“I’m just thankful they were only starving,” she said coolly. “There are other things to lose besides animals and money.”
Dorian gave me a swift wink and deserted me for Sunny’s side. “And there are things worth protecting and fighting for, beautiful Sunny.”
She thawed visibly and edged closer to him. “It was so terrible when I thought they were going to murder you, Dorian. If they had, I would’ve—I would’ve—just screamed and screamed and never stopped.”
Michael and King came wandering up, and Laney filled them in on what had happened while they were out digging ditches. King’s face was a study of alarm.
“Where’s Master Seeley?” he asked frantically. His voice seemed to echo around deep in his chest before it found its way out.
I caught King’s sleeve. “He wasn’t with you?”
He wagged his head.
“Then where can he be?” I started to head toward the woods but Dorian stopped me.
“He’s probably up a tree somewhere. Probably been watching the whole thing. I’ll go look for him after we survey the damage.”
Tiredly we moved through the house. The bushwhackers had knocked apart furniture right and left. The destruction was dreadful, but I hardly cared. It could have been so much worse. All of my muscles unclenched when I saw that my harp and dulcimer were untouched.
“They ruined things for no reason,” Sunny said. “How could they possibly think we had money stashed in a wooden chair?”
Stuffing was pulled from the sofa and armchairs, and bricks had been knocked loose from about the fireplaces. The bittern stared up accusingly with one beady eye, its belly slashed open. The bookcase was smashed and volumes strewn and torn. I began frantically gathering scattered pages but stopped myself. Soon enough I would mend each one.
When I discovered the empty stalls of the barn, with Star and the cows missing, I knew where Seeley was. I lifted my skirts, ran across the field, and plunged into the woods, briars tearing at my legs, until I reached our hideaway. Before I pulled up the trapdoor, I called loudly, “Seeley! It’s me!” so he wouldn’t be frightened.
“Violet?” squeaked a small voice out of the blackness. A soft lowing sounded from one of the cows down in the hole.
“Oh, my dear,” I said, descending the ramp, “you’ve been squatting down here in the dark and the standing water all this time.”
“I didn’t dare light the candle,” he said, stretching up now so that the late-afternoon brightness could reach his face, “in case the bummers could see it through the cracks.”
I hugged him. “And you saved Star and Lily and June. You’re amazing!”
Together we led the animals up the ramp and back to the barn. As we walked, he told me what had happened.
He had been playing in the pasture when he caught sight of the ragged strangers approaching far down the road. He quickly drove the cows and led the mare by her bridle to the hole in the ground. “I wasn’t scared of Star, but I didn’t dare try to save Grindill, and there was no time to get the mule or warn y’all.”
“I’d say it’s good riddance to Grindill.”
Seeley’s thin cheeks were flushed and bright. “They didn’t take the chickens, did they? I’ve been worrying about Rowena and all the others.”
“They took some.”
His face fell. “I should’ve saved them.”
I gave him a little shove. “Goose. You couldn’t rescue everything. You’re a hero. You saved one horse and all our milk and cheese and butter.”
As we approached the house, the thunder of hooves sounded. Grindill came galloping up the lane with a ragged bit of rope dangling from his sweat-lathered neck and, though it seemed impossible, a smug expression on his long face. He had broken free to return to his owner. When Dorian saw the horse, he slapped his thigh and laughed. “I knew they couldn’t hold on to Grindill.”
That evening, after everyone else had gone upstairs, I sat alone in the sitting room, too unsettled after the events of the day to sleep, and began to knit a gray soldier’s stocking. The lamp smoked, so that my eyes streamed. I sniffed and sopped up tears with a wad of snipped yarn.
I could feel someone watching, and when I glanced up, Dorian immediately came to my side. “Who’s been making you cry, Violet?” he demanded fiercely. “Was it Sunny? If it is, I’ll—”
I stopped him. “It’s only the smoky lamp. The last oil we’ve got is terrible.”
He looked as if he didn’t believe me. I sensed a confusion in him, as if this protective emotion he was experiencing was unexpected and unaccustomed. He nodded slowly, then, as the fumes reached his own eyes. “You tell me, though. You tell me if anyone ever makes you unhappy and I’ll fix them.”
