Mediums Rare (3 page)

Kate was sent to the house of an older brother, Margaret to the house of her older sister.

The phenomena continued in both places.

It was especially severe where Margaret was.

Her older sister was exposed to the first recorded “poltergeist” episode in the United States, objects hurled at her, pins stuck into her as she prayed, her cap and combs jerked roughly from her head.

One night, a visiting friend attempted to converse with the rambunctious spirit and, with deafening raps, a message was spelled out: “Dear friends, you must proclaim this truth to the world. This is the dawning of a new era. You must not try to conceal it any longer.”

Margaret Fox recanted in her later years.

She claimed that she and her sister Kate had produced the rappings by cracking their toe joints.

Fminent physiologist and Nobel laureate Charles Richet—who was involved in psychical research for more than thirty years—had this to say about Margaret Fox’s recantation.

“Can we suppose that two children—seven and ten years of age—organized a fraud that succeeded in spite of being tested thousands of times?”

It was a fact that both Fox sisters became alcoholics in their later years. It would have, therefore, been relatively simple for their enemies to persuade them to publicly recent and denounce Spiritualism.

In the year 1904, in what had been the farm house of the Fox family, part of a cellar wall fell down.

Revealing an almost entire human skeleton.

Near the skeleton was the tin box of a peddler.

Following the events at Hydesville, all manner of physical phenomena began to appear across the country.

Spirit voices were heard in séance rooms.

Spirit forms materialized in whole or part.

Spoken and written spirit teachings began to wildfire across America, all attributed to eminent—no longer living, of course—men of the past.

By 1853, it was estimated that there existed, in the state of New York alone, some forty thousand Spiritualists.

Despite widespread denunciation from the press, the movement flourished and continued to grow.

Mediums appeared everywhere and, owing to the ever-mounting demand for sittings, the numbers of professional mediums increased proportionately.

It was not professional mediumship which popularized the cause however.

Table tilting at home became the rage in all parts of the country as well as in England and on the Continent.

Tables tilted and rotated and made all kinds of movements without any signs of visible control, every movement interpreted as evidence of questions answered from “The Other Side.”

Spiritualism, despite attempts to establish it as a form of legiti-mate philosophy, came primarily to designate a religious sect. The doctrine of this sect was that spirits of the dead survive as individual personalities and can be communicated with through persons known as mediums.

It also came to be accepted that these mediums could cure diseases with the aid of so-called Spirit Guides or Controls.

Likewise, it became a conviction among adherents that mediums could counsel their clients on a wide range of personal and practical matters, drawing upon the knowledge of the Spirit World.

Also assumed to be a part of mediumship was clairvoyance (knowledge of hidden or distant events) and the ability to predict the future.

Soon, a wave of fascination regarding Spiritualism spread across the Western world, the number of believers in the new faith mounting to ten million.

Nor were all of these disciples limited to the ranks of the uneducated and credulous. Distinguished men from every walk of life became numbered among its converts. Alfred Russel Wallace, the eminent biologist and, later, Sir William Barrett, Sir William Crookes and Sir Oliver Lodge were among the noted scientists whose names became associated with the cause.

Even a president of the United States.

December 17, 1862
Washington, D.C
.

T
he closed carriage rattled through the darkened, cobble stone streets, inside of it Nettie Colburn and a friend of her: named Mr. Laurie.

Twenty years of age, Nettie was a pretty young woman, attractive to all men who saw her.

Tonight, she would not have drawn a glance, however, unless i: was one of pity, her eyes and nostrils red and swollen from days o: crying.

“Will he help me?” she asked. “
Will
he, Mr. Laurie?”

“I can think of no one else who could help you more,” he replied.

“Yes, but will he?
Will
he?”

Nettie sobbed and dabbed the damp ball of her handkerchie against her sore eyes.

“If my brother isn’t furloughed from that awful hospital, he’ll die. I
know
he’ll die.”

“Shh.” Mr. Laurie took her left hand in both of his and pressed it reassuringly. “Alexandria is not that far away. It is not that difficult a problem to repair.”

“He’s so desperately ill though,” Nettie said. “He must be furloughed home. He
must
be.”

“I understand,” Mr. Laurie replied. “That is why we’re here.”

She nodded, drawing in tremulous breath. “Please God he will help us,” she murmured.

The carriage stopped, her breath catching with alarm.

“We’re
here,”
she whispered.

The carriage door was opened by a soldier who assisted Nettie down to the walkway. Mr. Laurie followed and showed an officer the letter of permission.

The officer nodded and the two were ushered through a doorway on each side of which an armed soldier stood on guard.

Their footsteps made no more than faint clicking sounds in the high-ceilinged corridors through which they were escorted by the soldier.

Nettie Colburn’s face was tense with apprehension as they walked along the dimly lit hallways.

What if he could
not
help her brother? If
he
could not, all hope was lost.

At last, they reached a door which the soldier opened, gesturing for them to enter.

The parlour before them was cheerily lit by oil lamps, firelight and candles.

Nettie was surprised to see, waiting for them, Mr. Laurie’s daughter Mrs. Miller, Mr. Newton and—

Her breath faltered as she caught sight of the small woman standing by the fireplace, looking at her.

His
wife
, she thought. She had not expected to see
her
.

“Good evening, my dear,” said Mrs. Lincoln.

Nettie barely felt Mr. Laurie’s supporting hand on her arm as he guided her into the Red Parlour of the White House.

Mr. Newton, the Secretary of the Interior, stepped forward to greet her, taking both her hands in his. “Miss Colburn,” he said.

