The Mirk and Midnight Hour

by Jane Nickerson

  Without explaining why Seeley and I had been roaming the woods so late, I told about the VanZeldts and her granddaughter joining in their dancing. “Sparrow used to be afraid of them, but she’s not anymore. They aren’t the sort of people she ought to trust. They’ve been kind to me, but … I can’t trust them. I was thinking maybe you could keep her close to home for a while.”

  Anarchy left her weeding and came to sink down on the bench beside me. “Uh-uh-uh. That Sparrow do love tunes. Might as well try to pin down one of Lord Jesus’s own sparrows. I heard of them Van-whosits, but ain’t never set eyes on one. Probably ain’t no harm in them. I’m just a root woman, so I don’t know all things about hoodoo, but I does know it gets used for good same as bad. Still, ain’t no reason for my baby gal to mosey around no conjure folks.” She rubbed her chin. “You say she ain’t a-scared of them no more? Well, then I reckon I just better make her a-scared again. I’ll tell her tales of the bocor—that’s a conjure priest who dabbles in dark magic—who stayed at my plantation when I was a child. It’ll put the fear in her right quick, bless God.”

  “Aunt Permilla’s stories about hoodoo sure made Laney and me careful of it.”

  I stayed a few more minutes before I took my leave, hoping I could still make it out to the Lodge.

  As it turned out, I couldn’t go to Thomas that day. One task after another kept me at Scuppernong. After supper Miss Elsa demanded that I distract her.

  “I haven’t been able to paint,” she said, her voice plaintive. “My muse eludes. I’m so nervous and at loose ends with Anna Bess and Dorian gone.”

  And so I spent the whole long evening trying to divert Miss Elsa. All the chatting was my responsibility, as she was absorbed in painstakingly sorting her mountains of embroidery silks into shades, while Seeley was kept busy with his horses. In spite of her plea for company, my stepmother didn’t actually seem to hear a word I said or notice my presence. However, when I started to rise, she said tremulously, “No, don’t go. I can’t bear to be alone tonight.”

  Eventually I began to mend Miss Ruby Jewel’s collar. After tying off the last thread, I escaped long enough to put Seeley to bed, and had barely returned to the sitting room when Sunny flung open the door and announced, “Home at last.”

  Miss Elsa leaped to her feet and threw her arms around her daughter, weeping. “Oh, you’re safe! Thank the Lord!”

  Sunny pushed her away with an “Oh, Mama.” She dropped down on the sofa, skirts spread wide. “We had a highly successful smuggling venture. Dorian says I took to it like a duck to water. But you would not believe how tired I am.” She giggled. “Or how much fun we had!”

  I blinked as she held up a particularly pretty new reticule, black velvet with delicate, opalescent blossoms. “Isn’t this delicious? Fish scales—that’s what the design is made with; can you believe it? The second I saw it, I had to have it, so my darling Dorian got it for me. No one else around here has ever imagined such a thing, and Mary Clare will be green with envy. She’ll probably try to make one herself. Can’t you just picture—and smell—her huddled amid a pile of trout, scraping off scales?”

  Miss Elsa fluttered over her daughter. “It’s charming. And you’ve a delightful new hat.” She tilted her head in admiration.

  Only then did I notice that Sunny’s head was adorned by a beguiling wide-brimmed confection with a plume that dipped down to tickle her cheek.

  “Isn’t it, though?” she said. “Dorian bought it too. And everything I admired in those stores—real stores, not what we’ve got down here—he said he’d buy once we’re married.” She gave a sigh. “Why, a girl can hardly stand the anticipation of such spoiling.”

  “So,” I said, yawning, “you bought a hat, risked your life, and didn’t get shot even once.”

  “Oh, my poor sister, were you worrying about me too? Well, you needn’t have. The pickets were impudent, but amusing. One of them told me they never even consider shooting ‘purty little Secesh gals,’ just the old ugly ones. Wasn’t that a shocking thing to say? And probably every one of them with an adoring sweetheart left behind—soldiers just can’t help being fickle, being so far from home and all.”

  “Shocking. And you know you loved it.”

