The Spirit Room (5 page)

“It’s three in the morning,” he said.

“Did Papa hurt you?”

“Na, but he was about to. I got out before he could.” Billy took off his cap, shook the snow from it, then combed his red cold hand through his straight hair. Crossing his arms over his chest and pinching his shoulders up toward his ears, he shivered. He glanced around the library. “I’ll start the fire again. I’ll sleep on the floor in here for a few hours. Are you going up?”

“No. I want to read this book Mrs. Fielding gave me. Where were you?”

“I snuck onto the P.H. Field, the new steamboat down at Long Pier, and rolled myself up in a rug, but a night watchman found me. He kicked at me and hollered for me to get out. It didn’t hurt, though. The rug was thick.” Billy walked passed her to the fireplace. “What’s the book about?”

“Eternal life.”

“Will it tell you whether Mamma was loony or one of them mediums?”

“I don’t think so.”

As Billy knelt and piled chunks of coal, Izzie realized she was cold. The fire had probably been out for hours. She had been reading about liquid fire forming the cosmos, the sun, the planets, and of man rising through celestial spheres, but she still had no idea how Anna Santini knew about the white horse or how Mamma heard voices. She guessed that Davis would say it was a man or woman in one of those seven spheres telling Anna outright about the horse, or telling Mamma how to find Papa in Geneva after he disappeared, or how to take the boat out sailing on Seneca Lake.

Davis was either the biggest hoax of all hoaxes or there were unseen spheres inhabited by spirits. She had to test Anna again. She would go back and take the lessons. Humbug or eternal life. Mamma’s sanity. She wanted to know. She and Clara would take the lessons, but she would never become a medium like Papa wanted. Never.

Four

IZZIE FOLLOWED CLARA AND PAPA into the small parlor at the Carr house where they had their lesson the day before. Just like Papa, Izzie was sure she’d see trickery at Mrs. Fielding’s spirit circle tonight. Even though Papa believed Mamma had spirits visit her and talk to her, he never believed any of them could move an object or make anything physical manifest, and they never did that Izzie saw.

This time the scarlet velvet curtains were closed and the room was dimly lit by oil lamps. At the oval table, four men and three women sat around in formal attire. The dresses Izzie and Clara wore were plain, like rags compared to what the three women wore with their colorful sheens, flaring flounces, and lace collars. Standing at the end of the table near her seat, Mrs. Fielding wore a silver dress that shimmered like the moon.

Mrs. Fielding gestured in their direction. “These are the Benton girls, my new apprentices, and their father. They’ll be observing tonight.”

A few of the people nodded. Others looked at them vacantly. With her arm and palm outstretched, Mrs. Fielding directed Izzie, Clara, and Papa to take three chairs near the fireplace. The burning coals radiated a welcome heat. Just as Izzie removed her winter shawl, Anna, who she hadn’t noticed before, was suddenly before her offering to take it. She smiled as she took Clara’s shawl and Papa’s greatcoat, then vanished. When Anna returned to the room empty-handed, she stood like a sentry by the curtains. Instead of a bloomer costume, she wore an emerald-green wool dress with white lace trim.

Standing over the group at the table, Mrs. Fielding pulled out a gold watch from her dress pocket and explained how the séance would go. The watch was to keep time, not of the spirits, but of each mortal. People tended to go on too long and interfere with the chance others might have to talk to their spirits.

Then, as if perfectly rehearsed, Anna nodded to Mrs. Fielding and soberly moved about the room extinguishing the lamps until there was only the soft glow from the coal fire and a single candle lantern in the center of the table. Izzie wondered if Anna would go into trance again.

Once Mrs. Fielding took the empty seat at the séance table, she closed her eyes and placed her hands palm down on the surface. Everyone did the same. Sixteen hands, pinkie fingers touching, formed a ring around the table.

A gentleman, sitting with his back to Izzie, began the session without being asked.