He looked concerned. “Your hands are very cold.”

Nettie smiled politely. “Yes, sir. It is cold outside.”

“Come over by the fire, my dear,” Mrs. Lincoln told her.

Nettie did as she was told and Mrs. Lincoln gripped her right hand firmly. “Oh, you
are
cold,” she said, her voice distressed.

She gestured toward the crackling fire and, obediently, Nettie extended the palms of her hands to the pulsing radiations of heat.

“That feels good,” she said with a timid smile.

“You look so distraught,” Mrs. Lincoln replied, gazing at her curiously. “What
is
it?”

Quickly, her voice trembling, Nettie told the President’s wife about her younger brother, a Union soldier who had taken ill and was in a hospital in Alexandria.

“He needs personal care,” she said. By now, she was crying again. “If he is not furloughed home, I feel certain he will die.”

Mrs. Lincoln patted her shoulder. “Your brother shall have the furlough,” she promised. “If Mr. Lincoln has to give it himself.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Nettie said, sobbing.

Impulsively, she took hold of one of Mrs. Lincoln’s tiny hands and kissed it. “God bless you, Mrs. Lincoln.”

“There, there.” The President’s wife patted her arm, smiling. “Don’t be concerned any longer.”

Nettie drew in a deep, convulsive breath; the first breath of peace she’d drawn since word of her brother’s presence in the Alexandria hospital had reached her.

“Well, then, that is settled,” Mrs. Lincoln said. “Shall we begin?”

“Immediately,” Mrs. Miller said.

She walked to the grand piano across the parlour and seated herself on its bench. Closing her eyes, she drew in deep breaths, seeking the rapid intercession of her Spirit guide.

Everyone stood silently, observing, as she continued breathing deeply, her expression one of intense concentration.

Several minutes later, her eyes jumped open and she quickly raised her hands, then brought them down sharply on the keyboard, the sudden loud sound making all of them twitch in surprise.

Mrs. Miller—or, as she would have it, her “control”—began to play a grand march.

The others stood and listened as the march was played with loud, resonant tones, Mrs. Miller’s right foot pressing with intermittent force on the sustaining pedal.

Nettie felt herself becoming more tense by the moment, knowing what was coming. She felt her body tightening slowly, every muscle drawing taut, beyond her control.

When the music suddenly ceased, Mrs. Miller’s hands jumping upward from the keyboard, the effect was as startling to Nettie as the start of her playing had been.

Without knowing why, the young woman’s gaze jumped to the door.

It was opening.

She shivered at the appearance, in the doorway, of President Lincoln.

He’s so
tall!
she thought, startled.

Wearing a dark blue suit made him appear even taller and seemed to accentuate the lined gauntness of his face.

Still, his warm smile overwhelmed all else as he closed the door and started toward them, moving with a slow, solemn pace.

“I heard the first notes of the march exactly as I reached the head of the grand staircase,” he told them. “I kept step with it as I came down. It stopped precisely as I reached the parlour door.”

As he drew near, Nettie could see, more clearly, how drawn his features were, how fatigued his movements.

He has so much responsibility
, she thought.

She swallowed nervously as the President stopped in front of her; he seemed to loom overhead. She saw him raise his right hand—it’s so
big
, she thought—then felt the gentle weight of it on top of her head.

“So,” he said, smiling down at her. “This is our little Nettie, is it, that we have heard so much about?”

Her smile was that of a school girl, shy and embarrassed. “Yes, sir,” she murmured.

“Come here,” he said. His hand was lifted from her head and she felt his long, powerful fingers close gently around her left arm. He led her to an ottoman in front of a chair and seated her.

“You’ve been crying,” he said.

His wife repeated, to him, what Nettie had told her about her brother in the hospital in Alexandria.

The President nodded with a kind smile. “Indeed, he will be furloughed,” he said.

Nettie’s breath trembled and she felt tears start to run down her cheeks.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, “
Thank
you.”

The President seated himself in the chair facing her and Nettie heard the soft, groaning sound he made as his large frame settled on the cushion.

He reached out both his hands and she gave him hers. They disappeared inside the magnitude of his.

“You know, of course,” he said, “that I cannot openly declare belief in what you do or I would surely be pronounced insane and probably incarcerated. I can scarcely risk that when the fate of our nation is in such peril.”

She answered in a muted voice. “No, sir.”

The President smiled. “Well, how do you do it?” he asked.

Quickly, Mr. Laurie and Mr. Newton brought four chairs from across the room, arranging them to form a small circle including the President’s chair.

Lowering the oil light, then seating everyone, Mrs. Miller to the President’s left and Mrs. Lincoln to his right, Mr. Laurie next to his daughter, Mr. Newton next to Mrs. Lincoln, they all joined hands, the President releasing Nettie’s hands and taking hold of his wife’s hand with his right, Mrs. Miller’s with his left.

Nettie sat encircled by the group.

She closed her eyes and drew in deep breaths, relieved that she no longer had to look into the deep, searching eyes of the President, knowing that she could never go into trance if she had to continue looking into those eyes.

Sounds began to intensify in her hearing. The crackling of the fire across the parlour; it seemed to be farther away with each passing moment. The occasional rustle of Mrs. Lincoln’s skirt as she shifted on her chair. Once a soft clearing of his throat by the President.

At last, she felt the tickle of a spider web across her face and brow and knew that she was passing under control. Gratefully, she let it happen. She had been frightened that nothing would happen, humiliating her before the President.

Now, feeling the delicate webbing form across her features, she sank into the darkness with a peaceful sigh, allowing Dr. Bamford to come through.