The Mirk and Midnight Hour (32 page)

Long after we parted, I was aware that she remained standing straight and silent beneath the silk cotton tree. My fingers sought the amber amulet beneath my dress; it was not there.

I searched for the amulet in all my drawers, beneath the bed, in my jewelry box, and under sofa cushions. Nowhere. Considering how lightly I had at first taken this gift from Amenze, I was now
filled with anxiety at its loss. Suddenly it seemed of great importance.

Somehow I made it through the rest of the day. As the light finally grew gray, Dorian, Sunny, and I sat out on the porch, watching fireflies wink. Tears kept pricking at my eyelids. I longed to go upstairs to my room for a good cry over Thomas but had to wait until Seeley returned from wherever he had wandered.

Sunny was jittery, twisting her bracelets about her wrists and then jumping up to peer over the porch railing. “Where’s Seeley?” she asked.

“Out looking for Goblin,” I said.

“Oh.” She sat again, still twitchy.

Dorian had been uncharacteristically quiet, but he broke the silence suddenly. “You know, Scuppernong is a nice, cozy house and naturally you’re fond of it, but you should see Panola.” His voice took on a dreamy note. “It looks like a Grecian temple on top of the hill, with soaring columns and a portico all around and acres of green spreading out behind. Uncle Roger had it painted gleaming white every five years. It was due for painting last year. If this ridiculous conflict will ever end, I’ll take care of it immediately.”

“No,” said a small voice from the bottom of the porch steps. Seeley had come around the corner of the house, clutching Goblin to his chest. “I will. It’s my house. When I go back, I’ll be older and I’ll take care of Panola. You won’t need to anymore.” He spoke with a solemn dignity.

“Then God help Panola.” Dorian’s sneer twisted his features. He stood abruptly. “I’m going into town. I’ll stay the night, as I’ve business there in the morning.” He stalked out to the barn.

“God will! It’s my house and it’s my land too!” Seeley called after him.

“Seeley!” I said sharply after Dorian thundered away on his horse. “Everyone knows it’s your place, but you don’t have to act like that. It’s ungentlemanly.”

The boy turned pale. “Dorian thinks—he thinks it’s his, but it’s not. It’s mine.” His chin trembled and he darted back around the house.

“Go on up to bed!” I called out. “I’ll come to tuck you in soon!” I sighed and turned to Sunny. “What on earth is wrong with those two?”

“Oh,” she said, “Panola’s about the only thing in the whole wide world Dorian takes seriously. You wouldn’t know, of course, but to me he’ll go on and on describing every last shutter and outbuilding and field. It drives him crazy that it might fall into Yankee hands or that Seeley might ruin it someday.” Now it was her turn to stand abruptly. “It’s not right. None of it is right.” Her lips trembled and she fled into the house.

I sought solace from everyone’s vexing behavior in the kitchen. Laney was there, her arms plunged in dishwater.

“Let me do them,” I said. “It helps me to think when I’m washing dishes.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, wiping her hands on the dish towel. “I’ll dry. And while we’re both alone here, how about you tell me what’s going on? Something’s happening. Y’all are jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

I heard Seeley’s feet clattering up the stairs to bed as I drooped over the gray dishwater, arms submerged, without making a movement.
Finally I spoke. “This has been such an unusual summer. A lot has happened, and some things I can’t tell you.”

“Huh.”

“I’m sorry—I just can’t. Some things aren’t my secrets to tell. And then, some things I don’t know.”

“Well, what about the things you
can
tell?”

Before I could answer, my stepsister’s penetrating voice preceded her into the kitchen. “Vi-let? Vi-let!” She entered. “Oh, there you are. How about you let me make Seeley’s bedtime honey milk? I’ll take it to him too. Since you’re up to your elbows in dishwater and all.” Her tone was light, and her eyes were wide and innocent but a trifle over bright.

She saw my surprise and said, “With Dorian gone, I’m restless. I need something to do.”

Laney and I raised our eyebrows at each other. Sunny offering to help? Such an unusual proposal could not be refused. I nodded.

