Sunil Sebastian took a series of great photos at the Shimmer Pirate Party. Just in case any one has forgotten why we hosted a pirate party, Shimmer is doing a pirate themed issue for our summer 2007 issue, guest-edited by John Joseph Adams. We’re opening to submissions on December 1 and are trying to drum up the interest with writers.

Jane knocked on the door of Melody’s room, still glowing with the words of Mr. Dunkirk’s praise. Such a small thing, those words, but it was the first time she could recall coming to his special notice. He had always been courtesy itself when in her company, but her attachment to him grew more from how he treated others than from any sense of his having regard for her.

She leaned her head against the door, listening for sounds within the chamber. “Melody?”

“Go away.”

Jane sighed. “Dear. Let me come in.”

A long silence stretched during which she had time to examine the grain on the door and the subtle wear of age worn in the soft edges of its panels. “Melody?”

Cloth rustled within and the key turned in the lock, unlatching the door. As Jane opened the door, she was in time to see Melody fling herself artlessly upon the bed, where the rumpled spread showed how she had spent the better part of Mr. Dunkirk’s visit. Her golden curls lay across the bed in an intricate lacework and tears glittered on the end of her lashes like diamonds.

Jane closed the door behind her and leaned against it, regarding her sister. “Mr. Dunkirk sends his apologies for his tardiness.”

Melody sat up with alarming speed. Her face flushed. “Is he still here?”

Shaking her head, Jane crossed the room to sit on the bed next to her sister. “No. Papa let him understand that you had twisted your ankle while out walking.”

Placing her hands over her face, Melody groaned and fell back on the bed. “Now he thinks me clumsy as well as over-excited.”

“I am certain he does not.” Jane wiped her sister’s brow, which was hot with the force of her excitement. Reaching into the ether, Jane conjured a cooling breeze to soothe her sister.

Melody pulled her hands away, though she kept her eyes closed, and turned her face toward the breeze. “But he does. I stammer and blush when he is present. Do not tell me you have failed to notice.” She opened her eyes and glared up at Jane.

“Until today, I had not the faintest notion that you had any affection for Mr. Dunkirk beyond that of a neighbor. Indeed, I had thought you were no more fond of him than of one of our uncles.” Jane smoothed the folds of her skirt, praying that her own countenance was not as transparent to feeling as Melody’s. “Have you an understanding with Mr. Dunkirk?”

Melody burst into laughter. “An understanding? My dear, Jane, Mr. Dunkirk is gentleness embodied. He is grace and elegance and all that is good in a man, but with that he is also too conscious of propriety to betray anything beyond courtesy. This is why I had such hopes when he said he would come to call today. I had hoped that perhaps he might have begun to pay notice to me as myself instead of simply the daughter of his neighbor.” She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her arms. “What did you speak of while I was out acting the fool?”

“Very little. Art. Music.”

“You see! I could not speak with him of any of those. I am talentless.” She clenched her fingers in her hair and for a moment Jane feared the Melody would pull her own hair out by the roots.

Such was Melody’s torments, that Jane gave away the comfort that she had taken for herself. “Not true. Ask Papa what he said about you.”

In an instant, Melody turned over, her eyes a vivid, sparkling blue. “What did he say? Do not tease me, dear sister.”

“He said, ‘Your daughter is a credit to you.’”

Melody’s face lit with an inner glow of pleasure, but it faded quickly. “He was surely speaking of you.”

“I was there, Melody. Why would he speak of me as if I were not present?” And as Jane said that, she realized that it was true. She had taken Mr. Dunkirk’s words to her heart as if he spoke of her, but he surely had not. Who else could he mean but Melody? Had his compliment been intended for Jane, he would have said, “You are a credit to your father.” There could be no doubt that he had meant Melody. She reached out and tousled Melody’s hair to mask the wet disappointment that slowly filled her. “You see?”

Melody sat and flung her arms around Jane. “Oh, thank you. Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course. We must find these small comforts where we may.” Jane held her sister and wondered where she would find her own small comfort.