The Mirk and Midnight Hour

by Jane Nickerson

  From inside, Miss Ruby Jewel shrieked out. I pictured her lying on her bed as I had seen her last—short, stiff, and bony, covered with cats.

  Jubal grimaced. “Poor little girl. Poor little mistress. Most of the time I sit by her, but I come out here when I can’t stand it anymore. Dr. Hale gave me a powder to mix in her drink to help her sleep, and she screams without waking.” A slinky black tomcat came up and wound himself around Jubal’s legs. “What’s worrisome to me is, if I go, what will become of the cats?”

  My mouth wanted to say I would care for them, but I closed my lips tightly until the temptation passed. No matter how sorry I felt, I would not offer to take those repulsive beasts. I rose. “Let someone else figure that out. Don’t take on that problem.”

  He held up the collar and then let his hand drop again as if it were heavy as lead. “I was trying to fix this rip. I’m afraid this one is beyond me, even though I’ve gotten right handy with a needle through the years. It’s her favorite collar too.” A slow tear trickled down a seam in his cheek.

  “Let me do it,” I said. “I can fix it good as new.”

  He started to hand me the collar, but hesitated. “It needs to be done quickly. So she can wear it in her—her final rest.”

  “I’ll bring it back to you soon. Promise. And I’ll bring a book you can read to her too as you sit beside her. A boys’ adventure book. It’s called Castle Sliverbone.”

  “Thank you kindly. I’m sure going to miss her.”

  “I know you will.”

  I left him sitting there on the porch, his head bowed and his big hands hanging between his knees. I shook my head slightly in wonder. He actually loved Miss Ruby Jewel. And my feeling was that Miss Ruby Jewel had loved him too, all these years.

  To my surprise the buggy was still there. “Took you long enough” was all Sunny said. She was flapping her skirts, hoping to waft in a little breeze. Her powder was beginning to cake in the creases of her skin. I rubbed at my powder to smooth it out. It was far too hot for dancing.

  Sunny was subdued all the way to the church hall, and so was I, clutching Miss Ruby Jewel’s collar. Neither of us was in the mood for such a gala affair as this was planned to be.

  On the church lawn, soldiers and civilians were involved in sack races. Inside, the hall was decked out in braided ribbon streamers. A Stars and Bars flag hung from the rafters, while banks of billowing flowers were strategically placed to cover anything unsightly. Planks balanced on barrels against the walls held the handicrafts for sale. The supper, consisting mainly of brown beans, bread, and watermelon, was set up on tables in the center.

  Miss Elsa pulled open the drawstring of her reticule and pulled out her little red morocco coin purse. With the air of someone bestowing bounty, she presented Sunny and me each with a few coins. “Enjoy yourselves, my darlings,” she said before drifting over to a group of middle-aged women. Half of them wore widow’s veils, and their grim smiles glimmered eerily from beneath the crepe.

  Sunny sniffed. “Mama acts as if we’re seven years old and will be ecstatic over a few pennies.” She paused and then poured her handful into mine. “Here. Get something for what’s-his-name.”

  I laughed. “Do you mean Seeley or Dorian?”

  “Whoever you think would like a pinwheel the most.”

  The handicrafts were impressive—running the gamut of all the foolish little things modern women make to keep their hands busy. Any cloth that might be embroidered was embroidered, any surface that might be painted was painted, and anything that might be covered was glued with anything that might cover it. We tucked our poor little offerings under some rag rugs.

  Treats also were for sale. I wondered where people had gotten the sugar for them; perhaps it was like the biblical loaves and fishes that appeared out of nowhere when there was need. Ladies had scraped together the sweetening for popcorn balls, caramels, meringue kisses, and gingersnaps.

  I will never eat gingersnaps again.

  I bought a Jacob’s ladder and an assortment of treats in a paper cone for Seeley and gave them to Miss Elsa for safekeeping.

  The musicians began tuning up. A banjo and a couple of fiddles commenced playing a rollicking “Dixie’s Land,” and the dancing commenced.

