The Vespertine

by Mitchell, Saundra

  "It's intolerable the way you moon. Do You want to talk about it tonight?" Zora pressed the bridge of my nose with her thumb, rather hard actually. "If You don't say anything, I'll only assume the worst and loathe him for you."

  I rolled onto my back, better to gaze at the ceiling and betray nothing. If she would hear naught, I could warn Thomas instead. He'd take care, and all would be well. Banishing my thoughts on that, I sighed and said, "Don't loathe him. Or do. I run inconstant, or he is a monster—and I know not which."

  "A monster?" Zora asked. She sounded more tickled than concerned. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh, but everything's the end of the world for you two."

  "You were ready to have me abandon him for being late to a dance," I reminded her.

  Raising her hands above us, Zora swayed and swirled, miming the putting on of a ring. "Hardly! I was ready to have you abandon him for making you miserable when he's not even a good prospect! If You can't marry him, he should at least make you deliriously happy until the end."

  Thunder rolled across the roof and across my skin. Very like the vibration from running up the monument, it stirred my memories. It was true—I found them much sweeter for the disaster that came after. Few could say they dared to leap so readily as I had, but I wondered if anyone should.

  "Amelia?" Zora asked, rubbing her elbow against mine. "Are you there?"

  "Only contemplating the end of the world, that's all."

  "What did happen, then?"

  With a great heave, I threw myself on my face and buried the answer in my pillow. "He asked me to jump, and I did." The whole bed shook when Zora rose up. Clapping her hands on my shoulders, she shook me until I had no choice but to roll to face her.

  "You're making me mad with all this intrigue."

  I clasped her arms to still her. "He loves me; I made him say it."

  "And did you say it?" She seemed round as a soap bubble, impossibly full and fragile just then.

  "No," I said, covering my face with my hands. "Tomorrow at the park, I might. Or I might not. Do You think I'm terrible with him?"

  Zora rolled her eyes, impossibly lovely in her exasperation. "Essentially, yes. But you're terrible without him. May as well resign yourself to it."

  "Am I really?"

  "I'm going to take my two hands and smother you," Zora said, laughing. "Make up your mind!"

  It was oddly comfortable, knowing she thought I was foolish. I looked in fire and saw the future; Nathaniel went on the winds. Should we both be monsters or not, it seemed we were infinitely suited. Soothed with that balm, I said, "Easier if you made it for me!"

  The great crash the bed made when Zora fell back in it again was the last provocation Mrs. Stewart needed. In the room below, she thumped her ceiling. "Enough, you circus monkeys!"

  Zora giggled and kept her tongue just a moment, then rolled toward me again to whisper in my ear, "If you should elope, tell me. Thomas and I will come and make it double."

  A sickness seeped into my chest again, but I forced a smile and said, "I shall, I promise."

  Seventeen

  BECAUSE OF THE RAINS, we couldn't lounge so leisurely at the park. We flocked like birds, standing on the walk as we took our turns at the bow, then hurrying back to shake our hems dry.

  "I've only got six now!" Sarah scowled at Zora as she bounded off to retrieve yet another lost arrow.

  Disappearing into the brush, Zora called back, "It's not lost yet!"

  "You know," I told Sarah. "If You married a man with a good trade, you should be able to afford all the arrows you like. You could have them instead of pins for your hair."

  Agitated as she paced the walk, Sarah swung round to face me. "It pleases me to know that I bought my own arrows, thank you."

  "With the pennies you got for your birthday," Mattie said, then added, "When she was ten. They're ancient, you know."

  Mattie kept her laughter very quiet and confidential between us. More resilient than I'd credited her for, she took the most darling delight in watching our sportswomen bicker between shots. Mainly, I did the job of holding the quiver. Though I had taken a shot or two, I didn't buck to have my turn next. Unlike Zora, I knew I was rather bad at it.

  "Oy," someone called, flouting all good manners, and we three turned toward the voice. Caleb raised his hand and strode toward us like he'd been invited. Though he stopped close to Sarah, he looked out at the target. "Still pulling to the left, I see."

  "That's Mattie's shot," Sarah said.

  "Oh," Caleb replied, as if placating her.

  Heat flashed in Sarah's eyes, and she squared her shoulders. "I should like to see you best me."

