The Mirk and Midnight Hour (41 page)

“It’s over,” I whispered. “I think it’s all over.” I slid off him, still clutching with scorched, blistered hands.

He pulled me against him tightly. We clung together as if we would save each other from falling over the edge of a chasm. I buried my face in his chest, waiting for either another trick or more violence from the VanZeldts.

Neither came. Slowly, I drew away. Dr. VanZeldt had sunk to his throne, head in hands. All of the VanZeldts had reverted back to their normal features. The old woman seemed to have shrunk. She who had not looked ancient now looked ancient, her skin beneath the paint dull and ashen, lips puckered over toothless gums. Amenze, Uwa, and Ahigbe all watched, eerily impassive and motionless.

“Let’s go,” I whispered to Thomas. We rose. Thomas put his arm across my shoulders, and we awkwardly hobbled away, unhindered.

Someone was watching me.

We were all cozily assembled in the sitting room four nights after Thomas and I had dragged ourselves, spent but triumphant, back to the farm. Thomas lingered here; he had taken this time to heal and to make the acquaintance of everyone at Scuppernong, although his presence was still hidden from the rest of the world. During the previous days, we had all talked and talked and laughed often together as people do after shared ordeals have ended happily. And Thomas and I had been memorizing each other so we would have something to hold close during the lonely days, months, years until the war ended.

Now, though, we were quietly busy with our separate diversions. I was perched on the stool before my harp. I could not play because my hands were mere knobs of bandages, pain still shooting through from the burns I had sustained that night, but I was composing a new song and it helped if I could look at the strings.

I was pulled out of my concentration by the feeling of eyes on me. I glanced quickly about.

Thomas was scratching away on his latest Heath Blackstock novel—the one about snake people. Seeley was playing with his horses and occasionally offering suggestions to Thomas. Sunny was ripping seams from an old dress, and Miss Elsa was nervously pacing. She was holding true to her vow to use less laudanum, and suffering for it. Michael had spent the day laboring out in the forest, doing I knew not what; he had returned after suppertime, the worse for wear. He, Laney, and Cubby had retired to their cabin early. None of them were watching me.

There was a gap between the curtains. Someone was out there in the blackness. I closed the gap and tried to disregard the tug that pulled me toward the door and out into the night. Finally I could ignore it no longer. I abruptly stood and left the room. I lit a lantern and held it before me so that it made a puddle of light out below the porch.

Just outside the glow loomed five shadows. One of them moved forward and into the brightness. It was him—Dr. VanZeldt. I would have turned on my heels and run back inside, but whatever had called me out kept me bound.

The doctor held his hat in his hands and made a little bow. “Miss Violet Dancey. So happy you were kind enough to listen to the summons to come out and hear our goodbyes.”

“Goodbyes? You’re leaving, then?” I kept my voice steady.

Some sort of spasm passed over his tight pink skin. “Today—I assume upon your orders—the silk cotton tree was hewn down. We cannot remain in a place so desecrated.”

It must have been what Michael had been about earlier in the woods. In a flash I felt relieved, then slightly sorry, then relieved again. I said nothing.

Another of the shadows moved forward. The old woman. She looked shriveled and diminished, but there was nothing weak about the contempt glittering in her eyes as she spat out a stream of (probably) curses in her language. I flinched.

Dr. VanZeldt cleared his throat and said pleasantly, “Cyrah says that if she had known what you would do to us, she would have cut out the soldier’s eyes at the first so he would never have beheld your face.”

I started to turn, but my feet were stuck firmly to the floorboards.

“Oh,” Dr. VanZeldt hastened to assure me, “you need not worry. It is over. We bear you no ill will. You battled fairly and you won. We have mattered a great deal to one another these last months—more than you realize, even now. I have grown fond of you, from afar. It may be hard for you to believe, but I was actually quite proud of you as you held on. True, I would have struck you down and let the earth close over you had I been allowed, but still I was proud. I see your hands are wounded.” He snapped his fingers. “Ahigbe—the bag.”

Ahigbe strode forward and held out a burlap sack. The doctor rummaged about and brought forth a little leather pouch. “Crush these leaves, my dear, mix them with lard, and spread it on the burns. Your skin will be healed in a matter of hours.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the pouch and vowing to throw it on the fire. “May I—may I speak to Amenze? Privately?”

Dr. VanZeldt seemed to consider, then beckoned the girl forward. The others retired to a distance, where they could watch.

In spite of the lines of strain that showed around Amenze’s mouth and eyes, there was something magnificent about her as she stood there, towering above me in a robe of black and bronze. Someday she might well be a queen of somewhere, someplace.

I felt shy of her as I spoke. “Amenze, you don’t need to go with them. You could stay here. I know they could try to force you, but somehow we would fight them.”

Her lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. “You cannot understand, can you?”

“Understand what?”

“That I love my people and choose to be with them. That I am a Child of Raphtah and I still believe, however I decided to help you. You have only seen the disturbing things; you have not seen the glorious.”

I remembered the joyous dancing and thought that perhaps I
had
glimpsed it. “Very well. I wish you happiness in your choice.” I paused. “Thomas—the soldier—is leaving tomorrow to return to the war.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” she said. “But you know he will come back to you.”

“If that’s what you sense, I do know it now,” I said, and managed a smile. “Where will y’all go?”

“I do not know. Cyrah and Father VanZeldt know, but I do not.”

I began to unpin the cameo brooch from my collar. “You gave me a wonderful gift in the amber amulet. Now may I give you something?”

She nodded, and I handed her the brooch. “It belonged to my
mother. Even though it has no magical powers, I hope it will remind you that you and I are true friends, no matter how far apart we are.”

She reached out one long arm and rested a hand on my shoulder for a second, then dropped it.

They left, melting back into the shadows, and I never saw them again.

February 15, 1863

Dearest Thomas
,

Imagine my surprise when the bedraggled, bewhiskered gentleman showed up at our door, bringing me such a treasure—a letter from my love. And he says he will wait while I scribble a reply, so Laney is feeding him in the kitchen
.

I am sorry you’re not as lithe and limber as you were before your injury, but I’m happy it’s keeping you safely in the office. How wonderful that your father came to visit you and that all is well there. “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; was lost and is found.
”

Much has happened here since you left. My father remains alive and well, although always there are reports of fallen acquaintances
.

I am a regular attendant at sewing circle. The girls know I am engaged to a soldier, as several of them are, but I fail to mention that you are a Union soldier. They will be mighty surprised someday. We share our worries and fears about our sweethearts and it is nice to speak of these things with others who understand
.

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
.