Whispers Beyond the Veil (3 page)

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W
ith my hat pressing uncomfortably against the bump on my head, we set out for the Hotel Belden and whatever might await me there. The sun blazed hot above us as we made our way downhill and toward the ocean. Seagulls circled daringly, one even snatching a bit of food right out of a small boy's hands.

“Is this your first visit to Old Orchard?” Officer Yancey asked.

“Yes, as well as my first visit to the ocean. I was determined to make straight for the beach to see it but didn't manage to get there before I met the pickpocket.” Officer Yancey proffered his arm.

“If you look straight ahead you just glimpse a slice of the water.” There lay a sliver of it in front of me, glittering and deeply blue. I felt a tugging in my heart as if something I hadn't realized I wanted was suddenly offered to me. Like I had been hungry but had no notion of it until I had taken a bite of food.

“Just ahead is one of our newest hotels, the Alberta House.” I followed his pointing finger to an enormous four-story wooden building with a wide porch and a central tower. As accustomed as I was to large crowds and a carnival atmosphere, my experiences were limited to tents and makeshift stages. Here hotels the
size of entire blocks, photographic studios, and livery stables lined the street. People swarmed in and out of carriages and restaurants. Young men swooped past on bicycles. The salt-scented breeze carried sounds of laughter up to us from the shore.

“I was imagining the view from that tower when your welcoming committee grabbed my purse.”

“The view from there certainly is something worth seeing. But wait until you overlook Saco Bay from the veranda at the Belden.”

“How can all this be justified?” Everywhere I looked crowds streamed and swelled. Another train pulled into the station as we approached and dozens more people alighted.

“The Old Orchard Pier Company is accountable for the current influx. This town has been a popular tourist destination for decades but with the construction of the pier, interest has reached a fever pitch.”

“Is that it up ahead?” I asked. Stretching in front of us was a partially completed steel structure.

“It is. When it opens in a few weeks it will be the world's longest pleasure pier. They say it is an engineering marvel but I'm reserving judgment until it's made it through a few nor'easters.”

“How long is it?”

“Approximately eighteen hundred feet, or just over a third of a mile long. The builders have even planned a miniature train to carry dancers to the ballroom at the end to spare the ladies' feet.”

“How extraordinary.”

“You've picked quite the time to visit. Every hotel room has had their reservations completely booked for months.” I hadn't considered there might be no room for me. I only hoped there would be some way for my aunt to squeeze me in somewhere.

“You shouldn't worry though. I'm certain Miss Belden will find room for you. After all, you're family.”

“You seem very sure. Are you well acquainted with my aunt?” Just saying the words “my aunt” felt strange, like I was speaking a foreign tongue. There had only ever been “my father.” Anything else felt awkward on my lips.

“Everyone in Old Orchard is acquainted with Honoria Belden, or at least with her reputation.”

O
fficer Yancey more than made up for the attempted purse snatching. His enthusiasm for Old Orchard made him seem more like a small boy than a policeman. All along our walk down Grand Avenue he pointed out the merits and histories of each hotel and eatery we passed. When I commented on the depth and breadth of his knowledge he dismissed the compliment, saying he had lived in town all his life. Then, all at once he stopped and pointed to a white clapboard–covered building.

“Here we are. This is the Hotel Belden.” While it was not so large as many of the magnificent hotels we had passed, like the Sea Shore House or the imposing Old Orchard House, with its grounds running from the crest of the hill all the way down to the sea, I recognized it immediately from the photograph. Turrets, gingerbread railings, bay windows, and window boxes spilling over with pinks and forget-me-nots bedecked the outside of the building. At the top of the house ran an observation platform that must look out over the sea.

“It's even lovelier than I had imagined it,” I said. Roses scrambled along the foundation, flourishing lavender sprawled along
the walkway. Officer Yancey steered me up the porch steps to the door. He held it open for me and I felt a rush of nerves akin to stage fright. I assured myself it was a natural response. This was certain to be the most important performance of my twenty years. Certainly it mattered more than convincing yokels and rubes of the merits of Running Bear's Miracle Elixir.

Officer Yancey stepped in front of me, approached the long oak reception desk, and tapped firmly on the bell. I could feel myself holding my breath as I waited to see who would appear to receive me. I forced myself to silently exhale, chiding myself for hiding behind a policeman. I peeked around his back just as a slim blond man emerged from a room behind the counter.