  “Of course. After that he asked if all the Mississippi ‘gals’ were as brave and pretty as me, and I didn’t know how to respond to that, I was so flustered. I feared Dorian would be seething with jealousy, but he seemed in a dandy mood. Didn’t mind in the least. Which made me angry at first, but then he was so adorable afterward that I forgave him. He can seem heartless at times, but when he’s being sweet, it’s obvious he doesn’t intend it. I’m so wild about him I can’t begin to think clearly.” She slumped against the back of the sofa and absently stroked the plume of her hat. “Why, I believe I’d do anything he asked me to do and it wouldn’t be my fault; I absolutely couldn’t help it.”

  She bolted straight up. “Oh! And we bought everyone surprises. Run outside, Vi-let, and ask Dorian for yours. I warn you, he’s a little tipsy—honestly, you should’ve seen how fast he drove home. I declare, my heart was in my mouth. But don’t mind him. I can’t wait another minute for you to see your gift.”

  Why not? I stood. “So exciting,” I said. “It’s been forever since I got a present. And, Sunny—I really am glad you made it back all right.”

  Dorian stood between porch and wagon in an island of lantern light, stretching his arms above him. If last night Seeley had resembled an elf, tonight Dorian, with his bronze skin shining golden, also appeared otherworldly—like some confident, dangerous young god. Then he raised his face, and the quirk of his mouth and the gleam in his eye showed him more satyr-esque than godlike.

  As I descended, the smell of whiskey rose up the steps. Dorian looked me up and down and his smile was too intimate. He stumbled slightly approaching me. He was downright drunk.

  “Cousin Violet,” he cried, reaching up to capture both my hands, “coming to welcome the wanderer home.”

  “I came out,” I said, “because Sunny says y’all brought me a present and she’s eager for me to see it. I’m eager to see it too, actually.”

  “And I thought you were simply anxious for my safe return.” His speech was slurred.

  “Oh, I wasn’t worried. You’ll always emerge from any scrape unscathed.”

  He burst out laughing. “You know me well. Survival is one of my talents.” He looked at me in a way that made me nervous. “Another is that I don’t rest till I get what I want.”

  I searched for a distraction. His brocade waistcoat caught my eye. “That’s new, isn’t it?” I withdrew my hands and pointed. “What color would you call it?”

  “You noticed. Yup, straight from Paris. Bought it just today. The shade’s called magenta, after a town in Italy. When I first saw it, I had to have it because it’s the same color as the crape myrtles that line Panola’s drive. Actually made me go misty-eyed.” I thought he was jesting, but from his expression, he did indeed feel sentimental. He shook himself. “Anyway, this is one of the new aniline dyes. You want to touch it, don’t you? Go ahead. Stroke me.”

  “No thank you,” I said, backing away.

  He threw his head back and laughed again. “Oh, all right. Here.” He pulled a pasteboard box from the rear of the wagon and tossed it my way.

  I riffled through a cloud of silver paper and drew in my breath.

  Shoes! Not even boots. Shoes! The most beautiful shoes I had ever seen. They were bronzed kid, with black velvet tops, black silk ribbons, and embroidered butterflies in shining pink. The satin-covered heels were more than the fashionable inch high. And since anything higher than an inch was considered too fast for a young lady, I, Violet Dancey, would be considered fast. How exhilarating!

  “Dorian,” I said, “they’re so beautiful I may weep.”

  “Poor little coz, to have been deprived of pretties for so long that new shoes make you cry.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Here, sit down on the step and let me he
lp you put them on.”

  He knelt in front of me like the prince with Cinderella. I lifted my skirts high enough for him to unlace and remove my boots. With a look of disgust he dropped those ugly things. He slipped the new shoes on my feet and tied their bows with a flourish.

  “Perfect fit,” I said. “Thank you so much. I’ll show them off at church this Sunday.”

  I waited for him to rise, but he did not. Instead he put his hand on the back of my calf and crept upward.

  “D-Dorian!” I sputtered, pushing him away as I dropped my skirts. “Stop that!”

