The Mirk and Midnight Hour

by Jane Nickerson

  Dorian frowned and leaned down to whisper in her ear. I wasn’t sure because I was already headed out the door, but I thought his fingers dug hard into the white flesh of her upper arm. When I was halfway up the stairs, I heard noises that made me freeze. A squeal, a short scuffle, and then—a resounding blow.

  He hit her. Surely I must be mistaken—no gentleman would do that. But no, he had hit her. What was I to do? I started to whirl around to go back in and confront Dorian, but the sitting room door flew open. I jumped and bolted up to my bedroom like a startled rabbit.

  Sunny’s door slammed.

  One minute, then I would go to her. I perched on the edge of my bed, trying to catch my breath.

  From under the floorboard I took the correspondence Thomas had given me to mail. It was a temptation to snoop and read it, but I resisted, although I did catch a glimpse of “Dearest sister Addie” scrawled on one of the pages. He had very bad handwriting. It occurred to me that I had been vaguely jealous of the sweetheart-Addie-of-my-imagination who had written so familiarly to the Thomas-of-my-imagination even before I had met Thomas himself. And she had been his sister all along. A little smile curved my lips as I placed the letters in an envelope and wrote the address. I also gathered up a letter to Aunt Lovina and another to a school acquaintance I had scrawled a few days earlier. Mixed among other envelopes, the one to the Lynds would be less noticeable.

  I went across the hall and knocked softly on Sunny’s door.

  “Come in,” she said. “Just in time to tighten my stays.”

  The candy-pink gown she had worn lay puddled on the floor. I picked it up and shook it out. One dainty puffed sleeve was dangling, nearly ripped off.

  I stared at her.

  She shrugged. “See why I have to change?”

  “Did Dorian do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “He—he hit you?”

  “No,” she said coolly. “He tore my dress grabbing at me when I left, but actually it was me who slapped him. Hard. He deserved it, with his pestering and plaguing.”

  “What is he plaguing you about?”

  She suddenly looked tired and pinched. “Oh … nothing important.”

  I started to tug at her corset laces but stopped short. Five reddish finger-shaped bruises were forming on Sunny’s upper arm, and a large, splotchy, older bruise, purplish, discolored the back of her neck.

  Words clogged in my throat. When I could finally speak, I said, “Sunny, the way you two act is not normal.”

  Over her shoulder she flashed a brilliant smile with a ghastly edge to it. “Maybe not, but it’s exciting. I should detest a mealymouthed little man who says, ‘Yes, darling,’ and ‘No, darling.’ And”—she dropped down on her bed—“you’ll never guess. Last night Dorian asked me to marry him.”

  I sank down beside her. She gripped my hand and squeezed it, giving a delighted shiver.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” was all I could say.

  “Of course. I totally adore him. And you wouldn’t believe the delicious promises he’s been making. The gowns and jewels I’m to have and the trips we’re to take and my precious sweetheart to boot!” She tugged playfully at my hair. “Why, I’m the luckiest girl in the world!”

  Dorian must have done much better with his blockade-running than I would have suspected.

  “When is the wedding to be?”

  “Not sure. We’re to keep it secret for a bit, but of course I have to tell you and Mama. It all depends on—oh, boring things like finances and the progress of the war and all that nonsense.”

  So, Sunny, as so often happened with her, had gotten exactly what she wanted. Wasn’t it odd that getting exactly what one wanted often didn’t make for happiness? I couldn’t believe Dorian had asked her to marry him. Why? Much of the time my stepsister seemed to annoy rather than captivate my cousin—adequate only for a dalliance when he had nothing better available. But I must be mistaken; he had stayed here a good deal longer than he had planned and the reason had to be Sunny. He must love her. They must have the sort of affection where sparks of all kinds flew. I would hate such a relationship, but perhaps the two of them loved each other all the better for it.

  “Now,” Sunny said, “after you help me with the buttons on my dress—drat, it’d better be the cinnamon-striped since I suppose I’ll have to cover up with sleeves and my hair down over my neck—we’re going to go up into the attic to find you the most perfect gown. Then we’ll fix you up prettily so you’ll catch the eye of five or six—no, ten!—gallant Texans. You shall be my pet. And don’t you dare say no.”

