The Spirit Room (25 page)

“
Maybe sometime I’ll take you on a fancy packet boat up the Erie Canal.”

Clara lost her breath. The packet boats on the canal were splendiferous, people sitting on top in the open air looking elegant and romantic.

Papa stopped rowing and removed his new brown felt hat, then tossed it down.

“
Can we go up to Rochester and visit Izzie?”

“
Maybe. That MacAdams husband promised me somethin’ I ain’t seen yet. Might be a good time to visit.”

Papa wrestled himself out of his black coat, then laid the heavy garment over the seat next to him. He slipped his handkerchief out of the coat pocket, took off his wire rim spectacles and dabbed at his damp brow.

Clara knew about the money Doctor MacAdams was supposed to send Papa. Izzie had told her how Doctor MacAdams offered it to help out since he was taking away one of the famous Benton Sisters when he married her. From Izzie’s letters to her, Clara also knew no money had been sent yet. Because Doctor MacAdams had more expenses than he thought he would with the new Upper Falls Water-Cure Institute, he didn’t know when he’d be able to send money to Papa.

Once Papa got his spectacles back on, he looked out across the water. He grasped the oar handles again but didn’t row. The boat drifted slowly toward shore, small ripples slapping gently against its sides. The sun fell directly on Clara’s face and hands, and heated the front of her dark blue, checkered dress. She felt sleepy. Closing her eyes, she listened to the water lapping, the crows bickering with each other on shore.

“
Clara, you know you’re my favorite little one. You’re the prettiest of my three girls. Besides that, you know me best.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Even though his back was to the sunlight, he was squinting, hiding away his gray eyes.

“
Billy and Izzie’re always fightin’ against me.” He turned his gaze from the distance and looked right at her, relaxing his eyes enough for her to see them. “But you ain’t like that. That’s why you’re my special one.”

“
I never want to fight you, Papa.”

“
I got an idea that will help the family. You’re the only one can do it. If you help me with it, I’ll take you on that canal trip on a packet boat, just you and me. We’ll go and see Izzie if that’s what you hanker.”

Papa spun one of the oars in its lock.

In the distance, ship bells clanged. Two steamboats, going in opposite directions, one into the harbor, one out, approached each other in the middle of the lake. Clara leaned sideways over the side of the rowboat and dipped her hand in, letting her fingers drift in the cool water.

Papa twirled both oars in the air. He seemed a bit nervous about this idea of his. He had borrowed the rowboat and brought her out on the lake alone to ask her something. He always had a little bribe of some sort when he itched for something. Sure as the sun going down at the end of the day, she knew he wanted something now. It had to be pretty important to him since he had gone to all the trouble to get the boat, steal her away from the Spirit Room, and offer her the reward of seeing Izzie.

“
I ain’t askin’ you to do anythin’ wrong or anythin’ that would hurt you. You’re my sweet, sweet Clara.”

“
What is it, Papa?”

“
There’s a way we can make extra money real easy.” He hushed his voice like he was telling her a secret.

“
How’s that?”

Stroking his new full brown beard a couple of times, he stared off at the horizon behind her.

“
Well, I was talkin’ to Sam Weston. He’s mighty fond of you. I think if you were a little older than thirteen, he’d be interested in you for a wife.”

“
Oh, Papa, I’m not ready to marry.”

Weston was sweet but he was much too syrupy. He was always polite and attentive at the séances, but he wasn’t someone to marry. Did Papa want to get rid of her that way?

“
I know it, Clara, but you’re not too young to accept attention from a gentleman.”

“
He’s old as the hills.”

“
Isabelle took a husband older than Weston.”

“
But you didn’t like that.”

“
It wasn’t the man’s age that bothered me. This is different.”

It was different all right. She had no interest whatsoever in Sam Weston, whereas Izzie had been smitten with Mac from the start.

“
Does he want to spark me?”

“
That’s where my plan comes in. He does, but I figured out a way so that it ain’t real courtin’. It’s just part of our Spiritualism business.” Papa blinked three times before continuing. “Weston told me he would pay us more money if he could spend a little time with you that was more private and friendly.”

“
He wants to pay money to be with me, but not a séance?”

“
Surprised me too, but then I got to thinkin’. You’re turnin’ into quite a beauty, like your grandmother Elsie was. Makes sense a man might want to know you better and you
are
old enough to marry, Little Plum, even though Weston ain’t right for a husband.” He stroked his beard again. “But there’s no harm in his gettin’ to know you better and make a few bucks along the way.”

Suddenly, a set of waves jigged the rowboat and made her slightly nauseous. She put a hand on her stomach.

“
Papa, it sounds like prostitution.”

“
Where’d you hear that word?” He scowled at her.

“
You just know about things. Izzie and I sometimes read about those women in books or the newspapers and talked about it.”

“
Well …” He cleared his throat, then he cleared it again, and then a third time. It seemed like he was going to get riled up but all he did was sigh. “No, no, Little Plum. That’s something’ different.”

Far across the water, the two steamboats reached each other and crossed. The smaller one behind was obscured briefly from sight, then appeared again. Pulling the oars in tight against their locks, Papa let the handles drop inside the boat. He mopped his brow again with his handkerchief.

“
While we’re waitin’ for spirit seekers to come back, and they will soon I believe, I’m suggestin’ addin’ on ta what we’re already doin’, easy as cherry pie.” He unfolded the handkerchief and, like a piece of laundry on a line, draped it over an oar. “Think how that money would help the family, Clara.”

