by Emma Beaven
Cautiously, her entire body fighting it, Rose turned her head. Instantly, her breath caught as a small squeak emanated from her throat. The wardrobe door had apparently fallen open in the breeze. Wide open. A white dress with red carnations blew lazily in the breeze.
Rose tried to scream, but it wouldn’t come out. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes as her chest tightened. She willed herself to call for Maggie, for the sound to burst from her paralyzed chest. Her voice, hidden deep within her, still refused to come. She was barely able to move her hand from the edge of the bed. She was powerless.
A stronger gust of wind came through the window, slamming the door shut.
At last she shrieked. It burst forth like a dying animal, terror forcing it into an inhuman howl. She heard the footsteps rushing in as she began shaking.
“Rose? Rose!”
“Not my dress,” Rose mumbled. “Not my dress. Not my dress. Not my dress.”
Maggie was shaking her now, and Rachel was rubbing and kneading her hand. “What’s wrong with you? Stop it.”
Rose continued to shake. She began keening and pointing, still unable to communicate.
“Rose!” Maggie whipped her head around, squeezing her chin hard with her fingers. “Rose, if you don’t stop, I’ll slap you.” She hesitated. “I will.”
“Wardrobe. Look inside.”
Maggie peered at the wardrobe, confused. “The door’s closed. Did you open it?”
“The wind. It was open.”
Maggie slowly made her way to the far side of the room. She pressed her hand to the closed door, then turned to Rose. “I’m going to open it.”
Rose wagged her head. Her teeth chattered painfully as she watched Maggie slide her finger into the empty keyhole and pull. Her breath refused to come as the door opened.
Maggie sighed. “This?”
Rose shrank into herself as she stared at the dress. It was her own Indian muslin. There were no carnations. “I… I….” She let her head fall back on the pillows as Maggie slammed the door shut.
“I know you’re not feeling well, Rose, but this is ridiculous. I have things to do today.”
Rose kept her eyes closed, fighting the image she was sure she’d seen. “Tell Daddy to get rid of it. Please.”
“Fine.”
Rose groaned as she heard Maggie stomp off, Rachel’s soft pattering following.
Eight
“Why can’t we just move it to the spare room?”
Rose watched the interaction between her sister and father silently. Her turkey sat untouched on her plate, its juices slowly swirling and blending with the potatoes. She had changed into a long-sleeved red silk gown, which seemed to be viciously constricting her wrists as she stretched her arms under the table.
“…and you know perfectly well what I said before about this,” her father was saying. Rose realized she had stopped paying attention at some point during the conversation, but it was easy enough to pick it back up. She gazed at a smiling Mariotta to her right.
Mariotta had dispensed with any pretense of eating and was leering at the two as they argued. Rose shuddered as she watched Mariotta flex her fingers on the table, her long nails digging into the cloth. Dying light seeped sluggishly into the window behind her, giving her the appearance of some ghoulish, otherworldly creature perched on the edge of the chair. Despite the heat, she too wore long sleeves, the whiteness of which had been tinged yellow by the sun.
Rose found herself unable to look away as the conversation went on about her. Even if her sister was successful, Rose wasn’t sure it would help. At least in the room, she could keep an eye on it.
“I don’t see why it’s such a problem,” Maggie said, her face red and animated. “If we want it moved, there’s no reason it can’t be. It’s not like you’re shorthanded right now.”
“There’s no reason for it,” Father responded, his eyes glued to his plate. “I will not give in to some absurd whim.”
“It’s not a whim,” Maggie began, but before she could speak again, Rose interrupted.
“I think we could stop talking about it if it were moved.” Rose stared at her father, and he twitched as if her gaze had penetrated his skin. His eyes slowly rose and locked on Rose.
“Are you going to eat?”
Rose pushed her plate away and pulled her onion soup close. The smell was strong, and she nearly gagged. She swirled the liquid with her spoon, her eyes rising once again to look at her father. Silence shrouded the table.
