Unhappy Medium (8 page)

Another low doorway.

I hope this isn’t one of those prankster ghosts,
I thought, ducking through the gap where she had gone.
She might be trying to show me the way, but she might just as well be trying to get me more lost.
For all I knew the girl had died in the labyrinth, and was looking for some eternal company.

Now she was at the far end of the leafy corridor. She squealed as she caught sight of me, as if thrilled to have gotten me
in the game. When she moved off, I tailed her again. This time there was no low doorway, but an optical illusion of flat hedge
that on closer examination was one wall just in front of another one. You would really have to know it was there to push between
the two walls, but once there it was obvious there was a small path.

I could no longer see the girl but could still hear her laughing. There was only one way to go now, doubling back down another
short path. When I reached the end, I came out into an open, circular space. At its center was a stone bench, and someone
was sitting on it.

But it wasn’t the redheaded girl.

“Oh! How did you get in here?”

It was a woman about my mother’s age, with brown hair in a “sensible” short cut. She was holding a book, and wearing faded
jeans and a denim shirt with a Whispering Pines employee badge. Definitely alive and breathing.

“I don’t really know,” I said. “I got turned around. I’m sorry — am I not supposed to be here?”

The woman closed her book and stood up.

“No, it’s fine, really,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve never had a guest find their way here before. This is an annex of
the main labyrinth — sort of a Mountain House secret. There’s a hidden entrance off one of the main passages that leads away
from the regular path. I come here to read sometimes.”

“I’ll go back,” I said, though I had significant doubts I could do so without the little girl’s help.

“No, come take a load off,” the woman said, patting the stone bench next to her. “I’ve read this book before, anyway. Besides,
you might not find your way out. The main labyrinth is pretty idiotproof, but you can really get lost in the annex.”

Relieved, I sat down next to her. Something about her reminded me of my mother, with the exception of the “mom” haircut.

“I’m Kat,” I said. “Room 505.”

“Alex,” she said. “Accounting and Reservations.”

We grinned at each other, and my feeling of liking her was reinforced. Though I’m the most sensitive to dead people, sometimes
I get feelings about living people, too. My gut was telling me that Alex was good people.

“I’m actually relieved to see you,” Alex said. “I was sitting here reading and I thought I heard a laugh from just on the
other side of the hedge there. Started wondering if I was hearing things, or I’d read one too many of my Spiritualist books.”

Interesting,
I thought. Alex must be somewhat sensitive, spirit-wise, to have heard that laugh. Because it hadn’t come from me.

“Spiritualist books?” I asked.

She showed me the cover of the book in her hands. The title was
The Spiritualists in America.

“I’ve always been fascinated with this period in history,” Alex said. “Especially the Spiritualists. Plus there’s a link to
the Mountain House, so it’s doubly cool. That’s actually how I got interested in the Spiritualists, because of this place.
Do you know about them?”

I didn’t respond, but kept an open, curious expression on my face so that she’d keep talking.

“Probably not — I guess it’s a pretty obscure topic these days. They were sort of the first mediums in this country. One of
them lived at the Mountain House for a time.”

I loved that Alex was giving no disclaimers. I also loved that the red-haired girl had led me directly to someone else that
might know something about Madame Serena.

“I know a little bit about them,” I said. “There was this guy who worked here, actually one of
the
Mountain House family, la-dee-dah and all that, who started telling me about the Spiritualists. But he was really condescending
about it, you know, all ‘how stupid is this’ and everything. I wanted to throttle him. So, I never really got the story. Something
about the Foxes?”

Alex had been giving me a lopsided smile while I talked, but now she broke into a full grin.

