Chapter 4 A Day in the Sun
"If the sun touches me for a moment but no longer, I burn but I can heal," Abby explained. "Anything longer than that and I will probably die. Do you understand?"
"Of course, Miss Abby," Edward assured her. "Every precaution has been taken. This is the innermost parlor at Kimball House. The nearest windows are three rooms over, but they are north facing and so do not admit sunlight. Plus all first-floor drapes are to remain closed throughout the day. My father and I will labor from sunrise to sundown, ensuring your safety."
"Yes, please thank Mr. Inman for me. He is most kind to look after my needs." Edward bowed.
Abby snuggled deeper into her couch, nervous at the approach of dawn. She wore a burgundy dress with high collar, thick white stockings, and leather boots, plus white gloves and matching wide brimmed hat. A quilt covered her lap, while over her shoulders were draped two shawls: emergency protection that could be yanked up to shade her face.
"Have you really never stayed up past sunrise?" Edward asked.
"I have been awakened during daylight hours, as you know. But I have never voluntarily remained awake through an entire day. I'm not even sure I can. It's like I have a daily urge to hibernate. I may end up just curling into a ball and falling asleep despite all these efforts. If that does happen, you must get Constance out and leave me undisturbed until after sunset."
The boy gave her a dubious look.
"I have to try," Abby said. "The lithium helps in its own way, but it's not like cocaine. Only cocaine makes Susie go away. But it helps less every day. I never knew Constance. At least, I never knew what Constance could be. Now I'm losing her. It terrifies me to think she might go back to how she was. It'd be like dying. And if she's going to die, Edward Inman, I'm at least going to make myself spend a day with her before she does."
Edward bowed again and withdrew. Can I do this? Abby wondered. Neither she nor her sister were good at resisting urges. Abby had never understood the compulsion to sleep. Why wasn't it enough simply to hide from the sun? Why did she even need rest, or at least so much? Did it prove a vampire was still a person, a girl? More likely her "sleep" was mere boding, lurking, regurgitating: an unholy pause in an unholy pasture as she chewed upon a cud of slaughtered souls.
Abby sensed the sun was about to rise. She realized if she remained seated on the couch she would give in and lie down. She cast the quilt aside and began pacing. "My name is Abigail Wilson, and I am an American. I am a hunter, camp follower, actress, miner, courier, scout. I let Philip kiss me. He wanted to do special things, and I ate him. I let George kiss me. He wanted to do special things, and I ate him. I don't think Edward kissed Constance. He is seventeen and I am twelve. He would never kiss me. How old does a boy have to be before he will kiss you? How old does he have to be before he wants to do special things? Has Constance done special things? I don't want to do special things. I want a boy to kiss me and hug me and caress my face and never want to do special things. And I want to have babies."
"And a wonderful mother you will make," Constance pronounced from the doorway, Edward at her side. She swept in and gave Abby a kiss on the cheek. "You'll be serving us in here today, yes?" she asked her escort.
"Indeed, Miss Constance," Edward replied. He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a cart containing breakfast for one. This included a full glass of Pemberton's French Wine Coca, which would be Constance's second serving of the day. Abby had placed the first dose at Constance's bedside, to be consumed immediately upon waking. One positive about her sister: she always took her medicine.
Constance found a seat and began eating. "This is good," she commented. "Hungry?"
"I...ate before dawn," Abby said, marveling. "I did it, Constance. I stayed awake through a sunrise."
"Was it hard?"
"Yes. I dare not sit down. I'm sorry. Best if I keep walking, actually."
Constance paused between bites. "Abby, are you wearing a corset?"
"I...well, yes."
"That's not how to get him to kiss you."
"That's not why I'm wearing it," Abby protested, blushing. "It's extra protection."
"Uh, huh. I don't mind you kissing him. He's never going to kiss me."
"He's seventeen!"
"I don't think a big bosom's what he's looking for. I stripped for him, after all. He wouldn't even touch me."
