’ll like touching her. She’s nice to sleep with for all she’s so rangy and skinny. Although sometimes she snoozes right on your chest and it’s hard to breathe. You don’t have to let her, though. You can push her off.”

  “I’ll let her.”

  After Seeley was tucked away with the cat and his own cup of warm bedtime honey milk, I joined the others, who had retired to the sitting room and were chatting quietly. No one had drawn the curtains and the dark outside turned the windowpanes into squares of opal. Firelight flickered up and down the walls and ceiling, making the bittern seem to stir and threading my harp with strings of flame.

  “Why don’t you play for us, Violet?” Miss Elsa said suddenly, her cool voice sounding affectionate. Our company’s arrival had awakened her. “That piece I heard you working on yesterday.”

  I looked down at my hands, with calluses on the fingertips from plucking strings. “I didn’t know anyone was listening. It’s just something I made up as I went along. It doesn’t have an end.”

  “Play it,” Miss Elsa said. “I thought it pretty.”

  Refusing would only draw more attention, so I sat down beside the harp, leaned in, and let my fingers find the strings. My short little piece had a haunting minor key that was so beautiful it made me happy and so mournful it made me sad at the same time. I ended, my hands quieted the strings, and there was a moment’s hush before Dorian turned his full, glowing smile my way. “Bravo!” he exclaimed.

  I smiled in spite of myself.

  Sunny watched me with a narrow-eyed, new appraisal. “Will it be a sonata when it grows up?” she said, her tinkling voice sounding more like breaking glass.

  Her tone shocked me.

  Dorian darted a look back and forth between Sunny and me, his expression quizzical. “How about some rebel songs now?” he said quickly.

  And so I went through “Dixie,” “The Bonnie Blue Flag,” and “Lorena.” As I started the last verse of “Lorena,” I glanced up at the photograph of Rush, all straight and proud in his new uniform, on the wall beside me. And in a trice I noted a resemblance to Seeley.

  “There is a future! Oh, thank God!

  Of life this is so small a part!

  ’Tis dust to dust beneath the sod,

  But there, up there, ’tis heart to heart.”

  I awoke to sounds—first the comeback, comeback, comeback warbling song of the guinea hens down by the edge of the forest, next the crowing of the rooster, then the distant clanging of a wake-up bell on some plantation upriver, and then more bells and a ram horn from other plantations. Gradually the low voices of the Tingles’ Negroes rose up from their camp on the lawn.

  Pale sunlight sifted through net curtains covering the low, arched windows of my bedroom, casting delicate, lacy patterns on the wall. Smells came too, wafting in through cracks. The Tingle servants were frying sowbelly and hoecakes. From downstairs drifted the tantalizing fragrance of baking gingerbread. That enticed me further awake, but I paused after I dressed, and ducked down low to pull back the curtains and peek outside.

  From this viewpoint, myriads of interlaced footprints showed up dark green in silver dew on the grass. People were scurrying about, preparing to move on. Big, hulking King, Dorian’s body servant, was plodding back and forth, alternating between hefting fantastic loads and conscientiously picking sowbelly from between his teeth with a long, shiny goose quill. He had a big, bald head and flat face. His eyes were small and dull, but he must perform his tasks well enough or Dorian wouldn’t have brought him. Last night King had made himself a pallet behind a partition in the barn, and seemed as if he’d be perfectly comfortable sleeping anywhere.

  Michael was helping load wagons, and Laney was distributing gingerbread to the little ones clustered about. I wondered if the two of them had been listening to a great many stories of runaway slaves.

  I shook myself. All night long, the crate full of Rush’s playthings had called to me from the attic. As eager as I had been to hide everything away from my young cousin, now I was even more eager to shower him with them. To see him smile. I fetched the crate down now and knocked softly on Seeley’s door. No response. Inside his room the bed covers were flung on the floor, with no boy in sight.

  A thump sounded from the wardrobe. Mystified, I watched as the door swung open and out onto the floor tumbled my cousin, all tangled up in his nightgown and a blanket, with his hair sticking up as wild as a particularly messy crow’s nest. His eyes opened groggily.

  “Seeley,” I said, “did you sleep in the wardrobe?”
<
br />   “Only after Goblin left,” he mumbled. “I didn’t make her go in there ’cause I didn’t know if she’d want to.” He pulled his blanket closer and added shyly, “Little places are my favorite spots to be in.”

  I smiled. “That’s one way we’re alike. My bed chamber’s the smallest room in the house except for the box room.”

  “Where’s the box room?”

  “Right between my room and this one. Full of boxes.”

  Seeley scampered over to the door and peeked inside. “Could I sleep in there? You don’t even have to move the boxes. I really would like it better—you never know who might be hiding in a big room.”

  When I was little, before I climbed under the covers, I always checked in the wardrobe and beneath the bed for the boogerman. I glanced at Rush’s carpet, the fireplace, and the soft bedstead and then back at Seeley’s anxious expression. “I guess. If you really want to. I’ll clear out the junk today—including the boxes. There’s a cot in the attic we can bring down that might fit in there. You can still use Rush’s room too for setting up armies and cities and that sort of thing.”

  “King will bring the bed down. He’s strong.”

  I began removing Rush’s toys from the crate. This time no heartache gnawed at my insides as my brother’s beloved objects were piled on the bed. They seemed brighter and more inviting, exuding a new energy in response to a boy in the house once again.

  Seeley reached in to help. When he came to the wooden box of soldiers and steeds, he held it against him. “I can have these?”

  “Yes,” I said. “They’re yours now.”

  He dropped to the floor, his scrawny knees poking out from his nightgown, and took out the horses, one by one, to stand them on the crimson carpet. “In the horse world,” he announced, “the grass is red and the sky’s yellow and the sun is green.” He looked up. “Have you ever thought of that kind of place? Where everything’s different-colored?”

  “Sometimes when I’m sitting in church, I picture a world with colors we don’t even have here.”

  “How can that be?” He wrinkled his forehead. “It hurts my head to think of it.” One of the horses kept falling over, so he leaned it against the box. “My animals at home stand better and their paint is brighter. Your brother must have played with these a lot.” He added quickly, “But thank you for them. They’re perfect because they’re here and mine aren’t.”