  I didn’t.

  In the attic we pawed through trunks until Sunny pulled out a china-blue silk taffeta edged with tiny ivory embroidered rosebuds. “It’s so darling it makes my knees go weak. Also, blue is a good color to follow mourning. You’re quick with your needle, unlike frivolous, useless me, so you can raise the waist in no time.” She paused and studied my face. “Aren’t you excited?”

  “I am and that’s what surprises me. I never thought I’d be excited over fashions again.”

  “Silly goose. As if dead people would want you to go about looking like a drab for the rest of your life when you’re only seventeen.”

  Downstairs I sought out Laney in the kitchen to ask her to do the evening milking and to watch out for Seeley while we were gone. I displayed the gown I was about to make over.

  “It’ll look good on you,” Laney said.

  “If you get yourself some dresses from Mama’s trunks, I’ll help you fix them up. Aren’t we lucky she brought so many pretty things from Panola? There’s a dark red cambric would suit you perfectly.”

  “Thank you. I will.” She glanced toward the door. “Did you hear—” She stopped and her lips tightened.

  “Hear what?”

  She shook her head.

  “Laney, tell me.”

  “Did you hear that fight going on between those two?”

  “Between Sunny and Dorian? Yes, I did.”

  “Well, you couldn’t have heard much of it because they’ve been at it all the livelong day. I couldn’t hear well enough to tell what they were caterwauling about, but it’s something bad.”

  I sighed. “However they quarrel, Sunny still adores him. In fact, she’s—” I stopped myself before I told Laney about the engagement. Not my secret to share. “Sunny could have almost any man she wants, but it’s Dorian she chooses.”

  “Ain’t no telling with some folks,” Laney said.

  I agreed. No telling. I left Laney and settled myself in the sitting room with my sewing basket and the dress. Seeley wandered in soon after and dropped down to lean against my knee and read his book.

  “You’re not worried about me being gone tonight, are you?” I asked, since he didn’t normally position himself quite so close.

  “No,” he said. “But you’ll come and see me when you get back, won’t you? Even if it’s past midnight?”

  “Yes, but you’ll probably be asleep by then. I mean, past midnight is awfully late.”

  Miss Elsa and Sunny entered, with my stepmother looking blissful and Sunny cross, as she was so often with her mother. Miss Elsa patted my shoulder and whispered, “Isn’t it lovely news about Dorian and Anna Bess? I told you they were falling in love, didn’t I? I’m going to start on her wedding gown right away.” She turned to Sunny and said more loudly, “Buy some ivory satin when you’re in Tennessee with your smuggling or whatever it is you and Dorian are doing there, won’t you? I must work out the yardage before you go.”

  Sunny grimaced and hissed, “Mama, don’t start that sort of thing when we don’t even know when the wedding will be.” She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, drat! I didn’t finish that last ghastly tea cozy, and if I don’t do the full amount, all the silly old biddies will spread it around that I didn’t donate my share.” She swept up her needle and thread. “Serves them right that they’re hideous.”

  She snatched up the maligned tea cozy and drop
ped into a chair, but she never began stitching. Instead her hands lay clenched in her lap for several minutes. She had such an odd expression on her face that I followed her gaze. Her eyes were fixed on Seeley’s head, bent over his book. When he made a sudden move to look up and say something to me, she started.

  “Are you all right, Sunny?” I asked.

  “Of course. Why shouldn’t I be? It’s just this stupid—stupid sewing. I’m sick of it.”

  She was acting so strangely, but I couldn’t make my stepsister tell me anything she didn’t want to. And that was what was so worrisome—why didn’t she want to? Sunny always before had tended to dramatic gushings, reveling in being comforted and petted. In spite of what she claimed, was she unsure about the whole betrothal business? Her mood had to be Dorian-related, since every thought in Sunny’s head these days was connected to him.

  As soon as I finished taking up the dress and pressing it in the kitchen, Sunny led me up to her bedroom. There she helped me into my gown, lacing it so tightly that I gasped and fastening all seventy-five mother-of-pearl buttons in the back.

  “Let me fetch my ruche,” I said when I glanced downward and could almost see right down my bosom to my stomach. Evidently my mother had been more daring than I.