“Hello, Ben. I've brought a visitor for Miss Belden,” Yancey said. “She's a personal visitor, not a hotel guest. Is Miss Belden in?” The man looked me up and down slowly with the palest blue eyes I had ever seen. In the medicine show I had suffered a generous share of unwanted appraisal of my person by strange men. It was almost always unpleasant and invariably easy to interpret. This gaze was far more intense and I had no idea whatsoever what to make of it. He silently nodded at Yancey and then motioned us to follow.

The man strode so smoothly and silently ahead of us it was as though he were gliding down the long hallway rather than walking. He led us past sitting rooms and a library filled with books. Halting, he pointed to a midnight blue portiere hanging in a doorway at the very end of the wide corridor. He waved his hand to show I should enter. When Yancey made to follow me, Ben laid a restraining hand on his arm. Yancey shrugged and let loose another smile that suggested I was in for a surprise.

I slowly slipped between the brocade folds of the portiere and
found myself in a room shrouded in darkness. Heavy drapes hung at the windows and blocked out any sunlight. A solitary candle flickered on a table at the center of the room. In its wavering glow I made out four shapes seated around the table. It appeared their eyes were closed, their hands linked.

“I feel a presence. Has a spirit come to us from the other side?” A deep, rich woman's voice whispered out from the gloom. I squinted at the table, hoping to get a better look at the speaker. I stepped toward the table and as I did so the woman opened her eyes. “Someone has joined us. Come closer, if you are able.” Her voice came out even more quietly. I stepped into the edge of the candle glow's reach, my heart pounding almost as hard as it had when I found myself awakening in the presence of a policeman.

Each of the people seated around the table opened their eyes and turned in my direction, their mouths circles of surprise. It was a look I'd seen almost daily at the medicine show when Father had orchestrated perfectly rehearsed miracles in front of the crowds.

“Delphinia?” The woman's voice cracked and she dropped the hands on either side of her as she rose to her feet. “I hardly dared hope you would come.”

“I think there's been some sort of a mistake ma'am,” I said. The woman lurched against the table, and a man jumped to his feet to offer her a steadying arm. The others leaned forward in their seats to get a better look at me. “I'm looking for my aunt, Honoria Belden.” With more speed than I would have expected from a woman of her formidable size, the lady appeared at my side and wrapped her fingers firmly around my upper arms.

“George, the drapes,” she said. A figure moved to the curtains and yanked them open, bathing the room in light. Standing there
with a crowd of only four strangers I found myself at a loss for words. The woman grasping me did not. “Let me get a good look at you.” She held me at arm's length and searched my face. I was familiar with scrutiny and skepticism during my tarot card readings and performances at the show and I expected to see it here, too. After all, what proof did I have that I was who I claimed to be? Goaded by the fear of sleeping on the beach with a rumbling belly I found my voice.

“My mother's name was Delphinia. At least that's what my father said. Mine is Ruby Proulx.”

“I dreamt she'd come. Haven't I always said so, George?” The woman gripped me with even more enthusiasm.

“You did indeed.” The man near the window took a step closer as if to assure himself of what he was seeing.

“My dear friends, please excuse us.” She turned to the others. “This young lady and I have so much to discuss.”

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W
ith that, the woman I assumed must be Honoria swept me out through the portiere and down the hall. Officer Yancey was nowhere to be seen but Ben stood silently, as if awaiting a verdict, in the passageway just outside the doorway. Honoria stopped in front of him.

“Ben, I am certain you recognized Ruby on sight,” she said. He nodded wordlessly. “Then you will, of course, understand that unless a mermaid appears at the front desk requesting a room you should not allow anyone to disturb us.” She gave him a hurried nod, then drew me by the arm toward a wide and curving staircase. Light streamed in from a window above. When we reached the landing I could not contain a gasp. A window
spanning two stories gave a view of the beach and beyond it the ocean.

“It's astonishing,” I said, looking out across the flashing water.

“Have you never seen it before?” Honoria asked, pausing to allow me to admire the view.

“Only a glimpse up near the pier as I made my way here.” I had longed to see it, dreamt of it, even. But every time the medicine show traveled toward the coast, Father's feet had begun to itch and he sought out a new group of performers to join, invariably farther inland.

“Then this is a day of wonders for us both.” She tucked my hand under her arm and led me to a room at the far side of the second floor. She eased herself onto a violet-colored settee and patted the space beside her. “I shall, of course, wish to know how you came to be here, but what I really desire to know is what is your gift?” I felt a total fool and utterly without manners of any kind. In my haste and reduced financial circumstances I had not given the slightest thought to a present for my hostess.

