The Mirk and Midnight Hour

by Jane Nickerson

  Laney snorted. “So that’s what you’ve been up to. I knew something was going on.” She tweaked my shoulder with one finger. “And you looking so innocent when I mentioned food missing. I thought it was Miss Sunny.”

  I gave a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you’re you, Laney.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because you don’t hold it against me that I couldn’t tell you about all this till now.”

  “Of course you couldn’t. And I’m not even surprised that you helped a Yankee after all your going on about hating them. Everything’s different when you really get to know folks. The man trusted you with his life. I would’ve done the same as you.”

  “Thank you anyway, for being you. All these years you’ve been my example of good sense and—and stability. You’re absolutely wonderful, my friend.”

  Laney laughed and shoved me, but I could tell my words pleased her.

  Michael carried a basket to Thomas and returned with a report that he seemed all right. I breathed a sigh of relief and longed for details, but didn’t want to make my concern too obvious. Instead I only thanked Michael and asked him to run into town to return Miss Ruby Jewel’s mended collar.

  He wasn’t gone long, and I was on the front porch shelling peas when he came back with two pieces of news.

  The first was that Pratt Wilcox had died of pneumonia somewhere in Maryland.

  My hand flew up to cover my mouth. Pratt! And so far from home. Would the deaths never end? How could we bear for more men to be gone?

  As Michael related his next news, at first I scarcely heard him, but slowly his words sank in. Miss Ruby Jewel had passed away two days before and had left her house and all she possessed to Jubal. I nodded slowly. There were usually bad feelings about Negroes owning property, but probably in Jubal’s case no one would bother him. The whole county sympathized with the old man.

  I blinked back tears. Pratt and Miss Ruby Jewel, each so awful in their own way, were lent a certain dignity by their deaths.

  “Jubal, he said to tell you the gingersnaps finally done their dirty work and thank you kindly for the collar,” Michael told me. “The funeral’s on Tuesday, and she’ll be laid out with it then. Jubal said don’t bother sending the book you offered, as he’s going to sell everything and quietly mosey away. He may head up to Virginny to see his old home, but then on to freedom. He just don’t know what to do with them dang cats.”

  “Next time you see him, tell him we’ll take a couple,” I said.

  Michael gave a grimace, and I managed a smile. “Yes, they’re dang cats, but it’s the least we can do for Jubal.”

  As he started to turn away, Michael hesitated.

  “Miss Violet, didn’t you say Mr. Dorian’s gone for good?”

  “Yes. He’s not welcome here anymore. We shall never see him again.”

  “Well, could be my eyes was fooling me, but I thought I seen that big old roan horse of his at the stables in town. Maybe not, though.”

  I grasped Michael’s arm. “He’s still around?”

  He started at my grip and scratched his head. “Does it matter? He ain’t out here at Scuppernong.”

  I dumped the peas from my lap and moved swiftly to the porch rail, where I peered out over the yard to the shadowy woods. Dorian could be out there right now, watching. “It does matter.” I turned back to Michael. “You don’t know the whole story of Seeley’s illness. He wasn’t sick in the normal manner. He had been—he had been poisoned. By Dorian.”

  Michael drew in his breath. “He tried to kill the boy?”

  “Yes. To gain Seeley’s plantation for his own.”

  “Ooo-eee.” Michael’s lips tightened. Slowly he began to nod. “Can’t say I’m too surprised. Mr. Dorian, he sure put on a good show, but there was something about him didn’t set right with Laney and me.”

  Laney had said the same thing the night Seeley was poisoned. She and Michael had never mattered enough to my cousin for him to bother charming them.

  “Thank goodness we stopped it,” I said, “but what if he tries again? What if he’s skulking around, waiting for his chance? He swore he’d go far away if I didn’t inform the marshal, and there are reasons I don’t want to go to the law. He’s family and he knows about Thomas. He said he’d turn him in if I didn’t let him go unhindered. But if his horse is still in town …”

  “I might not have seen right. Or maybe he sold it to make the trip out. King said his master ain’t all that plump in the pocket, for all his fine clothes.”

