by Emma Beaven
“Damn,” Rose muttered, reaching out again. The door bounced back slightly more before her fingers grazed it. She froze, her heart pounding, blood rushing into her head.
“Maggie?” she whispered softly. Tentatively, she poked the door. It shut this time, its creak sounding more like a moan than rusted hinges. “Maggie?” This time it was a croak. “Maggie, please.”
The door creaked again. Rose stared hard at it, sure she hadn’t pushed the door. Words started to form in her mouth, tears once again filling her eyes. “No.”
A loud creak issued from the door, and it swung open just a hair more. A ribbon slithered out through the opening.
Rose began keening, her entire body trembling, but she couldn’t bring herself to move away. Tears streamed down her face in a flood as she tried to find her voice, to shout, to scream, anything.
The ribbon dropped to the floor.
Rose stared, paralyzed.
The door shut. Loudly.
“N-No, no, no. Go away.”
“Rose.” She twisted around to see Maggie sitting up in bed, her hands clasped together over her breast. “Tell me, Rosie, what you know.”
“It’s all right!”
Everyone was in the room, even Mariotta. Her father was shaking her while Maggie lit another lamp. “Stop it!” he shouted.
Maggie whirled toward Rose. “I was asleep. You had a nightmare.”
Rose shook her head. “I want to get out. Need to get out. Need air.” Her hair was disheveled, her body still trembling even as her father shook her shoulders.
“Maggie’s right. It was a nightmare.” He finally released her and stared curiously at her, his mouth twisted in a frown. “What’s the matter with you tonight?”
Rose couldn’t admit it, couldn’t put words to what she’d seen. And now, in truth, as the lamps bathed the room in soft orange-yellow light, she couldn’t be sure that they weren’t right, that it wasn’t just a nightmare after a long day with the excitement of the upcoming party disturbing her mind and her dreams.
She took a slow breath, reaching an arm out to pull herself up from the floor where she’d collapsed.
“I’m all right. I’m sorry.” She turned to her stepmother. “I’m sorry for this, for waking you.”
Mariotta looked at her quizzically, searching Rose’s face. She peered around the room, clutching at the sleeves of her white nightdress, probing with her eyes as if she might find something barely hidden in the dark corners of the room. “What were you dreaming about?”
“I don’t remember.” Rose wrapped her arms tightly around her chilled body. “I’d better get back to bed.”
Mariotta twisted her lips into a tiny sly smile. “Come on, John. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Rose watched as Mariotta took her father’s arm, something she had never seen her stepmother do before, and propelled him out of the room. Maggie was still staring at her, concern and something like fear etched on her face. She slid sideways in the bed, her eyes still locked on her sister’s.
“Are you coming?” Maggie asked. She pushed the quilt toward Rose, offering it.
“Yes.” Rose took a tentative step toward the bed, her toes connecting with the rug on the floor. She paused, wriggling her feet into the fibers as if she could somehow sink into it. “I’m sorry for all this.”
“I’ll make sure he moves it tomorrow. You and I. We’ll make sure. And if he won’t, we’ll pester him ’til he has no choice.”
Rose smiled and took a few more steps toward her. Maggie patted the bed and gestured toward the blanket. “Come on. You don’t want circles under your eyes tomorrow.”
“All right.” Rose forced herself onto the bed beside her sister. She searched her face carefully, looking for any sign of what she’d thought had spoken to her before.
Maggie blinked, her smile soft and childish. “What?”
“Nothing.” Rose yanked the pillow down away from the headboard and pulled the soft yellow quilt up to her neck. “Will you get the lamps?”
“Sure.” Maggie climbed off the other side of the bed to put out the lights. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes,” Rose said, slightly exasperated. “Let’s go back to sleep.”
She hoped desperately that she’d fall asleep quickly, before her sister, so she wouldn’t be plagued by Maggie’s soft snoring or the wicked thoughts that flowed in her subconscious.
