The Mirk and Midnight Hour (21 page)

“Yes,” Dorian answered.

“How silly. I shouldn’t care a pin for it.”

“I daresay not, since you haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“You said ladies make good smugglers because of their hoops to hide things under.”

“So they do,” Dorian said with carefully controlled patience. “But not—this—time.”

Seeley had entered during the confrontation and watched its course with wide eyes as he raised and lowered his bandalore. Up and down, up and down.

Two spots of crimson showed on Sunny’s cheeks as she fixed Dorian with a fiery green glare. “You certainly don’t seem to mind me forgetting conventions when it suits you, Dorian Rushton. Well, I want to go and I shall go and you shan’t have your cuff link back until you say you’ll take me!”

Dorian’s mouth thinned and hardened as his eyes glittered
dangerously. No wonder King feared his master’s anger; I should have been terrified had I been its target.

“Give it over, Sunny,” he said as he thrust forth his open palm.

She looked daggers at him for a moment, but his expression, combined with the tone of his voice, was too much for her. She stalked across the carpet and slapped the cuff link down into his hand.

“Here! Take the horrid thing!” she flashed. “You—you horrid thing! Nothing matters to you but yourself. Now
go away
!”

Dorian strode out.

Sunny’s eyes darted about the room searching for something to hurl after him. She lit upon poor little Seeley. No, she did not hurl Seeley, although she looked as if she wanted to. Instead she ripped the bandalore out of his hand and flung it hard at Dorian’s receding back. “And I told you this child would drive everyone daft with that thing,” she screamed.

Dorian flinched at the blow but kept walking.

My stepsister turned now to glower at me. “It’s true! He cares for no one and nothing but himself!”

I had no response. Most of the time I liked my older cousin, but as I had come to know him better, it was plain he was indeed self-centered. He was kind now to Seeley, and could be sympathetic to others in an offhand, casual sort of way, if it suited him. He had no burning interests except frivolity. There was nothing noble about his blockade-running—he did it for the excitement and for the money. Still, he couldn’t be called completely shallow; he cared
deeply
about himself and his things.

Sunny flounced from the room and burst into stormy tears halfway up the stairs.

Seeley looked after her. “She better watch out,” he said softly.

Throughout the whole exchange, Miss Elsa had been gazing off into nothing as if she hardly noticed it. “They’ll be all right,” she said now with complacence. “They’re falling in love with each other, and with such passionate personalities, as William Shakespeare said, the course of true love never … Oh, how does it go?”

“Runs smooth,” I said. “Come, Seeley, pick up your bandalore and then let’s go pack our picnic lunch.”

I had grown fond of Miss Elsa and Sunny and Dorian, but today I couldn’t bear to hear another word out of any of them.

Luckily Laney was nowhere in sight, so we were free to prepare anything we wished in the kitchen without being questioned. We made egg sandwiches and gathered an entire sweet potato pie and leftover-from-breakfast corn dodgers.

“You’re sure a good cook,” Seeley said.

I smiled. He knew I hadn’t made the dodgers or pie. He was being kind. Or was he teasing me? I tweaked his ear.

I took two candles out of the candle box and wrapped them up with several matches. Now Lieutenant Lynd could have some light. My hands shook a little as I tucked the bundle into the basket. Soon we would be with him, and I felt almost light-headed at the prospect.

Napkins in hand, I paused. What exactly was I doing? Rather than anticipating seeing this Union soldier again, for whatever reason, I should be marching straight to the authorities. But if I did, it
would all come to an end—for everyone. Our secret would be laid open, the Lodge would be abandoned, and the lieutenant would be sent off to some unknown but probably terrible fate. We would never see him again.

Carefully I wrapped the napkins around a small brown crock of calf’s-foot jelly, which was supposed to be good for invalids. I would continue as planned—first Lieutenant Lynd must be warned of what I suspected about the VanZeldts and then he must be helped to grow strong enough to walk again. What would happen after that—to him, to me, to the South—was a mystery.