  “Yes. Yes, you’re probably right. All the same, Michael, carry the pistol with you. And let’s get that old rifle from the barn fixed and buy some bullets. We’ll keep that in the house.”

  After Michael left, I continued gazing out into the dark trees. I slumped a bit, as if the burden of all these twisted, terrible worries were literally weighing down my shoulders. I needed …

  Thomas. He was still there. He needed me and I needed him. I needed his quiet good sense and quick wit. I needed his peaceful face. I needed him with an ache that was nearly unbearable. I needed to warn him about Dorian and tell him everything that had happened and feel his arms around me. I would head out to the Lodge first thing tomorrow.

  That evening I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching from outside in the dark. A restless wind was blowing, making the walls shudder and the treetops sound like the sea. I drew the curtains in the sitting room. It was late and had been a long day.

  Seeley lay on the sofa and I sat across a little table from him. We played chess and he criticized my moves. A commotion sounded from the kitchen yard—the frantic honking and squawking of geese.

  My heart skipped a beat. Dorian.

  I made a quick reckoning. Michael and the pistol were at his and Laney’s cabin, over by the edge of the woods. If there was an intruder, the culprit was out back with the geese. I could sneak through the front door and make my way to Michael and the gun.

  “What’s wrong with those birds?” Sunny asked.

  “Probably a fox,” I said. “I’ll go look.” I had thought it best not to tell her about Dorian’s horse being seen in town.

  The door opened with the tiniest of squeaks, which didn’t bother me; I could have stomped across the porch and the tumult of the geese would have kept anyone out back from hearing. I slipped down the steps. Light streamed from the cabin to guide me as I crept silently from bush to bush. The wind sent silver clouds sailing across the moon, alternating darkness and light. I was opposite the kitchen yard when a break came in the sky.

  A cloaked and hooded figure was pushing its way through the fowls, struggling to get to the gate. It was eerily silent—no grunts or cries. Only the ruckus of the geese.

  I waited, watching to see where it would eventually go.

  When the figure finally got out the gate, it stood straight and briefly faced my direction. The hood had fallen back. Not Dorian.

  “Amenze!” I cried, and stepped out of the shadows.

  She made no sign she heard or saw me. Moonbeams outlined the delicate, sharply defined bones of her face. Its expression, or rather the lack thereof, was frightening. There was a curious blankness and a total absence of recognition in her eyes. Not only no recognition of me as an individual but no recognition even of my existence.

  “What is it?” I asked sharply. “Why are you here?”

  She slid swiftly off into the night with that slick, silky VanZeldt motion. By the time I tried to follow, there was no sign of her.

  The next day Michael rode off on Star, carrying the pieces of the old rifle. He warned us not to expect him back early. He would have to travel far to find ammunition and a gunsmith. He left the pistol in my keeping. It scared me, sagging so heavy in my pocket. And could I really use it on a person?

  Yes, I could if that person was menacing someone I loved.

  The day was dim and sultry from dark clouds that hung low. They refused to let down rain but continued to threaten, with o
minous thunder rumbling in the distance.

  With Michael absent I didn’t dare leave Scuppernong, which was a shame—although where I would have gone, I did not know. It seemed as if some important task were calling urgently, but no matter how I tried, I couldn’t think what it was.

  Laney suggested that maybe I was restless from missing traipsing through the woods with Seeley. I supposed that could be it. I went about my chores, frequently checking in with my young cousin on the sofa. I was sweeping the sitting room rig ht beside him when the pistol tore out the bottom of my pocket and landed on the floor with a thunk.

  Seeley’s eyes widened. “You’re carrying a gun in your pocket?”

  “I was carrying a gun in my pocket, but obviously not anymore.” I picked up the pistol, put it on the mantel, and continued sweeping.

  “Because Dorian might come back? Is that why you have it?”

  “No, Seeley. He’s not coming back. I’ve just been worrying about … intruders.” I left off sweeping and sank down on the sofa beside the boy.

  His face had a pinched look. “How do you know he’s not coming back?”

