The Spirit Room (26 page)

“
Come away from the table. Let’s go over to that corner of the room there.” He pointed to the corner near the spot where the secret bells were hidden.

This was a strange request. It was just an empty, faded blue-and-green wallpapered corner of the room, no furniture, no anything. But, it was his time with her and Papa had made the arrangements. She said she’d go along with it. He walked to the corner and turned to her.

“
Clara?” He offered out the palm of his hand like he wanted her to dance.

“
Is this about the spirits?” she asked.

“
Not today, Clara. I’m going to show you how important you are to me. After all these months, I am going to show you.” His eyes, with sagging folds of skin underneath, were moist, but not like he was going to cry. He seemed happy about his idea, whatever it was. “Your Papa agreed that I could offer my affections if I paid more than I usually do for the séances. A lot more.”

Papa had said more, not
a lot
more. How much was he paying Papa? Something was wrong with this, with Weston and his watery eyes. Did he and Papa have the same idea about this courtship or whatever it was? Maybe Weston had one idea and Papa had another.

“
I brought you a gift too, something just for you.”

Weston left her there in the corner and retrieved the parcel from the table. Maybe this gift was how he wanted to show his fondness. He held it out to her.

“
Open it. I hope it fits.”

“
A dress?”

He grinned at her. She took the package and reached inside the folded paper. As her hand searched its way in, the paper crumpled. She grasped a thick, soft fabric and, as she slid the item out, it cascaded toward the floor. It was a beautiful cotton summer dress, a print with indigo blue dots on white, with wide flared, short-to-the-elbow sleeves, loose bodice, and a low, off-shoulder neckline. She had seen that low neckline on girls recently in town. It made them look older, like young ladies.

“
This is lovely. Is it really for me?” She pressed it to her chest.

“
Yes. Yes. Clara. I wish it could be even fancier, but I think this will look nice on you. A girl like you deserves something new.”

Stretching out the shoulders of the dress, she spread the garment against herself, smiled, sashayed slightly.

“
Is this what you wanted to show me?”

“
It is one thing, but there is another, Clara. Here, let’s put that aside for a few minutes. You can try it on later.” He clutched the waist of the dress and tugged it slowly toward him, but she held on. The dress floated between them. If only she could try it on now, but Weston kept smiling, easing it from her until she unfurled her fingers and let go. Then he took the dress to the table and draped it carefully over her chair.

While she waited, he removed his cream-colored linen jacket and hung it on another chair, then took off his maroon silk cravat and returned to her in his clean, white flowing shirt and vest. He faced her, stood close, then placed both his hands on her shoulders and, as if they were indeed dancing, slowly walked her all the way into the corner so that her shoulders nearly touched the walls. She could barely see around him. It didn’t feel like a dance, though. Was it some kind of game?

“
I have the most warmhearted feelings for you, Clara. You are very dear to me.” Standing no more than two feet from her, he let his hands drop.

She let out a long sigh. There was nothing to worry about. This was Sam Weston; Sam Weston who brought her flowers all the time, who always attended her séances, and who protected her when Isaac Camp was hot as a red coal. There was nothing to worry about. He was always polite, helpful, even if a little odd sometimes. But odd was nothing. She and Izzie always laughed about him.

“
All you have to do is stand where you are.” He began to roll up one of his billowy sleeves to his elbow, then the other. “Do you know you are one of the prettiest girls I have ever seen, anywhere? I just want to look at you. That’s all. Just look for hours and hours.”

Why didn’t he tell her what the game was and get it started? If he wanted to look at her all day, why do it in a dim and dusty corner? Why not go to the window and throw open a curtain? She could pose for him the way she did for the illustrator at the newspaper office when Papa had the posting bills made. Yes, maybe he would like that and she could put on the new dress with the low shoulders.

“
Do you want to move over to the light? I could wear the dress.”

“
No. I like it here. While I’m looking at you I’m going to do something to myself you probably haven’t seen a man do before. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s a harmless thing. You’re thirteen or fourteen now?”

She tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Her tongue locked against the top of her mouth. She nodded.

“
See. That’s plenty old enough.” He reached for the button just below the waist of his pants and opened it.

“
No.” She stepped sideways along the wall, but he stopped her with a firm hand on her arm.

“
Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” He looked down at his hand, descending slowly from one button to the next, while his other hand gripped her arm. “You’ve seen your brother, father?”

“
This isn’t right, Mr. Weston. I think I should call for Papa now.”

“
But your Papa agreed about this. Because I admire you so much. I promised him I wouldn’t hurt you. I won’t even touch you, Clara. I won’t touch you. I promised your father.” With his fly now open all the way, he settled both hands on her shoulders, looked straight into her eyes. “Please. Please, Clara. I am so very fond of you.”

“
Let me talk to Papa first.” Clara took his wrist and tried to dislodge his hand from her shoulder, but he tightened his grasp.

His forearm muscle bulged. “I promise I will absolutely not hurt you. Please. I would never hurt you, Clara. All you have to do is stand there.” His mouth curled up at one corner. “Everything will be all right. I’ll be very happy.” His grip relaxed, but his hands lingered on her. “I’ll tell your Papa that you were very good, and I’ll give him the five dollars. You don’t want to disappoint him, do you? And the family needs the money?”

Then he released her altogether.
Five dollars
.
Hell-fire
. What was going on? Papa wouldn’t want to give that up and he’d hate her if he had to. He’d think she robbed him of the money. He’d be mad as a hornet. She tried to look around Weston’s broad shoulders into the room but couldn’t see much. If she really had to, she could squeeze by him, wiggle, twist, hit, maybe duck down and crawl lickety-click and low if she was afraid of being hurt. She could scream for Papa. He was out there on the landing, wasn’t he? He wouldn’t want her hurt, five dollars or no five dollars.

