Dreamquake

by Elizabeth Knox

  “I’m going to have to have a word with Ru, aren’t I?” Mamie said.

  Rose shrugged, her shoulders rasping on the sand.

  Mamie picked up Rose’s skirt and fished in its pocket for the letter her friend received that morning.

  “Hey!” Rose said, but didn’t move.

  “It’s only Patty—Patty is a weakness we share, Rose.” Mamie frowned, then quoted their classmate’s letter: “I am deprived of society here in the South. I see no one I like.” She laughed. “But see, a paragraph later she’s dancing the military two-step with her cousin. You know, I think they’re all cousins in the South. Which is a shame, since poor Patty is one of those girls who is longing to be able to say to someone things like ‘An introduction for the purposes of a dance does not constitute an acquaintance.’ But she knows absolutely everyone. And, Rose! It says here she already has the pattern for her Presentation Ball gown. Hasn’t she got any other interests?”

  “Making fun of what other people are thinking doesn’t actually constitute ‘an interest,’ Mamie,” Rose said.

  Mamie tossed the letter down. “Let’s go back,” she said. “I’m not going to be kept from the house by my brother and his tedious admiration.”

  Rose got up and dressed while Mamie tried to think of a plan to discourage Ru. “You could propose marriage—that ought to sober him up.”

  “I could start scratching myself all the time, so he thinks I’m infested.”

  “Or you could clear your throat every thirty seconds, like Miss Toop at the Academy.”

  “I could make a three-pronged attack, clearing my throat, scratching, and proposing,” Rose said.

  “Or you could just attack his three prongs!”

  “Mamie!”

  Shrieks of laughter.

  That night, in the early hours of the morning, Rose woke and lay listening. She heard a disturbed bird twittering in a tree near her window. Perhaps its calls had hooked her out of sleep, or perhaps she’d been roused by the same thing that made the bird cry in alarm. She felt that something remarkable had happened only a moment before. The curtains in Rose’s room were thick, the room black, and the birdcalls were bright in the darkness.

  She got out of bed and shuffled to the window, slid the curtains open, and squinted into brilliant moonlight.

  Outside, all the colors of day were present under a smoky filter. It was late, and a dewfall had softened and silvered the grass.

  Rose decided to go out. She left her room and crept down the stairs. She went out by the French doors in the dining room. They were locked, but the key was in the lock.

  She set off down the flagstone steps of the terrace, then veered away through the orchard and headed for the best path to the sea, the bed of the narrow-gauge railway that ran from the shore to the house.

  The Doran summerhouse was on a slope at the back of the Inlet. It was grand and solid, built of blond sandstone, its roof tiled with slate. It had been a big project, in a remote spot, and had presented its builders with some challenges. Labor wasn’t a problem, for the hill had been terraced and the foundations laid by convict workers. The difficulty was in getting the materials from the shore to the site across the boggy paddocks of the former farm. The farm already had a rough road that ran, plumb straight, from the shore to the foot of the hill, along an avenue of mature plane trees. Cas Doran’s solution to the transportation problem was to have a narrow-gauge railway built along the road. A small engine ran on the line. In many trips, over many months, the engine hauled stone and timber, marble and parquet flooring, roof tiles, window glass, and finally furniture.

  When Rose had first arrived at the Awa Inlet, the train she was on made a special stop at the end of the trestle bridge that crossed the mouth of the Sva River. Rose then got into a small boat and was rowed up a broad tidal channel, through the reedbeds, to the Doran jetty. There she was greeted by the sight of a butler sitting in the cab of a little engine. A footman stowed her bags in the single truck the engine was pulling. Then she climbed into the engine behind its driver and rode up to the house.

  The engine had been stoked up several times during her visit—to pick up Ru’s guests and their luggage, and to carry supplies: baskets of fruit and vegetables; sides of pork and beef; cages of live chickens; blocks of ice; and hampers of dry goods, preserves, cheese, and wine.

  Rose emerged from the orchard and went into the avenue of old trees. She patted the engine, which was sitting in its shelter, cool, still, and breathless.

