Uncertain Glory (7 page)

I wanted to peek into the room, but was afraid I'd be seen.

Her aunt spoke again. “Still, Horace, you must keep tonight's session short. For the girl's sake.”

“Hush, woman; it won't be long. I'll tell everyone the truth: Communicating with spirits is wearing for someone so weak and young. If she looks pale and confused, so much the better for the act. If we're lucky, the people whose questions she doesn't get to will pay more to come back next week, to get their answers in individual sessions.”

“Perhaps then, Uncle, you will not schedule any sessions on Monday? Please . . . So I can rest?” Nell said. “You know how exhausted I am after I've been with the voices, and with four sessions tomorrow—”

“You're stronger than you think,” her uncle replied. “You always say you won't be able to continue, but I've seen you perform when you could hardly stand up. You can do it. As it is, I've scheduled only one Monday meeting so far, and it's not a spirit circle. You're to be interviewed by two local boys who call themselves newspapermen. They publish a little weekly paper, and they plan to write an article about you, my dear. All you have to do is be your most charming. If you're not feeling your best, that's fine. Another article on your delicacy and sensitivity and being attuned to the spirit world can only bring in more customers.”

“What are the boys' names?” Nell said.

Was she wondering if I was one of them? I'd told her about the
Wiscasset Herald.

“I can't recall. But they'll be here tonight, so smile your sweetest at any young men in the audience. They printed up the broadsides for us, so I gave them press passes.”

“I'd like to lie on the couch a little longer to clear my mind before I begin,” said Nell.

“You do that. Sarah, give Nell some of her medicine. It will help the spirits come to you, my dear, and dull your pain. In the meantime, I'll go down to the lobby to greet your public.”

I raced back to the ballroom to make sure Mr. Allen didn't catch me listening outside the door.

Charlie was there already.

“Where have you been? Father said the room's fine, and that we could have cider and molasses cookies in the kitchen while we're waiting for the meeting to start. But I told him we wanted to be here early to see who comes and what they say. We might be able to quote someone in our article.”

“Charlie,” I said, “we need to talk. Now.”

Chapter 12

Saturday, April 13, 6:30 p.m.

“What is it, Joe?”

“I overhead Nell talking with her aunt and uncle. She's not well. And her uncle's forcing her to have these sessions to make money, even though they make her headaches worse.”

“Did you hear anything about how she does it? How she tricks people?”

“No, nothing like that! They just talked about how sick she felt, and how Mr. Allen had scheduled her to keep doing sessions.” I lowered my voice even further. “And, he told her about us.”

“Us?”

“He told Nell she had to talk with two young boys—not young men, Charlie, but
boys
—on Monday. That they had a little local newspaper. That she should charm them so they'd write a nice article and she'd have more customers.” I smacked my fist into my other hand. Hard. “I publish a real newspaper. He made it sound as if we were children playin' with a toy printing press.”

“Then I suppose we'll have to show him we're more than that, won't we? By writing an article that won't bring her paying customers. By exposing her and her uncle and aunt as frauds.”

My mind whirred with confusing ideas. “Her uncle may be cruel, but that doesn't mean she's a fraud. We have no proof.”

“Not yet—but we will have. I'm sure of it.”

People were beginning to gather in the hall outside the ballroom.

“We'll listen and take notes, and watch what happens,” said Charlie, taking out his pad. He grinned. “Monday we'll meet with your friend Nell, but she won't be able to charm us, no matter how hard she tries. You'll see!”

He went and sat down. We'd agreed we wouldn't sit together, so we could see the room from different angles.

All I could think was that if we wrote a story saying Nell was a fraud, then how could she support herself?

What would happen to her then? How would she feel if we wrote that she
didn't
hear the spirits she'd told me were a part of her life?

And how would she support herself if no one believed her?

Perhaps most important, what would her uncle do?

Chapter 13

Saturday, April 13, 7:00 p.m.

Charlie sat on the side of the ballroom, near the back. I sat in the third row.

I knew most of the people who'd gathered, although a few, like the heavy, bearded man sitting in the first row, were strangers. The townspeople looked at each other self-consciously as they came in and found seats. Death was a mystery, and they were here to find out whether Nell was able to communicate with those behind its curtain.

I pulled out my paper and pen in case I wanted to take notes.

Charlie might be right about Nell's being a fraud, or he might be wrong, but I was sure Nell's uncle was controlling her. Maybe even making her ill. I'd printed an antislavery lecture for Reverend Merrill in January which said no man should have power over another. Nell wasn't being allowed to make decisions about her own life.

But could a twelve-year-old girl know what was right for her? Wasn't that the responsibility of the adults in her family—especially the adult men? On the other hand, would a responsible uncle make Nell support him?

I was trying to figger it out when Nell's uncle entered the room and placed a basket on the front table. He introduced himself to those of us who were already seated, shaking the hands of the men and nodding politely at the ladies. As he spoke with each person in the audience, he handed them a sheet of paper.

When the room was full Mr. Allen raised his hands for attention. “Good evening! Miss Gramercy and my wife and I have been enjoying our stay in your fine village, and have been honored to meet so many of you during the past week.”

People in the audience nodded and smiled or looked at each other as if to say
Yes, that's us he's talking about. We've met Nell and Mr. Allen.
How many spirit sessions had Nell held in the past week? She might well have seen most of these people in separate or small group sessions already. That would mean she already knew their interests and concerns and what their questions might be. Or had Mr. Allen met these people at the tavern—or at least heard some local gossip there?

“This evening's session is one for questions and answers. Miss Gramercy will be unable to spend a great deal of time on any one question, but she's prepared to continue as long as her strength holds up. These sessions, as many of you already know, are very exhausting for Nell. She's only twelve years old, and of the weaker sex. Communicating with those in another world drains her energy.”