“Is there a spirit here wishing to communicate with me?”

Izzie concentrated hard, watching for tricks, listening for people outside the room, or even nearby. Someone could be behind those huge velvet curtains, she thought. Several people could easily hide in the immense folds.

Three loud raps sounded sharply. No one’s hands had moved from the table, but Izzie was certain someone close by had produced the noise. One of the women in the circle crouched over awkwardly and looked under the table but said nothing, then she returned to her upright position, hands again firmly on the table.

After the woman resettled, the man went on to ask if the spirit was his little son. Three solid, quick knocks thumped. It seemed to be coming from the table. Clara had been swinging her feet in swooping arcs under her chair, but now she began to swing faster, almost violently.

“Are you with me all the time?”

One rap from the table.

“Only tonight?”

Three raps. Yes.

It was maddening that the man’s face was out of sight. His expression might tell more about his belief in the raps than his voice.

“I want to know if it is really you. How old were you when you died?”

Five raps.

The man paused for a long moment. “That’s right.”

Several at the table chimed, “Ah.”

Clara bolted up from her chair, but Papa nimbly grabbed her wrist and forced her back down.

“I knew you would be here tonight, son.” The man’s shoulders fell a little and his voice softened.

Izzie felt her sister’s elbow dig into her upper arm. Using her bulging eyes to point to Anna, Clara silently directed Izzie to look over at the young medium. Anna’s arms were twisting, her shoulder’s rotating. On her tiptoes, Anna wove about in tiny haphazard steps. She careened toward the table, lodging herself between two of the sitters. Anna slapped her hand on the table repetitively, convulsively. Izzie held her breath. Clara leapt up again. This time she escaped Papa’s grasp by sliding sideways and down onto Izzie’s lap. As Clara’s weight plunked down on her, Izzie grunted. But then the wall of Clara’s body was a reassuring buffer between her and the séance and she slid her arms around her sister’s waist.

Head jerking about, mouth hanging open, Anna’s eyes rolled wildly. Clara swung her heel into Izzie’s ankle.

“Ouch.”

Mrs. Fielding darted a scolding look their way. “Don’t worry. Anna will not hurt herself.” She looked back at the man. “It appears your son’s spirit has taken possession of her, Mr. Gaylord.”

Anna struck her hand brutally in a great swat against the table. That must have smarted, thought Izzie, possession or no possession. Anna’s lips fluttered but she did not speak. Clara shivered against Izzie. Tightening her grip around Clara’s waist, Izzie looked over at Papa. Thoroughly amused, he was smirking and quietly pummeling his thigh. Clara was terrified and Papa was thrilled.
Rot
. This medium venture was dreadful rubbish.

Suddenly, Anna’s voice broke out high and clear. She sang:

Heaven is a bright land,

Spirits are rejoicing,

There are wings for all

Who shout their love.

Weep not, father dear,

My song brings you love,

Heaven is a bright land,

Spirits are rejoicing.

Anna huffed, wiped her brow, then stood limp, her head hanging down. An elderly woman in a blue paisley shawl whispered to the man next to her, “She sounds like Jenny Lind, the Swedish nightingale.” The man shifted in his chair and looked at Anna with concern.

Either because Clara was soothed by the song or frozen with fear, she had actually stopped quivering and was still.

“Are you with my mother and father, boy?” The man’s voice cracked. He was probably crying. If only Izzie could see his face.

Three raps from the table. Yes.

“Will you grow into a man in the spirit world, or stay a boy forever?”

No answer. No raps. Anna stumbled away from the table and fell into a chair by the curtains. She slumped over and appeared to be asleep.

“I doubt we will hear anything else through Anna tonight. She is depleted. It’s very exhausting being possessed, even for a moment.” Mrs. Fielding turned toward the elderly woman wearing spectacles and the blue shawl. “I sense a tug in my chest toward you, Mrs. Tracey. I believe a spirit wishes to speak to you. Would you like to ask for a communication, my dear?”