“The lieutenant—” Seeley started to say.

I brought my finger to my lips and whispered, “Later.” Dorian and Sunny were passing by the kitchen doorway, arms about each other’s waists and heads close together. Clearly they had made up. She looked up at him meltingly. “So you see why—” from him. “I didn’t mean—” from her. The front door slammed shut.

Seeley and I made our way toward the little dock. A pair of raucous blue jays squawked and pecked at each other in a sweet gum tree, sounding just as my cousin and stepsister had sounded earlier.

We ran across the happy couple again as we passed the scuppernong arbor. Dorian sat on the bench beneath it, and Sunny was balanced on his lap.

He leaned around her in order to call out in a jovial voice, “Off for a picnic, are you? I’ve always found nature uncomfortable myself. So few soft seats and so many insects flying into people’s mouths.”

Sunny giggled. “Y’all can see what a soft seat
I’ve
found.”

Dorian grinned and tickled her waist, making her giggle louder.

They were so annoying.

“You’re not canoeing again?” Dorian said. “With the thunderheads piling up?” He pointed upward and Sunny nearly fell off his lap.

Seeley nodded solemnly.

Dorian shook his head. “Oh, well. What might deter some mariners evidently doesn’t sway you brave folks. For you, the dangers of lightning on water are vastly exaggerated. So what’s in the packs?”

Seeley had been so impressed with the saddlebag discovery that he had insisted on carrying them both. He hugged them close now, his big eyes wary.

“Equipment for collecting samples,” I said lightly. “The sorts of things we lovers of nature can’t do without. Good luck in Tennessee.”

“And good luck to you with your nature loving—or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Are they exaggerated?” Seeley asked after we had taken our leave of Sunny and Dorian. “The water and lightning dangers?”

“No,” I said, “they’re not. That’s why, at the first distant rumble, we’ll climb up on the bank.”

“But then we’d be under trees in a thunderstorm. Isn’t that bad too?”

Impatience rose in me. “Do you want to stay home today, Squid? You don’t need to come if you’re worried.”

“Uh-uh,” he said quickly. “Maybe the dangers of standing under trees during lightning are overrated.”

We paddled our canoe with a sort of nervous hastiness. Either Seeley was anxious on his own or he had caught my apprehension. Lieutenant Lynd was lying there, waiting for us to come or not to come. Unless the VanZeldts had done away with him in the night. I paddled faster and clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering.

Part of the tension in the air came from ashen clouds pressing
down, turning the river drab and steely. The rain held off as we canoed, with humidity swathing us like a clammy quilt.

There was no talk of swimming when we beached our craft and no playfulness as we made our way through the forest. Seeley was weighed down by the saddlebags, and I by the basket. It was a relief when a light, misty rain finally fell. At first we were protected by the thick canopy of leaves. Soon, however, water seeped through and trickled beneath to penetrate our clothing and even my bonnet, making my hair cling drearily to my head. Sodden leaves and mud stuck to our boots. Seeley resembled a drowned puppy, and I knew I must look the same, only larger and less appealing. So much for a more refined appearance on our second trip.

We approached the Lodge cautiously. All seemed peaceful except for the patter of rain. I lifted the door from the entrance and wrung out my skirt as we crossed the front room.

My heart gave a leap of joy when I entered the next doorway because he was all right, sitting up, leaning against the wall with his hands lying quiet in his lap. He sat so motionless that his stillness filled the room. He seemed to take no notice of the drip, drip, dripping that happened right beside—though thankfully not actually on—his pallet. His expression was thoughtful, and rather austere, but when he saw us, the gaunt lines softened.

“You came,” he said simply.

