“
I only want to find my sisters, Mrs. Fielding.”
Mrs. Fielding shot another look at Anna. “Yes. Yes. One step at a time. I’m sorry, dear. I do get carried away.”
Mac’s jaw stiffened. “She may be a Spiritualist, or she may be playing with delusion. You’ll promise me that we will stop your exercise if she seems endangered.”
“
Of course, but there is no danger. You’ll see her talent for yourself. It has been obvious to me since we met in Geneva.”
Izzie swallowed. She was ready to go on, ready to listen to her voices. She was at the top of a high river ledge, ready to jump into the flowing water. Now or never. She had to jump now or she would back away. She had to find her sisters.
Izzie felt Anna’s arm slide around the back of her waist and start to steer her toward the chairs. Lowering his voice to a snarly whisper, Mac continued to speak to Mrs. Fielding. Izzie heard snippets. “Delusion.” “Fragile.” “Fear.”
“
Breathe in slowly, breathe out slowly, in slowly, out slowly.” Like lapping waves at the edge of a lake, Anna’s voice soothed her. Anna took Izzie’s hand and began to stroke it.
Izzie directed her thoughts to the pictures on the wall, the women in their broad, hoop dresses and men in their cravats and black coats. Somehow they comforted her. There were so many who had all done what she was about to do, who had all done in earnest what she and Clara had done in jest. Mrs. Fielding brought an alphabet, paper, ink, and pen to the table.
“
If a spirit comes to you, I’ll ask the questions.” Sitting next to her, Mrs. Fielding took Izzie’s other hand. “You are the medium. That means you are the vessel or instrument for one of us to speak to the spirits. I’ll ask about Clara and Euphora and where they are.”
Still breathing deeply and slowly with Anna’s guidance, Izzie nodded. Mac took the seat across from her.
She smiled at him. “I’ll be fine.”
Blinking rapidly, he scratched at the purple scar on his chin. “I’ll be patient but not too patient.”
“
Close your eyes, Isabelle,” Mrs. Fielding said. “Allow your breathing to relax now. Clear your mind and listen for a voice.”
The sensation of both her hands being held and caressed pacified her. Gradually, peacefulness descended over her like light snow. Izzie concentrated on the snow, but not the snow here on West Twenty-Fifth Street. She saw the snow covering a great wide empty field like she had seen from the train window. Empty. White. She moved over the snow field, not trudging in the sinking depths of it but floating above it, flying over the field, over partly frozen rivers, to another white field, and another.
“
Can you tell us where Clara and Euphora are?” It was Mrs. Fielding’s voice, far away, across several of the snow-covered fields.
“
I’ve drowned. I’m dead. My steam ship has gone down. It’s called the
Hungarian
. About a mile off the shore of Nova Scotia.” A man’s distant voice spoke to Mrs. Fielding.
“
Clara and Euphora. They’re sisters of the one you speak through. Are they in Summerland with you?”
“
I’m not in Summerland. It’s foul and cold here. Tell my brother I’ve drowned.”
“
What’s his name?”
“
John Child.”
“
I’ll try. Is there anyone else there who can speak about the Benton sisters?”
“
I’ll leave you. Tell my brother.”
It was quiet then. Izzie lay on the snow and looked up at the blue sky. A few small clouds drifted by. Someone was gently lifting her right hand, putting a pen in it.
“
Keep your eyes closed and write. Let the pen do as it wishes.”
Izzie felt the familiar sensation of her hand sliding over paper line after line. Her other hand began to move as well in a similar way, but without a pen. Then she felt a pen in her left hand as well and paper underneath. Both her hands glided on and on, letters, words, flowing, leading to other words and to others.
When the words stopped, her hands froze in place.
“
Can you hear me, Izzie? Izzie?”
It was Mac calling her back from the snowfields. She floated toward his voice, then opened her eyes. He was next to her, kneeling beside her, his arm around her shoulders, his forehead pressing against her temple. “Izzie, please.”
She inhaled. The smell of lavender filled her nostrils.
“
Do you smell the lavender?” she asked.
“
Yes,” Anna said. “It’s the woman who was writing through you.”
Izzie looked at the table in front of her. There were two stacks of paper. She reached out and flipped through them. There were eight or ten sheets in each pile filled with large script.
“
What is all this?”
“
You wrote two different letters, one with each hand,” said Anna.
“
What do they say?”
“
They’re from two different spirits.” Mrs. Fielding, eyes bulging, looked nearly wild. “The left-handed one is in another language.”
“
I don’t know any other languages.”
Anna stood next to her with an enormous grin. “Are you all right?”
“
She must rest.” Mac bolted up from his knees. “Come my dear. I think you should lie down. We can talk about all this later.”
“
Was there anything about my sisters?”
The three of them were silent, trading sharp glances back and forth.
“
Nothing that we could see or hear, but you have proved you are a great medium.” Mrs. Fielding grasped her hand.
“
But how can I be great if I can’t use my gifts to find my sisters?”
“
There are many things the spirits cannot tell us about our own lives, Isabelle.”
“
Izzie is right.” Mac glared down at Mrs. Fielding. “None of this is useful to her or anyone else. No more trances.” He snatched up one of stacks of paper and tossed it out into the room, pages flying out and landing on the sofa, chairs, and rug. “It may not be dangerous for you and Anna, but it is dangerous for Izzie.”
“
You’re wrong, Doctor MacAdams,” Anna said. “She is gifted and can be of true service. She must develop her talents.”