I could only wonder—if it had been Sunny making me weep, what would he have done?
“Laney Lou!”
Laney frowned and glanced up from the cornmeal mush she was stirring. “You haven’t called me that in years, and I didn’t like it back then.”
“Sorry, Laney Lou.” I put my arm around her waist. “Guess what I was thinking of when I woke up in the middle of the night?”
“I bet I know.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You were fondly remembering what’s-his-name—that Pratt fellow.”
I snatched off her head wrap. “Don’t say that even in jest. Guess for real.”
“Stop it,” Laney said, grabbing back the kerchief. “I can’t guess.”
“The Lodge! Remember our old robbers’ lair!”
A light kindled in Laney’s eyes. “Oh,” she breathed. “We loved that place, didn’t we? Why’d we stop going there?”
I shrugged. “We got too old and they kept making us do responsible things. Finally we forgot about it. But when I awoke with it in my head, I could hardly hold myself back from jumping up and paddling downriver right then.”
“You’ve got to take Seeley—I mean, Master Seeley—there,” Laney said. “Be sure to rub on Aunty’s lemongrass and basil salve, though. You know how bad the mosquitoes are.”
“You don’t have to call him master. Not an eight-year-old.”
“I sure do.” Laney’s voice was quiet and firm. “Sometimes you don’t understand the world we live in, Miss Vi.”
I dismissed this with a flick of my hand. “Scuppernong isn’t the world.”
“It is with Mr. Dorian and Miss Sunny here.”
I sighed but didn’t press the issue. “Well, thank goodness Dorian’s gone till day after tomorrow. The whole house seems more relaxed with him away, doesn’t it?”
“Even though Miss Sunny’s moping loud enough,” Laney said. “Where’d he go? He took King, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” I dipped out a spoonful of mush and dribbled honey over it. “He’s visiting friends in Holly Springs. Anyway, I already woke up Seeley and told him to get ready to go in the canoe. I didn’t tell him where, though. How about you and Cubby come along? The work can wait for once. We’ve gotten most of the bummers’ damage patched up.”
“Uh-uh. I’m not taking any baby of mine out on any river. Y’all have fun. I’ll pack a picnic. Remember how we always toted one?”
“Because we stayed gone all day. And that’s what I aim to do with Seeley.” I sucked the spoon clean and left the kitchen with a spring in my step at the prospect of this outing.
Seeley and I set off as soon as the lunch was ready. His thin arms strained with the paddle in front. He wore his red satin cape—from which I had removed the lace ruffle—and appeared mystical and elf-like, with the morning fog rising up from the river in wispy patches like white steam from a kettle.
“You’re doing fine for your first time,” I assured him. “Try to slice through rather than slapping, though. I’m a terrible smacker myself, but I bet you’ll get better than me at quiet paddling. Laney and Rush were both good at it, while I spoiled the atmosphere. I hate it when I spoil atmospheres.”
Our paddles sloshed and splashed through the sleek river—shiny and shimmery like green-
black watered silk. Because we were inexperienced paddlers, we hugged the bank.
The air smelled of moss and wet earth, pine straw and honeysuckle. Varying hues in the wall of leaves beside us blended into one thick summer green. The woods were busy and vibrant, everything always moving. Trunks swayed ever so slightly, leaves quivered almost imperceptibly, insects darted, squirrels and birds left branches quaking in their wake.
Soon the fog burned off the river, and stinging flies and mosquitoes buzzed close. They didn’t land because we had slathered Anarchy’s insect repellent all over us. I pushed up my sleeves and adjusted my bonnet, as already the day was heating up. Seeley’s hat would have to stay on—our brilliant Mississippi sun could do quick damage to noses and foreheads when reflected off water.
After we had canoed for twenty or so minutes, the bank rose and turned rocky. We paddled beside a great bluff, where trickles of water seeped out of the stone, staining it with minerals. It reminded me of Moses striking the rock to make water gush forth for the Children of Israel.
“We’re almost there,” I said.
“Almost where?” Seeley asked. “You haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.”