Abby froze, her mouth open in shock. Edward had never even hinted at such an event. Of course Constance could be making it up. But given her proclivity to nudity, Abby didn't think so.
"Why don't you mind being naked?" Abby asked.
"Because I've got nothing to hide," Constance answered. "You still won't look at me, though. Always averting your eyes."
"Do I smell?" Abby pleaded, her voice almost a whisper.
"Sometimes you smell like a chamber pot."
"I use the sewers to move inventory. That's not what I'm talking about. I mean...is there a vampire smell?"
"You give me cigars, you do hypnotism, you cuddle in bed. I don't care how you smell."
"I have to wear clothes. They protect me from the sun. But I also just feel ashamed when I'm naked. Even when I'm alone."
"Then let's practice," Constance concluded, beginning to unbutton her blouse.
"Not right now," Abby said. She pushed her friend's hands aside and closed her shirt back up. Then she laughed. "That's what I want: to follow every desire and never feel ashamed."
Constance rose from her chair, cupped Abby's face, and touched foreheads. "I dream of a day," Constance said, "when you say what you really think and feel. Imagine how happy you'd be if you weren't holding so much in."
Of course I'm holding stuff in, Abby thought. What am I supposed to say to people? Hi, I have to eat someone in the next 48 hours, and I'm trying to decide if it should be you? The undead life was nurtured on deceit. Oh, Constance knew Abby needed blood to live. And Edward knew Abby was medicating Constance. But no one person knew it all. Abby's counsels were her own, and so she was alone. Plus they died. Every family member. Every friend. Vapor, that's what they were. Vampires gobbled vapor, siphoned mist, glutted on miasma, gorged on fumes. No substance. Nothing lasted. All men were grass. Vapor grass, grassy mist, foggy...
Abby became aware of Constance hugging her, stroking her hair. How long had she drifted off? What had they been talking about? Constance had tried to undress, an apparently routine occurrence. Edward had been far more gracious than Abby had realized. His concern really had to be considered more brotherly than anything else. But why should he care to be a brother to Constance?
Absurd ideas tumbled through Abby's mind. Edward was really interested in Abby. He cared for Constance in order to keep Abby at the hotel. He liked having Abby as a business partner. He wanted to marry her and go into business together. Mr. Inman would give them the hotel as a wedding present, and they would keep Constance forever as their most honored guest. Yes, and while we're at it we'll discover a world where man is free to speak his mind, vampires don't exist, new stories are written weekly, and nobody feels ashamed.
Eventually the girls settled for strolling hand-in-hand about the parlor. Abby plied Constance with calculated doses of wine coca, tobacco, and lithium - as well as tea and scones, of course. Constance plied Abby with questions about history.
"The changes I notice aren't what others notice most," Abby explained. "There are so many coal mines now, and sewers, too. That creates lots of additional hiding places. The telegraph is great because it makes the newspapers better. It's so important to have the latest news. The repeating rifle is the real game-changer, though. Accuracy, stopping power, high rate of fire. I used to be cautious around firearms. Now I fear them. A Winchester Model 1876 with centerfire cartridges makes a man vampire-proof."
"How did you become a vampire?"
The change in subject jarred Abby, but she answered, "My uncle bit me."
"Does different people's blood taste different?"
"Not really."
"Can you drink animal blood?"
"No."
"Do you care when a girl's having her period?"
"No. It's not the right kind of blood."
"There are different kinds?"
"Well...yes. I can drink blood from a living person, at least if it's fresh. But not from a dead person. That's the difference. There's live blood and dead blood. I'm not sure how else to explain it."
"Would you like some live blood?" Constance asked, seizing the knife from her breakfast tray and offering to stab her arm.
"No!" Abby urged. She tried to grab the implement, but Constance scooted away and pressed the blade to her throat.
"Why are you my friend?" Constance demanded. "Nobody likes me."
"Edward likes you."