  In the daytime the avenue was a shady tunnel; at night it was like a cathedral, a ruin with a broken roof. Rose walked beside the tracks, her face turned up to the moonlight that fell, almost warm, through gaps in the foliage high overhead. She glanced down only now and then to step over tree roots that snaked almost all the way up to the rails.

  Rose intended to go to the shore. The tide would be out, and she wanted to see what the bare sands of the Inlet looked like by the light of the moon. But as she came near the two stacks of rails left over from the time the line was laid, Rose saw something that made her stop, and then slink off the track and behind a tree trunk.

  She stepped up onto a tree root and peered around the trunk—yes, she had seen a light. There was a lamp sitting unattended beside the pile of surplus rails. Nothing moved in the circle of its vaporous white light. And then a moth appeared and began a colliding orbit.

  Rose, craning around the trunk of the plane tree, saw four rangers appear. The men flickered into existence beside the pallets and their loads. The rangers were working in pairs, picking up several rails each and carrying them out of sight, Into the Place.

  For two weeks Rose had walked by the stacked rails—and, for that matter, the pile of surplus timber ties a few paces away, concealed in a patch of fennel. She had walked past them and hadn’t wondered how Doran’s builders had made such a huge overestimation when buying for what was, after all, less than a mile of line. Nor had she wondered why the rails, after sitting there for years, lacked even the faintest freckle of rust.

  Now she knew. The piled rails never rusted because they were replaced, new ones were landed on the shore—probably when the house was empty—and were carried by engine to this spot, then, by rangers, into the Place.

  Rose knew nothing about the country In from the Awa Inlet, but she knew that she’d never heard anything about a railway in the Place. Where would a rail line go? And what would run on it, if a flame couldn’t be kindled and put to coal to heat a boiler and make steam? If there could be no spark in the valves of a combustion engine, if only muscle could move things?

  As Rose considered all this, the rangers came and went, and the stacks of rails were gradually reduced. She remained where she was till she worked out, from snatches of talk and the rangers’ gestures, that next they meant to start transporting the timber ties from the fennel patch to the border.

  Rose realized that she couldn’t keep edging around the tree in order to stay out of sight. She’d have to make a run for it. She’d have to wait till they were all In, then break cover and run as far from the lamplight as she could. She hoped the light had formed a kind of capsule and sealed the rangers into it, so that they would be as blinded as people coming from a bright outdoors into a dark room. She hoped the moonlight would seem weak to their dazzled eyes and they would miss her running form, her pale hair and white nightgown.

  Rose waited till all four rangers were out of sight, then sprinted flat-out for the next tree. She slid behind it before they reappeared. Again she waited, ducked out, dashed on, scrambled under cover. When she was five trees farther up the avenue, she looked back to see the lamp moving, then passing into the fennel, casting giant, feathery shadows on the smooth trunks of the nearest plane trees. The shadows leapt to engulf the trees as the lamp was lowered to the ground.

  Rose sprinted through the orchard and up the steps to the house. Her feet and the hem of her nightgown were wet with dew, the cloth clinging to her ankles. She didn’t pause to
catch her breath but headed straight for the unlocked dining room doors.

  Then she stopped dead.

  Ru Doran was standing on the veranda beside the only unlocked door. He looked at Rose, then past her at the lamplight along the rail line. He craned his neck and came forward. Rose edged away a little, so he stopped. “What was it?” he said.

  “Rangers,” said Rose.

  He regarded her. “You know—most girls would be more cautious about wandering at night.”

  Rose shrugged. She met his eyes, but only briefly.

  “But you aren’t like most girls, are you, Rose?”

  “What do you mean?” Rose said. She felt uneasy. Ru was standing between her and the door.

  “Well—your mother is a dreamhunter. And so you’ve been exposed.” His tone was insinuating.

  Rose tossed her head, snorted, and started forward briskly.

  Ru intercepted her. He put his shoulder against her, backed her into the wall, and caught hold of her wrist.

  “Please let me go,” she said.