A rivulet cut through the bluff, and we steered the canoe into the gap. We took it as far as it could go, to a pool where the water gurgled against sheer cliffs on two sides and lapped softly on a narrow, sandy beach on a third.
“Can we stay here?” Seeley begged. “I want to swim.”
“Later,” I said, pulling off my boots and stockings. “First I need to show you the best robbers’ lair in all the world. If it’s still standing. And safe to go inside. As Heath Blackstock, you have to see it. Who knows what villains lurk there, needing to be banished?”
“Who does the lair belong to? Really.”
“Some rich man from New Orleans had it built for his hunting lodge. He named it Carter Hall, but Rush and Laney and I always called it the Lodge. The owner didn’t use it long, and it had already been abandoned for years when we found it. Many a happy day we spent there. We were careful to never mention it around grown-ups for fear they’d order us not to go inside again. It really wasn’t the safest spot to play, but we didn’t care a pin for that.” I hitched up my skirt and stepped into the pool to drag the canoe ashore. Seeley took off his own boots and jumped out. Bathtub-warm water caressed our calves and ankles.
We replaced our boots and climbed up out of the little gulch, using fern-sprouted stone ledges that almost seemed planned for such a purpose. Something grew on them that released a wild, wet, heady scent when we crushed its leaves beneath us.
For just a moment, at the top, with the forest so tangled and overgrown even this early in the summer, I worried that I wouldn’t remember the route. But when I stopped thinking and thrust through the dense undergrowth, somehow the right way beckoned. Perhaps there remained a nearly invisible thread of path that I unconsciously recognized.
“Sorry,” I said after I accidentally let a plumy pine branch whip back into Seeley’s face. “It makes you admire the first settlers, doesn’t it? If they left the rivers behind, everywhere they went was like this. When we used to come here, Rush always carried a scythe to cut through at the beginning of the season.”
“Let’s bring one next time and I’ll use it.” Seeley chopped at some vines with the side of his hand.
He trotted ahead now, jumping over clumps and darting here and there. I was glad his red cape was easy to follow from a distance. I could only hope we weren’t wallowing in poison ivy and picking up ticks.
“Wait!” I called when he got too far ahead. “You don’t know where to go.”
He paused impatiently, his cheeks flushed and his body tense with eagerness. Suddenly the way was easier and I stopped in my tracks. We had stumbled on a clearing, with wild grasses trampled down all around and with only one great tree left standing near the middle. It had grayish bark, a twisted, gnarled trunk, and very prominent aboveground roots. Nearby, a wide ring of stones circled the blackened remains of a huge bonfire.
An eerie sensation crept over me. This evidence that people, not long ago, had lingered on this spot made me uneasy. On our many trips here in the past, we had never met another soul. Bushwhackers, deserters, and other dangerous flotsam and jetsam of war all came to mind.
“Who could have been way out here?” I whispered. “And lit such a gigantic fire?”
Seeley’s eyes grew large, and I realized my voice had taken on a spooky tone. I hastened to reassure him. “Probably hunters. Hunters tromp around everywhere.” Except why would hunters need such a big cooking fire?
And then the words of Miss Ruby Jewel echoed—“They dance around a bonfire at dead of night in the middle of the woods.” The VanZeldts. Even though Shadowlawn was over a mile away, it was still the closest habitation. This might even be Shadowlawn property since the doctor now owned many acres stretching along the river.
My disquiet mounted as we approached the Lodge. The route was too effortless to lead to a building abandoned for years; a path had been cut through. Had someone taken up residence?
The structure still stood two stories tall, although the roof had caved partially in. A sapling grew where the roof was missing, and vines shrouded the windows. I blew out my breath in a little sigh of satisfaction. No one could be living in this ruin. Clearly the place was as empty as it had been on that long-ago day when we first discovered it.
It looked much more derelict than I remembered, and every bit as romantic. There was something both frightening and beautiful in the decay. Built of half-timbered plaster and bark-covered logs, these walls had been erected in no typical local style. Instead, the Lodge reminded me of some haunted, fairy-tale manor house. Its eaves were low-pitched and its windows (amazingly, mostly intact) were diamond-paned.