I took an involuntary step forward and then stopped myself. I didn’t wish to voice my fears concerning the VanZeldts immediately. For one thing, I would have to get Seeley out of the way before I discussed such matters. And now, looking at the lieutenant,
I suddenly thought it unlikely that the VanZeldts would harm the soldier when they had cared for him all these weeks. “I could hardly wait to see you again,” Seeley said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t still be here. Oh, and I made Violet promise she wouldn’t turn you in.” He plopped the saddlebags down just inside the doorway and then plopped himself down as close as he could to the lieutenant, narrowly missing the puddle. “We brought you food and stuff and”—his expression turned shy—“I brought paper and ink so you can begin writing another Heath Blackstock book. I’ve been thinking—maybe Heath could meet some snake people with forked tongues and scales and everything.”

“First the food, Squiddy,” I said. “The lieutenant needs a meal before anything else.” I was anxious for Lieutenant Lynd to eat. He needed to put meat on his bones. So he wouldn’t look so tenuous. It seemed a long way to cross the floor with Lieutenant Lynd watching. I had started to spread out the food within his reach when I noticed something I hadn’t the other day. A red flannel mojo bag hung around Lieutenant Lynd’s neck.

I pointed. “The VanZeldts tied that thing on you.”

“They did,” he said, “right after they brought me here.”

“You weren’t wearing it when we came before.”

“Sometimes I take it off. The smell is pungent. But I always put it back on, because whatever the Shadows are doing, it seems to be working.” He picked up a corn dodger and leaned conspiratorially closer to Seeley. “In the army we had special names for the rations we were given.” The lieutenant was whispering, but I could hear. He caught my eye with his own smiling eyes so that I knew he knew I could hear. “We called the desiccated vegetables ‘bales of hay.’ If a
fellow made the mistake of eating too much dry hay, he would swell up until he exploded.”

Seeley laughed with delight. “Really?”

“Well, I never saw it actually happen, but that was the rumor. And guess what we called ‘worm castles’?”

Seeley drew his brows together. “Nasty old Swiss cheese?”

“Good guess, but no. Our bread. Because by the time we got to Fort Donelson, the hard kind we had in our rations was full of maggots.”

I sucked in my breath. The room seemed to have darkened.

“Ugh.” Seeley shuddered. “Earthworms are nice, but … maggots. Ugh.”

“You were—” My throat had closed up, so it was hard to make the words come out. “You were at Fort Donelson?”

“Yes. Under General Grant. Before we crossed the Tennessee and headed south.”

“Excuse me.” Abruptly I deserted Seeley and Lieutenant Lynd.

Outside the Lodge, I strode across the clearing through the rain. I ducked beneath the spreading boughs of a great pine tree and sank to the ground, slumped against the trunk.

He was at Fort Donelson. He might be the soldier who killed my brother
.

I banged my head against the bark until I scared myself and stopped.

Lieutenant Lynd was the enemy.

I stayed beneath the tree until I could regain control. Eventually I had to go back inside.

Seeley and the lieutenant were still munching away when I entered. Lieutenant Lynd looked up inquiringly. I turned away and
set my jaw as I seated myself on a stump as far from him as I could get. It wasn’t far enough. The room was small.

“The lieutenant was saying how hard it was for the Yankees to cross the Tennessee,” Seeley told me. “They had to build a pontoon bridge. It was nearly washed away.”

“Too bad they weren’t all swept off with it,” I said, low and fierce.

Seeley stared. Lieutenant Lynd put down the sandwich he was holding. I had effectively stopped the conversation.

“Thank you for everything, Miss Dancey,” the lieutenant said finally, hesitantly. “You’re very good to me, and I know it’s difficult for you as a Southern lady. It’s hardest on the women when we’ve taken occupation of their towns. It seems they hate us more than the men do.”

“I loathe all Yankees,” I said. “You kill our brothers, fathers, husbands, and destroy our homes and way of life. Why shouldn’t we hate you?”

He drew back slightly at my words. “The ladies in Nashville averted their eyes and crossed the road to get farther away from us. They twitched their skirts out of the way as if we were the most disgusting, filthy creatures they’d ever encountered. Believe it or not, that was more painful than a bullet.”