  Bounding out of the trees, Zora thrust her hand above her head in triumph. "Didn't I tell you I'd find it?"

  "Brilliant," Sarah said. She lifted her skirts and stalked out to her spot before the target. I offered an arrow and a murmured wish of best luck.

  On a full draw, Sarah looked so like a huntress goddess that it rather left me awestruck. I saw her take the breath she'd once advised me, before setting the arrow to flight. When it struck the heart of the centermost circle, her divinity fell away, and she whooped.

  Clapping gleefully, Mattie cried, "Amazing!"

  "You should call it a draw before you embarrass yourself," Zora told Caleb, hiding a smile.

  With a sweet, mocking nod, Sarah offered Caleb the bow. "If it pleases you, Mr. Grey, could you show me how to improve my aim?"

  "Oh!" Zora grabbed my elbow and started to pull me away.

  "Have care," I said. "I've been mending lace a week now!"

  "Our beaux are here," Zora answered, and I stopped caring about my lace entirely.

  When I turned, my heart leaped to see the god-awful tartan of Nathaniel's jacket even before I saw him. The gold and green, despite the gilt and greenness of the summer season in Druid Hill Park, stood out.

  With a giddy sort of relief, I decided that I might be inconstant after all, but when I smiled, he smiled, and I no longer cared if we might be monsters.

  "We're astonished to find you here," Thomas told Zora with a smile. "Mr. Witherspoon came about this morning, and our only thought was to take in some sunshine lest it should rain again."

  Slipping his hand into mine, Nathaniel added, "It was only a feeling I had, that this end of the park might make for more pleasant sightseeing."

  The surge of my pulse left me near lightheaded, but it beat out apologies, mine to him, his to me, and I was only sorry now that we stood on a public walk. Two clasped hands, however scandalous, couldn't fulfill me for a reconciliation.

  "Miss Holbrook is teaching Mr. Grey a lesson in humility, " Zora said, gesturing back at our party.

  "That's the measure of a man's affection," Nathaniel said, hooking his finger inside my glove. He should have let go once we met—but then, there were a great many things Nathaniel and I should have done, that we never did.

  "His keenness to prostrate himself before her?" Zora asked.

  Scratching across my wrist, Nathaniel offered Zora a twisted smile. "And her avid desire to see it."

  "I don't think it's necessary," Thomas said, and though we found the ground quite firm and certain beneath us, he put a hand on Zora's back as if to guide her over rough terrain. It seemed even the most gentlemanly of our circle could be coaxed into duplicity, and how charming he was at it.

  "It's not," I said. Taking my hand from Nathaniel, I met his black eyes and offered my elbow instead. "That's the great appeal."

  "Mad with power," Nathaniel said. His murmurs slipped into me, onto me, warming me in his familiar way. If he knew my thoughts, he knew my wanton, wilding desire to hide away with him. Longing felt like a thread, slipping between us, sewing us together.

  Zora glanced over her shoulder. "Quite sensible with it, I think. "

  Coming back to the contest at hand, Mattie returned the quiver to me and fluttered on the edges of our party. "Isn't it exciting?"

  "Wildly," I said, but I could barel
y see Caleb draw his next shot.

  I kept closing my eyes—as if I could will Nathaniel to carry us with the wind again. My few days' vacillation disappeared. Standing on his arm, taking the heat of his gaze, I knew if he asked it again, I would jump.

  A hundred times, I would jump.

  "The wind kicked up," Caleb complained as he squelched across wet earth to rejoin us. He held the bow out for Sarah but didn't release it to her grasp. Instead, he made her tug it, his nose crinkling at the little play of war before she wrested it away.

  "I think the only wind about us," she said, as she turned to me for an arrow, "is the great hot one you're blowing."

  "Oh, cruel," I said, handing her a feathered shaft. Mattie laughed and wrapped herself around my free arm, resting her chin on my shoulder. When Sarah took her position again, Mattie whispered to me, "Would you like to hear a secret?"

  "Always."

  "Caleb asked her hand." Mattie smiled and sighed, trying to sway with me, but Nathaniel kept me quite firmly grounded on the other side. I felt rather like a door, waving on a hinge between them.

  "What did she say?"

  "Ask again next week."