“I'm very much afraid I've come completely empty-handed.” My cheeks grew hot and I wished there were some way to go back and purchase a lace hankie or a fancy hair comb for her.

“I expressed myself poorly. I meant, which is your psychic gift?”

If I had not promised myself to go straight, the temptation to feign psychic ability would have been overwhelming. Between that question and the apparent séance I had interrupted, the pickings here were sure to be easy. Even with the promises I had made to myself it was going to be a test of my will not to fall back into my old ways. I conjured the image of Johnny lying motionless on the floor of the show tent and felt my resolve return.

“I'm afraid I haven't any,” I said, hoping this would not influence whether or not Honoria would offer to let me stay.

“Nonsense. All the women in the family have a gift for divination and the like. Your grandmother could see ghosts, your mother was a medium, I have prophetic dreams. You must have some sort of gift.”

“My mother claimed to be a medium?”

“She didn't claim to be one. She was one.” Honoria's eyes widened. “Didn't your father ever mention that to you?”

“Not a word.” Father had never said my mother had any extraordinary gifts. He did his best to never mention her. Even so, I was surprised that he hadn't trumpeted that story to bolster my credentials as a medical intuitive. The rubes lapped that sort of nonsense up as eagerly as our old horse did water at the end of a long day's work pulling the wagon. Honoria shook her head in disbelief.

“Preposterous. Still, there must be something. It is unthinkable that you are the first woman in the family to have no metaphysical abilities.”

As kind and welcoming as she had been, I didn't know Honoria well enough to mention the voice. Hearing disembodied whispers was the sort of thing that got a person sent to an asylum. And even if she did believe me, I was not convinced myself that the voice was more than an amplified version of my intuition. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. And no one was so desperate as a girl left as much to her own devices as I had been. Clearly, I had to tell her something.

“I wouldn't claim to be gifted, but I sometimes turn to these for advice.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the small deck of worn tarot cards I always carried with me. I fanned them out
on the table positioned in front of the settee and held my breath, hoping they were enough to secure my position. Honoria leaned forward, knocking over a vase in the center of the table in her excitement.

“Where did you get these?” Honoria snatched them off the table and thumbed through them carefully, examining them one by one.

“I don't actually know. I've had them so long I can't remember ever receiving them.” From the way tears threatened to fall from her eyes, I regretted revealing the cards. Honoria stood and crossed the room to a small mahogany desk. Unlocking the drop front with a key dangling from the chatelaine at her waist she slid open a drawer and withdrew a silken drawstring bag. Returning to the table, she handed it to me.

“Open it,” she said, sitting back on the settee once more. I loosened the smooth cord and slipped my hand inside. Wrapping my fingers around the contents, I discovered a deck of cards very much like my own. The artist seemed to be the same and the amount of wear suggested they were of a similar vintage. The backs of her cards matched mine, but the images on the front were unfamiliar. “They are all from a deck your mother and I shared as children. The night she slipped out of the house and off to a new life with your father we shuffled the deck and divided it in half.”

“Do you know how to correctly read these cards?”

“Your mother and I learned to read tarot before we learned to read the written word. Delphinia was always more adept at it than I. The night she left I urged her to take the entire deck as she valued it so highly but she refused, saying she would feel comforted if a part of her remained here with me.” Honoria brushed a tear from her cheek. “You read them yourself?”

“I've always made up my own stories for the pictures. I would dearly love to know what they really mean.” I slid the pile toward her and watched with anticipation as she scooped up the deck in its entirety and shuffled the cards with a deft hand.

“First, I'd like to watch you do a reading, to hear how the cards speak to you with no outside influence.” She placed the deck in front of me and nodded encouragingly.

I had performed hundreds of readings for visitors to the show over the years, but this was different. Most of the querents' body language had been simple to read, and providing the information they wished to hear was an easy enough task.

But this time I could not help but feel I was the question. Was Honoria using the card reading to determine if I would be welcomed to stay at the Hotel Belden? And if so, was she using my ability to read the cards to decide or was she relying on the cards pulled to advise her?

“If you'd like me to, I will. I usually think of a question of my own if I am alone, or I ask the sitter to think of one if I am reading for another. Do you have a question in mind?”

“I do.” Honoria leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. A bead of sweat I attributed to nerves trickled out from under the hairline at the base of my neck and rolled down my back. “And then what do you do?”

“I shuffle the cards until one of them calls to me.” As soon as the words left my lips a card jumped out of the deck and lay facedown on the table. Honoria's eyes flicked toward it but she turned her attention back to my hands.

“What do you do with a card that captures your attention?”