Lily Dale (26 page)

Time stretching was a new miracle for me. I'd never heard of that, but I had heard of parking place magic. It may be the most common miracle in America, which is most likely the reason it makes me grimace.

It doesn't bother me that the highest angel in heaven had been turned into a parking lot attendant—Park-angel Michael, to steal a quip from medium Martie Hughes. I've had plenty of born-agains tell me that Jesus himself finds them parking spots. Why should a mere archangel balk? But Karen was more sure of herself than anyone I'd ever talked to. She invited me to test celestial traffic control by asking for angel help as I drove back to Lily Dale. The Archangel would clear the street for me. Just ask, she said, and you're likely to see people turning off in front of your car, right and left.

I didn't do it. I couldn't stop thinking about those hapless souls who would be peacefully driving toward their destinations and then, just after I said my prayer, would find themselves wrenching the wheel toward the nearest exit with absolutely no intention of going there and no reason to want to. Is that how it works?

Perhaps I have too much leftover Baptist guilt. I think spirits ought to do only grand things—a supposition that Lily Dale and now Karen were challenging mightily.

When I told Karen's story to Lynn, she seemed delighted, but I shook my head.

“Do you believe all that? Do you think angels really do find people parking places?” I asked.

“I don't see why not,” she said. “They don't do it for me, but I don't drive.”

As Patricia Price is fond of saying, “All is in divine order.”

But I couldn't accept it. “Lynn, why would the spirits do such trivial things when so many serious problems need fixing? Don't they have better sense than that?”

“Spirit does want to do things for us,” Lynn said. “Parking places are simple, everyday things that convince people there's an alternate reality. Once they know that they can grow. And they will.”

With that, the last part of the Lily Dale puzzle fell into place. This was what the mediums had tried to tell me, but I couldn't understand. Most people come to the Dale to ask about love or money. They summon the forces of heaven to find them parking places, bend spoons, or make a table dance. What's spiritual about that? I'd asked again and again.

Now Lynn had explained. This is the everyday stuff of life. If the mediums deal well with earthly, mundane questions, they may connect people with a force beyond them, or at least help them know there is such a force. Once Spirit reaches people it can move them, maybe slowly, maybe only a little way, but it can move them.

Did I believe it? Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. But I'd like to.

 

O
n my last summer day in Lily Dale, Shelley's husband, Frank, carried my suitcase down the porch stairs and stood waiting to shut the car door. He told me to be careful and made sure the door was securely closed, as though without his care I might somehow fall out of the car before reaching my destination.

Shelley and Lynn went for a somewhat more elaborate send-off. They stood watching, high above me on the wide white porch behind the spindle railing. At first they waved. Then Shelley shouted, “Angel wings. We have to do angel wings.”

Both women began lifting and lowering their arms as though they were big feathered wings slowly, lazily lifting into the air.

“Angels have charge over you,” they chorused. “Angels, angels, angels go with you.”

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LILY DALE AND ITS MEDIUMS

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T
hank you to all the residents, mediums, and visitors of Lily Dale, who are identified by their actual names except in a few sensitive cases. You were generous with your time and your stories. Special thanks to Joyce LaJudice, who answered many questions and shared many resources and photos with me. Also, Donna Riegel and Jack Ericson for their invaluable assistance. Hilda Wilkinson fortified me with hot tea, many sandwiches, and much wisdom. Thanks to her also for sharing photographs.

To Shelley and Frank Takei, who took me in when I was cold and felt friendless, you made everything come together. Martie Hughes, thanks for using your talent so many times to reassure me.

Thank you to my family and friends, who listened to years of Lily Dale stories. Special thanks to my father-in-law, Charles Seib, for kindness and expertise, for honesty, and for having the bravery to say, “This is not good enough.” To my sister, Jamie Langston, who also knew when to say, “This is good,” and when to say, “You can do better,” thank you.

I am also in debt to many friends who discussed this book for many hours. Sharon Grigsby and Dee Lyons are among them. Sophia Dembling, Donna Johnson, Kirk Wilson, Diane Reischel,
and Darla Walker read the manuscript and helped spot places it needed help. They encouraged me with much lavish praise and laughter at the right places.

Thanks to my wonderful editors, Liz Perle, who knew what this book needed from our first conversation to the last, and Gideon Weil, who helped bring it all home. Thanks also to their assistant, Anne Connolly, who kept me afloat with good counsel and fine humor.

To my agent Janet Wilkins Manus, thank you for knowing that of all my ideas this was the one to go for. Your enthusiasm never flagged. To my agent Jandy Nelson, thank you for everything, just everything. You are joyful and brilliant.

And to my husband, Philip, gratitude can't ever be enough. Your faith, your support, your money. I needed them all. And thank you for never once wincing at all the dinner parties when someone asked, “What are you working on?” and the answer generated yet another long night of tales from the beyond.