We Hear the Dead (6 page)

“I will be a few years older, in a few years,” I quipped.

“A fair warning,” he remarked, turning to check the horses on the carriage team.

“You weren't at the house last night, then?”

“No, I was not.”

“You haven't heard the rapping at all, have you?”

“No, sadly, I have not.”

I took a breath. “Mr. Duesler said you will not go to hear the rapping, because then you would have to admit it was real. He said that you are going to write about the people of Hydesville as if we were superstitious bumpkins and make fun of us all.”

Mr. Lewis fiddled with the harness for another moment, then turned to face me. “That is not true. I plan on writing about Mr. Duesler and every person I have met here with the utmost respect. But you are correct. I have avoided going to the house to hear the rapping for myself. I came here as a recorder, not as a witness. If I hear the haunting for myself, then I will form my own opinion, and that will cause me to write with bias. I have listened; I have taken down the stories of those who experienced these events. I believe that these people have been unable to solve the mystery of these noises, and that is what I plan to write about.”

“You haven't taken my story.” The words passed my lips before I could even think of holding them back.

“Miss Margaretta,” he smiled. “I can't take
your
story.”

I suddenly felt all the breath leave my body. Did he know?

“What do you mean?” I asked in a voice that was nothing but air.

Mr. Lewis looked down on me, and I suddenly felt all the flirtation leave the conversation. “You have to understand, this is how I make my living. I plan on making money from the publication of this story. But I hope that I have enough virtue in me that I refuse to make money by publishing the name of an underage girl.”

“But my name is already in your book. I heard my mother and Mrs. Redfield tell their stories. I was there on the night this started. My name is already part of the story.”

Mr. Lewis made a slight grimace. “That is the only thing I have changed in their stories. Otherwise, I will quote them word for word.”

“What did you change?”

“Your name. I have taken it out. Yours and your sister's and your niece Lizzie's.”

I shook my head. “I don't understand.”

“I've removed your names,” he explained, “wherever they appeared. You'll be grateful later, when you are grown. It is not appropriate to print the names of underage girls in a publication about spirits and hauntings. It would not be a gentlemanly thing for me to do.” Mr. Lewis vaulted up into the driver's seat of the carriage. I stepped back and took a fresh look at him.

“You removed my name,” I repeated, just to make sure.

“It was the right thing to do,” he said. And he bowed to me from his seat, shook the reins, and clicked at the horses. The carriage jerked forward while I stood alongside, staring up at him, with my father somewhere behind me devouring his meal in total oblivion.

***

That afternoon, I cornered Kate in a private spot. She had been pestering me for days with ideas to enliven and expand our prank, and I had, for the most part, discouraged her. Now, however, I was irritated enough with Mr. Lewis to take a bold risk. “Do you remember when you wanted to call yourself a ‘medium' for the spirits?” I hissed. “Let's talk about that again.”

Maggie

I learned an important lesson that spring. People can view the same events and interpret them in completely different ways. For example, I thought that I was an important part of the manifestations that occurred in the Hydesville house that year, but Mr. E. E. Lewis thought that I was an irrelevant girl who was best left out of his account of those events. In addition, I thought that through my own cleverness I had convinced an entire town that a certain house was haunted, but my sister believed that she had proved her ability to communicate with the dead. In the end, it was a matter of perspective that was perhaps too complex for me to grasp.

When Kate first suggested that we continue the rapping outside of the Hydesville house, I refused to cooperate. It seemed clear to me that if we rapped outside of the house, we would soon be caught in the act. However, Kate insisted that people already suspected it was our gift of second sight that made communication with the spirit possible. I admit I was easier to convince when I was angry with Mr. Lewis. He had already left town, having gathered the sworn certificates of dozens of witnesses. I promised myself that he would soon return when he learned it was the girl rather than the house that was haunted, but I was wrong. I never met Mr. Lewis again, although he did indeed publish his pamphlet. As promised, it did not include my name or Kate's, but by the time it was printed, our notoriety was already ensured.

When the rapping first descended upon the Fox family farm, a day of chaos and confusion ensued. I distinctly recall Lizzie clasping her hands to her ears and crying, “I won't hear it! I won't hear it!” My poor sister-in-law, Betsy, fell into a state of collapse, sobbing that no one had been murdered in
her
house. The peddler's bones fell under blame, and David ran the box out of the house and into the barn for temporary storage. For my part, I regretted my actions almost at once, out of pity and fear for Betsy. I was afraid she would lose the baby, and this was something I did not intend and for which I would not forgive myself.

Through it all, Kate was a center of calmness and serenity, with her hands folded placidly and her voice firmly stating, “I don't think it is the same rapping. I am sure it is not the same spirit at all.”

