by Emma Beaven
Rose shivered deliciously. “We’ll see,” she whispered. “We’ll see.”
The trap rolled down the driveway as the trees whipped their branches violently at it. As they made it up their own drive, the rain lessened a bit, and the sky oozed out of its bruised color into a dull gray. The dogwoods were dripping a shower of white petals onto the muddy yard, their berries dropping on top of them like blood in snow.
A light wind tossed the tree leaves and shook petals on stems as the family descended from the carriage and rushed to the porch. Rose squeezed her dress, wringing out some of the excess water. She was cold and uncomfortable, her shoes squeaking as she shuffled closer to the door. The second it was open, she rushed in, nearly knocking Maggie down as she went to ask Violet for a bath. She could hear an echoing shriek to her back as Maggie realized what she was about to do.
Rose raced up the stairs to the third-floor servants’ quarters. The ceiling was low here, enclosing a pocket of small rooms and a small sitting area. Rose wasn’t sure whether Violet would be here or in the kitchen, but she guessed that since they’d been out and had eaten that Violet would likely have retired by this hour.
“Violet?”
Rose waited, smiling. She nudged the door closest to the stairs and peeked in. The room, which held two beds, was empty.
“Violet?” she called again, then slipped in and pushed open a connecting door to the right, into another bedroom. Here, one large bed dominated the room, a patchwork quilt lying atop it. Rose turned and shut the door, imagining that the women must still be in the kitchen. She passed through the back room and approached the stairwell, her hand grazing the top of the banister. The staircase was totally empty, but a strange prickling brushed on her skin. Hesitantly, she placed her foot on the stairs. The wooden banister felt terribly cold under her hand, more like the iron banister leading down from the back porch than a wooden one swollen by the summer heat.
Rose could see every step, the open window at the bottom of the stairs and the bedroom door on the left, yet she had the distinct eerie feeling that someone was at the bottom of the stairs. She could almost see it. A delicate hand caressing the banister, the other holding up a skirt, a black laced shoe exposed. And the face, tilted upward, staring back at her.
Rose fled back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Her blood raced, flowing rapidly and then slowly freezing as it reached her head. The warm wind continued to blow through the windows just as normal as ever.
“This is stupid,” Rose whispered. She pressed her hand against the knob. It felt as if it were stuck. Blowing out air as hard as she could, she whipped the door open. Her breath expelled loudly and hitched. Just turn.
She turned. The stairway was empty. Completely empty. The icy, prickling feeling had evaporated like so much rain in the heat of the day. The breeze drifted through the window at the foot of the stairs, stimulating the curtains which blew wide around them.
Rose willed her feet to move down the stairway. Fingers curled tight around the banister, she placed one foot delicately in front of the other. There was still an awful squelch emanating from them each time she took another step. The stairway remained long and empty. Near the bottom of the stairs, the wood looked slightly warped, as if the heat had targeted those few steps.
Sound suddenly returned to Rose. She could hear clanging and loud steps, as well as voices intermingling, creating a familiar background that filtered into the head without conscious notice. But this time she did notice it. It was as if she’d been in a vacuum on the third floor. The cold seemed to rise again, blooming behind her in the soundless growing dark weaving its way around the stairs. Rose snatched up her skirt and raced down the hallway, twisting wildly around the corner and snagging the banister leading to the first floor just before she lost her balance. Her feet flopped, arms straining as she pulled herself up. Once more she peered behind her before descending the staircase more carefully.
“Rose, you’re too late.”
Maggie had Violet by the arm, leading her toward the stairs. She smirked at Rose, her good spirits having suddenly returned.
“Fine with me,” Rose whispered as she hurried around them, her wet clothes flapping.
“Aren’t you even going to change?” Maggie called back.
Without answering, Rose dashed out onto the porch. She took a deep breath of air and gazed out at the now dark sky. Despite the smattering of rain still dripping from above, she pulled her cold clothes around her and went down the stairs and around to the gardens, her hands clasped in front of her.