“The Fox sisters. I think I’ve read everything ever written about them. Maggie and Katy started contacting spirits in the
1840s when they were barely into their teens. At first, only their family knew about it, but word spread, and friends and
neighbors starting dropping by. They would ask questions, and these loud knocking and rapping sounds would answer them, always
using the two girls as conduits. Maggie figured out a way to ask the spirits yes and no questions and translate the responses.
Nobody could find any explanation for how this was happening. People came up with all kinds of tests, making the girls stand
on boxes or holding their hands during the raps. No one could even produce a theory as to how a teenage girl could create
a sound like that on demand. Everybody agreed the sisters were the real deal. They were contacting spirits.

“Word spread like wildfire. Thousands of people witnessed Maggie and Katy’s spirit communications. Before long they were celebrities,
not just in America but in Europe, too. A huge community followed them, and other mediums stepped forward. And that’s how
the Spiritualist movement was born, and Maggie Fox was its leader. Until one day, in 1888 — that’s after forty years of working
as a world-renowned medium, mind you — Maggie suddenly went public and claimed her entire career had been an elaborate hoax.”

“What?” I cried.

Alex nodded.

“I know, right? Well, Maggie claimed it had all started as a prank, after she and Katy found that they could crack the bones
in their feet to make loud popping sounds. She said they invented a story about a murdered peddler in their house, then told
their parents as a joke, and ‘contacted’ the peddler to make it scary. When their friends and neighbors started filing in
to witness what was going on, their older sister Leah encouraged them to keep doing it. I’m guessing she smelled money.

“Anyway, practically before they knew it half the country had heard of the Fox sisters and the famous ‘spook house’ where
they lived. Maggie and Katy started holding public séances and charging for them. The money poured in, and soon they were
supporting the entire family. Maggie kept on doing so for forty years. Until all at once she apparently felt compelled to
come forward and tell the world it had all been an act — a lie.”

I shook my head.

“But why would she do that? You said people tried to prove she was faking, and no one could,” I said.

Alex nodded.

“To this day I guess no one really knows for certain why she did it. The whole Spiritualist community was just devastated
by her announcement. It made front-page headlines all over the country, and everyone took Maggie’s statement to mean that
all of Spiritualism was a lie — that all the people earning livings as mediums were basically criminals. It created this massive
shockwave throughout the country.

“The thing is, there were some mediums who actually were fakers. There was a very famous one named Madame Diss De Barr, who
rigged up these elaborate mechanisms to simulate spirits, and she got caught doing it. I think that was right around the time
of Maggie’s announcement. And the crazy thing is, Maggie didn’t stop there. A year later just as the storm was dying down,
she was in the headlines again. This time she claimed she’d been the real thing all along, and her claim of it all being a
hoax was a lie. But … there’s so much more about her that plays into it. If you’re interested in her, I have a little
biography of her I could lend you.”

I nodded.

“But what do you think? Which was the truth? I mean, you’ve read so much about them and everything. Do you think Maggie was
faking … or …”

Alex gave me another crooked grin.

“Or was she faking that she was faking?” she finished my question for me.

I nodded again.

“I can’t deny I have a theory about that,” Alex said. “But you should decide for yourself. If you’re interested.”

“Oh, I am!” I said quickly. “I mean, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

“Tell you what,” Alex said. “I’ll leave the book in an envelope at the front desk with your room number on it. It’s really
short — not even a hundred pages. And there are bits about other mediums you can skip if you want. Just skim through it, and
see what you think.”

“I will,” I said eagerly. I almost asked her if we could go and get the book right away. I had time to kill, now that Jac
and I were fighting. Plus the clouds had gotten much darker. A raindrop landed on the stone bench between us.

“Here it comes,” Alex said. “We’d better go before the skies open. Up here on the mountain, the weather can go from zero to
eighty in three seconds flat.”

She got up and headed for a spot in the hedge. Even now, I couldn’t tell where the gap was where I’d entered the circle. But
Alex knew, and she was moving fast, and I made sure to keep up.

She trotted at a brisk pace, making sudden turns, ducking under the low doorways that didn’t seem to be there until she disappeared
through them. I looked over my shoulder a few times, and once I thought I caught a glimpse of a white skirt. I sent a silent
“Thank you” in the direction of the little girl. She was clearly happiest staying right where she was, in the heart of the
garden maze.