The old woman straightened up, pursed her thin lips, and spread her fingers out on the table. She looked toward the ceiling, then closed her eyes.

“Is there a spirit here who wishes to communicate with me?”

No sounds.

“Try again. Take a deep breath. Everyone, drain your minds of thought.”

“Is there…?”

Three raps.

“Is that you, Timothy?”

One rap.

Mrs. Fielding reached toward a large piece of paper that had been sitting on the table near her and positioned it squarely before her. It had writing on it, but Izzie could not make it out from her vantage. Papa leaned across Clara’s empty chair and put his whiskey-smelling face near Izzie’s ear.

“It’s the alphabet,” he said.

Mrs. Fielding pointed to one letter after another, her finger hovering a few inches in the air above the paper. Suddenly, the table knocked three times.

“S.” Mrs. Fielding’s voice sounded even and breathy. She went on with the pointing and rapping until the word “sister” had been spelled.

“Oh, my.” Her jaw dropping, the elderly woman shifted in her seat.

“Don’t say anything more. Write the name of your sister on one of the small pieces of paper in front of you as well as four other names on four separate pieces. Then we will see if she is truly your sister.”

The woman dipped a pen into a glass inkbottle and wrote, one after another, on five pieces of paper. Mrs. Fielding and the other sitters watched intently. Anna had risen quietly from her stupor and was standing again. Turning her face toward the table to give the appearance of looking at the old woman, Izzie cast her eyes to the side to study Anna.

From her position, Anna could definitely see the papers the woman in blue was writing on and, although Anna had to be too far away to read them, she could at least identify which paper had been written on first.

“Now mix them up and hold one up at a time so only you can see it,” Mrs. Fielding said.

She lifted up the first paper. Silence. The second. Silence. On the third paper, Anna crossed her arms over her waist. Three raps from the table. Was the arm crossing a signal to someone?

“Yes. That’s right. My sister is Susan.” The woman looked at Mrs. Fielding, then at the paper to verify again, then closed her eyes. “Is Timothy with you my dear?”

Three raps.

“Are you—” Before her question was finished, Mrs. Fielding’s right arm started to fly about spasmodically over the table, apparently with a will of its own. Using her other hand to control the flying one, she picked up a pen. She wrote rapidly, reading along in a croaky voice.

Do not be afraid. Do not be lonely, sister. Stay out of the kitchen. There is no danger around you, only sweetness. Many of us wait for you over here.

Susan

Mrs. Fielding’s arms flapped like restless bird wings before finally coming to rest. All were hushed for some time while the old woman cried and Mrs. Fielding composed herself.

“My sister and I always fought about who was going to cook. She hated my cooking. Do you think that’s what she means about the kitchen?” Her chest caved and she drew a handkerchief from her lap and held it over her mouth.

Mrs. Fielding nodded. “I haven’t had a spirit possess me for writing in a long time. Your sister was insistent.”

“Susan.” A woman’s warbly voice spoke.

Izzie glanced at the faces around the table. No one moved.

“Which one said that?” Izzie whispered into Clara’s ear.

“What?” Clara lifted her face up a bit and breathed in.

“Susan. Which one said Susan?”

“No one.”

“Yes. Someone said Susan.”

Clara shook her head. Izzie would ask Papa later. Surely he heard it.

Five

A FEW DAYS AFTER OBSERVING THE SPIRIT CIRCLE, Clara sat quietly at the dining table at the boardinghouse with Izzie and Euphora, Mrs. Purcell, and the two spinster boarders Mary and Jane Carter. They were waiting for supper to begin, but were delaying because Billy and Papa weren’t there. Mrs. Purcell, who always sat at the head of the table nearest the kitchen, glanced at Billy’s and Papa’s empty seats. Clara was sure her twin was out with some chums getting into trouble and Papa, even though he was skunk drunk when he told her, said he was going traveling on business.