  I wiped the sweat from my brow. “Because he’s aware I’ll have him jailed if he comes near you. He’s long gone.”

  Seeley’s eyes flicked toward the open windows. “Will you shut those, please?”

  “It’s too hot.”

  “Please!”

  I closed the windows and picked up the broom to take it to the kitchen.

  “And stay in here with me.”

  “Let me put this away, then I’ll come back.”

  He bit his lip. “All right,” he said grudgingly, “but don’t be long.”

  As I crossed the hall, voices sounded from outside. Miss Elsa had been out under the big magnolia, painting, and Sunny must be with her. I needed to consult with them about what food we should take for Miss Ruby Jewel’s funeral luncheon. I hurried out.

  I could hear only the hum of Miss Elsa’s animated prattle as I went toward the tree. She sounded so lively that it almost, but not quite, gave me pause.

  The other person answered, and at the very moment I heard him, he broke into view. If the voice hadn’t been unmistakable, it would have been hard to recognize him in such shabby, ill-fitting clothing.

  “I don’t know, Miss Elsa,” Dorian said. “Your picture looks about perfect. I wouldn’t add another—why, look who’s joined us. Good to see you, coz.”

  “Violet!” Miss Elsa cried. “Dorian’s come back! I knew he would! Run and get Sunny.” She looked blissfully up at my cousin. “She’ll be so happy you’ve returned. She’s been miserable since you left.”

  I had stood frozen; now I tensed to turn and run to Seeley but stopped when Dorian grabbed Miss Elsa’s arm and whipped a gun from its holster in one lightning-quick movement.

  My stepmother gasped. We had made a fatal mistake not confiding in her about Dorian’s villainy. Now she knew.

  “What do you want?” I forced my dry mouth to say.

  “Money,” he said. “Among other things. I left too quickly, without proper preparation. Miss Elsa, darling, give me your purse right now, and then we’re going to walk together into the house to get the gold. All of it. I know how much you have, so no holding back.”

  “Dorian.” She gave a little sob, drawing her purse from her pocket and thrusting it at him. “I don’t understand. You can’t take it all.”

  “Yes. I can and I will.” He pulled her to a standing position and shoved her toward the door. “You first, coz.”

  Our awkward little procession entered the front hall. I staggered forward, shock making my legs feeble.

  I promised Seeley that Dorian was gone. Seeley knew better.

  “Call the others to come here,” Dorian ordered.

  “Please,” I begged. “You don’t want to bring them in on this. Michael has a pistol and—”

  Dorian snorted. “Unworthy, coz. Generally you’re an unusually proficient liar for such a nice girl. Michael’s away. I watched him leave and heard him say he’d be gone a long while.”

  “Just take all the money and go. We’ll give you everything.”

  He gave an ugly little laugh. “Everything. These last few days I’ve realized what I have to do in order to get … everything.” He poked the gun harder into Miss Elsa’s side and she whimpered. “Go on, call them. Sunny and Laney and Seeley.”

  If I could dart into the sitting room and snatch the pistol off the mantel—

  I didn’t dare try when he had that thing held on Miss Elsa. I did as he commanded. What else could I do? I called, watching dispassionately and feeling almost as if it were not me standing there, as they came, one by one. First Seeley dragged in, terror blanching his face when he saw Dorian. I reached out and pulled him close to my side.

  Then Laney, from the kitchen. “What do you need, Miss Vi? I just got Cubby to slee—” She broke off and backed against the wall.

  Seeley was shaking violently. I roused from my stupor. Could I jump at Dorian? Grab the gun? I tried to loosen Seeley’s grip on my skirt, but even as I did so, I knew it wouldn’t work. An image of us all, full of holes, sprawled bent and contorted on a blood-puddled floor, flashed into my head. That’s what Michael would come home to find if we didn’t play our parts carefully. We needed to obey Dorian for now and watch for our chance. Maybe he didn’t intend …

  Last came Sunny. She stood stock-still. Her eyes popped. Then she stamped her foot. “Dorian Rushton, you’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here after what you did. And those clothes! Have you turned bummer? Leave! Leave at once! We have nothing to say—”

  “Shut up, Sunny,” Dorian said.