In about half the time it took me to get in, we were standing outside the labyrinth. Fat raindrops had started falling.

“You better sprint for it,” Alex said. “I’ve got to run to the parking lot and close the windows in my car. I’ll leave the
book for you. Remember to look for it.”

“I will, definitely!” I said. “Thanks, Alex.”

She smiled and nodded, and just before I turned to bolt for the Mountain House my eye dropped to her name tag.

It read Alex Kenyon. Of the Whispering Pines Kenyons, I presumed. I winced with embarrassment as I turned, remembering what
I’d said about Ted.

Lah-dee-DUH.

I tried to put my embarrassing statements out of my mind as I dashed into the hotel, but I couldn’t help dwelling on it. Alex
probably thought I was making fun of the whole Kenyon family, when I was really just making fun of Ted. Although I didn’t
know which was worse. What an idiot I was.

Earlier in the day I’d glimpsed a big reading room on the main floor, with armchairs and a fireplace. I could think of worse
things to do than curl up with a good book near a roaring fire on a rainy afternoon, and it might take my mind off my faux
pas with Alex. I decided to go up to my room and get one of the novels I’d packed.

When I got to the fifth-floor hallway, I could see that there was something leaning up against my door. It was a large black
book with an envelope taped to the front. I picked it up, unlocked my door, and went inside. I sat on my bed, pulled the envelope
off the book, and took out the card inside.

Dear Kat,

I looked your name up in the register to find your room number. I hope thatís okay. I wanted to apologize for my rudeness
last night. You were absolutely right to be angry with me. What I said was thoughtless and patronizing, and truth be told
it was not even representative of my real beliefs on the subject. I hope that youíll accept my apology.

I took the liberty of pulling the scrapbook I mentioned to you, the volume that contains information on Madame Serena. Our
hotel scrapbooks have been or ga nized by year, and in this volume youíll find all of what has been preserved in connection
with Madame Serena. I hope it is helpful to you.

Yours sincerely,

Ted Kenyon

I read the note through a second time. I was surprised by it, because after last night I was sure I’d seen the last of Ted
Kenyon. However obnoxious he’d been, it said something about him that he’d taken the trouble to find my room and write a note
of apology. And more, that he’d gotten the scrapbook for me. Impressive.

I put the note aside, stretched out on my bed, and opened the scrapbook. It was chock- full of newspaper clippings and photographs
from the year 1888.

The Mountain House had added a wing and built the labyrinth in 1888, and many of the first newspaper articles and photographs
documented that. There were faded, handwritten letters in elegant writing from guests, thanking the Mountain House for their
wonderful stays. There was a dinner menu, which revealed that every night when they dined, men were expected to wear black
tie and women evening dress.

I almost forgot about Madame Serena as I pored over the old photographs. Though more additions had been built onto the hotel
since then, much of what was pictured looked very similar to the way it was now. I squinted at a photograph of an elegant
family posing at the very boat dock where Jac and I had just parted. Except for the formal Victorian clothing, the picture
could have been taken yesterday.

I turned the page and took a quick breath in as a very familiar face appeared. There was Madame Serena, turban and all. It
was a newspaper clipping from May of 1888. The headline read
Spiritualist Movement Reaches Whispering Pines with the Arrival of Medium Madame Serena.
There was a short article stating that Madame Serena would be coming to take up residence at the Mountain House for an indefinite
period of time, during which she would make her abilities available to the general public for a modest fee.

On the next page there was a small ad featuring Madame Serena looking mystical and ethereal in her turban. If this was all
Ted had to go on when it came to judging mediums, maybe it wasn’t so surprising he thought mocking them was the safest bet.
Madame Serena, from my twenty-first-century perspective, did look a bit silly. I smiled at her picture, though. For all her
theatrical ways and her deaf insistence on calling me Simple Cat, I kind of liked her.