“All right,” Father said quietly. “Tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because it’s late,” he snapped.
Silence fell again. Rose pushed her chair out and stood, surveying the table briefly.
“I think I’ll go lie down.”
“Fine,” her father said without looking up.
Rose glanced briefly at the others sitting at the table, then turned and retreated into the hall. The sun had finally gone down, and darkness quickly enveloped her. She pressed her hand against the pale green wall made colorless in the night. “Hello? Can someone bring me a lamp?”
Rose waited briefly and then made her way to a chair in the darkened room. She listened for the ensuing footsteps of a servant. “Hello?” She saw a pale yellow glimmer in the hallway, its feeble light bouncing and dancing. “Hello?”
“It’s only me,” Maggie called, raising the candle to her face as she quickened her step. “Are you feeling any better?”
Rose shrugged. “A little. Though I feel sick to my stomach.”
Maggie smiled. “Well, I certainly hope you’re feeling up to the party tomorrow. It would be a shame if you couldn’t go.”
Small threads of anger raced through Rose’s veins and tightened. She had seen Maggie’s smile. Of course Maggie would be happy if she didn’t go. As if she was really competition.
Rose forced a thin smile. “I’m sure I’ll be just fine by tomorrow.”
“Well, I’ll let you rest, then,” Maggie huffed, her face pinched.
Rose slowly pulled herself up. “Can I have a light?”
Maggie gazed around the darkened room for a moment as if lost. “I don’t see another lamp. Shall I give you this one?” She held out her light as its flame bounced wickedly, making her skin glow orange.
Rose flicked her curls nervously and reached out for the lamp, her eyes on her sister. “Are you coming up soon?”
“Soon,” Maggie said softly, her voice hinting at mirth ever so slightly, although Rose considered that it might just be her paranoia. Maggie reached down and gently ran her hand through Rose’s loose curls.
Rose carefully grasped the lamp, its flame bouncing even more wildly as it transferred hands. She hated the shadows the small lights cast. The deep, dark, monstrous shapes sprouted into giants against the walls, with long, thin limbs reaching for invisible objects. Rose shielded the light with her left hand, attempting to dim its ugly illumination.
Maggie disappeared into the entrance hall as Rose left. She briefly wondered what her sister could possibly be doing in the barren hall with its single bench shoved haphazardly into the nook created by the front stairwell. The night was warm, but Maggie was not typically prone to wandering outside, even in daylight.
Making her way down the hall, Rose pressed her hand against the unexpected coolness of the front door, moving it gently to rest on the heavy brass handle. She pushed the handle slightly, letting the door fall slightly open. A light wind stirred the heavy air, and Rose sucked the sweet coolness in as if she were drowning. She hadn’t heard the door open earlier, yet still she searched in the dark, looking for signs that her sister had wandered out into the drive. The carriageway was full of the heavy shadows of maple trees that wound around the path. They swayed gently in the cool breeze, the leaves whispering softly.
Her feet moved without conscious thought, her shoes connecting with the stone on the front porch. The wind tickled the edge of her dress, caressing her bare legs. Cicadas
sang their heartrending melody from the trees, the strains drifting mournfully across the night air.
“Maggie,” Rose whispered and then giggled. Of course her sister wasn’t out here. What would make her think Maggie would go walking in the dark? Still, she couldn’t resist. “Maggie?”
The cicadas continued to sing, but nothing else answered her call.
She turned to go in, her hand on the doorframe when some subconscious urging made her turn. Her eyes, weak from reading too long by candlelight, strained toward the row of bushes bordering the neighbors’ house. It was too dark to make out anything, and yet she was sure she saw someone, a man, standing still on the side of Mrs. McCann’s property, barely hidden, his head cocked as if listening for Rose to call again.
She sucked in her breath, listening for the sound of movement from the tree line. Then she shrieked as a hand closed on her shoulder.
“Rose, what are you doing out here?”
She turned, her breathing loud and ragged. Her father still held her shoulder, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her.
“There’s someone over there by the bushes,” she told him.
