The Mirk and Midnight Hour

by Jane Nickerson

  I have become a teacher at Seeley’s school. The things the children say are so funny! I struggle with discipline. Even Seeley is naughty at times. You do know he’s ours forever, don’t you? I have been assuming you assume it, although we never put it in words.

  News reached us from Panola a few weeks ago. Aunt Lovina wrote to say that the Union soldiers had set fire to the house and scattered all the servants. Luckily the brick walls still stand. Aunt Lovina and Seeley’s mammy are living together in a rude cabin on the place. Seeley frets sometimes but understands there is nothing he can do right now. Eventually we will have to help him put Panola to rights. It is so strange that I, who so worried that people would leave Scuppernong, will someday be the one who leaves.

  I am happy to hear you have told your family about me. It will be lovely to have a second sister in Addie. Our Sunny is still Sunny, but an improved version. She is having a feeble little flirtation with an older man named Harper Grigg—he must be at least twice her age—who returned early from the army because his wife had died, leaving him with two small children. Right now it is feeble, but I have a feeling their romance may grow hale, hearty, and blooming. He really does think she’s amazing. She loves the children; she’s certainly grown since she first met Seeley.

  Miss Elsa continues to paint her ugly pictures, free of the laudanum. She has awakened, and lives a much more active, vivid life than she once did.

  Seeley has taken to following Michael everywhere when he’s home from school, and often totes Cubby about, showing him bugs and, in Seeley’s own words, “teaching him how to be a boy.” Laney and I watch our fellows together and feel all glow-y inside.

  So much that happened to us is hard to believe now. Sometimes I think of it and even I don’t believe me. Yet it did happen. I thought of destroying my amber amulet because anything connected with that time makes me feel panicky, until I remember that that particular bit of VanZeldt-ness always seemed good and helped often. I no longer wear it. It’s tucked safely away, wrapped in cotton, along with your beautiful carvings.

  Since the VanZeldts left, Shadowlawn is for sale, and it’s likely to remain so until it falls in a heap of rubble, as who in these times would buy such a place? I think of the VanZeldts when I look at the stars. Dr. VanZeldt said that we had mattered a great deal to one another, and I feel that. They still matter to me. I wish them well—but I hope never to see them again and I hope that, wherever they are, they will never again try to call down Raphtah-from-the-stars.

  Darling Thomas, I’m afraid of so many things. I still cringe when I’m too close to fires. I’m afraid of snakes. I’m afraid my students will tie me up one day and run entirely amok. I’m afraid the time will come when at Scuppernong we will have nothing to eat but beetles, and then the beetles will run out. But I’m not afraid you won’t come back to me. It may take a year … or two … but it will happen. The war will end, and we’ll never again be apart.

  And so, adieu, my love.

  Your very own,

  Violet Aurelia Dancey

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am grateful to whoever first wrote the legendary Scottish Ballad of Tam Lin for providing me with a compelling story to re-create in a Southern setting.

  My writing is not the sort that pops out perfect without much editing. I need many other people’s discerning eyes and brains to help me know what must be done. I’d like to once again thank my tireless agent, Wendy Schmalz, and my patient editor, Allison Wortche, for their encouragement and the time they put into this book. I am also indebted to the many people who worked on it in the many stages.

  Thanks and much love to Ellen, Carol, James, Emily, Bethany, Phillip, and Stella for their willingness to read and give me ideas. (It was Bethany who requested voodoo.)

  And, as always, I am eternally grateful to my husband, Ted, who steps in and helps with all the things I can’t seem to do myself.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For many years, Jane Nickerson and her family lived in a big old house in Aberdeen, Mississippi, where she was a children’s librarian. She has always loved the South, “the olden days,” gothic tales, houses, kids, writing, and interesting villains. Her first novel, Strands of Bronze and Gold, is a captivating retelling of the Bluebeard fairy tale. Jane and her husband recently moved back to Mississippi from Ontario, Canada. Please visit her on the Web at jane-nickerson.com.