CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
The lady who had spoken to Leona wore large sapphires hanging from her lobes and a fox stole; the creature’s glass eyes glittered in the candlelight.
Mr. Ahlstrom, sitting across from her, was an older man dressed in a tuxedo.
He smelled of tobacco, whiskey, and bay rum.
The man seated beside him, with Mrs. Drew on his right, winked at Leona in the avuncular way of the aged.
Mr. Keene, an elderly man with the palest skin, his brown eyes bright, had an air of expectation.
A halo of sparse white hair surrounded his head.
She gleaned from the conversation he owned several breweries in Brooklyn.
“But Mr. Van Wyn isn’t here?” Millie asked in a soft, babyish voice. “I had a special message for him.” She turned to Jesper. “It came to me in a dream. A beautiful angel was waiting for him.”
The group whispered their appreciation.
“Dear Daphne,” Mrs. Vanderveen said with a deep sigh. “At least she is with her beloved husband and brave sons now.”
Leona gritted her teeth.
“Ah, my darling girl,” Jesper said to his wife. “Mr. Van Wyn could not make it tonight. However, Mrs. St. James has joined our little circle.”
Millie nodded to Leona. “Welcome, Mrs. St. James.”
Leona nodded in return, her stomach churning.
Jesper placed the handkerchief and letter opener in front of her. She put her hands on the items and closed her eyes. The circle hushed.
“Let us begin,” Jesper said in a solemn tone.
The seekers on each side of Leona grasped her hands. A brief prayer followed. Jesper pushed aside Leona’s objects to slip paper and pencil beneath Millie’s left hand. She gripped the pencil, her hand moving to the paper. The gold bracelets on her arm jangled and scraped the table as she wrote.
“We call upon the spirit of Mr. John St. James,” Jesper intoned. “His wife seeks him in the Otherworld.”
Uneasy anticipation rippled through the group.
Mrs. Vanderveen squeezed Leona’s hand in her excitement.
Mr. Ahlstrom leaned closer to see what Millie was writing.
Her hand moved in small widening circles, her progress growing more rapid.
Millie’s hand slipped off the paper and onto the table.
The pencil stuttered over the tablecloth until Jesper put another page beneath her hand.
“What does it say?” Leona asked. “I am breathless with anticipation.”
“Well. Ahem.” Jesper gave an embarrassed cough and held up the page.
Mrs. Vanderveen looked askance at Leona. Amidst the scrawling, intertwining circles, Millie had printed the word LIAR.
“This is not Mr. St. James.” Leona stood, as if she were about to rush out of the room. They were all staring at her with avid expressions. “He would not speak to me so.”
“No, it’s Millie’s guardian spirit. Sit down, Mrs. St. James. Sometimes dear Khepri can be very literal. You aren’t actually breathless, are you, my dear?”
Leona forced out a laugh as she sat back down. “Oh, how funny of the spirit. I see that now.”
“Perhaps the spirit is testing you,” Mr. Ahlstrom suggested. “It takes time for them to get comfortable with us.”
“I believe Mr. Ahlstrom is correct.” Mr. Frost placed a fresh piece of paper beneath Millie’s hand. “And other spirits eager to speak with us are coming closer.”
“Does anyone else have a question?” Mrs. Drew asked. “Mr. Keene, you were asking about your wife’s brother last week? Whether you could trust the financial advice he had given you?”
The evening gave way to Millie, or the spirit named Khepri, answering a flurry of questions about family and business dealings.
Millie said nothing about the fictional husband’s will.
Leona concluded this was because they hadn’t been able to find out who Elmira St. James was yet.
Had Frost or Millie accused her of lying to test her?
And was Millie involved in this dupery or yet another victim?
Millie’s hand stilled. Two deep shudders ran through her body, and she slumped forward with a sigh.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Vanderveen whispered. “They’re coming.”
“Who?” Leona asked.
“Our beloved spirits,” she answered, anticipation in her eyes.