A bird flapped up out of the dark hole gaping where the chimney had tumbled down and broke the spell. Seeley shuffled his feet and tugged at my sleeve. “Look!” he cried, pointing. “Ears!”
Grub-white, half-circle lichens clustered in the rotting center of a log in the wall. They did indeed resemble a garden of grotesque ears feeding on the old wood.
He plucked two and held them up against his hair. “I’ve got ears in the back of my head.”
“That’s supposed to be ‘eyes,’ ” I said, wincing at the sight. “ ‘Eyes in the back of your head.’ You look … disgusting.”
He grinned and offered me a set. When I shrank away from the misshapen things, he chased me with them. I ducked and ran into the trees, slowed from the burden of the picnic basket, my flapping black skirt, and my ill-fitting boots. We were snagged by briars and smacked and scraped by branches as we dashed. My bonnet fell back on its ribbons and bounced against my shoulders. The snood beneath was ripped from my hair by a twig. I stuffed it in my pocket, letting my wispy locks fall loose. Finally we ended up, breathless, back in front of the Lodge.
“It’s perfect!” Seeley yelled. “A perfect robbers’ lair.”
I put my finger to my lips. “You’d better hush if you want to surprise the villains,” I said, and then added, “Mr. Heath Blackstock, sir.”
“Aw, villains are always so stupid they wouldn’t even notice you clomping around.”
I pretended to thump him on the head, and we stifled giggles.
Mingled with the creepers clambering up the walls were yellow climbing roses. The air was sweet with their perfume and murmurous with bees. I wondered if they were my bees. Seeley plucked a bloom and presented it to me. I thanked him and tucked it behind my ear.
In spite of the general decay, the Lodge’s walls still stood straight. I assured myself there’d be no danger for us to enter. The plank door had fallen from the hinges. It leaned over the entrance now. I lifted it out of the way and cautiously poked my head inside.
A clear, dim green light filled the front room. It was as it had been seven years earlier—empty except for rubble on the sagging floor, cli
nging dirt daubers’ nests, and a pale, ghostly rag of a curtain dangling over one window. It had made us sad that every last stick of furniture had been removed from the place. The staircase had collapsed, which was just as well since I didn’t want Seeley trying to go upstairs into that dark, precarious space. We picked our way through the debris to the doorway opposite. Our movements echoed.
A few sunbeams filtered in through veiled windows in the next room. Yes, there still stood the stumps we had rolled in for chairs, and there—I caught in my breath sharply—
A body lay against the wall.
It was a man, head tipped back and lips slightly parted, with jutting cheekbones and closed, sunken eyes. A scanty blanket covered him to his waist.
“Violet, you’re blocking the way. Let me see.” Seeley squeezed under my arm. “Gosh—is he dead?” he whispered.
Before I knew what my cousin was doing, he had snatched up a broken stair spindle and crossed the few feet to poke the body in the protruding ribs.
“Seeley!” I cried, but watched, frozen, as the man jerked and groaned and his eyes slowly fluttered open. A pulse beat visibly in his throat. Alive, then.
“Who’s here?” he murmured.
I grabbed Seeley’s hand and stumbled backward and would have run out but my feet wouldn’t take me. All I could do was stare.
The man lay on a pallet of pine boughs. Their scent hung in the air, along with a pungent, sharp herbal aroma I didn’t recognize.
He raised himself up on his elbows. His arms were skeletal. “Are—” His voice sounded hoarse, as if from disuse. He cleared his throat. “Tell me you’re real.”
I could see his face better now, and for a fraction of a second was caught by it. Even so emaciated, with skin like yellowish wax and with a messy growth of dark beard and greasy hair falling every which way, this was a handsome man. The lips were firm, the nose straight, the jaw square. And not old—probably in his mid-twenties.
My mouth had been hanging open. Now I closed it, swallowed, and said, “We’re real, all right. I beg your pardon. We didn’t know anyone would be at this place, and, well, you’re a bit of a shock. We’ll go now.” I tugged at Seeley’s hand. “Sorry to have disturbed you,” I said over my shoulder.
The Mirk and Midnight Hour Page 12