The cicadas sang cheerfully to the beat of the rustling branches, creating an exquisite cadence to welcome the night. Rose walked out along a stone pathway leading through the garden until she was about fifty feet away from the house. Finally, she turned and stared up at the windows. Everything appeared normal. Lamps had been lit, creating a warm honey-colored glow in a few of the windows. Everything looked cozy and perfect within the white-painted façade.
Rose let her gaze fall toward the wall of camellia bushes partly covering the neighbors’ yard. She wondered what Henry McCann was doing currently. Was he smoking on the porch even now, watching her parade about the garden in the growing dark? Rose scoffed. Silly. He’d hardly be able to see her.
Still, her eyes strained again, her thoughts drifting to the memory of his striking, perfect countenance at the party. She briefly let herself indulge, knowing she shouldn’t. She became warm again, the thought of the second stairwell melting away to be replaced by gentler, happier imaginings.
Rose made her way back inside, her smile returning. She had to have a bath. After that, she could gloat in Maggie’s face about it. Maggie wouldn’t be telling her little friends that Rose was an old maid anymore. Obviously, Henry had some interest in her, hadn’t he?
The hallway looming behind the side porch door was dark when Rose entered, the sitting room and parlor doors looming like black caverns. A faint glow emanated from the kitchen farther down the hallway, allowing droplets of gold to brush a few objects in the darkened parlor. The clock ticked loudly, drawing Rose’s eyes to the gilt frames surrounding the portraits hanging from the wall. She could almost make out her own image, floating eternally with her sister beside her. The deepest darkness surrounded them now, seeming darker than the night itself. Behind them, although Rose knew it couldn’t be, she thought she could see another pale face, perhaps hastily painted over, peeking from its painted prison.
Her breath loud in the heavy air, she rushed up the stairs without a light. As soon as she reached the top and rounded the bend, warm light flooded the hallway. Rose dashed into her own bedroom, smiling as she saw Maggie. She hopped onto the bed in her wet clothes and grasped her sister.
“What a lovely night!”
Eleven
Rose woke up the next morning feeling rested. She yawned and stretched, sniffing the air for the faints smells of breakfast drifting to the upper floor. Maggie, surprisingly, was still asleep, her breath coming out of her nose in short little snorts.
Light seeped in through the thin shade, bright and sunny and full of promise. Rose lifted off her sweaty white nightdress and stretched her arms up, yawning loudly. She turned furtively to check on Maggie. Her sister’s eyes were still shut, but she had stopped snoring. The wardrobe loomed in the corner, its right door cracked slightly open as usual.
Rose scurried over to the window and, despite her current state of undress, raised the shade, letting in the hot, bright sunlight. Everything looked so much more benign now. The wardrobe glinted brightly, its paint somehow shiny despite its age, beckoning her to its lovely stash of summer muslins that crowded the front. Rose went to it and yanked the right door open. Clothes cluttered its insides, falling off their hooks and shelves.
Inhaling, she reached a tentative hand inside and fingered her dresses. The material was cool and delicate on her skin. Rose poked her head in slightly and yanked at some of the material in the back. Deciding upon a white cotton
muslin with looped red embroidery descending in a line from the top, she bent farther in.
A loud crack resounded in the back, and suddenly the top shelf slipped down, knocking Rose on the head as it spilled its contents. She flopped to the floor in shock, unable to speak. A nail hung loosely at the top shelf, bent slightly as if a great weight had forced it down.
“Rose, are you all right?” Maggie stumbled out of bed, looking confused. “What happened?”
A shawl slipped off and slithered to the floor beside Rose. She picked it up and stared, dazed, into the wardrobe. “Shelf fell.”
“Are you hurt?” Maggie asked, her voice high-pitched with concern.
“I’m all right, I think,” Rose replied, rubbing her head with her left hand and clutching the purple shawl in her right.
Maggie knelt beside Rose and peered into the wardrobe as well.
“Help me up,” Rose said.
Maggie slowly stood and yanked her sister’s arm. Rose went limp, nearly pulling Maggie down as she tried to haul Rose back to her feet. “Come on. You’re all right.”