  He stood awkwardly. “Why? Why should I stop? I’ve been resisting you for weeks, and I’m tired of the chore. Just try me. You’ll like me.” Before I knew what he was doing, he bent over and lifted my chin. To my horror he leaned in and would have kissed me, but my wits returned. I ducked away and scrambled to my feet.

  “You’re drunk,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “I must be. That would explain why it’s so hard to walk straight.”

  “And you’re forgetting Sunny. Remember—the girl you’re in love with. The girl you’re going to marry.” I backed away as I spoke.

  He snorted with disgust. “So she told, did she? The girl can’t keep a secret, which is a concern.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? You did ask her to marry you?”

  “Yes, it’s true. I asked her for reasons I can’t go into, but I assure you, coz, I wish it were you. The fact is, my Sunnys come cheap, but my Cousin Violets are rare.” The more I withdrew, the more he edged closer. “You’re smart, you’re brave, and—you saved me from hanging. Let me repay you in the best way I know how.” His arms shot out to grab me, but I darted away.

  “Don’t, Dorian! And don’t you ever, ever speak to me this way again.” I would have scooted into the house, but I needed something from him, some reassurance. I lifted my hands, pleading. “Don’t you love Sunny at all?”

  “Oh, that.” He gave a careless shrug. “I’m not the sort of fellow who loves people. I can like girls well enough, though, and be enormously attracted to some. Isn’t that enough for you and me tonight?”

  My mouth fell open in disbelief. “You just better treat Sunny well, or I’ll—I’ll—”

  “I’ll treat her well enough. Got to. So no kiss, eh? I did so hope to be the first to touch your virgin lips. Oh, well, if you don’t want to play, then be off with you.”

  With my scorned boots clutched tightly to my chest as though they were suddenly precious, I resisted the temptation to tell him that the virginity of my lips had gone to a much better man.

  “One more thing.” He caught my arm and I jerked it away. “You won’t—uh—say anything to Sunny about this, will you, dear, sweet, yet feisty Violet? You can’t blame a fellow for trying.”

  “I can blame you.”

  Just as I reached for the doorknob to flee into the house, I glanced back at him standing at the bottom of the steps, and his expression drew me up short. He wore a dark look, angry brows drawn together, lips compressed in a thin line, so different from any look I had seen from him before. Then he caught my eye and grinned. The mask had slipped back in place.

  Scoundrel, cad, villain, blackguard … Dorian, with his ready smile and easy, worthless affection. The question was, should I tell Sunny? I would certainly want to know if my sweetheart was not constant. It had been horrid when I saw Ben Phillips with Mary Clare, but it would have been worse if he had been sneaking around behind my back. Of course, Sunny was so infatuated with Dorian that she probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.

  I had lifted out the floorboard to remove my journal, hoping that writing about it would help clear my mind, when something caught my eye. A folded paper that had slipped into the darkness beneath the boards. I drew forth the sheet, smoothed it out, and recognized Thomas’s sister Addie’s handwriting. It must have slipped from the packet. A fragment of a last paragraph was all it contained.

  no idea about you and Delia! Of course, I did know you were rather smitten with her. I do not blame you a bit, as she’s ever so pretty and stylish, but I did not realize it was anything serious. Last night, right in the middle of the love scene of opera Lily of Killarney, Delia leaned over and confided that you two are secretly betrothed and will marry when the war ends. Shame on you, Thomas, for keeping this from me! How could you? I never would have told the Parents. I’m sorry I wrote to you that I did not really like her. Truly, she’s not so bad; it was simply schoolgirl jealousy between us. From now on I will love her dearly and will invite her over more often since she is to be my sister. Also, for your sake, I will do my best to keep her from flirting with other gentlemen. (Lily of Killarney was splendid, by the way, and the new opera house is simply too gorgeous.)

  Continue to stay out of the Seceshes’ clutches, even though you do keep secrets from—

  Your loving sister,

  Addie

  My hands shook. I read it through once more.

  Thomas was betrothed to another girl.

  He told me he hadn’t had time for romance in the past. And that I was the first girl he had kissed.

  It felt as if someone had hit me in the stomach.