“
You don’t want to disappoint him.” Weston carefully put his hand under Clara’s chin, brought her face around so that she had to look at his watery light brown eyes. Suddenly the room seemed airless, stifling. Her undergarments now drenched in sweat, she shivered with a chill.

“
I might be able to bring you another new dress in a month or two. Now just stay where you are so I can look at you. Don’t move until I tell you to. Do you understand?”

“
Yes.”

He reached inside his new cream-colored linen trousers, inside his drawers, and retrieved his prick, just as Clara had seen Billy do a thousand times when he was going to piss, but it was big, firm-looking.

“
Just stay where you are. That’s perfect.”

Cupping his right hand around the prick, he braced his other hand on the wall near her ear. He leaned toward her. His head was almost hanging over hers, but he was still not quite touching her. He pumped the prick slowly with his hand, back and forth, back and forth. It swelled and grew longer.
Tarnation
. How could it change like that? As his stroke quickened, the prick rose in his hand and turned red.

Don’t get any closer, she thought. Not one inch. Not one. She looked away, up at the ceiling. She felt trapped, a rabbit, stuck, flailing in a snare. The room was stuffy, blazing. She was sweating, shivering, sweating.

He groaned down inside his throat. She looked away from the ceiling to his face. Mouth open, skin slack around his eyes, he locked his gaze on her like he was sighting a rifle. His warm pipe tobacco breath ate up the air between them until his used air was all that was left for her to breathe in.

“
Clara, Clara, Clara.”

She gritted her teeth.
Stop it
, she wanted to say.
Stop saying Clara, Clara
. Beads of sweat leaked from his temples. She stared again at the white ceiling. Stop saying it. Stop groaning out
Clara. Clara. Oh, pretty Clara
.

She could get by him. She could, like a rabbit thrashing, wriggling free. No. Don’t ruin it for Papa, don’t lose the money for Papa. Stand still, perfectly still. It will end. It has to end.

He pumped and moaned. This was what he wanted to do? This was what he wanted to show her?

“
Clara, my beautiful Clara.”

She turned her head to the side and peered over his leaning arm. At least he wasn’t holding her chin again, forcing her to look at him, his face, his hard red prick. At least he let her turn her head away. She stared at an oil lamp mounted on the striped wallpaper. If she concentrated on the lamp long enough, he’d eventually finish. Then it would be over. Why was it going on so long?

Outside the door footsteps shuffled and scraped. Papa was pacing back and forth on the small landing. He was there, waiting for it to end too, waiting like she was. The frosted-glass globe on the lamp was pretty, the etching delicate. The lamp might need oil soon. She’d tell Billy. It was his job to keep the lamps filled. Now how was she going to remember to tell him? There were four lamps altogether in the Spirit Room, and there were three in the Blue Room at home, and one in Papa’s room. Some of the shops in town had gaslights now. The pacing outside the door quickened. Papa was nervous. Her chemise was soaked with sweat. She’d have to wash it tonight.

“
Come on you old nag. Yawwh.” A man outside on the street was probably having trouble with his horse and wagon, she thought. “Yawwh.”

“
Clara? Clara? Clara!”

Why the
jo-fire
was he yelling at her now?

“
Yes, Mr. Weston.”

“
Didn’t you hear me? I said that wasn’t so terrible was it?”

“
No. No. May I go now?”

“
Would you just give me a little kiss on the cheek so I know you aren’t angry with me?”

Clara rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. His skin smelled of shaving soap and cologne, but the tobacco smell lingered in his cropped beard. She glanced at the lamp again. She mustn’t forget to tell Billy about the oil.

“
Now let’s see if that dress fits you. Try it on, then show me. I’ll wait outside with your father.”

Weston stepped aside, his trousers already buttoned. She had missed that somehow. She sprang out of the corner, released from the snare, took a deep breath, then another. Rushing to the windows, she pushed back one of the pale curtains and threw open the window, letting in a warm lake breeze. After Weston tied his cravat and put on his hat and coat, he disappeared out the door. She eyed the dress on the table. Two sets of footsteps and Papa’s scolding voice rumbled down the stairs, then faded away.

The dress was lovely. How strange. For standing in a corner, no, for being jailed in a corner, but only for a short while, she had received such a glorious gift. She quickly shed the white séance dress and, as she draped it over one of the straight back chairs, she noticed a wet patch on the front of the skirt. She touched it with her fingertip. It was slimy. From him. From his prick. She’d wash it as soon as she could. It was warm out, the dress would be dry by morning. She flipped it over to hide the stain.

As she stepped into the new indigo blue and white print dress and pulled it up over her sweaty pantalettes, shimmy, and petticoat, her hands trembled. Her entire body was vibrating oddly. Struggling, hands behind her back to button the dress, she could only get at the bottom button. Because of the low-shoulder cut, she couldn’t get the dress to stay up without holding it, so she perched one hand on the fabric at each shoulder. She looked down at the fabric. It really was a beauty. She wanted desperately to see herself in a mirror, but that would have to wait. How could she show the dress to Weston when it wasn’t on properly? Why couldn’t he go away and see it another time? Maybe they’d left. Maybe he and Papa had gone to a tavern.

It was quiet outside the door. She’d wait a few more minutes, then if Weston didn’t come back, she’d go home. While she stood and waited by the fireplace, her arms grew heavy, tired from the awkward crooked position of holding the dress up.