Sunny puttered around, dipping the milk from the pail, pouring it into a kettle on the hearth for warming, reaching the crock of honey down from the shelf, dribbling it in, and stirring.

“Are you making enough for me?” I asked my stepsister.

She was pouring the warm milk into a mug. “No. No, only enough for Seeley. Sorry.” Her hand shook. Some of the liquid sloshed out and her face crumpled as she gave a little cry, but she was out the door before I could do more than wonder at her nerves or say, cleverly, “No use crying over spilled milk.”

“What is wrong with her?” I whispered after I heard the floorboards of the upstairs landing creak.

“It’s got to be something to do with Mr. Dorian.” Laney
sopped up the milk with a rag. “He sneaks into her room at night, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does. But that’s not what’s causing the friction between those two. Although … what do I know? Anyway, Dorian is nagging at Sunny about something. She’s always told every last thought in her head to anybody who’d listen. Until now. Now she won’t breathe a word about whatever it is. They still laugh a lot together, but I don’t like the sound of Sunny’s laughter. There’s a—a
wildness
to it.” I wiped the last dish and took up the broom to sweep. “And then there’s Dorian and Seeley. I had thought they were doing so well. Dorian doesn’t pay much attention to Seeley—he’s been too busy with Sunny—but whenever he does, Seeley drinks it up. Seeley was positively radiant the other day when Dorian took him out hunting arrowheads. Just now, though, out on the porch, they were bristling up at each other like they did when they first came here. It’s baffling.”

Laney scooped up Cubby to take him home for the night. “All I know is—” Her mouth tightened as if to hold the words in.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t say.” She started for the door.

I jumped in front of her. “You can’t start to say something and then stop like that. You know you can tell me anything.”

“Which is more than you tell me.”

“I told you, I can’t—”

“I’m teasing. What I was fixing to say is that Mr. Dorian is always playacting around y’all.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, Michael and I see a side of him y’all don’t. When y’all
aren’t watching, he’s got the look of a fellow whose innards are all twisted and gnawed.”

I remembered the moment it had seemed to me that Dorian’s mask had slipped, and goose bumps rose on my arms.

Laney and her baby headed out into the darkness and I started up the stairs, candle in hand.

I had already brushed out and braided my hair, undressed, and climbed into bed when an appalling retching sound burst from Seeley’s room. I dashed to his bedside. He sat hunched over in bed, white as a sheet, with his covers soaked and splattered with bile.

“Sorry,” he gasped, and vomited again.

“I’ll fetch a basin,” I said quickly, somewhat queasy myself. I had thought after my experiences in the hospital I would be immune to retching.

I was stopped short on the landing by Sunny, standing there in her trailing white night shift, twisting her hands together like Lady Macbeth. She looked nearly as ill as Seeley, phantom pale, and with a ghastly expression in her eyes.

“Is he—is he very ill?” Her voice was barely a breath.

“Right now he is,” I said, skirting her. “It’s probably one of those stomach flu things that always seem to happen in the night. He’ll be over it by morning.”

From behind me she said, “Yes, yes, he will, won’t he? But what if he isn’t? Oh, Vi-let, I’m so afraid. I’ve done a terrible thing.”

I whirled around. “What do you mean?”

She opened her mouth and shut it. Her hands raised jerkily to her chest, then to her hair, and then to her cheeks as if she had no control over their movements. She shook her head and dragged the skirt of her nightgown up to cover her face and began sobbing great, wrenching sobs.

I touched her arm. “Go in your room and wait while I get Seeley a basin and fresh bedclothes.”

After I cleaned him up, Seeley lay curled on his side, very small beneath the covers. I left him briefly for Sunny.

She huddled on the floor in a corner of her bedchamber, knees drawn up to her chest and head in her arms, shoulders shaking. She raised a twisted, tear-streaked face. In the flickering light from the one candle, she—who was always so perfectly groomed, so pretty—appeared grotesque. “Dorian’s not back yet, is he?” she asked frantically.

“No,” I said. “He said he wouldn’t return until tomorrow.”

“Right. Of course. He said he needed to stay away till then, but I was worried.…” A spasm flicked across her features.