  An icy little knot twisted about my heart as Seeley and I made our way through the woods the next morning, even though the world was drenched with summer sun. I should never have given in to my feelings. Why had I let myself tell Thomas all those things—those lovery things? It had been the intimate setting. But now I understood fully the phrase “cold light of day.” The fact that Thomas was promised to another was only one of the reasons he and I could never be.

  We passed through the bonfire clearing, and all that was left in the pit was ashes and charred bits. The flames that had burned so dazzlingly had done their job well; everything was devoured and destroyed.

  Thomas’s eyes were bright with love (or whatever his feeling for me was) when we entered the Lodge. The knot squeezed upward into my throat.

  He struggled to rise and reached for my hand. I gave him the basket instead. I watched as he and Seeley poked through the contents and began eating.

  Thomas glanced my way. “Won’t you have some?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  My tone made him look at me more closely. “Something wrong, Violet?”

  “Just tired.”

  “Yes, you do look tired.”

  How nice to know my appearance was saggy and baggy. “Thank you.”

  “As well as pretty.” He paused. “As pretty as usual, I mean.”

  It was painful to watch him try to turn his comment into a compliment. I slumped down against the wall and ringed my arms around my knees.

  For a while Thomas and Seeley tucked into the lunch and ignored me. Contradictorily I longed for Thomas to look at me again with that special warmth. He was laughing with Seeley now. He simply didn’t care how I was feeling.

  Seeley was telling Thomas about Panola and how, when he returned there after the war, he wouldn’t let anyone keep him from exploring his estate whenever he wanted to. “I’ll go everywhere—they can’t stop me.”

  “From the time I was small,” Thomas said, “my father wanted me to know every last inch of our factory—all about the business. I couldn’t have cared less at the time. Lately I’ve wondered why I was like that.”

  “Because it was boring?” Seeley suggested.

  Thomas smiled. “No. It’s not boring. Part of the problem, I think, was that I was ashamed of our family’s fortune. It seemed so common, so ordinary, to have grown rich from making thread. Of course, it didn’t bother me to use the money for clothes and horses and making the grand tour, but other than that I scorned it.”

  “What’s the grand tour?” Seeley asked.

  “The traditional European trip taken by young men who can afford it. Everyone I knew was going, so I went too. When I remember how I acted now, I cringe at my self-righteousness, thinking I was so much better than my parents, who worked hard for all they have. After the
war, God willing, I’ll go back to finally listen and learn.” He was speaking to Seeley, but his eyes were on me now, as if it were me he was really telling this to.

  “You’re rich?” Seeley asked.

  “My family is, and I suppose Addie and I will inherit.”

  I squeezed my eyes tight shut. Now I’d learned that Thomas was an heir to a fortune as well. A man born to such circumstances could never care for me in a lasting way. He belonged in the world of gorgeous opera houses and his fiancée, Delia.

  Seeley tossed a peach up and down and considered Thomas’s words. He stopped and held the peach. “Violet, am I rich? Owning Panola and all?”

  I pulled myself from my distraction. “You might be,” I said cautiously, “but who knows what anything is worth with the war going on.”

  “You mean if the Yankees steal everything or burn it up or something?”

  I nodded. That was indeed what I had meant, but I hadn’t known such possibilities had occurred to Seeley.

  His eyes grew wary. “Why would they set Panola on fire? There’s no soldiers there. When we were coming to Mississippi, we saw places the Yankees burned, but I thought those had soldiers inside. Not houses with regular people in them.”

  “They won’t touch Panola.”

  “No one knows that. What about Mammy and Aunt Lovy?” His voice took on an edge of panic. “What if they do burn it and Mammy and Aunt Lovy are inside?”

  “The Union soldiers wouldn’t be that cruel,” Thomas said. “So far in the war they rarely torch civilian houses, and if something must be destroyed, they make sure everyone’s out.”

  I could almost watch Seeley’s brain working rapidly. “It’s made of brick, so if they burn the house, it won’t all go up. And I’ll build it again.” His brows were fiercely knitted, and his whole small body was tense. “But where will Aunt Lovy and Mammy and all our other people go if there’s no plantation left?”

  Sudden tears pricked my eyes. Oh, my Seeley. “We’re just talking and imagining. Your people will be fine. The Yankees aren’t monsters.”