Of course, it absolutely was the same rapping, caused by the same source, and yet Kate's continued insistence that it sounded different eventually had an effect on the listeners, and they agreed that the sound was not identical to the one heard in the Hydesville house. This surprised me, for I had not yet come to understand the magnificent power of suggestion that would play a role in our future deceptions.

David asked if the spirit would rap for the alphabet, and two knocks were heard for yes. Painstakingly and patiently, David spelled out the alphabet, waiting for a rap to confirm each letter, until the following message was revealed:
We are all your dear friends and relatives.

This caused another commotion, resulting in David taking his wife to her brother's house, where she could rest in peace, away from the rapping. Before he left, he argued with Mother about the new noises.

“Your sister has the gift,” I heard Mother tell him.

“Now, Mother, don't talk superstitious nonsense,” David hushed her.

“Superstitious nonsense!” my mother sputtered indignantly. “Did you not just recite the alphabet for a ghost? My grandmother had the second sight—”

“Yes, so you've told us,” David interjected. “I've heard the stories.”

“Stories! Is that what you think? But surely you remember your aunt Elizabeth!”

“Certainly I remember her—vaguely—but whether or not she actually prophesied her own death…”

Mother gasped. “Do you think I don't know whether or not my own sister had the sight?”

“Perhaps, but I am just as sure that
my
sister does not!” David stared her down stubbornly.

“Then how do you explain all that has happened here this month—and today, here at this house?”

“I don't know, Mother. But there must be an explanation, an explanation that is based on science we don't yet understand. Perhaps in twenty years we will laugh at how ignorant we were today. Perhaps spirit communication will be as commonplace as the post. Think how we marveled at the telegraph only a couple of years ago!” Mother continued to glare at David, with her hands on her hips. He dropped his voice, and I had to strain to hear him continue. “This is not what I want for Kate, or Maggie. Do not give them this reputation. I want to see them married into good families and happy. You must not jeopardize that!”

I was touched by his protectiveness. David, fourteen years older than I and nearly seventeen years older than Kate, was almost a father to us. As for my real father, he packed his own lunch and walked out to the new house that day, turning his back on the rapping for the last time. The new house was partially under roof, and Father moved in immediately, preferring the frigid April wind to living in a house with spirits. Mother never commented on his desertion, and although the house would be finished within a month's time, neither she nor Kate or I ever lived in it as anything more than a guest.

It would be wrong to say that we did not think about him or miss him. But Father's absence did not trouble us greatly.

In spite of David's protests, it did not take long for people to find out that the rapping had followed us to the farm and was heard only in the presence of the two youngest Fox daughters. Mrs. Redfield was soon included in my mother's confidence—and then Mrs. Jewell and Mrs. Duesler. Every evening Mother lit a candle in David's parlor, drew the curtains and closed the door, and then the ladies waited eagerly for rappings from the spirit world. Kate and I sat together on the settee, holding hands, smiling indulgently as the spirits rapped yes and no to questions about their heavenly reward.

It is difficult to justify our deception of these people. We had taken over David and Betsy's house and their life. We had driven a wedge between our parents. We had lied to good people, who had never shown us anything but kindness, and pretended that we had messages for them from beyond the veil of life. Some people might say these were wicked acts. And yet there was never any wickedness intended.

***

The excitement of the spirit circle truly infatuated me, and I know this was true also for Kate. In these early spirit circles, we did not dare masquerade as our companions' dead relatives. When pressed by our visitors with the question “Who are you?” we spelled out the answer “many,” indicating that several combined spirits contributed to the rappings. We kept to the religious doctrines we knew, and confirmed the rewards of heaven to those souls who kept the faith.

There was no attempt made by the ladies to discover any explanation for the rapping, nor did they ever show any sign of disbelief. I think we were made bold by this simple faith, and thus were unprepared for the scrutiny that would fall upon us later. In fact, Kate and I passed that time in a kind of euphoria, having fallen under the spell of our own artifice.

So well treated were we at the hands of these ladies that we were totally unprepared for what happened the evening that Mr. Duesler came to see David, toting a shotgun in each hand.

He came quickly to the point, not being a man to mince words. “I have received some alarming news. There are a group of men from southern Arcadia who have risen in arms and are coming here tonight.”

“My God,” David gasped. “What for?”

“It has to do with the Hydesville house. There has been a great deal of talk about what happened there, especially since that man from Canandaigua was here taking certificates from everyone. David, it's because your sister called the spirit Mr. Splitfoot. That smacks of witchcraft in their eyes. And then you dug up bones from the house, and they are saying that your family has raised the devil from the earth of the cellar.”

“That's ridiculous!” David burst out.

“Don't I know it?” Mr. Duesler replied in some distress. “But these are superstitious folk, and they take such things seriously. It is very unfortunate that your sister called the spirit Splitfoot, and I take responsibility for repeating the story. I thought it was amusing, and I never imagined that there might be violence.”