Mr. Allen picked up the basket from Nell's table. “If you have questions you would like her to answer, she asks that you write them down, fold your sheet of paper twice, and place it in this basket as I walk among you. When I've gathered all your questions, she will join us.”

Everyone set to writing. I hesitated, and then wrote,
Nell, why does your uncle control your life?
on my sheet and placed it in the basket as Mr. Allen passed. As the last questions were collected, Nell entered the room, dressed, as always, in white.

She was pale. How much did her head ache? I hoped the medicine her aunt had given her had helped.

“Good evening.” She smiled and sat in her chair at the front of the room. “I'm pleased to see among you many I've had the pleasure of speaking with more intimately in the past week.” Her eyes went from one person in the audience to another. It seemed like she smiled particularly at me, but she might have been smiling at everyone. Or just being “charming,” as her uncle had directed her to be.

“My uncle is holding the questions you've written, but I know that many of you have questions you have not placed in the basket. Many of you have wondered how I communicate with the spirit world, and whether or not I am doing so legitimately. So, before I begin, let me tell you a little about myself.”

People around me leaned forward in their seats. They didn't want to miss a word of what Nell had to say.

“Since I was a young child, I've been blessed with the gift of sensing the presence of those in another world. I cannot always hear their words distinctly, or see the physical bodies of those who speak to me. But something in me resonates, like a fine wire being tuned, and what is in their mind enters mine. I do not always know the meaning of what I sense. It is often up to those for whom the messages are intended to interpret their meaning.” She paused.

“Tonight, instead of simply reading the questions you have asked and answering them, I will try to enter your consciousness, and those of the spirits you wish to contact, and match your questions with answers. Please be patient with me. Often I cannot work quickly. I will open and read your questions aloud only after the spirits have given me their answers.”

What she was promising to do sounded impossible. I saw other people in the audience shake their heads, or whisper to each other in doubt. How could Nell or her spirits answer questions without knowing what the questions were?

Nell raised her hands. “Please help me concentrate by keeping silent.” She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, staring into the distance.

“She isn't blinking!” whispered Mrs. Evans, who was sitting in front of me.

“Shhh!” said her husband.

What was Nell seeing? She became paler, and her eyes held the startled look I'd once seen on an owl sitting on a pine branch. When she spoke her words didn't vary in tone. She sounded as though she was repeating something she'd heard.

“Amy sends her love, and hopes her son and the young woman he has chosen will be married soon.”

The bearded man in the front row jumped up, startling everyone. “That's my ma—Amy! And I'm about to ask Jenny, my girl, to be my wife! See? Here!” The man pulled a small red velvet sack from his jacket pocket and emptied it into his other hand, displaying the shiny ring inside to the audience. “I'm headin' for Belfast and the woman of my dreams tomorrow. Thank you, Ma! Miss Gramercy, thank you!”

The man walked quickly to the door, waving the ring as he went. “She can do it! She tells the truth!”

Others in the audience shifted in their seats. Who was that man? Whoever he was, he was certainly pleased with Nell's message.

Nell pulled a paper out of the basket and read it out loud: “Shall I propose marriage to Miss Jenny Holden?”

She had certainly answered the bearded man's question.

Nell waited for silence and then went back into her trance-like state again. Her next words were, “Robert and Lizzie are safe and happy, and wish their mother to know that.”

Mrs. Smith, in the third row, burst into tears. “My babies! My dear babies!”

Nell chose another folded paper. “Are my children well in Heaven?”

Throughout the room people leaned forward, amazed at what Nell was doing, and the responses she was getting.

Her voice was strained this time. “Your time for childbearing is not over. Your son will have another brother.”

Mrs. Bascomb, Owen's mother, gasped and grabbed her husband's hand.

Nell read from another folded paper: “Is my son fated to be an only child?”

Thank goodness Owen had not come! Nell had brought a very personal message to his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Bascomb were not a young couple. Would Owen really have another brother? Only time could prove Nell wrong or right, but tonight, his parents were clearly thrilled.

Then Nell paused and seemed to look right at me. “No one living person controls a life. Only the spirits know what shall be.”

That had to be Nell's answer to my question.

She raised a folded sheet of paper. “Why does your uncle control your life?”

It
was
my question! How had she known?

Mr. Allen stood up and glared at the audience. “That question was inappropriate. Miss Gramercy has been suffering from exhaustion and headaches. Since this audience clearly does not respect her abilities, she will now retire to her room.”

Nell opened her mouth, as if to say something, but her uncle pulled her up and pushed her toward the door closest to the table. The astonished crowd was still sitting down when the side door to the ballroom swung open.

“
News!
” It was Miss Averill, the telegraph operator. Her voice was high and loud. “News of our brave troops, just in over the wires: Fort Sumter has fallen! Fallen to the Confederates!”

Chapter 14

Saturday, April 13, 8:30 p.m.

The room fell silent.

“Fort Sumter fell at 2:34 this afternoon, after thirty-four hours of fighting,” Miss Averill announced, loudly enough so all could hear.

“How many killed?” someone called from the back of the room.

She shook her head. “No one on either side.”

Nell was still standing a few feet away from the door, and was about to speak when her uncle pushed her toward the door. He turned back to the stunned crowd.

“If your questions were not answered tonight, you can blame the impertinent idiot who had the audacity to question my loyalty to my niece. She will only be available for private consultations during the next week.”

But by that time no one was paying attention to him.

Fort Sumter had fallen. The Confederates had won. The ballroom filled with noisy conversations as people stood and put on their wraps. The headline wrote itself inside my head: FORT SUMTER LOST.