Her father peered into the gloom. “It’s too dark to see anyone.”
“I know what I saw.” Rose stamped her foot on the ground and stared petulantly at her father.
“Well, even if there is someone, it’s probably just Mrs. McCann’s son.”
Rose forgot to ask what he might be doing out walking in the night as she gazed curiously at her father. “She has a son?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “He just returned from England. That’s why she’s having the party tomorrow.”
Rose’s mouth fell open of its own accord. “I didn’t…. A son? Maggie never said anything about that.”
“His name’s Henry. He’s been studying in England.”
Rose shook her head despite the lingering pain. “No, I would have known. We’ve lived here my whole life. I never saw a boy.”
“He’s been in England since you were a little girl. Boarding school. You wouldn’t remember him. Come on, let’s go inside.” He took Rose’s hand and pulled. She felt her feet finally beginning to move. One hand was still clutching the lamp, the flame having blown out in the breeze.
“I don’t know why you’d go outside at this time of night. What were you doing?”
“I thought maybe Maggie had gone out.” Rose clutched her father’s hand tight. “I just wanted to see.”
He shook his head. “Maggie’s not out here, Rose. You know that. Why don’t you have some brandy before bed? It’ll help you sleep.”
She followed her father through the dark hallway to the parlor where he usually took his spirits. A lamp already burned brightly, and a book lay open upon a side table. Rose went toward the sideboard with the cut crystal decanter and glasses. She withdrew the brandy and poured a tiny portion into a glass. Her father watched her from the doorway.
“Do you want one?” she asked, turning back toward the glasses.
He sighed, still lingering at the door. “Go ahead and pour me a glass. I’ll be off to bed too, I imagine.”
Rose brought one of the drinks to the table, on which lay the book, then took her own to the chair she’d sat in earlier. The empty fireplace gaped wickedly at her as she sniffed the liquor. Slowly she took a tiny sip, letting its comforting warmth pervade her body.
“You haven’t been sleeping well. I can tell.”
Rose jumped, nearly spilling her drink. Her father’s eyes looked darker than their normal blue, his gaze much more piercing.
“I hear things at night.”
“Like what?”
She whipped her head up. “Like before.”
He put his head down and swirled his drink. “You know that’s not possible. You know it. I thought that since you went away….”
The pounding in her head increased once again. “If you say so. You would know.”
“I promise I’ll get rid of it tomorrow. This time I will.” He sounded pained. “I just… it’s not… it’s not right.”
“What will Mariotta say if you get rid of it?”
“It doesn’t matter. If it bothers you, I will do what must be done.”
She cocked her head, her lips forming words before she could take them back. “Does it bother you?”
“Why would it?” The challenge in his voice made Rose shudder, but she reined herself in. Certainly her father wouldn’t question her so boldly over something like this.
“I think I’ll go to bed now. I’m feeling worn out from my head.” Rose placed her glass beside the clean ones on the sideboard. “I think I can sleep tonight.”
“You’re still up.”
Maggie smiled at her sister. “You look surprised.”
“You’re normally asleep by now. Help?” Rose held up her arms.
Maggie placed her embroidery down and pushed back the sheet from the bed. She huffed as she saw Rose trying to unfasten her sleeves. “Why would you wear long sleeves in this weather? And where are your stockings?”
“It was too hot for stockings.”
Maggie helped her remove the muslin dress.
“Did you go outside tonight?”
Maggie looked at her sister quizzically. “Why would I go outside? You know how I hate it.” She laughed as she slid the light material off Rose’s shoulders. “I just loved our little jaunt yesterday in the storm.”
“Huh.” Rose wriggled out of the rest of her dress. Her petticoat hung limply from her hips, having seemingly given up in the heat. “Outside is always better. Softer, cooler, quieter. I could sleep out there.”
“Don’t be silly. You look tired, and I think we should start dressing early. We want to look good at the party. You never know who’ll be there.”
Rose slipped into the light nightgown Maggie had pulled out from the dresser. “I think you were right about the dress.”
