The Mirk and Midnight Hour (11 page)

“It’s too bad you didn’t bring yours. You could have had armies and armies of horses.”

“Dorian made me leave them behind,” he said in a muffled voice. “I didn’t know there’d be any here, so I snuck one in my pocket.” He trotted over to the wardrobe and drew out the little steed I had glimpsed the night before. He handed it to me. “I need my horses because they help me—they help me think when I hold them.”

I studied the tiny figure. “It is nicer than these. Surely Dorian had a good reason not to let you bring them, though. Probably no room in your trunk.”

Seeley shook his head, and a closed look came over his face. “No. Mammy packed them in perfectly.
He
took them out. He had another reason. A mean one.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“No. He told me. He called me—he called me namby-pamby and said I didn’t deserve my little horses until I could ride a real one. He said when I got on Grindill’s back and rode for ten minutes, he would let me have them again.”

“Is Grindill Dorian’s horse?”

Seeley nodded solemnly. “But I’m scared of all real horses and especially that one.”

“I don’t blame you—I’ve seen Grindill.” During the previous evening’s milking, I had glimpsed Dorian’s massive roan in the barn. Not only did he seem big as an elephant, he was particularly
bad-tempered, trying to reach over the stall partition to nip Star. “Luckily most horses are nice.”

“Their teeth are big. And their hooves step on you, and their tails hit you in the eye.”

A gentleman simply couldn’t survive in our day and age if he was afraid of horses, but Dorian’s methods of helping Seeley overcome his fears sounded harsh. He should have known you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. “We have a nice, gentle mare here. Her name is Star and she magically appeared in our pasture, so she’s extra special. I’ll introduce you later. What about cows? You had them at Panola, didn’t you? They weren’t scary, were they?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never really been around them. Mammy never let me play near animals. She liked me to keep my clothes clean.”

I had noticed that Seeley’s open trunk was filled with the wardrobe of a very fine and wealthy young gentleman—linen shirts, brocade vests, every style of jacket, copper-toed boots, straw hats, cloth hats, and caps. All carefully tucked in place by the hand of a loving, overprotective nurse.

“You can’t have fun in the country without ever getting dirty,” I said.

“Did Rush get dirty?”

“Filthy. Me too, truth be told, but clothes are made to be washed. At least playclothes. There’s a creek running through the pasture with the best mud in the world. It feels creamy oozing between your fingers. We used to wallow in it and come up looking like monsters.”

Seeley beamed. “Do you think Dorian would mind?”

“I doubt it, since he wallowed with the rest of us all those years ago.…”

Laney and Rush and I are playing house beneath the magnolia tree. One low limb is our sofa and another is our table. We have Laney’s and my rag babies, both stitched by Aunt Permilla, as well as bits of broken china for dishes. Rush doesn’t particularly like doing this with us, but he goes along with it since we need a man about the place
.

Dorian has been splashing in the creek by himself. He seeks us out when he grows bored. He’s shirtless, his dripping pants held up by braces. Even then, I think him handsome as a fairy-tale prince. “Come help me build a levee, Rush!” he calls
.

My brother shakes his head. “I told Laney and Violet I’d play here.
”

“
All right, Rush-olet,” Dorian says, sauntering over. “If you want to be a gal-boy … I’ll give you a dime if you’ll put on one of Violet’s dresses. Let’s see if I can tell y’all apart.
”

“
Rush has dark hair,” I say. “He doesn’t look like me.
”

“
Don’t matter. What do you say, Rush-olet? A whole dime.
”

Rush grins and agrees good-naturedly. He does it to be nice to Dorian, not for the dime
.

He never should have done it. From then on Dorian teased him unmercifully, calling him Rush-olet and making fun of his quiet ways and long eyelashes. That was the summer Rush quit playing house and began pulling out his eyelashes.

For all his amusing ways, Dorian had been a bit of a bully. Maybe I didn’t mind that he and Sunny promised to be a couple, at least for the few weeks he was here.