  I laughed, but before I could ask more, a crack rent the air. A ripple ran through us, and Caleb cried out. He rushed across the lawn and was nearly on Sarah when I realized that she'd crumpled to the ground, letting the bow fall where it may.

  A halo of gold passed before my eyes, and I felt the weakness in Sarah's knees as she staggered and stood. I looked into my hands, and then pulled Mattie to me, hiding her from that next thing she would see.

  Without the glimmer of sunset, the blood that spilled through Sarah's gloves only shocked.

  "Bring her, Caleb," Thomas said, suddenly commanding. A center of calm in this storm, he turned to Zora and told her, "Run! Fetch her parents!"

  Sweeping Sarah into his arms, Caleb dared any to say something against it. Zora took Mattie by the hand, dragging her in the opposite direction. Only Nathaniel and I hesitated, and we had a silent argument. Can't you do something? Can't you take her faster?

  The shadow on his brow was his reply; he could but he couldn't. How to explain disappearing, reappearing? How to explain being in one place, then somewhere else in an instant?

  "Yours is a parlor trick," he said aloud, his face ashen. "Mine could be witchcraft."

  Nodding, I backed away. He did, too, widening the gulf between us. Then, at the same moment, we turned. I would follow Zora to deliver bad news; Nathaniel would follow Thomas and Caleb to offer only his strength.

  For two so gifted as we, how utterly useless we were.

  ***

  Though the news concerned our friend and cousin, Zora's parents kept it from us in whispers. Notes came, and then neighbors—each time, Mrs. Stewart sent us upstairs to work our samplers. Never had we cared so little about stitching our names in floss, and rarely had we so flagrantly disregarded Mrs. Stewart's command. Once voices started in the kitchen again, we crept in stocking feet to the top of the stairs.

  "And to happen to such a pretty girl," Mrs. Stewart told someone, for the third time at least. Zora had started to lose her temper at it, and I stayed her with a hand. We wouldn't find out anything if she tore down there in a rage.

  "Dr. Rea said she can have a glass one," a woman said, casually, as if discussing a new lamp furnace. "Enamel's the best, but too expensive."

  "Ghastly. Perhaps we could take a collection?"

  Zora surged beneath my hand again. "Would they wound her twice? Bad enough her eye, but her pride, too, treating her to charity?"

  "They mean well," I said.

  "It's all well-meaning," Zora said, collapsing on the step in frustration. Tears streaked down her cheeks. The narrow stairs closed around us, dark and warm, almost like a chapel. Pulling her sleeves over her hands, she swiped at her face. "You know her, Amelia. What of her prospects now?"

  I sank to sit beside her. "Caleb wants to marry her."

  With a dismayed groan, Zora waved me away. "Who knows if he really means it?"

  "He does. He asked her."

  "She didn't say anything." Sniffling, Zora rubbed her fingers beneath her red nose, too ladylike, at least, to wipe that with her sleeve. "Did You see it?"

  Shaking my head, I leaned against the wall. "Mattie told me."

  "Then that should be the thing to cheer her," Zora said, though she didn't sound like she meant it.

  "I've never understood, precisely, what Caleb and Sarah are to each other," I admitted, for I couldn't quite believe it, either. "They sparkle and crack, but she's always refusing to admit him—what is that?"

  A silence of immeasurable weight stretched between us. Then, softly, Zora said, "You must never repeat this."

  Cold banded me, and I nodded. "I vow."

  "He ruined her," she said, so low I had to lean to catch her words. "They've barbed each other since they were babes, and summer last, it spilled over. We'd gone to the beach for a clambake, and nightfall, and atmosphere, and the caves nearby..."

  Shocked, I swear, I felt all my blood drain out at once. "He forced himself on her?"

  "No!" Zora shut her mouth, listening to see if we'd accidentally called attention to ourselves. When the conversation below continued, so did she. "He called and she answered. It was a lapse, and no one knows it. But they know. He wants her hand, and she wants a choice in the matter."

  Oh, how sharp that admission felt, pulling between my ribs. "But what sense does it make to refuse him if she wants him?"

  Her smile starting to quaver again, Zora gathered herself and stood. She had her own fondness, her own memories, and quite plainly Sarah's maiming had struck a deep wound in her as well. It took a moment for Zora to still her breath, and even then the threat of tears came in her voice. But she managed, at last, to answer me.