“What?” Maggie shot Rose her best superior look. “Are you conceding that I have better taste in fashion? What’ll you wear?”
“I think I’ll just wear one of my embroidered muslins. Probably the one with the different colors. With the red and the blue and the silver. I like that one.”
“Are you serious?” Maggie asked. “After we went through all that trouble to go shopping, you’re going to wear a plain muslin?”
“It’s not that plain. Besides, it’s low-cut, and I’ll wear my new necklace with it.”
“The one Daddy bought you,” Maggie said shortly.
Rose ran her hand around her neck. “So? You got one too.”
Maggie slipped back into bed, her eyes leaving her sister to gaze at the ceiling. “You know it’s not as nice as yours.”
“Maggie, why do you always have to start this?” Rose sighed. “You’re being a child. ‘Oh, Daddy’s favoring you. Daddy likes you better. I never get anything.’ On and on.”
“Shut up, Rose,” Maggie whispered fiercely, her eyes never moving. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we’ll just stop. But I have my own opinions.”
“Fine.” Rose slid into the sheets beside her sister, pulling up the yellow quilt.
“We don’t need a quilt,” Maggie said, throwing it down near the foot of the bed.
“I like the quilt. At least let me pull up my side.” Rose snatched the quilt back and rolled onto her left side.
“It’s making me too hot.”
“Then go sleep somewhere else,” Rose said. She didn’t want Maggie to go, couldn’t have her go, but she couldn’t give in either.
“I’m not making up the bed in the other room right now.” Maggie shoved the quilt back once more.
Rose sighed quietly in relief. She couldn’t imagine being alone in the dark, the wardrobe looming over her, its door creaking, hangers rattling. Anything could sneak up on her in the dark when she closed her eyes. Anything.
“Good night,” Maggie said huffily, turning to her side as well. She slept nearest the wardrobe and didn’t seem to mind facing
it in the night, her expression remaining ever peaceful as she rested.
Rose shut her eyes and tried to think about the party. She imagined her dress, accentuated with the jewelry her father had brought her as a gift. She saw herself whirling about the floor, engaging in conversation as easily as Maggie, maybe even volunteering to sing.
The polished floor spread out in front of her, gleaming as she surveyed the guests. She headed to the corner of the room to greet the host when something moved in the corner. Rose fought with her imagination, pushing out the darkness, but it wouldn’t go. She whirled around to the rest of the partygoers, but it was on the other side too. A door that slowly creaked open. She could see the edges of a shadow moving inside the opening. Long, thin fingers gripped the edge, pulling whatever lay behind through the passageway.
Rose jerked her eyes open, her breathing heavy. The room was silent except for the slight whistling coming from Maggie’s nose as she slept.
Amazing. Maggie had already drifted off.
Rose shuddered, trying not to look toward the dark corner on the other side of the room. She listened, straining for any other sound. Dimly she heard the cicadas continue their mournful strains. She would have to look. Just to check, just in case.
The bed creaked as Rose pulled her body up to a sitting position. She stared straight ahead, mustering the strength to turn. The pain in her head pulsed again as she willed herself to move. Maggie breathed deeply, small snores issuing from her open mouth.
Rose decided to get out of bed instead. She pulled her feet gently from beneath the sheet and the quilt, which was bunched up on her side of the bed. The warm safety of it faded as her feet touched the cold, hard ground. She jumped daintily to the rug in the middle of the room and scanned her surroundings once more. Nothing moved. Rose pulled up the hem of her nightgown and stepped toward the hulking piece of furniture.
In the darkness, the white paint took on a deep grayish cast with a slip of nightmarish black showing through the door with the broken keyhole. The narrow strip of black taunted Rose as she approached. She stopped a foot from the wardrobe and stared, wondering if the door would suddenly swing open and the thing from her nightmares would yank its way into her world. She shuffled forward and pressed on the loose door. It made a loud creak as it shut, causing her to jump back, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly it moved out to its former position.