  “Bless your heart, honey,” Sunny called as I raced across the landing to my bedroom, “how can you be a dashing belle who attracts scores of Texans if you aren’t at least a little improper?”

  I ignored her and carefully tucked the lace ruffle along my bosom. Back in her bedroom she pushed me into a chair, curled my hair with hot tongs, dusted my neck and arms with scented powder, smeared on a touch of rouge, dabbed my lips with coralline salve, and fastened her own Venetian bead necklet about my throat.

  “What is this?” she asked, tugging on the leather thong of my amulet.

  “Oh, just a silly thing I always wear for good luck,” I said quickly.

  “How queer. Put it in your pocket or something, then, because you can’t wear it with this dress.”

  I did as she instructed.

  She surveyed me critically. “Shoes.” She pulled open her wardrobe door and squatted down to riffle through the mound of shoes piled on the bottom. Finally, with a ladylike grunt, she drew out a pair of high-heeled, dove-gray silk slippers. “These will do nicely, although I expect they’ll be too small for you.”

  Such satisfaction when they were actually too big, but wearable if I curled my toes; I was unfortunately used to shoes that didn’t fit. I tucked Thomas’s rose back into my hair.

  “Now,” Sunny said, placing me in front of her bureau and tilting the mirror up and down so I could view my entire body, “behold my work of art. I’m much more talented at this sort of thing than sewing.”

  If only Thomas could see me like this.

  She pursed her lips. “Must you keep that bedraggled thing in your hair?”

  I reached up to lightly touch the blossom. “Yes. And before you say anything more, no, you can’t talk me out of wearing it.”

  “How funny. You’re an odd girl, Violet, but I like you anyway. So much more than I did before we were sisters.”

  I could have said the same about Sunny. We smiled at each other.

  Before we left, I sought Dorian out to give him the letters for posting. I found him beneath the scuppernong arbor, hunched on the bench, hands clasped beneath his chin, evidently deep in thought.

  He gave a long, low whistle and stood when he saw me. “Why, coz, I’m going to have to give you three cheers and a tiger! I’ve never seen your arms before—or at least not so much of them. I approve. You’re a dashing young lady who will attract scores of Texans with or without impropriety.”

  I drew in my breath. “Oh, my land, you overheard Sunny!”

  He laughed. “Naturally. That minx has a voice that carries. Well, I’m jealous of all those gentlemen who’ll be vying for a dance.”

  “It’s Sunny you should be jealous over. She looks ravishing this afternoon. Be sure to tell her. In order to make up for—for—”

  “Clearly I’m not the only one to overhear things,” he said coolly.

  He gave me a second to blush and feel uncomfortable before he continued. “Yes, we had a spat; your stepsister can be infuriating.” He dug in his pocket. “Here, do you have one of those splendid—what were they?—pen wipers you were making? Let me buy one.”

  “They’re in the house. Thank you. I’ll leave the very finest one on the table, but be sure to get a tea cozy from Sunny too.”

  “Tea cozy, shmea cozy. Who would want a tea cozy if he can have a”—he edged closer—“pen wiper.”

  He was flirting with me again and he was engaged to my stepsister. I thrust the little packet of letters at him. “Here. You said you’d take these.”

  “So I did. Let’s see.… Aunt Lovy, Miss Lucy Taylor, and who are these Yankees you’re so anxious to correspond with? Hmm … Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Lynd.”

  “They’re old friends of my mother’s. I’d like to reassure them that we’re doing all right down here.”

  He continued to study the address.

  “Dorian, must you be so nosy?” I said, grinning to soften the words. “Now I’ve got to go. Sunny’s waiting.”

  I scuttled away, praying he’d take no further notice of the letter.

  Sashes, scallops, ruffles, and curls flapped in the wind as we bowled along in the buggy toward Chicataw and the Summer Bazaar.

  Miss Elsa had pulled herself together enough to join us. “So tiresome having to venture out without my beloved husband, but I cannot send you off unchaperoned. And after all, one must support our gallant gentlemen.” Her eyes shone at the prospect of an outing. She wore a grass-green day dress with a wide silk fringe and a straw bonnet with streaming green ribbons. The summer sun was still bright this late in the day. She squinted at the unaccustomed brilliance, and the breeze whipped pallid rose into her pearly skin. She should be encouraged to leave the house more often.