“I know some of these men, I'm sure,” David said mildly. “I have had business dealings in Arcadia. There is nothing to fear.”

Mr. Duesler shook his head, and there was a nervous murmur from the women listening. Betsy began to wring her hands, all the color draining from her face, and Lizzie sat down at Mother's feet and put her head in her lap like a child.

“David,” said Mr. Duesler. “I feel partly responsible, because I told this story around town like everyone else. I never meant to bring trouble to your house. But if these people get themselves worked up into a frenzy and accuse you of devilish acts, then I fear for what they might do. I suggest you send the women and the children to a neighbor or relative. They can take my wagon. I will stay and defend the house with you.”

“Bill, I cannot believe there is any danger. I know these men, I tell you. Nothing will happen.” David turned around and looked at each of the women. “Nothing will happen. I pledge my word.”

“Nonetheless,” said Mr. Duesler. “I will stay the night with you.”

Darkness fell, and we all waited on pins and needles inside the house, listening for the sound of voices, horses, or worst of all, the crackling of flames.

Eventually the expected visitors arrived. We all ran to the front of the house, and from the windows we could see the lit torches and the movement of bodies on the road. Betsy and Lizzie ran to get the babies from their beds, and I pulled Kate close and whispered fiercely in her ear, “We have to tell the truth! We have to tell them we faked it all!”

Kate was pale and shaking. “They'll not believe us now.”

Mr. Duesler had brought his shotguns, and now he tried to hand one to David. But my brother shook his head. “I don't want that.”

“Don't be a fool!” hissed Mr. Duesler. “You need to defend your family!”

“It will be a sorry day when I cannot do that with reason and good judgment alone,” replied David. Then he took hold of the handle to the front door, threw it open, and stepped out onto the porch to face the men.

They were armed. I could see the glint of shotguns in their hands. Some held torches, which could easily set the farmhouse ablaze. Through the window, we saw David stride confidently across the porch and down the steps to meet them. My mother pressed her hand to her mouth, and Betsy sobbed, caught between watching her husband through the window and running out the back door with her children.

We heard David's voice ring out: “Gentlemen! Welcome. I understand you have some questions for us regarding events that happened in Hydesville. I would be happy to address these matters with you.”

There was a murmur among the crowd, and a voice shouted out, “We heard there are witches and the devil in your house!”

“No, sir!” David called out. “Just my family—my mother, my wife, and my sisters, who are a bit frightened by your presence. Surely you have some daughters or sisters, and you can appreciate how they might feel if approached in the night by armed men with torches! I would ask you to lay those aside, and then you may search my house if you will. I can assure you that you will find nothing unnatural or sacrilegious here. I did find some bones in the Hydesville house, and I suspect there may have been a murder there some years back. I haven't been able to prove it or pinpoint how long they have lain there.”

“Dave Fox?” someone spoke out loudly from the crowd. “Is that you?”

“Yes, sir! Ned Burns, is it?”

“Why, I didn't know it was
you
they have said so much about!”

David laughed lightly. “Yes, I am afraid it is me. We've been very busy here, and I haven't been out to see you about that cow like I said I would.”

One man stepped forward, holding his torch up to illuminate his own face, and using his shotgun like a walking stick. “I wondered what had kept you!”

“Will you search the house, Ned?” asked David, as though he were inviting the man in for tea.

“No, we won't come in. We'll come back in daylight, properly, as God-fearin' men ought to. No need to disturb your family now. Come on, men! That's Dave Fox, I tell you. He's all right, by God.”

And with no other prompting, the crowd vanished back into the darkness, their lit torches dwindling to the size of fireflies in the night. David turned and strode back into the house, walking past Mr. Duesler and his shotguns without a word, having defended his house and family with nothing more than his amiable personality.

In the morning, only one man returned. David brought the box of bones out of the barn. The man poked and prodded the sad little display, commiserated with David on the unlikelihood of proving a crime with such inadequate evidence, and then departed without burning the house down. Thus, the first occasion in which the rapping was denounced as witchcraft ended as quickly as it began, and without violence.

Chastened by our near collision with superstitious zealotry, Mother suggested that we suspend the spirit meetings for a time. Which is why we were surprised to hear a wagon approach the house the next evening around dinnertime. Although the immediate fear had subsided, none of us had quite relaxed yet. We were half prepared to hear that the crowd of agitators had returned or that another group of townspeople had assembled with some demand or accusation. I do not think that any of us were prepared for the new fright actually descending upon us.

“What in the Sam Hill has been going on in this house?”

The voice rang out as clear and precise as a church bell. Lizzie, peeling potatoes in the kitchen beside me, instinctively flinched and hunched her shoulders like a baby bird sinking down into its nest. “Mother!” she whispered hoarsely.