Constance laughed bitterly. "I have a pretty face, and Edward feels sorry for me. Attraction wrapped in compassion. Not friendship."
Abby felt an irrational urge to stroke the knife, so deliciously close to Constance's jugular. If the vampire fed during daylight there'd be no way to escape. Both of them would be destroyed.
"You...accept me," Abby explained. "You never give me that look, that horrible, disapproving look. It's like everyone sees through my clothes. But you don't. You don't look through my clothes, so I don't have to hide. Not with you. I can let you look at me, and I know you...don't see me. That's why I'm your friend, Constance: you don't look through my clothes."
Constance nodded and returned the knife to her breakfast cart. "I'm not crazy, you know. I see things others don't see. Is that bad? For most people reality is obscured by numinous cloud. They see bits and pieces. But they never recognize the connections, the patterns, the relationships between everything. I see the whole web, Abby. I feel it. I absorb logic and light and meaning from a universe so understandable it makes my head spin. But for this feast of sense I return nonsense. I'm worse than a null set. I'm zero. No matter what fact you multiply me by, I turn it into nothing."
"Then I'll be a zero with you," Abby said.
"Zero times zero is still zero," Constance replied. "But zero divided by zero," she mused, her face brightening, "that's indeterminate. Oh, what interesting possibilities that would present. Will you be divided by me, Abby? Or vice-versa? I hardly think it matters who's on top."
"Uh, sure," Abby answered. She had no idea what Constance was talking about.
"Oh, Abby," Constance proclaimed, embracing the vampire with the strength of madness and kissing every square inch of her face. "Two known nothings can produce an undefined something. That's what we will be. Abby divided by Constance: indeterminate."
Edward served lunch and, as Abby had requested, joined the girls for the afternoon. They perused the King Arthur books recently acquired by Kimball House: History of the Kings of Britain, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Lancelot, Le Morte D'Arthur, Idylls of the King. Abby kept moving, one hand clutching a book, the other pinching her leg. If only the world contained a vampiric equivalent of coffee and tobacco.
Although maybe boys were better than coffee. Edward kept looking at Constance, but he kept making eye contact with Abby, too. The three of them took turns reading portions of Tennyson: "Lo now, said Arthur, have ye seen a cloud? What go ye into the wilderness to see? This Quest is not for thee. Thou hast not true humility, thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself. Then every evil word I had spoken once, and every evil thought I had thought of old, and every evil deed I ever did, awoke and cried, This Quest is not for thee."
Questions stacked in Abby's mind: Wouldn't the knights have a greater chance of survival if they searched together? Why such indirect narration - Tennyson recounting Ambrosius listening to Percivale telling about Galahad? All these people and places Galahad supposedly conquered - did they even have names? Why did everyone keep calling it a romance?
"We should write a new version," Abby blurted.
Edward raised his eyebrows, surprised. "I thought you didn't want to change it."
"I've changed my mind."
"Tell us what you're thinking," Constance said.
"Well, for starters we need to put some women in the story," said Abby. "I mean real characters, not just nuns."
"Britain is the main woman in the story," Edward explained.
"Huh?"
"The knights of the Round Table are charged with guarding Britain. She is the 'damsel in distress' they must rescue from dragons, meaning bandits and Saxons."
"But what does the grail have to do with that?" Abby asked.
"Nothing," Edward said, "and that's the point. They should ignore the grail and hold fast their duty."
"Instead Percivale makes that stupid vow," Abby observed, "and everyone follows suit."
Edward nodded. "The hardest possible test for a knight: to stay where you are. And they fail."
"For what?" Abby asked bitterly. "The grail is useless. If you're good enough to see it, you don't need it. If you need it, you're never good enough to see it. It doesn't solve anything. It's...under the sun."
"Then that's how you change the story," Constance interjected. "Make them seek a grail that's over the sun."
Abby found this intriguing. "If the grail is over the sun, would that make it a new story? One that's never been told?"
"Who's the hero, who's the monster, who's the bride?" Edward asked.