  The evening progressed strangely. I couldn’t decide: Was it reassuring that life went on—young folks dallied, ladies gossiped—while not far away men they loved and strangers they hated struggled and died violent deaths? Or did the mingling take on a grotesque, nightmarish quality?

  Because there were more men than available females, thanks to the Texas brigade, all the girls danced every set. However, I felt like an outsider, as if I were merely pretending to be a young lady socializing. My partners, mopping their faces, said the same things: “What is your name?” “Are you enjoying the dance?” “What do you think of the progress of the war?” I would make appropriate answers, but inside I would think such things as, If you were Thomas, I would point out the rabbits’ candles in the window, but since you’re not Thomas, it’s not worth the bother.

  Everyone but Sunny and I seemed to be having a grand time. The place was loud with stomping boots and laughter, nearly drowning out the music. I kept expecting Sunny to find her stride and gather a throng of admirers about, but something in her was askew, her eyes gazing into emptiness beyond her partners’ shoulders.

  When the band struck up “Darling Nelly Gray,” I fell to brooding, although my feet continued to trip along as though I were an automaton. The verses told of a slave in Kentucky who mourned the loss of his beloved, who had been sold south to Georgia: “Oh, my darling Nelly Gray, they have taken you away. I’ll never see my darling anymore.” I began thinking of Jubal and Miss Ruby Jewel and it was all I could do to keep from sobbing on my partner’s shoulder. And then I smiled to think how horrified the poor young sergeant would be if I did so. He thought I was smiling encouragingly at him and squeezed me significantly about the waist. I turned away in confusion.

  So much lately was making me look squarely at something I had shoved to the back of my mind—the institution of slavery. It had always seemed a necessary part of our life around here. The color of their skin had nothing to do with my love for Permilla and Laney. Yet … guilt weighed on me heavily. Was the South’s noble Cause indefensible?

  Sunny sought me out after I left the dance floor. “I miss Dorian,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  I nodded. We gathered up Miss Elsa and my purchases, woke Michael, who was outside snoozing in the buggy, and headed homeward.

  Cubby was asleep in the cradle in the kitchen, and Laney was nodding away in the rocking chair beside him, with the lamp lit low in the center of the table.

  “Laney,” I whispered, and softly shook her shoulder as I knelt beside her.

  She started awake.

  “Did Seeley do all right?” I asked.

  “Just fine. He played with Cubby some and hung around the front porch. I guess hoping you’d be home early. Anyway, he went to bed a while ago, and I brought him his honey milk.”

  “Thank you.”

  She yawned and began to rise. I stopped her.

  “No, stay just a minute. There’s something on my mind.” I clutched at her sleeve, not looking into her face. When I realized what I was doing, I made myself lower my hands.

  She studied me closely. “What’s wrong?”

  I drew in my breath and plunged in. “Laney, you know I love you like a sister, but this—our life—is what’s wrong. I’ve told myself you were happy and well, but still, by law, we’ve owned you, and that couldn’t ever be right. And I’m so sorry for all these wrong years.”

  Laney turned to give Cubby’s cradle a push and kept her eyes downcast. “You’ve been worrying about this a right smart time, haven’t you, honey? It’s true. Slavery is a great evil. Michael and I have been talking about it. If the North wins the war, they’ll free us all. And we sure want to be free. But the fact is, we hope we can stay here and go on working, with p
ay to give us dignity, if your pa has any money himself. This is our home and you’re our people. Neither of us has anyone else.”

  Joy flooded through me. “I’m so glad you would stay” was all I could say for a moment. But I knew I had to say something else. “Of course, if the South wins—if it would be best for you …” I stopped, unable to continue.

  “I know.” She sighed and stood up. “If we need to, we’ll leave. No matter what, though, you and I will always be close, won’t we?”

  We looked into each other’s eyes then, and in that look was all our past—our listening together to Aunt Permilla’s tales, our playing house in the Lodge and running through the woods with Rush. Laney held out her arms and we hugged each other. A lightness lifted me as we did so. A freedom from something that had chained me for a long time.