Rose finally allowed herself to be pulled up. She was sweating already, and her previous euphoria had melted into the haze. The wardrobe spat out two more pieces of clothing onto the floor.
“Daddy will fix it. Let’s get dressed and go eat.” Maggie went back to the wardrobe and tugged open the sticky left door. “Should I wear white, brown, or blue?”
“White, I guess.”
Maggie pulled a soft Indian muslin coated in blue and silver embroidery. “This?”
“Sure,” Rose muttered. She suddenly realized she wasn’t dressed yet either. Her eyes itched and watered, and her backside hurt from her fall.
Maggie pulled off her nightgown and turned back to Rose. “You know what we haven’t eaten in a while? Chestnuts. I wish I had some chestnuts.”
“Those are for winter, Maggie,” Rose scoffed. She eyed the dresses drifting in the breeze. “How about you pick me out something to wear?”
“Really?” Maggie eyed her sister suspiciously. “Do you think someone’s going to come call on you today?”
“Jealous? Anyway, no. I… I just thought, you know, that you have a good eye for dresses, you know?”
Maggie giggled. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“Fine, Maggie! Just sit there stupidly.” Rose rushed to the wardrobe and thrust her hand back in. She began groping blindly, unable to actually look into it. Something soft slithered across her hand, causing her to cry out.
“Rose?”
Rose slipped away from the wardrobe. “What?”
“I’ll take our stuff out today, all right?” Maggie reached a hand out, motioning Rose to help her dress. “I’ll get you something as soon as I’m done.”
Rose swallowed nervously. Maggie knew, of course. She would at least know why she thought Rose was afraid.
Because of what had been in there.
Maggie hadn’t seen it herself, only Rose. Why her father wouldn’t remove the wardrobe she couldn’t comprehend. Still, Rose wondered, wouldn’t just knowing have been enough to frighten Maggie?
Maggie pulled out a delicate brown muslin with floral embroidery at its base. She smiled, holding the dress out to her sister. Rose reached out, wondering if it’d been this dress that had slithered against her arm just then, sliding like a cool hand down her bare arm.
“You don’t like it?”
“No, it’s fine for the morning.” Rose held it firmly and began pulling off her nightgown as well. “I guess I thought maybe white….”
Maggie pressed a hand to her arm. “I’ll be sure Daddy moves it today. He knows very well how it bothers you.”
“And not you?” Rose whispered, already pulling on the dress.
“Well, in a way, I guess. But it’s been cleaned and painted, and I don’t really think about it.”
Rose sniffed and turned away from Maggie. “It’s certainly nothing, then.”
“Oh, come on, Rose. You’re clearly upset,” Maggie said. “Let’s finish dressing and go for a walk in the garden. Some air will be good for you.”
“I suppose,” Rose muttered, trying to avert her eyes from the offending piece of furniture. It was embarrassing, really, this fear. It followed her like a second shadow, its dark arms reaching out at the most inconvenient moments for a lurid embrace. Maggie looked down on her for it, she knew. The furtive glances laced with pity, the comforting, motherly arm placed delicately on Rose’s trembling shoulder as if she were an infant. It wasn’t right. Rose was the older one, the one who should have been caring for Maggie after their mother died. This was exactly why Maggie whispered words like “old maid” behind her back.
“So, do you think he’ll call?”
Rose snapped her head up. “What?”
“You know,” Maggie said, smiling foolishly. “Your prize.”
“My prize?”
“Well, you did win, didn’t you? Or are you conceding defeat and deception toward your competitor?”
“Well, I won our match, but not the game, clearly. We shall see.” Her face heated slightly. “I think he’ll call.” She paused. “Oh my, I don’t have any cards. What do I do?” Threads of disappointment and anger trickled through her blood.
“Ha, says so much about you, doesn’t it? Well, you can always borrow mine.” Maggie patted her on the shoulder, smirked, and then darted out with a giggle.
“Damn,” Rose muttered. “What do I do now?” She poked her head out the door. “Daddy!”
