Eventide

by Sarah Goodman

  I felt a smile creep over my lips. “Hettie Weatherington, I’m surprised at you.”

  She placed a hand on Big Tom’s broad back. “I only stepped out with Big Tom to make another fellow jealous, truth be told. Best spiteful thing I ever did.” Big Tom snorted, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile.

  We arrived at the square to find Wheeler buzzing with festivities. Fiddle music capered on the hot afternoon breeze. Apron-clad women swarmed around tables scattered across the courthouse lawn, spreading white tablecloths here, draping spring-green bunting there. Groups of children played tag, running circles around the spreading oaks. In the center of the merry chaos, a table at least thirty feet long groaned under the weight of dozens of pies, preserves, sauces, cookies, and other sweets. Big Tom meandered over to a group of men setting up chairs around the tables, while Hettie vanished into the crowd, a peach pie cradled to her chest like a newborn.

  On tiptoes, I searched in vain for Miss Maeve’s slim figure or Lilah’s strawberry-blond braids. Perhaps Miss Pimsler had made speedy work of her task this morning, and was gathering Lilah and her belongings from Miss Maeve’s house right this moment. I glanced at the courthouse, looming large behind me. Could Miss Maeve be inside, being questioned by Loftis?

  And though I hated myself for it, I looked for Abel among a group of shirtsleeved gentlemen cranking away at the ice cream freezers. I spotted Jasper instead.

  I decided to take Hettie’s advice. If nothing else, Jasper didn’t deserve a dour companion. And though I knew I couldn’t make him jealous, devoted to Della as he was, a mean little part of me wanted to make sure Abel saw me having a good time.

  I hitched up my smile and wove through the tables. “Hello, Jasper. How’s the ice cream coming along?”

  He beamed from under a stiff new boater hat when he saw me coming. “It’s not a job for anyone in a hurry,” he said, turning the handle sprouting from the side of a wooden bucket. “Katherine brought chocolate syrup,” he added. “She made it herself. Our mother used to do that every year.” He dropped his eyes to the churning ice. “This is the first social since she passed away.”

  Without thinking, I reached out, resting my hand on his forearm. He looked up, surprised. “I’m sorry, Jasper.”

  He swallowed hard, then worked up a little smile. “I didn’t mean to be gloomy. Today’s supposed to be a good time.” He sped up the crank as he spoke. “I think this is finally ready. Do you want to test it? There’s a spoon here somewhere—Verity?” Jasper’s merry words faltered as he noticed my distracted air. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I muttered over the quick heartbeats sounding in my ears, tearing my attention from Abel and Della walking toward us.

  Della’s right arm was linked through Abel’s left, and she rested her other hand on his biceps, keeping as many points of physical contact with him as possible. Jasper furrowed his brow, looking between the blissful couple and my rigid misery. His expression shifted from confusion to pained understanding.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, stepping forward to meet them. Jasper pressed Della’s hand with genuine warmth before moving on to clasp Abel in a brotherly embrace, maneuvering around the cast as he hugged his friend. “I can’t say I’m surprised. It was only a matter of time.”

  Abel slid his good arm around Della’s slim waist and drew her to his side. As though I’d never pressed his body against mine, felt his hands at the small of my back as he pulled me closer.

  Already, I felt myself fading from their lives, from this place. Soon I’d be a memory, a girl who passed through one summer and was never heard from again.

  “Mama and me are already talking about the wedding dress,” Della said. “I want a pouter-pigeon front, puffed out nice and full, and probably sleeves to the elbows. It’ll be satin, of course, and we think maybe a lace overlay would be just the thing. And Abel’s asked Big Tom for permission to buy an acre on the back of their place,” Della went on. “We’ll have a little cabin and—”

  “Sounds like y’all have it all worked out,” Jasper broke in. “Would y’all excuse us? Verity was just saying how parched she was. We’re going to try some of Mrs. Sullivan’s pink lemonade.” He offered me his arm, and I took it gratefully.

  “All right then,” Della said, still smiling. “Save us a spot when it’s time to eat.”

  Jasper led me toward the table laden with crystal punch bowls. We slid into place at the end of the line. I bit my lip while he stared fixedly at the ground.