The Tingles left later that morning. Soon after we saw them off, I was caught up with showing Dorian about the farm because Sunny didn’t want to get her slippers dirty. It must have been hard for her to choose between her shoes and keeping herself bodily between Dorian and me. I pitied her for the dilemma (not really). Of course she would have come if she’d actually believed I was a threat.

At one point my boys’ boots tripped me up. I would have sprawled flat on my face if Dorian hadn’t caught my arm and righted me. He eyed my boots with disgust. “Those things are dangerous. A firstrate position the South is in when well-brought-up young ladies are shod like clodhoppers. If I’d known you needed shoes, I would have brought you some that fit. We got a shipment not long ago—elegant Moroccan leather—but it all went to Savannah.”

“I really am fine with these,” I said lightly, “as long as I never need to run for my life.”

“You’d be in trouble then,” he said. He was still holding on to my elbow, steering me away from the fields and over toward the
river’s edge. We scrambled down the bank and lowered ourselves to perch on a protruding root that hung out over the water. The river sparkled in a pattern of blue and green and gray like crumpled foil.

“Here,” Dorian said. “I’ll help you take off those enormous boots if you want to dangle your toes in the water.”

I didn’t object. He leaned into me and he smelled of tobacco and expensive soap. He could nearly pull off my boots without unlacing them. There was something pleasant about the attention and about having an attractive gentleman see how small my feet were minus the galumphing shoes. He tickled the soft pad of one foot. I giggled and wriggled almost like Sunny.

Stop it right now, Violet Dancey
.

Obviously, flirting with any female came as naturally to Dorian as breathing. He’d been expertly dallying with Sunny only last night, and today he was being frolicsome with me. With his type, I guessed, it was any girl in a storm.

The sunlight made him blink as he gazed out over painfully twinkling water. “You’ve probably noticed how Seeley avoids me.”

I nodded.

He held out his open hands. “When he was smaller, I was his idol. He was the cutest little fellow—used to trot behind me like a puppy dog and mimick everything I did. But since his parents died, I admit I’ve handled him wrong. He was spoiled and cosseted by his parents and his nurse, and it’s been my job to toughen him up. Because—you know—who else is there to do it now? Who else to teach him how a gentleman should act? That’s part of the reason I had to get him away from Panola—Aunt Lovy and his nurse kept
him in cotton wool. True, he’s a clumsy kid, and was forever getting scraped up, even with their care, but still, a boy’s got to learn.”

I licked my lips. “He did mention you were the one who made him come here. I don’t know much about little boys, but I remember how my brother was. He was sensitive like Seeley, but he grew up plenty manly without being purposely ‘toughened.’ I would think that if you ridicule Seeley, he’ll just act more awkward and avoid you. Teach him by example and kindness.”

“Will you help me?” Dorian seemed genuinely anxious. “I really do want him to like me. I mean, for all intents and purposes, he’s my little brother. I thought of his parents as mine too. You know, my own father died young, and my mother remarried and went off to live in France with her new husband when I was a tiny tot. They dumped me at Panola.”

“That’s … sad.”

Dorian made a careless gesture. “Really never bothered me. My aunt and uncle acted as if I was theirs. Besides, Panola is paradise.”

“What’s it like?” I asked eagerly. “I’ve always wondered. My mother was never well enough to tell stories of her childhood. Or tales about anything at all, actually.”

“You want a story, little girl?”

I nodded. “Please.”

“Glad to oblige.” He settled himself more comfortably and his expression grew thoughtful. “Not once upon a time, but right now, today—which makes it even more magical—there is a palace called Panola, and I was its prince. The gods have blessed it so that it is the most beautiful place on earth. In the universe. There is a dome at the top, three stories up from the front hall, set with stained glass.
And those jewel colors shine down and dance all around so you walk in rainbows. The moldings were carved by a slave carpenter of great talent. Each room has a different theme—birds chiseled into the parlor woodwork, Bible stories in the dining room, and mythical creatures in the study. All so realistic they could come to life and jump out at any second.” Dorian’s bright eyes may have been gazing out over the water, but that was not what he was seeing.