"If it's a female vampire we're talking about," Constance said, "then she could be the monster and the bride."
Abby halted in terror, cast her eyes to the floor, and waited for the hammer to fall. Edward refused to speak. Constance wouldn't stop babbling. A pestle of silence ground Abby against a mortar of madness, crushing her wind-chasing heart to powder. Vanity. All of it was vanity. Why had she even bothered hiding from the sun? A single word was enough to burn her life to ash.
"Let's try a game," Edward suggested. "Triple alliterations you can buy at the store."
"Burdock Blood Bitters," Constance promptly offered.
"Excellent," Edward replied. "Hale's Horehound Honey."
"Oh, that's a good one. Craig's Kidney Cure."
"Nice. Seven Sutherland Sisters."
"Botanic Blood Balm."
"Abby?" Edward asked, voice painfully kind. "Can you think of any?"
Abby finally glanced up. Edward's expression confirmed her fear. He had put the pieces together. The world had changed. He would never look at Abby the same way again.
Constance had made the entire experiment possible, of course. And Constance had ruined it. Five months' participation in Atlanta society, no one knowing or suspecting. Except Mr. Inman, of course. But he didn't count. Edward did.
"Curative Corns Cures," Abby answered.
Edward granted her a smile. Such beautiful missives, Edward Inman's smiles. Short stories knitted in aspect. Abby figured she wouldn't be reading many more.
By tea Constance grew restless. She roamed beside Abby, chewed her fingers, kept watch on the hallway. "You promised not to let them get me," Constance reminded the vampire. "You promised not to let them get me." She rolled herself along the wall. "They won't get you. Abby will help you. Abby's always sleeping. Sleep in the day. I'm not a raccoon. A raccoon for your eyes, covered in cries, coated in lies, varmint dies." She tried to take off her shirt.
Abby knelt down and shared a memory. It was a long memory, during the imparting of which Abby was totally at Edward's mercy. When she finally separated, Constance had calmed down and Edward was crying.
"Remarkable," he said. "The way you cherish and stroke her. It's like you're a part of her. You would make a wonderful mother, Miss Abigail."
Now Abby was in danger of weeping. "I need to get her to bed," she replied, lifting Constance from the floor. "Thank you for everything, Edward. It was...a perfect day in the sun."
Edward pursed his lips and nodded. Then he wiped the tears from his eyes and bowed. "You're welcome, Miss Abigail. Good night."
"Good night, Edward."
Abby received a lot of strange looks as she carried Constance toward the stairwell, but this was the fastest way to get her friend upstairs and right now the vampire wanted nothing more than the privacy of her own closet. By the time they got inside their room Constance was giggling. The girl ripped her clothes off at last and jumped on the bed. Abby pulled out the rum and cigars and leaned against the doorframe, exhausted.
"Take your clothes off, take your clothes off," the mad girl coaxed.
Abby handed over the bottle and produced a box of matches. If a vampire stayed up all day, would it cause her to sleep all night? That would probably feel even stranger than being awake during the day. Plus she had fought to stay awake. If she went to bed now, would she have to fight to stay asleep?
She lay down with Constance and held her close. Such a beautiful woman. "I love you," Abby whispered.
"One day you'll take off your clothes for someone," Constance said. "And get in bed with him."
"Sleep naked with a boy? That's crazy!"
"I mean it, Abby. No one makes you. You choose to be naked. You take your clothes off. You get in his bed. That's when you know you love him."
Abby smiled. She would never sleep naked with anyone, of course. Certainly not with a boy. A sign of insanity, this tendency toward nudity. Perhaps Constance was right: the insane had nothing to hide. Abby had lots to hide. And now Edward knew. Or at least suspected. A vampire was staying at Kimball House. The guests weren't dying. But somebody was. And Edward, though unwittingly, was a part of it.
Constance passed out at last. Abby went to the window and began observing traffic. That's when it struck her: at some point in the evening, without her even realizing it, the sun had set.