  “You’re carrying a torch for Abel,” Jasper said at last. “And it’s pretty clear I’ve been making a jackass of myself.”

  “No, I think I’m the jackass here.” An elderly lady ahead of us in line tutted at my language. I picked at the white tablecloth. “I was going to tell you today that Abel and I were … well, whatever I thought we were. I feel so foolish. I should’ve realized he loved Della from the start.”

  “Over the years, I think Abel and me both fancied ourselves in love with her, from time to time.” Jasper took two cups of pink lemonade, handed me one, and gestured toward a table on the edge of the lawn. “When we were little, we used to fight over who Della would want to marry. I told Abel it would be me, and that he had to marry my sister.”

  I took a sip of my drink. Its sourness matched my mood. “I bet he loved that idea.”

  “It led to a few scuffles in the schoolyard.” Jasper smiled, then sobered quickly. “Della’s one of my dear friends. But just between us, I think Abel’s making a mistake.”

  I settled on the edge of a white wicker chair while Jasper folded his lanky frame into the seat across from me. “How’s that?”

  “Della’s a wonderful person. But she’s not wonderful for Abel. People don’t always know there’s a difference.” Jasper, cup handle pinched between long fingers, crossed one gangly knee over the other as Katherine came marching our way, a picnic basket in the crook of one arm.

  “Have y’all seen Della anywhere?” she asked.

  “Hello to you, too, Sis. Della’s going around receiving congratulations on her engagement.” Jasper didn’t look in my direction as he said this, but Katherine did. Her words were for Jasper, but she kept her triumphant smirk on me as she spoke.

  “I figured. I’m glad Abel Atchley finally had enough gumption to propose. Lord knows he’s had plenty to distract him lately.”

  I held her gaze over the rim of my crystal cup, making sure to slurp in a most distracting manner. Katherine inclined her head and swept away. I frowned as I watched her disappear into the crowd. “She’s not usually so horsey,” Jasper remarked, sipping his lemonade.

  “I think I bring out the worst in your sister.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I believe you’re right. I’d hoped spending time with Miss Maeve would sweeten her up a little. There’s nobody kinder than Miss Maeve.” He sighed. “Truth be told, Kat’s seemed even more mean-spirited than before they started visiting with each other.”

  “I can’t imagine,” I murmured, my attention focused on the crowd. Miss Pimsler should be here any moment, hopefully with Lilah in tow. But try as I might, I couldn’t see her amid the milling townsfolk.

  Instead, I found Mr. Lybrand. Hands atop his brass cane, he stood at the edge of the crowd, scowling at the gaiety swirling around him. With his dark suit and black homburg hat, he looked like a crow skulking in a field of songbirds. His attention was fixed on the courthouse steps. I followed his line of sight to find Mayor Ausbrooks, looking pleased as punch. The tall, handsome man didn’t seem unsettled, which he surely would have been if he’d already spoken to Miss Pimsler.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, noticing Sheriff Loftis not far away, shaking hands with passersby, looking not at all like someone who’d just found out the schoolteacher had attacked his future son-in-law. My fingers knotted together in my lap. Had Miss Pimsler delayed in her plans to speak with the men on the adoption committee? Why wasn’t she here
?

  Della and Abel slid into the empty chairs beside Jasper and me just as Mayor Ausbrooks stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Welcome, everyone, to the annual Wheeler Ice Cream Social,” he said. Cheers rose from a knot of small boys. One familiar whoop lofted above the rest. Lilah stood on a chair, clapping wildly.

  “Would all the members of the Ladies’ Aid Society join me on the steps so we can recognize y’all for your hard work in getting this together?” Mayor Ausbrooks continued. A dozen women, including Hettie, eased their way forward to pattering applause. The mayor hooked his fingers in his suspenders. “And let’s not forget our chairwoman, Miss Maeve Donovan.”

  A lump of ice lodged in my chest, and I watched Miss Maeve ascend the courthouse steps.

  Her attention roved over the crowd, searching, until her pale eyes locked on mine with a gleam of triumph. Then she melted back into the crowd, disappearing amid a sea of plumed hats and smiling faces.

  I pushed back from the table, shaking. “I need to go home. I’m not feeling well.”