As darkness flooded the room, Rose shut her eyes, trying to block out the vague, ominous shadows she knew now populated every corner.
Maggie’s breathing quickly slowed, her nose whistling slightly as she exhaled. A breeze blew, removing some of the suffocating air out of the room and allowing Rose to pull up her blanket until it was tucked tightly below her chin. She snuggled deeper under the covers and shifted closer to her sister.
Rose could feel her earlier frustration returning as she listened to her sister’s soft, easy breathing. If only she could fall asleep like Maggie, everything would be better. Life would curl comfortably around her, her thoughts staying on dresses and parties and whispered conversations rather than the gruesome images that grew like a disease in her head, paralyzing her, locking her into that other world where at any moment, her dark imaginings might pull her into the netherworld. Or into the wardrobe.
The breeze died in the night as Rose finally began drifting off. It had been easing her, calming her as she tried desperately to rest. She directed her mind to her dresses, this time forgetting about the party. She kept her thoughts focused, imagined what small alterations she could do before she went out.
Slowly her mind wandered, weaving images of color which threaded pinpoints of light in her mind. She shifted uncomfortably as the heat sifted back into the room, disturbing her hazy dream state. Rose pulled an arm free of the blanket and set it gently in front of her without opening her eyes.
Mercifully she drifted again, and as she finally freed herself of the bounds of consciousness, at the very second when dreams and reality blurred, a sound like a soft mewl echoed outside the door.
Nine
Rose picked at her dress with obvious distaste. It wasn’t what she wanted. She’d thought she’d wanted it, but it just didn’t have the same appeal. And it was too hot to try to squeeze into it anyway.
Maggie hovered in the doorway, both hands pressed against the left side of the frame, watching. A slow smile creased her cheeks.
“Told you.”
“Did I say I wasn’t going to wear it?” Rose spat. She shoved the heavy material furiously. “It’s so hot. Why is it so hot?”
Maggie giggled. “I’m going to go fix my dress up.” Maggie made as if to turn but quickly whipped her head back around, her loose curls flying in her face. “Have fun.”
Rose snorted and went back to staring at the dresses Rachel had laid out for her. She hadn’t bothered to eat when she’d first risen because of the preoccupation she had with her outfit, and now her stomach rumbled hollowly. The heat was unbearable already, making it even harder for Rose to imagine dressing in any of the sticky fabrics. She fingered a spotted white cotton muslin with an Indian paisley design at the hem. At least the muslins were lighter.
Sighing, she made her way to the open window of the small bedroom. The wardrobe was too heavy, her father had said early that morning. Couldn’t she just move rooms if it made her so upset?
And now she was in one of the guest bedrooms. It was incredibly cramped with the bed shoved up against the wall and the headboard nearly touching the door. A cold stone fireplace took up half of the other wall, which left only about a foot of space to walk through to get to the single window at the far end of the room. Rose didn’t plan to stay in the tiny space, but at the very least she could try on dresses in here.
She sucked in a mouthful of hot air and spewed it back out with a cough. The heat apparently could find no exit in the room, and the air was so thick Rose could barely breathe. She wound her way around the bed and stuck her head out the w
indow. The flowers in the back garden looked wilted and sick, their colors fading away into the empty summer air. Rose inhaled, trying to catch some faint odor from the struggling blossoms. She leaned farther out, her fingers curled tightly around the frame. She could see the corner of Mrs. McCann’s house jutting out over the camellia bushes.
Rose tried to see more, to expose more of her body to the air, but her corset was too constricting. She had put her undergarments on a little while ago so she’d at least have that part done; however, she now wondered if that was a mistake. Sweat formed beneath the rigid material and between her breasts, making her even more uncomfortable.
She pushed herself back through the window and surveyed her clothing again. Would it even matter if she didn’t look perfect? She hadn’t met anyone at any previous gathering that had resulted in a courtship, and this time would likely not be any different. In fact, Rose was sure that at the last party she’d attended, she’d overheard her sister and one of her friends call her an old maid as they giggled and drank and eyed prospective men.