  “Miss Dancey!” I heard my name called above the rumbling wheels.

  Old Jubal stood once again under the arbor of Miss Ruby Jewel’s house, waving his arms to catch our attention.

  Sunny gritted her teeth. “No! Not now. Pretend you don’t see him.”

  “I can’t. Let me down and y’all go on ahead. I’ll see what he wants and walk the rest of the way.”

  “No, no, no,” Sunny sighed. “And ruin my handiwork with you getting all dusty and sweaty? We’ll wait, but be quick.”

  Michael reined in Star and I hopped down.

  “I wasn’t sure, Miss Dancey,” Jubal said as I approached, “if you had heard about Miss Ruby Jewel.”

  “Why, no. What is there to hear?”

  “She’s—she’s dying. You always were kind to her—never ran when she asked for you, as some did.” A little fire blazed at the back of his dark eyes. “I got so angry at those folks who ran; she only asked for a few minutes of their time. You always came, so I wanted you to know.”

  Guilt tickled the back of my neck. I might never have run, but I certainly walked quickly past this house. And she had tried to help me that last time—to warn me. I had almost forgotten it with all else that had gone on. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Dr. Hale says nothing can be done but wait. Maybe you would be so good as to pray for her.”

  “I will. She’s a lucky lady to have such a loyal friend in you. I’m sure she’s known all these years how blessed she was.” I would have headed back to the buggy, but something in Jubal’s expression made me hesitate. Coming from him was a sense of strength and sorrow and a bewildered loneliness. To whom else could Jubal confide his grieving? “Let’s go into the shade so you can tell me more about what’s going on.” I waved to the buggy, trying to signal them to drive ahead, but I didn’t wait to see if they did.

  On the porch, Jubal removed one of his mistress’s wide lace collars from the chair where evidently he had been sitting to mend it. I took
the seat and gestured for him to take the other chair.

  He lowered himself rustily and dragged one long, gnarled hand down his sagging cheeks. “She doesn’t hardly talk and doesn’t want visitors. Can you imagine that? Poor little thing. Poor little mistress.”

  I shook my head. It couldn’t even be Miss Ruby Jewel anymore if she didn’t want company.

  He gave an almost sob and raised his hands in a gesture of frustration. “ ’Twas those blamed gingersnaps. So many times I’d say, ‘Please, please, Miss Ruby Jewel, don’t make me bake any more of those things.’ I begged her and begged her, but she never would listen. ’Twas the devil in her. Just couldn’t get enough of them. Dr. Hale said she’d die of gingersnaps, and looks as if he was right. She always has loved sweeties, even after she got the disease that makes them death to her.”

  “And yet it’s the way she wants to go. She said so once.” I touched his sleeve. “Why did you stay here so long, Jubal? In all these years why did you never try to run away? She couldn’t have stopped you.”

  He smiled a slow, sad smile. “Used to think about it in the early days. Sometimes I’d plan how I’d bolt all the way to Canada. Or sometimes I dreamed about returning to the Farridays—those were the folks I worked for back in Virginny and who my mammy and pappy worked for before I was born. I’d picture the smile lighting up master’s face when I came home to him.” He smoothed out the collar across his knees. “But Miss Ruby Jewel, she was so small and so pitiful and alone I just couldn’t leave her. She can talk big and mean, yet I’ve seen her frightened and weeping like a child. She never did have anyone but me. Her husband was worthless. Then the years went by and, if you believe it, we became friends. We really did.”

  “I believe it.”

  “Whoever gets this place will think I come with it, but I don’t expect I’ll stick around. Too old to get used to someone else. Of course, my folks are all dead back in Virginny, but I might … The gingersnap misery’s eating away on mistress’s innards, and when it finally eats clean through”—he swallowed with obvious pain—“I have a little put by and I reckon I’ll slip off and mosey on up there finally. To talk to master as one man to another, if he’s still lingering in this vale of tears. And even if he’s not, I’ll go there just to see the place again. ’Twas called Rosedown and the garden had a hundred kinds of roses.” He brought out a big red handkerchief and wiped his forehead.