  Her mouth hung open. “Oh, my stars. Is that a gun?”

  “Shut up, Sunny. Y’all go on up the stairs to Seeley’s room and no one will get hurt. The key’s there in the lock as usual, isn’t it? Everyone in front of me. That’s right. You’re doing just fine.”

  We filed up the stairs and crowded into Seeley’s room, clutching each other.

  “Not you, Miss Elsa,” Dorian said. “You go fetch that gold.”

  He shut the door and turned the key on the rest of us. None of us moved, except Laney, who crumpled to the bed. “Cubby’s down there in the cradle. What’ll he do to my baby?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “He wouldn’t hurt Cubby and he won’t hurt us if we do as he says. As soon as he’s gone, we’ll break out of here.” I seemed always to be giving firm reassurances with nothing to back them. Soon no one would ever believe me again.

  A moment later the key turned once more, the door opened, and my stepmother was stuffed inside.

  “Been a pleasure, y’all,” Dorian said as he relocked the door. The sound of his footsteps hurtling down the stairs reached us.

  Miss Elsa sank to the bed and put her arms around Sunny. Laney immediately shoved at the door. Seeley and I joined her, and Sunny after a second, but it was thick oak, strong and unyielding. Next my stepsister stood on a stool to push open the tiny, high-up window. Much too tiny for even Seeley to climb out.

  “Seeley,” Sunny said, squatting, “get on my shoulders and squeeze through.”

  He scrambled onto her but couldn’t poke more than his head out the opening, however he twisted and wriggled.

  Miss Elsa was deathly pale. “I don’t understand. Why is Dorian doing this?”

  “Because he’s a fiend. I’ll explain later. Ouch,” Sunny said, dropping Seeley and then helping him up. “It’s no use. Even if we could get you out, we couldn’t risk your life with the drop down. Y’all think we can break through the wall?”

  “Hush,” Laney whispered. “Listen.”

  We all paused, wide-eyed. From outside came thudding sounds, as of objects being thrown against the house, and then voices—King’s rumbling tones and Dorian’s higher ones.

  “What’s going on?” Sunny cried. “Seeley, get on me again and look.”

  The boy clambered onto Sunny and stretched his neck to see out
the window. “King’s dumping brush and logs in a pile against the house.”

  “What on earth?” Miss Elsa jumped to her feet. “No, they wouldn’t!” she cried as realization set in.

  “Uh-oh,” Seeley said. He shouted now and waved his hands out the window. “King! King! Don’t do it! We can’t get out!”

  The smell of smoke wafted up.

  “He’s torching the house!” screeched Sunny, dumping Seeley and shoving against the door once more. “He’ll burn us alive! We’ve got to get out of here!”

  “Dorian!” I screamed toward the window. “We’ll give you anything. Seeley will give you Panola. Don’t do this!”

  By turns, we shouted, prayed out loud, beat at the door, whacked at the plaster, sobbed. I don’t know which things I did. Maybe all of them.

  “Let me see out again,” Seeley said. This time it was me who lifted him. “King’s arguing with Dorian. Dorian’s holding the gun on him. King won’t let—the kitchen’s caught fire—”

  Laney gave a shriek and clawed at the door. I dropped Seeley down. “Enough—don’t look anymore.” Cubby’s faint, faraway howling reached us. The rest of us joined Laney to heave, push, and work at the hinges, but the door might have been a mountain for all we could move it.

  One by one, we sank to the floor. The noise of flames whipping, snapping, and crackling grew louder till it almost drowned out our screams and moaning.

  A sharp bang rang out. A shot. And then a second one. Poor King.

  No hope. Smoke hung heavy in the room and we crouched under it. Sunny and Miss Elsa clung together. Laney, Seeley, and I wrapped our arms around each other and rocked a little. Tears poured down Laney’s cheeks, but I was tearless now, sick and numb, waiting for the end. I had told Dorian he couldn’t kill everyone who knew of his treachery. I had been wrong. Certainly he would lie in wait for Michael as well.