Maggie had had two unproductive courtships, though Rose was sure her younger sister would be married within the next year. Then Rose would be alone with her father and his wife in the big empty house, whiling away her time sewing useless clothing and embroidering until she died. And how many years would she spend alone after her father and Mariotta died?
Rose clenched her hands into fists and began shaking out the dresses furiously. She would have to try harder. Living in the dark, cold place twenty years from now was impossible to withstand. Still, what would it be like to live with one of her father’s business associates, alone with some old man twenty years her senior? There had to be something better.
She plucked at her new dress, a layered white muslin with a matching jacket. Maggie was right; it was far too hot to squeeze into the heavy thing. She pulled the simpler Indian muslin and held it against her hot, damp skin. It would have to do.
Shuffling toward the door, Rose sucked in more air. “Rachel? Are you around? Maggie?”
A door creaked open, and Maggie peered out from around the frame. “Ready?”
“Can you come help?” Rose held out the dress in front of her body.
Maggie smirked. “So, I was right.”
Rose glared at her sister. “So what? Are you going to help?”
“I guess.” Maggie slid over to Rose and ran her fingers over the dress. She herself was in similar attire, but her dress was flecked with dark blue thread throughout.
“What do you think he looks like?”
Rose peered at Maggie quizzically. “Who?”
Maggie smiled lasciviously. “You know. Her son. I hope he’s not old.”
Rose shoved her dress at her sister, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. “Have you heard much about him?”
Maggie spun Rose around. “I’d better tighten it. You don’t want to look fat.”
Rose sucked her stomach in and held her breath as Maggie began yanking at the lacing. “Not so tight,” she gasped as Maggie pressed one hand against the top of Rose’s back and pulled.
“All right, all right. You know, if you really want to go to another party and go home yet again without a suitor, that’s fine. I know how much you love it here. Maybe you can stay here forever.”
Rose tried to turn her head to glare, but Maggie pulled the laces one more time as Rose gasped. Her breath was coming too hard, and she felt like she was suffocating. Her lungs refused to work as short, labored bursts of air escaped her mouth. “Goddammit!”
“Rose, calm down.” Maggie whirled her around and smirked. “Don’t you look just beautiful?”
“I didn’t ask you in here to tighten my corset,” Rose spat. “I asked you to help with my dress. I can’t breathe now.”
“You just need to calm down,” Maggie said coolly. “Are you sure you want to wear long sleeves?”
“Yes, yes. I’ve made my decision. I’ll just get Violet to help me.” Rose held out her hand as Maggie eyed her.
“Let’s bet,” Maggie said quietly, her eyes riveted on her sister’s.
“Bet what?”
“That he won’t even speak to you tonight.”
Rose held her sister’s gaze. “What do you want to bet?”
“Momma’s necklace.”
Rose stepped closer, her eyes still fixed on Maggie’s. “She has it.”
Maggie’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “Right. Whoever loses steals it for the other.”
Rose began trying to pull on her dress. “You’re mad.”
“It’ll be easy.”
Rose took a step closer to Maggie. “She’ll know it’s one of us.”
Maggie moved to Rose’s back again and began fastening her dress. “She’ll never know which.”
“She’ll say it was me,” Rose sighed. “She hates me, and she’ll tell Daddy it was me.”
“Fine, if you don’t want to bet, you don’t want to bet.”
“All right. I’ll bet.”
Rose stood on the porch, enjoying the evening breeze. She could hear the angry strains of the argument her father and stepmother were having through the doorway, but she didn’t care. They were supposed to walk, so she had brought her umbrella out after taking stock of the tattered dark purple clouds draping the house. She leaned against it, her bag swinging gently from her other hand. Greenish black feathers spilled from the top of her hat, accenting the dark strands of hair sticking out from the covering.