“And my mother was a princess there,” I said. “Scuppernong must have seemed like a mean little backwoods hovel when she came here, and it’s only gotten shabbier since.”

Dorian acted as if he didn’t hear me. “There are gardens at Panola too. The soil is so rich that flowers, tobacco, and all crops can’t help but flourish. I always planned that I’d—” He stopped abruptly.

“What did you always plan?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” He snapped off an overhanging twig and hurled it out into the water. “Oh, well, let’s get back to the subject of Seeley. How do you propose I should handle him, since obviously I’ve been failing in that area?”

“What you need to do,” I said carefully, “is to see the world through his eyes.”

He looked charmingly confused. “How do you mean?”

“Be whimsical. Seeley’s awfully imaginative.”

A blue-winged dragonfly lit on the bank near Dorian’s hand. For one lightning-quick second I considered trying to call it to me as I did the bees. I had never tried my gift—my knack or whatever it was—with other creatures. I wondered what Dorian would think of it. Would he find it fascinating? Or alarming?

He flicked the poor creature with his fingers so sharply it fell
lifeless into the water. “There!” he said in triumph. “That’s hard to do—have you ever managed to flick a dragonfly? They’re faster than you’d think.”

I would never tell anyone about the bees.

We were silent for a moment while I removed my bonnet and let the sun’s warmth bathe my face.

“Aren’t you afraid of tanning?” Dorian asked. “I’m bound your stepsister would be.”

“Yes, she would. And that’s partly why she looks as she does and I look as I do.” I closed my eyes. Sparkles dazzled behind my eyelids. “At this moment I don’t care. It’s worth every freckle to feel the sun this way.”

Dorian laughed. “Like a lady snake sunning herself on a rock.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re an unusual girl, Cousin Violet. No wonder you’ve already won Seeley over. How does someone so beautiful get to be so interesting as well?” He inched closer.

I am not beautiful. Nobody could honestly call me beautiful
. He’d made a mistake using that word. There was an awkward pause as I shook my head, my eyes still closed. “Oh, Dorian, Dorian, Dorian,” I said finally in a lofty tone.

“What? Why do you ‘Oh, Dorian’ me?”

My eyes flashed open. “You know perfectly well.” I stood. “It’s time for lunch.”

After we ate, I searched out King to help me fix up the box room for Seeley. By the time we finished, the boy was missing once more. At last I found him outside beneath the bridal wreath bush.

“Would you like to come see a hideout Michael made in the woods?” I asked. “He built it in case the thieving Federals arrive and we need a place to duck into.”

Seeley jumped up enthusiastically. We brushed ourselves and each other off and made our way through lush undergrowth. Seeley created a lot of noise as he bounded through the brush.

“Watch out—” I started to say.

He stumbled and barely caught himself by clutching a branch.

“—for the roots,” I finished. Dorian was right: Seeley was indeed an ungainly child. His feet seemed to constantly trip each other up. As we went, I showed him how to be mindful of poison ivy, snakes, and other lurking dangers of the wildwood. I would teach him the best I could to take appropriate care, but no mollycoddling. He had to learn to manage himself in the outdoors.

“If Mammy had ever let me go into the forest to practice, I would already be an expert woodsman,” my cousin said. “For one thing, I’ve read all about it.”

He snatched up a straight stick, splotchy with lichen, and commenced shooting at nothing, making explosive sounds. “I’m being Heath Blackstock,” he confided when he remembered I was there. “He saves people from bushwhackers and outlaws and Indians.”

This sounded so familiar. “Rush was usually named Max Kerrigan. Laney and I always had to be the bad men. He used my mother’s red satin petticoat for a cape. Very swashbuckling except for the lace ruffle at the bottom. I’ll have to see if it’s still around—and if you’re very good, I’ll even take off the lace.”