  “Hettie said you’d been under the weather this morning,” Abel said, oblivious to my agitation.

  Della frowned, her eyes flicking to where Miss Maeve had been standing. “Is that all that’s wrong, Verity?”

  I pressed a hand to my middle. “I think the lemonade was too much for my stomach. I’m so sorry to leave early,” I added to Jasper. “Abel, do you mind if I take Merlin?” He barely finished nodding his agreement before I spun around and pushed through the milling crowd.

  Worry for Miss Pimsler knotted my thoughts as I unhitched the horse from his post. I couldn’t explain the dread certainty that gripped me.

  I spurred Merlin forward, gravel flying in our wake, and rode straight for Mr. Lybrand and Miss Maeve’s house.

  33

  Fierce sunlight poured down on the house, bleaching it bone white, draping black shadows over the flower beds around the porch. Merlin snorted, shying away with nervous side steps as I tied him to the wisteria arbor.

  I approached the stately home, heart thundering in my ears. When my hand touched the brass knob, I stopped. There was a charge in the air, a hum, the way there was just before a lightning storm. Fine hairs on my arms lifted. My heartbeat stuttered.

  I forced down the wild impulse to flee and shoved my way inside in a rush.

  Hand shaking, I pulled the door quietly closed behind me. The curtains were all drawn, casting the entryway into a murky twilight. At the foot of the staircase sat a small leather satchel. A shiver traipsed down my spine. I recognized it as the one Miss Pimsler had been carrying at the station.

  “Miss Pimsler?” My voice echoed off the high ceilings. I jogged up the stairs, checking the bedrooms in a breathless hurry. All empty.

  In Lilah’s room, I fought to control my trembling fingers and unlock the door to the secret room. I shoved it open and leapt back, expecting something dreadful to lash out at me.

  Instead, I stared into a vacant space. A tangled mass of greens and browns were heaped on a table to the right, but I hadn’t the time to consider what they were, or why the smell in the hot air seemed familiar. I must find Miss Pimsler before I gave in to the urge to run away that itched along my nerves.

  Back downstairs, I stumbled into the empty parlor, then on to Mr. Lybrand’s sitting room. I called for Miss Pimsler again and again. Fear swelled, rising into my throat, threatening to suffocate me. Each step felt like forcing myself over the edge of a cliff.

  A long, narrow hall led toward the back of the house, the only place I hadn’t checked. My fingers trailed along the textured wallpaper as I peered into the dark. “Miss Pimsler, are you here?”

  Dread thrummed through me. Eyes on the floor, I pushed myself ahead, watching my boots sink soundlessly into the deep blue rug. Flickering light seeped from under a door at the hall’s end.

  I pushed it open and peered inside at a candle burning atop a round mahogany table. The thin finger of blue-hearted flame did little to push back the black of the windowless room. The fire called to me with its dancing light. I drifted toward it.

  Something soft gave way under my boot. I stooped and my fingers brushed against feathers and velvet. With the other hand, I reached up and gripped the candlestick. Slowly, I brought it closer to the floor, until I saw in the feeble light what I’d trodden on.

  A lady’s hat, covered with plumage and silk flowers. One I’d seen earlier that morning. I shifted the candle closer.

  Miss Pimsler’s hair had come undone, and a swath covered her round face. I pushed it away. Her eyes stared into mine, dull and sightless. Dead.

  A memory unburied itself, clawing its way into my consciousness. I watched myself as though from outside my own body.

  I followed Miss Pimsler down the sidewalks of Wheeler, trailing her to this house. Fury radiated like heat waves as I stalked her. Everything was her fault. She’d sent us here. She’d let Miss Maeve take Lilah from me. She was the reason Papa decided he had to escape the safety of the asylum and search for us. Because of her, I had lost what remained of my family. If not for Miss Pimsler, I wouldn’t have met Abel and been forced to watch him fall in love with someone else.

  I’d trailed her here, into Miss Maeve’s empty house. She’d screamed, but the sound had died quickly after I wrapped my hands around her throat.

  That was how I had murdered the woman who came to help me.

  I dropped the candle. The light went out, and I turned away from the corpse, vomiting on the polished wood floor.