Rose cocked her head as the raised voices penetrated the charged air. Mariotta didn’t want to walk. Never wanted to walk. Rarely even walked into the garden. Now, with the heavy storm clouds threatening, Mariotta was refusing to do so.
Rose watched her sister skipping along the driveway. She was excited over their bet, the thrill of the wager fueling her hops and bounces. A rumble interrupted Rose’s thoughts, and Maggie paused, her white skirt flapping in the sudden gust.
Rose peered into the open doorway to the entrance hall. Mariotta stood at the top of the stairs while her father remained at the bottom. She stared down at Rose, her brows pointed downward. Her rage, which seemed an overreaction to the situation, pierced her face, causing the ridges and wrinkles of age to scrunch her skin around her eyes and mouth.
Her father turned as if sensing Rose’s presence. “We’re almost ready. Go back outside.”
Rose clutched her red jacket. “It’s about to storm.”
“You see!” Mariotta called shrilly. “It’s storming. I won’t go.”
Father turned and gave Rose a pleading look. “Go outside with Maggie.”
At that moment, a huge burst of thunder shook the house, making them all jump.
“That’s her,” Mariotta said, her eyes on the ceiling as if it was where the sound had originated. “We shouldn’t go.”
Rose cocked her head. “What?”
“Go outside!”
Rose turned, snatching the edge of her jacket and skirt, and darted outside. Lightning flashed, lighting up the woods across the street so that the curved and twisted dogwoods stood out like withered skeletons, their blossoms shaking and trembling like the last remnants of dried skin about to fall.
Rose put her hand to her forehead and searched for her sister.
“Maggie!”
“Hey!” Maggie pushed her way out of the line of camellia bushes, a bright pink blossom clutched in her hand. “Pretty!”
“Maggie, don’t you see the lightning?” Rose took a step toward her. “Were there any white ones?”
“They’re all dead,” Maggie said nonchalantly. “You know they’re always gone by now.” She flitted over to Rose and snatched at her jacket. “Too hot!”
“At least it’ll keep the rain off my dress.”
“Good point. I’d better get one myself.” As Maggie turned, her father, his arm interlocked with Mariotta’s, walked onto the porch and began descending the stairs. Mariotta glanced furtively at the sky, and each time the thunder rolled, s
he trembled, her feet rising nearly out of her shoes.
“Let’s go,” her father said, his arm tightening on his wife’s elbow.
Rose shrugged and, with a glance at the sky, began her way down the drive. Maggie quickly caught up with her and took her arm. “I think this’ll be fun,” she whispered. “I think I’ll win.”
Rose placed her lips beside Maggie’s ear. “Don’t count on it.”
The girls’ giggles erupted into the heavy air as fat raindrops sputtered out of the cold, dead-looking sky. The drive made a single curve in the landscape before ending at the road. A smattering of ancient oaks stood sentinel at their passing, their branches barely shaking under the building onslaught of the storm.
“Let’s go!” Maggie shrieked, spinning in circles as Rose laughed, her hands raised to the sky. “Come on!”
The girls’ cries broke over the thunder, finally drawing a response from their father and stepmother. “Is it bad out there?”
“It’s raining,” Rose yelled excitedly. Her energy seemed to be reflected in the growing storm clouds. They fueled the tension in her body, causing her to want to spin like her sister. She couldn’t wait to get to the party. Maggie’s goading had made it better somehow, had made her anticipation bloom deliciously.
Their father and stepmother stepped over the threshold onto the porch, a servant with an umbrella behind them.
Mariotta turned to her husband. “We’ll have to ride now.”
He nodded in response. “I suppose. Girls! We’ll take the carriage.”
Rose locked eyes with Maggie, who shrieked, yanked up her skirt, and began to run. Rose began running too, the thrill of the journey pumping through her, her blood rushing in her veins. They collided just as the carriage came out on the drive, nearly knocking one another down.