She crossed her arms. “What would I have to do?”

“
Nothin’. That’s the beauty of it.”

“
Nothing at all?”

“
Honest Indian.”

His forehead was sweaty again already. Reaching behind himself into the satchel he’d brought along, he plucked out a bottle of whiskey and something wrapped in a cotton napkin.

“
Here, Mrs. Purcell sent these molasses muffins with us.” He offered her the cotton bundle.

Clara bent over toward him, took it, and held it in her lap without opening it. “I still don’t understand, Papa. Why would Sam Weston pay more money to spend his time with me?”

“
Only Weston can answer that. Men do some strange things when it comes to women, Clara, especially handsome ones. You’re so pretty you’re gonna find out all about it, whether you like it or not.”

“
I don’t know, Papa.”

He perched the whiskey bottle on his thigh. “Winter’s around the corner. All of ya need new boots.” He yanked the stopper from his bottle and took a swig. “And we’re behind three weeks rent with Emma Purcell.”

“
Papa, I thought you said you were doing well in your businesses.”

“
That all changed the day that Sheriff Swift came by the house. I don’t have a bungtown copper left. All we got now is Billy’s wages and that ain’t enough for all of us.”

“
What happened with the Sheriff?”

As he took another gulp of whiskey and then another and wiped his beard with his shirtsleeve, Clara’s heart fell dark.

“
That ain’t your business, Little Plum.”

Papa was either in trouble with the law or tarnal close to it and if they didn’t get more money somehow, they’d have to leave Mrs. Purcell’s and live like they did back in Ohio, hungry half the time, or maybe worse.

“
If I don’t like it, can we stop the arrangement, Papa?”

“
Sure we can. Sure we can. I don’t want nothin’ that’ll hurt you or make you miserable, Sweet Plum. What do you say?”

He gave a huge crooked-tooth smile and waited.

Clara shifted her weight on the seat and braced a hand on the edge of the boat. It sounded easy enough. They did need the money. Weston wasn’t really awful, just old and syrupy, and even though Papa was asking her in such a fancy way with the rowboat and all, she didn’t really have a choice if it was something he wanted badly enough.

The wake from the two distant steamboats had arrived and their rowboat rocked in the little waves. Feeling a bit seasick, she held on tighter. Papa took two more swigs from his bottle waiting for her to answer. She didn’t want to puke, nor did she want to be stranded in the boat with Papa if he was going to get pixilated with whiskey.

“
All right, Papa. I’ll try it.”

“
That’s my girl.”

He slapped his knee, leaned way over the oars toward her, and kissed her on the tip of her nose.

“
It’ll be easy as cherry pie. You’ll see.”

“
Can we go home now?”

Twenty-One

SAM WESTON WAS DUE ANY MINUTE. It was five past four. Clara, already seated at the table in the Spirit Room, dressed in her lacy white séance dress, was ready for him. He was usually on time for spirit circles.

He would certainly be on time for whatever this courtship would be, thought Clara. Unless something was wrong, he’d be here shortly. Then she heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and both Papa’s and Weston’s voices out on the landing. While their muffled chatter went on just outside her door, she touched her hair, the coiled braids wrapped carefully around her ears, to make sure they were still properly in place. “And do somethin’ fancy with your hair,” Papa had ordered earlier in the morning.

The doorknob clicked and Weston came in grinning, a large package under his arm, a straw hat in his hands, and wearing a new, handsome cream-colored linen suit and maroon silk cravat. He came and sat near her, setting the bundle and hat down.

“
Good afternoon, Mr. Weston.”

“
Hello, Clara. You look radiant. Your hair is lovely.” He rested his hand on the parcel and began to tap the crisp brown paper. “Did your father have the chance to tell you we would be doing something special today?”

“
Yes.”

“
You are such a wonderful girl. Does he ever tell you that?”

Clara felt a blush rise from her neck and flood into her face. “He doesn’t tell me in just that way.”

“
Well, he should. Clara, you know how much I have enjoyed your spiritual trances these months.” He rose, and sliding the package along the table, moved to the chair next to her. “And I have been very sorry to see your fame fade because of Mr. Camp’s rumors. He’s a despicable fellow.”

“
Papa said you’ve been trying to help us, praising my séances all around the village. We’re grateful.”

He smiled a little and nodded. “You know I’ve gotten so fond of you, like an uncle, really. You don’t have a real blood uncle, do you?”

She felt the warmth of another blush. “No.”

Clara twisted her hands together under the table. He had never spoken to her like this before. He’d been attentive with flowers and politeness and kindness, but he’d never spoken like this.

“
Did your father tell you exactly what I want today?” His fingers stopped tapping on the paper.

“
Not exactly. He said you would tell me, but that it would be more like courting than a spiritual reading.” Clara took a deep breath, pressed back on her chair and grasped the edge of the table. “He also said I shouldn’t be afraid. You’d be a gentleman.” She looked down and fixated on her hands. “He said he’d be close by, right outside the door, and I should call for him if I wanted anything.”

“
Yes, that’s right, but you won’t need to call him. We’ll have a nice time. You’ll see.” He touched her hand lightly. “I am so very fond of you, Clara.”

She looked up at his face. He was smiling brightly at her, showing off his good teeth the way he always did. He seemed extra cleaned up today, even more groomed than usual with his light brown hair slicked back and parted to perfection down the middle of his head. His short beard was clipped as neatly as a shrub in front of a mansion and he smelled like cologne water. He had definitely been to the barber. What the
jo-fire
did he want?