The candle flames bent in the cool breeze blowing across the table and touching their hands. Some murmured at the uncomfortable sensation a moment before cymbals clashed and a drum snapped out a wild beat.
“Don’t break the circle!” Jesper admonished.
Leona struggled to keep focused on Jesper and Millie, but the candlelight had softened her will.
She’d fallen into a dream, floating away as if the cacophony separated her from herself.
Was there something in the tea? She knew human hands played the instruments, but she couldn’t see how they accomplished the trick. Was it coming from the spirit cabinet?
“Don’t be afraid, Mrs. St. James.” Jesper Frost’s voice reached her from a distance.
She grabbed hold of it to keep the sounds from overwhelming her.
The strains of a faraway fiddle intruded, growing louder. The fiddle appeared in the air before them, sawing out a familiar tune. Tom Perley had played it around the campfire—
Soldier’s Joy. Yes. Whiskey, beer, and opium to take the pain of the world away.
“Are the spirits too much for you?” Mrs. Drew asked her.
“The spirits are quite tuneful,” Leona said, raising her voice above the noise. “I’m still hoping to speak to my husband. Does this happen every time? Couldn’t they—queue up or something?”
The song insinuated itself within her, wrapping around her soul like branches in the laurel hells she’d fought her way through. Leona broke out into a sweat, her hands slippery on the knife—no, that was then, not now. God, not now.
Her breath coming hard, Leona gasped. “Could someone open a window?” Her heart bashed about her chest like a bird trapped in a cage.
“It’s the spirits!” Mrs. Vanderveen cried out. “They wish to speak through Mrs. St. James. Just let it happen, dear, it only hurts if you fight.”
Jesper Frost apparently took his cue from this, approaching Leona as she struggled for breath, her heart reverberating through her.
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I knew she has the potential to make a fine medium.” He squeezed so hard she shouted from the pain of it.
“Let them in, Elmira, they won’t hurt you. ”
Two cats and one mouse. They run, jump, and hide around the stands of scrub oak and the skinny pines competing for sun and air.
The gloom is palpable and poisonous. She splashes into a shallow creek with water so foul smelling, she doesn’t dare drink it, even though her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth.
As the gloom shifts, Leona sees Tom by a stand of trees scratching his head.
He is looking up the holler and back over his shoulder like he’s lost. She crouches behind an outcropping of rocks to watch what he does next.
She had double-backed to track them one at a time and somehow caught up to them.
Grabbed from behind and thrown into the deeper part of the water, she shouts before going under.
Red. He must have double-backed behind her—how could she be so stupid?
She comes up fighting, but he shoves her face first into the water and won’t let her up.
She’s holding her breath, but she needs air.
The ache in her chest pushes up through her throat.
The need to breathe comes bursting out. She swallows dank water, crunches grit, bugs, and twigs in her teeth.
She fights, she fights...she lets him think he’s won, that he’s drowned her, and goes limp.
He lets go of her and turns his back to shout to Tom he’s kilt the damn spying Yank.
She grabs hold of a rock, jumps up, and hits him with everything she’s got left.
He goes down, into the creek. She’s dragging air into her lungs as fast as she can, her heart pumping too hard, her ears ringing.
Tom comes for her.
She pulls her knife, and he stops.
She pants out the words, “I don’t want to die here. I bet you don’t either.”
He holds out his hand, the other behind him. “Just gimme the papers you stole, boy. I’ll let you go.”
She can’t believe him. “I won’t do that.”
Leona takes a staggering step back. He comes two steps forward.
The stamina the army trained her body for with long marches is returning.
Her breaths and the fast pump of her heart slow.
Energy flows to legs and arms. Water drips from her.
It does no good when she tries to wipe the wetness out of her eyes with her soaking sleeve.
The knife is slippery in her hand, so she grips it tighter.
“Mrs. St. James?”
Darkness lay about her. Cold liquid trickled down her face. When she put up a hand to wipe at it, she found a wet cloth across her brow. She pried open her eyes to see Millie Frost sitting in a chair beside her, looking sad and concerned.