Twelve
The heat grew to an unbearable, stifling thing, wrapping itself around every living creature in a vicious attempt to suffocate everything in its path. Rose was sure he wouldn’t come today. Not, perhaps, because of her but because of the deadly wet air hovering around the house.
Rose and Maggie were both fanning themselves languidly on the side porch. A large, heavily perfumed magnolia hung to the side, giving them a bit more shade. They both squirmed in their clothing, beads of sweat forming on the smalls of their backs and threatening to run through to the outside. Rose felt especially embarrassed about the thick sheen of water between her breasts that refused to dry. She peered suspiciously at Maggie, wondering if she was suffering the same indignity.
“I don’t think he’ll come today,” Maggie said, acting as if the very act of speech was overwhelmingly exhausting.
“Oh really,” Rose responded. “You know, that just hadn’t occurred to me. I’m sure most people are out and about right now, wilting in the sun. No, it’s just me.”
Maggie swatted Rose with her fan. “You know perfectly well I didn’t mean that.” She yawned. “I think I’ll go in and have a nap. You?”
Rose looked down the side of the lawn to the empty drive. A dull ache throbbed in her head. “I want to stay out a little longer.”
“For what?” Maggie asked, rising from her seat and straightening her dress. “It won’t happen today.”
“You don’t know that.” Rose placed a sweating hand to her temple.
“You’d better go in,” Maggie said, gesturing to Rose’s head. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t.”
“I know no such thing,” Rose snapped. “Besides, the heat helps my head.”
“Liar.” Maggie pushed open the door. “I’ve never seen you so smitten.” She giggled. “I thought you were going to live here with Daddy forever.”
Rose’s face contorted, causing stalks of pain to shoot through her head. “I have a better moral compass than you.”
“Right. Not having any men interested in marrying you means you’re just too moral and righteous. Have you any more excuses for me to laugh myself to sleep to?”
“Shut up, Maggie. You’re jealous this time.” Rose pulled herself up and glared. Maggie, however, maintained a sweet smile.
“I forgive you, sister. The heat’s hurting you. Come, we’ll go rest and you’ll feel better.”
“I told you I’m not going in!” She turned on
her heel and descended into the yard. “Go!”
Maggie shrugged and went into the house, slamming the door behind her.
Rose moved awkwardly into the treeless portion of the yard, the sun beating heavily on her exposed skin. The relentless buzzing of the cicadas invaded her ears, the singing dancing wickedly through her throbbing blood vessels. It was an unusually clear day, and every small sound or motion seemed magnified to its lone observer. Rose took a last glance about and then ambled slowly over to the pink marble reflecting pool with a curious nymph sprouting out of the center.
Bits of debris encrusted the bottom, polluting the still water, while dead flying bugs and beetles decorated the rim. Rose dipped her fingers into the greenish liquid, briefly indulging in the cool water brushing her skin. An imperceptible breeze must have passed by, because a few seconds later, a dead bug bumped against Rose’s pale hand. She withdrew it with a small cry, wiping it furiously on her dress. The bug’s corpse continued its circle around the pool, jostling the other desiccated bodies, causing them to enact a macabre dance against the weathered marble.
Rose let out another soft cry of disgust and turned back to the house. The light reflected off the upstairs windows, making it impossible to see inside. She shuddered, a sudden chill washing over her like a cold rain. Maybe she could nap in the parlor. Maybe that would be better.
The air felt heavier, weighing down on her as she approached the door. The curtains in both windows swung gently back and forth in what felt to Rose like still air. She reached the railing and finally the doorknob, suddenly wishing she’d gone in with Maggie. Her sister would undoubtedly be napping in their room, the windows open to let in the air. The wind shouldn’t be enough to blow the doors open today. Still, Rose decided it would be better to rest downstairs. Much quieter.
Thirteen
Maggie lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The wardrobe door was still hanging open just slightly, and she thought to herself that maybe she should go secure it before Rose followed her up to the bedroom. Still, the hot weather was making her lazy and slow, and she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. But it would end today. Her father would have it moved, or Maggie would move it herself, no matter how long it took.