Everyone was pulling hard at her. She’d done what she had to do. There was no clue to help her find Clara and Euphora. All these weeks she’d been marching about the freezing streets of New York City with raw, blistered feet, never finding a hint of the girls. Now it seemed there was no hope at all.
“
I’m cold and very tired,” she said.
“
Yes, come over to the fire.” Mac reached for her hand, then looked at Mrs. Fielding. “Leave us, please.”
“
We’ll go over the letters with you later, Isabelle.” Mrs. Fielding kissed Izzie’s forehead.
“
That was beautiful, Izzie. I’m extremely happy.” Anna kissed her as well and left with Mrs. Fielding.
Worn out, Izzie shuffled over to the sofa near the fireplace and plopped herself down, but she couldn’t feel the fire’s warmth. Fatigued and chilled from head to toe as though she’d walked ten miles through foot-deep snow, she longed desperately to lie down and sleep.
“
I’m afraid I’ll lose you forever if you stay here with Mrs. Fielding.”
“
Do you mean I’ll lose my mind or my devotion to you?”
He winced. “I’m not sure. Before the trance, you said you might die. Now I’m the one who is afraid.”
“
I don’t know what all that was.” She flicked a hand toward the marble table where she had written the trance letters.
Mac leaned over, reached under the sofa, and rose up with one of the paper sheets he’d thrown across the room. He read to himself, then handed it to her.
She stuck her palm out, refusing it. She didn’t want to see it yet. She wasn’t ready.
Mac looked across the room toward the portraits of the Spiritualists. “Do you want to be on that wall?”
“
Oh, Mac, I don’t know. I want to find Clara and Euphora.”
“
I’m going to see Trall at his hydropathic college. Come with me.”
She shook her head. “I have to lie down. I’m cold.”
“
Tomorrow morning we’ll go home. It’s best. The girls will either write you or come there on their own. You’ll want to be waiting. Maybe they’re there now or there’s a letter sitting at the post office.”
The picture of Clara and Euphora standing at the front door of the enormous Upper Falls Water-Cure, and the door answered by strangers, made Izzie feel woeful. She clutched a silk pillow, spread out, and tucked the soft square under her head. Mac took a lap blanket from a nearby chair and covered her, then left her. She heard papers rustle here and there about the room. Finally, from the door, he said, “I’ll see you at dinner and help you pack your things.” She didn’t answer him. She was too tired. She knew she wasn’t leaving though.
<><><>
IT WAS EVENING AND DUSKY in Mrs. Fielding’s spirit parlor when Izzie woke on the sofa. Outside, the sound of rattling carriages was muffled by snow on the street. The fire was still burning strong. Someone must have had added coal to it while she slept. There were voices in the front parlor. In turn, she heard Anna, Mrs. Fielding, Mac, and Roland. Their conversation was heated, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. No doubt it was about her. Propping herself up, she became slightly dizzy. All she wanted was to go straight up to bed and sleep through the night. She certainly didn’t want be part of the argument going on in the next room and she didn’t want to fight with Mac about going back to Rochester.
She just wanted to stay in New York City and find her sisters. No matter what she had to do. If she had to go into a trance every day until she got some sort of impression of their whereabouts, she would. She’d survived her first trance. She was still here, not lost. She was tired, but she was the same as she had been in the morning. She still had her mind, all her senses. Mrs. Fielding and Anna would help her understand about talking to the spirits.
She made her way to the stack of papers she’d written, where Mac had left them on the table. Gathering the pile up, she returned to the fire and lit a tall glass lamp. She took a deep breath and began to read. The first page was scrawled in a colossal rolling script. The handwriting was huge but it was hers.
Dear Izzie,
Don’t be afraid. You are gifted beyond most others. You must accept this truth and your powers. You must learn and become a great medium. You will bring forth the most astounding physical manifestations. You will travel to London, Paris, Rome, Berlin, and all over America. You will help people understand life and death and find peace and consolation. Your mother struggled, but you will not. You have strength that she didn’t have.
You will be reunited with your sisters one day. You must embrace your spiritual gift. If you deny it, you will suffer in every way, perhaps even illness. If you embrace the gift, you will flourish. There are many of us who dwell in the spirit country who will guide you. Listen to the celestial voices. We speak in divine poems.
The pages shook in Izzie’s trembling hands. There was no signature. Had she written this letter to herself or was it truly from a spirit? It seemed like something Mrs. Fielding would write, but everyone witnessed her and told her she’d written the two letters, one with each hand.
She looked at the next sheet of paper. It was in a different hand, rather wobbly, and in another language, possibly French by the look of the accents. She didn’t know French, but had seen it in Julianna’s family library. But how could it be?
“
Nonsense! That’s nonsense. You are all in cahoots to take her from me.” Mac’s voice bellowed from the next room.
“
No one is taking me from you, Mac,” she said to herself out loud.
She was simply going to find her sisters. When she found them, she’d go home to him. Why couldn’t he understand that?
She clutched the letter in her fist. Why couldn’t the blasted letter tell her how she’d find Clara and Euphora? Why couldn’t the spirits have told her, “Go now to the corner of Bleecker Street and Fifth Avenue or wait in front of Trinity Church.” If the spirits were able to see and know everything, why couldn’t they just tell her what she needed?
She took the English letter telling her what an astounding Spiritualist she would become, tossed it into the fire, and watched it flame up. She held the other letter in her lap.
The double doors clicked and swung open and Mac led the others into the room. They were like a posse charging in.