“The spirits are cruel sometimes, Mrs. St. James. We can teach you to tame them and get them to cooperate.”
“Is there water?” Leona asked, her throat parched.
She pushed herself up. Mrs. Frost put out a hand to help her. The wet cloth fell into her lap, and the woman moved it away. She returned shortly with a tumbler of water.
She handed it to Leona. “The circle is broken. Mrs. Drew sent them all away.”
Leona took a deep swallow. Then another before she dared speak again.
“How long have I been—?” She struggled for the words to describe the state of dreaming of past events while awake.
Like standing on a threshold and beholding two rooms at once.
Not only seeing into both rooms, but acting in them at the same time.
“Only an hour. You thrashed about and shouted nonsense. My husband urged you to let the spirits in. But the spirits don’t seem to your taste, Mrs. St. James. Or perhaps you are not to theirs. And then you fainted.”
“Merciful heavens.” Leona never fainted. She rubbed her damp brow and neatened the stray strands of hair she found there.
“My husband would like you to come back and start your training in mediumship right away. For your own safety.”
Well, well. “What do you think I should do, Mrs. Frost?”
Mrs. Frost smiled warmly at her, taking her hand, her plain face transformed.
“I think you will make a wonderful medium. And all your cares just drop away once you find purpose in helping those who are grieving for their lost ones.” She gazed into Leona’s eyes.
“It’s my fondest hope we will become friends. ”
A knock at the front door made her let go of Leona’s hand. “Who can that be?” Mrs. Frost stood, listening to the voices of Mrs. Drew and the newcomer. “Oh, it’s Mr. Van Wyn. What can he want at this hour?”
Not out of town then, just hiding from his wife. Alarmed, Leona searched for her hat, veil, and green-tinted glasses. “What time is it? I must get home to my mother. Where is my dratted hat? My cane?”
“It’s half past nine. And you’re sitting on your hat. The cane is at your feet.”
Leona pulled the crumpled hat and veil out from under her. “So late! She’ll be anxious.”
“I’ll fetch you a cab. I’ll be back in a few moments.” Mrs. Frost hurried from the room.
Was her solicitation an act or the real thing? Would someone from this infernal household follow her home?
A door banged somewhere in the house, and Leona flinched.
Well, that won’t do, old girl, get moving . She adjusted the hat and veil. Her coat was lying across a nearby chair, along with her reticule.
Raised voices drew her to the door of the séance parlor and compelled her to follow the sound.
She was still on the second floor. Taking her coat and reticule in hand, she crept down the stairs and into the hall, the raised voices getting louder.
A partially open door spilled a small amount of light onto the carpet.
The voices appeared to be coming from the library.
Leona crept closer and leaned against the wall.
Indeed, she recognized Benedict Van Wyn’s voice and the smooth tones of Jesper Frost.
“Surely, we can come to some agreement?” Van Wyn asked in a wheedling tone.
“The terms are not yours to negotiate.” Jesper’s voice held a sharp edge, weary with arguing, perhaps. “We are not in partnership.”
“My wife suspects,” Van Wyn complained. “Though she does not realize what the truth is yet.”
“It’s only money,” Jesper responded nastily. “Tell her you are paying gambling debts.”
“Well, she would say you have made a good husband of me at last. I do not go out except to come here and pay you.”
Jesper laughed.
“Damned extortionist. Why did I ever follow my grandmother to this place?”
“The lovely blue-eyed blonde kept you coming back.”
“Panderer,” Van Wyn grumbled.
It felt a familiar argument, a worn ritual between them.
Say her name, damn you .
“I made a deal with a devil.” Van Wyn groaned. “I will never be forgiven.”
Geneva would make him pay more than the false spiritualist. But was that all? This could not have been the first time he’d strayed. Or was there something much worse the pair had not spoken of?
“Mrs. St. James!” Millie Frost called out. “I’ve found you a hackney to take you home.”
“Another foolish gull.” Van Wyn snorted. “I’m only surprised no one has ridden themselves of your rotten influence. Permanently.”
Jesper laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”