  “You’re still whispering.” He sounded amused. “Very sensible. It would be a shame to be caught. Out of your bed. Snooping.”

  “Let go of me,” Rose said, angry but ineffectual. She found that she was feeling more indignant than frightened, though she knew fear was probably the sensible response to being cornered and threatened.

  Ru Doran was threatening her. She knew that he had decided she was a certain kind of girl. A girl somehow spoiled by “exposure” to freedoms and excitements most girls hadn’t had. He’d decided she was fair game. And he was laughing at her, chuckling in a superior, indulgent way and shaking his head. How dare he be so comfortable about making her uncomfortable. “Let go of me,” she said, “or I’ll get my father to take care of you—or, better, I’ll get your father to do it!”

  Ru’s face went hard with anger and, immediately following the anger, spite. He put his free hand to her face, perhaps to press it over her mouth. But Rose had had enough. She moved toward him and let herself fall forward. One of her feet thumped onto his instep, and her wrist wrenched free from his grip. She plunged through the gap between his body and the wall of the house, caught herself on her hands, sprang up, ran to the door. She jerked the door open and rushed inside.

  Rose hurried back to her room, closed the door, and locked it. She climbed into bed and lay fuming and shivering till the birds started up, legitimately this time, to greet the dawn.

  2

  E FOLLOWING DAY, SHORTLY AFTER LUNCH, CAS DORAN WAS IN THE LIBRARY, HAVING A FINE TIME MARKING different-sized circles on a map of Founderston, when he heard raised voices in the hallway. His wife’s voice, and his daughter’s. He opened the door and put his head out to hear.

  “You’re not doing anything, Mother! I’m sorry I lost my temper at breakfast, but as far as I can tell the day’s just humming along as usual.”

  “Be quiet and go back upstairs, Mamie.”

  Doran went out to investigate.

  As soon as she saw him, Mamie hurled herself at him, though stopping short of actual contact. “Father, Rose is going to go home!”

  “What on earth is going on?” Doran demanded.

  “Ru assaulted Rose!” Mamie said.

  There was a moment of blank, burning silence.

  Doran looked at his wife. She appeared pained and put out. “Mamie,” she said, coldly, and pointed at the stairs. “Please go, before you do any more damage.”

  Mamie looked at her father and clasped her hands together to make a gesture of pleading. “I don’t see why Mother must believe Ru!” she said.

  Doran held up his hand. “I don’t see any point in you offering your opinion, Mamie. I’ll wait to hear from your friend.”

  Mamie started to cry. “Don’t do that,” she said. “Don’t do that thing where you start talking about someone not using their name but only their relation to some other person or thing—”

  “Mamie, you’re being oddly abstract,” said her father. He wasn’t used to seeing her cry—in fact, he hadn’t seen her shed a tear since she was quite small.

  “She’s Rose, not ‘your friend,’ ” Mamie said. She turned around and stomped back upstairs, wiping her eyes on her sleeve—mottled, stout, ugly, angry.

  Doran asked his wife to step into the library. He held the door open for her and closed it firmly after them.

  Mrs. Doran told him that Mamie had been in her room since breakfast, after tipping a plate of black pudding and grilled tomato into her brother’s lap.

  “What did Ru have to say?”

  Mrs. Doran folded her hands into one of the pleats at the front of her lace tea gown and looked trustingly and calmly at her husband. She waited for him to take charge.

  “Yes, I suppose I should ask him myself,” said Doran. “Will you fetch him for me? And I’ll want to speak to Rose too. Perhaps you should dispatch Mamie to find her.”

  Mrs. Doran said, “It’s my opinion that, since making friends with Rose, Mamie is showing signs of becoming a rather passionate and dramatic girl.”

  “So you think Mamie is exaggerating?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Doran said, “Please send Ru to me.”

  Ru looked astonished when his father asked him what he’d done to upset Rose.

  “Sometime last night?” said Doran, prompting.