  "None. It makes no sense at all."

  ***

  "She refused me," Mattie said, turning and turning her teacup but never lifting it to drink. She seemed almost of paper, not just pale, but easily creased as well. "So I hoped if we should all call together, she'd change her mind."

  "I'd like that," I said.

  Managing a bit of wan sympathy, Mattie turned her cup again and said, "You must feel such guilt."

  Tea went bitter on my tongue. "We all do, I suppose."

  "But you saw it," Mattie said. Her eyes strayed toward mine, each blink slow as surrender. "And handed her the arrow that did it, besides."

  The kitchen walls seemed to close on us. Suddenly, the heat from the stove became unbearable, burning all the air from the room—at least, that's how it felt to me. Trying not to rattle my cup on its saucer, I looked from Zora to Mattie and said, "But I wasn't the cause of it."

  "Oh, I know." A mirthless smile touched her lips, an attempt at etiquette and nothing more.

  Zora stood to gather our dishes. Briskly, much in the mode of her mother, she said, "Let's take her a pot of ginger apples."

  "I'll go pick some if you scrape the ginger," I told Mattie, already at the back door. A rude hostess, indeed, I didn't wait for her reply. I just hurried into the yard, suddenly breathing again once I'd escaped the kitchen.

  Ducking beneath the heavy arms of the tree that shaded the yard, I rose in its bower, hidden away for just a moment. The earth smelled dark and rich around me, teased at my feet with the sharp hint of fermented apples, and sweet in a haze around my head with the promise of still-ripening ones. Bees hummed as they ate their fill, and sunshine, pure and clean, slipped in sparks through the leaves above.

  "Nathaniel," I said, pulling my polonaise out to catch the apples I picked. "Do You hear me?"

  The wind answered, the slightest rush to tug at my hair. I pulled another apple from its branch and called again—more in thoughts than voice. And on the third, I turned and he was there.

  The branches shook sunlight across Nathaniel's face, and for once no impish humor lingered in him. Dressed out in a plain muslin shirt and suspenders, he came
across black and white, and strangely severe. When he stepped closer, he greeted me with the sharp scent of turpentine on his skin.

  "I was working," he said.

  A pang struck me anew that I still had no idea what it meant that Nathaniel did what he liked. Winter colors stained his skin, blues and grays and whites, and thoughtlessly I took his hand to examine it. "What are you making?"

  "A pietà," he said. Then deliberately he rubbed a cerulean stain into my lace sleeve, making a permanent mark of himself there. Abandoning his distraction to consume me with a look, he pulled me against his chest. "You're troubled."

  With a sigh, I laid my head on his shoulder. "Sarah won't see anyone, and everyone's unsettled."

  Impossibly close, Nathaniel pressed his brow against my temple. "Aren't you?"

  "No, I am, but I can scarcely call my distress as great as theirs. They've known her such a long time, and I, such a short one." I longed to bury my face against his neck, to feel his skin warm on mine. "And I've disturbed you only to send you home again. I only came out to pick apples."

  Nathaniel carefully caught my hand and raised it to his lips. He didn't kiss; instead, he caressed, tracing across his mouth with both our hands, then set me free. "If a minute or an hour, I would always come for you."

  "I should have told you before," I said, filled with his tender sentiment and a rush of my own. "That I love you, too."

  Stepping into a blaze of light, Nathaniel smiled at me crookedly. "Go on, then."

  "What?"

  "You didn't say it before. Will You now?"

  In spite of myself, I laughed, turning away from him, then turning back, just to taste the shock of heat that rose brand-new to my skin, on looking at him again. Pressing myself against him, I gazed into him and said into him, with my mouth and my mind, "I love you, too."

  To answer, he leaned as if to kiss me and dissipated. He wasn't even a cool breath on my lips—simply there, then gone. And that made me laugh, too, the odd, glorious secret we shared and more so—knowing he would suffer for want of that unfinished embrace as well.

  Ducking beneath the branches again, I surfaced in the yard and took two steps to find Mattie staring at me. I had never realized just how pale came the blue of her eyes, not until that moment, when light slanted into them, illuminating them like pools.