  Upstairs I left my candle on the landing and quietly pushed open Seeley’s door. I would put his presents by his bedside to surprise him in the morning. Moonlight streamed in through the small, high window, casting shadow bars across the floorboards and outlining all in pale light. Amazing that darkness could be so vivid.

  I smiled to see the mess the bed was in, the covers all wadded up. Seeley must have done some tossing and turning before finally sleeping. I set his gifts on the floor beside the bed, but when I stood and looked down, the crumpled bedclothes were not Seeley-shaped. I sighed in exasperation. He must have taken to sleeping in unusual places again.

  The wardrobe. I softly opened the cupboard doors in Rush’s room so as not to awaken him if he was inside. No Seeley. He was not in Rush’s bed either. Or in any nook or cranny in either room. More and more I panicked and threw open chests and cabinets and squatted to inspect under beds.

  He had been anxious for my return; could he be waiting in my bedroom for me to come home? In the split second it took to cross the hall and fling open my door, I pictured the little boy in some corner, sound asleep, or else sitting up, grinning in anticipation of my surprise.

  No little boy awaited, grinning or otherwise.

  I rubbed my fingers across my lips. Should I stir up everyone and begin a full-scale search? Dorian would be angry, though, and blow everything out of proportion when surely Seeley was simply carrying out some thoughtless little-boy caper. Maybe he had gone outside to wait for my return and fallen asleep on the porch or in the grass along the drive. I peered out the window.

  A spark of white light bobbed down near the dock, erratic as a will-o’-the-wisp. It couldn’t be. Surely not.

  It’s him.

  Down the stairs I flew, out the door, and across moon-shadowed fields to the top of the bank. There stood my little cousin, holding a lantern aloft with one hand and gingerly touching the edge of the canoe with the other.

  “Seeley!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

  His giant, frightened eyes looked up. He set down the lantern, scrambled up the bank, and threw his arms around my waist. “Thank you for coming home. I waited and waited. Finally I was going to go by myself, but I was scared I couldn’t paddle without you.”

  “Because you can’t. Go where? To Thomas?”

  He nodded into my side.

  “Why? What’s so important you couldn’t wait?”

  He pulled away. “Dorian was talking to an army officer. I couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were saying ’cause they were whispering too low, but Dorian looked guilty, like he was revealing a big secret. So I knew he’d found out about Thomas and was telling on him. We’ve got to warn Thomas. We need to get him away.”

  “Seeley,” I said. “Squiddy. That wasn’t what Dorian was talking about. Dorian doesn’t know anything about Thomas; we’ve been too sneaky. He was arranging some smuggling for the army. He and Sunny are crossing the lines tomorrow. That’s what they were discussing.”

  For a moment Seeley looked as if he didn’t believe me, but then understanding seeped in. “Oh. I did hear the word ‘boots.’ I didn’t know why he’d be talking about boots while he was turning Thomas in.”

  “Right.” I took him by the shoulders and faced him toward the house. “Now go to bed, and never, never try to do such a thing again.”

  With a stubborn set to his jaw, he jerked out of my hands and stood gazing over the river, where moonbeams floated and rippled. “I don’t want to go in yet.”

  “You don’t have to want to; you just need to do it. Besides, I’ve brought you surprises from the bazaar. I’ll even let you eat a popcorn ball in bed.”

  “Please.”

  “Without brushing your teeth afterward.”

  “Please.”

  “It’s late. Past your bedtime. Feel the official dead-of-night air.”

  “Can’t we still go see Thomas? He would be so surprised and I can show him the constellations. Remember, I asked if I could do that sometime and you said yes.”

  “I said maybe.” I hesitated. Actually, I didn’t know what time it was, although we had left the bazaar after ten o’clock. His eager little face looked up into mine. How could I refuse? Especially when I longed to be with Thomas myself.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s do it. Blow out the lantern. It’s bright enough we can see without it.”

  Our paddles sliced through the water as the full bone-white moon watched. Frogs sang and crickets and cicadas shrilled; the night was not silent, but our paddles were. Our canoeing skills were better now because we worked hard not to disturb the mystic atmosphere. An owl hooted once from the forest and then came gliding low over the river, its pale, luminous wings spreading three feet across.