  “Oh.” Ru touched his forehead, tapped himself several times between the eyebrows. His father knew this gesture—Ru was organizing his thoughts. “I thought Mother had this all under control. Very well. Last night I couldn’t go to sleep,” he said. “So I went out onto the terrace to have a cigarette. I’m sorry, Father, I know you don’t like me to smoke.” He looked contrite. “While I was there, I noticed a light on the avenue. A lamp of some sort. I was about to go and see what it was when I saw Rose hurrying back up the lawn. I guessed that she’d been meeting someone—perhaps her cousin—since the light was just about where the border is.” Ru looked earnestly at his father. “Whatever she was up to, I caught her at it.”

  Doran nodded.

  “When she saw me, she wasn’t pleased. She tried to push past me. I grabbed her wrist and asked what she was doing. Then she stepped on my foot—I can show you the bruise if you like. She rushed off inside, and the lamp went out a few moments later.”

  “And that’s all there was to it?”

  “Yes, Father. Rose was startled because I caught her up to something. It’s my fault if she’s upset. But I was only having a bit of fun with her, pretending to want to interrogate her.”

  Doran nodded. “Thank you, Ru. You may go now.”

  Ru gave his father a tight little smile and left.

  Rose had her dress back on over her wet bathing suit. Her hair was dull and full-bodied with salt. She was walking back along the railway when Mamie met her. “Good God, Mamie! Have you been crying?” Rose asked. She reached out for her friend, then thought better of it and only gave Mamie her shoes to carry. They fell into step, Rose still occasionally mounting a rail, her toes curled to grip, swaying as she balanced along it. She told Mamie she’d gone out to get away from everyone. “You were so upset when I said I’d be leaving. I thought I should cool down and think about it. Anyway, I’ve given it some more thought, and I think the sensible thing is to cut my visit short.” Rose gave her friend a careful look.

  There wasn’t much Mamie could say to Rose’s plans. She did say, “Father wants to speak to you.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No, I—” Mamie’s mouth worked, then she smiled. “I tipped Ru’s breakfast on him. I mean, on Ru, not on Father. Then I had to explain to Mother. Then Mother spoke to Ru. Then she spoke to Father. I’ve spent most of the day shut in my room.”

  “Oh, hell,” said Rose. She came to a stop, and her foot slipped off the rail. She tumbled and barely caught herself, then stood rubbing the knee of the leg she’d landed on awkwardly.

  Mamie said, “I’m supposed to deliver you to Father in
the library.” Then, “For goodness’ sake, Rose, can’t you walk and think at the same time?”

  Rose started walking again. She said, “I may have to go home, but you should come stay at Summerfort. Make a return visit. Do you think your parents will let you?”

  “One minute you’re upset, the next you’re arranging your social calendar.”

  “So?”

  “You don’t nurse grudges, do you?”

  “Mamie, I’m not going to let my feelings about Ru contaminate our friendship. I’d like you to come to Sisters Beach in the new year. We can visit a dressmaker together. We can pick patterns for our Presentation Ball gowns.”

  “Oh, I can see that happening—after your father has chastised my brother.”

  “My father doesn’t need to know a thing—if your father knows his business.” With that Rose strode off toward the house holding her head high.

  Mrs. Doran came into the library. “I have Rose Tiebold,” she said.

  “I asked Mamie to fetch her,” said Doran.

  “And Mamie did so. Then she went back to her room. I can’t have her creating scenes at the breakfast table, even in defense of her friend’s honor.”

  “Very well,” said Doran. “Mamie can remain in her room. But only until this evening.”

  “That Tiebold girl likes attention,” Mrs. Doran said, in a warning tone. She opened the door, ushered Rose into the library, and left, closing the door after her.

  Doran got up and gestured the girl to a seat near the window. She sat, and he remained standing, his back to the bright sunlight. “Well, Rose,” he began, “you want to leave us early?”

  “I think I must,” she said.

  “Mamie tells me that you’re upset.”

  Rose began to fiddle with her hair—picking up the ends and inspecting them. “Um. Not so much now,” she said. “Now I’m feeling fairly resolute.”

  “May I ask what you mean by ‘fairly resolute’? Do you mean that you’re approximating resolution? Or that you’re being fair?”