I squatted down beside her. “Sunny, tell me right now what’s going on. I need to get back to Seeley. What’s wrong? Does it have something to do with Dorian?”

“Yes. Yes. Dorian and Seeley.”

“What about Dorian and Seeley?” I asked harshly.

“Dorian’s been after me and after me. He won’t let up. He said if
I didn’t do it, we could never marry. It’s not my fault. I could hardly think anymore, he plagued me so. I withstood him for as long as I could, but finally—” She gave a gulping sigh.

“Finally what?”

Her voice came in a whisper. “I said I’d do it and I did. I didn’t put as much powder in as he told me to. That way I could tell him I had done as he asked, but probably nothing would happen. Hopefully Seeley threw it all up,” she finished in a rush.

“What kind of powder?”

“Some sort of poison,” she said simply, her eyes blank.

Sunny’s words stabbed like a splinter of glass in my heart.

I gave a short, strangled cry and jumped up to run into Seeley’s room. He appeared to be sleeping deeply, drawing ragged breaths. I shook him. He made no response. I dashed back to Sunny.

She scrabbled at my hand. “He said Seeley’d only be sick—so sick he’d never recover completely and Dorian would have control of Panola. But what if he dies? If he dies, you won’t tell anyone, will you? You won’t let me be hanged?”

I shook her free. “I’ve got to send Michael for Dr. Hale.”

“He’s out of town,” Sunny said. “Dorian made sure I did it when he knew the doctor was gone so no one—no one could help.”

For some reason, in that moment, my brain composed itself and my mind worked coldly, clearly. I knew immediately what I must do, even though the thought of going to Dr. VanZeldt, of begging for his help, terrified me. Yet there was no other choice. I must do it. Michael did not know the way to Shadowlawn and it would be tricky going in the dark. I would fetch Michael to sit with Seeley while I went myself.

“You stay here in your room while I’m gone,” I told Sunny. “Promise you won’t go near Seeley, or I’ll lock you in.”

“I promise. But isn’t—isn’t there something I can do to help?” she asked piteously.

I couldn’t even answer her. I threw on a dress and raced downstairs. As I passed her room, Miss Elsa called, “My dear, why are you still up? Is something wrong?”

“Seeley’s ill,” I said shortly.

“Oh no. I’m useless in a sickroom, but if you need me …”

“No, ma’am, there’s nothing you can do. Stay in bed.”

Cubby awoke and wailed when I banged on Michael and Laney’s cabin door. Michael answered, with a quilt covering his nightshirt. Laney stared wide-eyed over his shoulder. They quickly took in at least part of the situation when I explained that Seeley was severely ill and that I must fetch Dr. VanZeldt.

“I’d best stay here with the baby,” Laney said. “He doesn’t need to be in a sickroom. Michael, you go up to sit with Seeley.” She looked at me closely. “You all right, honey?”

I shook my head wordlessly. She reached out and squeezed my hand.

As Michael went into the back to pull on his clothes, I called out, “And whatever you do, don’t leave Sunny alone with Seeley.”

Then I was off. I rode Star because that would be quicker than going by water. The journey to Shadowlawn remains vague in my memory. The night was overcast and ink black; not a pinprick of light pierced the glowering clouds. I leaned forward, clutching a lantern and digging my heels into the poor mare to urge her to go faster, ever faster. All the while my breath came in little sobs as I
prayed without ceasing for Seeley. This seemed to be some nightmare where I would ride and ride without end.

At last, miraculously, I reached the dirt road to Shadowlawn. It was much overgrown, with saplings sprouting and forest boughs reaching out to snag, slap, and slow. I ducked my head so that my cheek rested against Star’s sweaty neck. Some measure of comfort and calmness spread from her to me.

I had been to Shadowlawn only once before, when I was young and my father had taken me to pay a call on the former owners. My impression had been of a graceful brick mansion in the French style with curlicue, wrought-iron balconies and sweeping double staircases up to the first floor. It wasn’t a plantation, so no fields surrounded it, but there had been a green lawn, a rose garden, and an alley lined with magnolia trees leading all the way down to the river.