  Quiet canoeing was also slow canoeing, and it seemed a long trip to the inlet. At last we climbed the bluff and made our way through interwoven light and shade. Noises stirred the forest, similar to daytime noises, but more disquieting because of the dark. Sometimes the glint of low, golden eyes shone.

  My skirt caught on a bramble and it took me a moment to loose myself. It was then that I felt the pulsating of the earth. The rhythm spread up from my feet and through my limbs and on until it mingled with the beating of my heart.

  “What’s that?” Seeley whispered.

  “Drums.”

  Almost without knowing what I did, I took his hand, and this time we did not run from the sound. This time we were pulled toward it. As we drew closer to the clearing, the illumination from the great bonfire became coarser and more brilliant than the soft moonlight. It bathed the tree trunks with flickering vividness. The thrumming and throbbing of the drums combined with the crackling of the fire and with a woman’s voice singing, low and rich.

  We stopped just outside the glow and peeked around a trunk.

  Beneath the great gray-barked central tree, on tall-backed thrones woven of straw, sat Dr. VanZeldt, beaming benevolently, his white suit glowing. Beside him was a very old woman. Somehow I knew she was ancient, even though there were few of the outward signs associated with age. She sat ramrod straight, her cheekbones chiseled and her eyes deep set and hollow. A headdress of leaves looped down over her forehead, and she wore a long skirt of golden cloth. If she had on a blouse, I could not see it because of layers of violent-colored beads that began high on her neck and continued down to her waist. Her bare, bony arms gestured to the music in undulating, serpentine motions. It was she who sang in some mysterious language and whose voice mingled with the drumming to rouse my primal Violet.

  The bearded VanZeldt servant sat on a stump, hunched over two hourglass-shaped drums, his long, supple hands beating faster and faster. Round and round the fire whirled the other, younger man, clothed in a bright-colored loincloth, with bands of feathers about his calves that swirled as he moved. His perfectly honed muscles undulated and rippled. His stomach contracted and released. He performed wheeling kicks and low crouches. He stamped and made jerky, whiplashed movements with his elongated neck, tossing the feathers on his headdress.

  My blood ran quicker as I watched.

  The fire was so dazzling that all beyond it loomed black. If I looked o
ff yonder, the radiance still burned in my eyes. Inside the hissing blaze, wavering dancers of flame darted and twisted, seeming to echo the man’s movements. Herbs must have been thrown into the fire because the clearing exuded a heady, pungent aroma that mingled with the smell of smoke and burning sap. I swayed a little on my feet as I breathed it in.

  The dancer snatched up a clay pot and dashed some dark liquid against the silvery trunk of the central tree. At that moment, out of the darkness on the other side, Amenze materialized. She wore a headdress of beads and feathers, a short grass skirt, a band of cloth over her breasts, and rattles of shells about her wrists, ankles, and neck. Her dancing began slow and seductive, but quickened to a feverish pitch when she joined the man, leaping and turning in amazing, explosive physical feats.

  Seeley shivered. His face lifted to mine, rapt. I nodded faintly. The sounds and the moonlight, starlight, and firelight made the air hotter and more intense and more stirring to our souls until it seemed we could hardly contain it. These movements were wild, alien, pagan, and so full of joy that they tugged at me nearly irresistibly. A silent whisper slid through the sticky, sparkling air: “Come, join, dance.” I gripped the tree trunk so hard my nails dug into the bark.

  From the shadows beside us, a small figure emerged. Green stripes on a skirt writhed in the flickering light. Sparrow.

  As the little girl tensed, ready to spring out into the clearing, Seeley and I both gasped. I reached for her, but Seeley was faster. His arm shot out and grabbed Sparrow’s arm. She jerked backward. I wrapped my arms around them both and held tight.

  Sparrow hardly seemed to notice us, in spite of the fact that we were pressed close. As she watched Amenze spin like a top, she threw back her head and laughed. Her eyes and teeth flashed white within the cloud of black hair.