  Insanity had come for me after all, just as it had for Papa. But unlike my father, I didn’t merely suffer from visions of monsters. I had become one.

  Sobs racked my chest and scorching tears blurred my sight. I fled through the house, throwing open the front door. And careened straight into someone.

  Reuben Lybrand, Miss Maeve’s faithful servant, gripped my upper arm. His eyes were dark voids. He yanked me upright, and I felt the bones in my shoulder grind together.

  A hysterical cry burst from me as he dragged me away from the house.

  34

  Anguish rent my mind, blew apart my reason. I didn’t want to die, but in my panicked grief over Miss Pimsler, I wasn’t sure I deserved any better.

  Mr. Lybrand dropped me on a stone bench and turned away, breathing heavily. His shoulders rose and fell in jerky movements, and his hands clenched to tight fists. Dimly, I knew I should take his moment of distraction to run for my life, but my body and mind felt leaden, too heavy for clear thought or action.

  As though from a great distance, a familiar voice punctured my stupor. “Have you got her?” Mr. Lybrand lifted his head and looked toward the woods.

  Through blurry eyes, I watched my father stride out of the trees.

  “Deep breaths, Verity.” Papa cradled me to his chest, as though I were a little girl, and carried me through the wisteria vines into the arbor. “There now,” Papa muttered once we were inside. “Feeling better yet?” he asked, setting me on my feet.

  The bleak guilt and terror rolled away like fog burned off by the sun. The scent of wisteria tickled my nose. I drew a deep breath and felt a mental haze I hadn’t recognized before lift. It left me feeling weak, weary to my core, as though I’d just woken from a long illness.

  “Something happened in the house,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I was sure I found Miss Pimsler dead, and that I killed her. It seemed so real, but it couldn’t have been.…” I paused, sifting through images of the day.

  Reuben Lybrand stepped through the curtain of vines, a black blot against the vibrant leaves. I reached for Papa, dragging him back. “Stay away from us.”

  Mr. Lybrand lifted a hand as if to show he meant no harm. “Matthew, we don’t have much time. We’ll have to explain on the way.” He retreated, making for the Ford sitting beside the house.

  “Can you walk, Verity?” Papa asked, his voice wire-taut.

  “I think so. Where are we going?” Papa was already trailing after Mr
. Lybrand, motioning for me to follow.

  Mr. Lybrand stopped when he reached the gleaming automobile. “Miss Pimsler is dead,” he said, abruptly. “That much is real.” He wrangled the crankshaft handle into place. “You brought her here to expose Maeve’s secret, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I breathed. “But I begged her to go to Sheriff Loftis and Mayor Ausbrooks first, and not approach Miss Maeve alone.”

  He began twisting the crank. “Maeve can be very persuasive. She saw Miss Pimsler in town, likely just after she’d spoken with you, and convinced her to come here to talk things out. I expect it took the poisoned tea less than an hour to do the poor woman in. Potions mixed in teas are some of Miss Maeve’s specialties. She’s used them for all sorts of things. To induce madness, and for less drastic things, too—to make someone sleep, change their mood. This is the first time I’ve known her to brew something deadly.”

  With a start, I realized that I had likely sampled one of Miss Maeve’s concoctions before. I thought back to the Sunday dinner, saw her stirring something I’d assumed to be sugar into my tea. I’d been so at ease, so relaxed throughout the meal. Unnaturally calm, as I now realized. She could just as easily have mixed my death into that swirling amber liquid and I would’ve had no forewarning.

  The motor of Mr. Lybrand’s car roared to life. My heart raced at the memory of Miss Pimsler’s vacant eyes, the dark tinge around her lips. “What happened to me in there?” I asked, looking back toward the house.

  “The sense of dread you felt and the urge to flee were crafted by a magic working,” Mr. Lybrand said as he climbed into the car, motioning for me to join him in the front seat. Papa gave my arm a reassuring squeeze and moved to the back. “Miss Maeve designed them to keep anyone from entering and discovering her handiwork until she can dispose of the body tonight.”

  “But why did I think I’d killed Miss Pimsler?”

  Mr. Lybrand looked hard at me. “Maeve is also adept at candle magic. She likes to make people see things that aren’t there.”