Whispers Beyond the Veil (2 page)

“You said you purchased ‘them.' How many of these devices did you buy?” I felt a knot in my stomach pulling firm, like it was lashing a boat to a dock. Father's business sense was appalling.

“All of them, of course. He insisted I take the lot or he was going to sell them to another qualified buyer.”

“Tell me you haven't spent all the money.”

“Invested, my sweet. I invested every cent.”

“You promised me the last time you'd never do something like this again. There are no valuables left to sell.”

“It's beneath us both for you to remind me of such a thing. Besides, I am absolutely certain the Invigorizer will completely change our lives.” A deep blush crept above Father's collar. He no longer looked like the cool salesman who strode the stage only hours before.

“Every time we get the least little bit ahead you go and spend everything on something foolish. You're no better than the small boys who visit the show with their pockets ablaze with a nickel or two.” Father raised a broad hand and, not for the first time, slapped me, then stomped out of the tent. He always did know how to time his exits.

I felt a hot, angry tear slide down my cheek as I sank into the wooden folding chair and stared at the Invigorizer in front of me. I couldn't begin to count how many times I had been forced to take stock of the same sort of situation, to inventory our resources. But after the last time, Father had been the one weeping when he'd been forced to sell the few small trinkets that had belonged to my mother, and I'd convinced myself he'd changed.

I had a stash of emergency money I earned from my tarot card readings and I knew enough not to give all of it to Father. The last time he had followed one of his ill-considered schemes I caught Father consulting with the man who ran a business nice people never speak of. My card money was the only thing between me and the tent—tucked out of sight and sound at the back of the show—that served lonely men and desperate women.

I carried the lantern to the back of the tent and slipped out of my gown. I lay on my cot and slid my hand under the pillow to the envelope I kept beneath it. The feel of the paper, worn smooth with so much handling, was a small comfort. As much as I told myself it did no good, I wondered, as I always did after such an altercation with Father, what life would have been like if my mother had not fled this world so soon after my birth. I told myself to be practical and to turn my thoughts to what was, not what might have been. I lay a hand against my bruised cheek and fell asleep thinking about how many readings I would need to conduct before the show pulled up stakes if I wanted to keep us fed.

•   •   •

B
y the next morning Father was still in a state. He awoke early, thrashed and stomped about the tent loudly, and roused me without so much as a good morning.

“I shall require your assistance for a trial run of the Invigorizer. I expect you in the demonstration tent as soon as you dress.” Without waiting for my reply he grabbed an Invigorizer and strode out of the tent.

I had no energy to hurry. I'd slept fitfully and dreamt of horses and wishes and streets lined with beggars who all looked just like Father. I woke often, tossing on my cot, my face still sore,
wondering how Father would fare without me and how long it would take for him to return to hawking patent medicines.

Consequently, I performed my morning housekeeping duties with no degree of urgency. I smoothed the sheets atop the cots. I tidied away the bottling supplies abandoned the night before. I swept the tent and wiped down the table and chairs with a damp rag, imagining myself instead flicking a duster over a fine table in a dining room with flocked wallpaper and heavy velvet draperies.

I dressed slowly and with care, my stomach churning and a small voice whispering constantly in my ear. At its insistence I donned my best frock, my newest hat, and despite the heat, a fine wool lace shawl. Always on the alert for thieves that were more burglar than swindler, I fetched my beaded purse and added my secret savings to it. The voice told me to add my mother's tarot cards before cinching the bag tightly and hiding it away in the folds of my dress. I plucked my parasol from its customary spot near the tent flap and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

The heat of the morning promised a day as warm as the previous one and I immediately regretted the shawl. I turned back to the tent flap thinking to remove it but the voice cautioned me to hurry instead to where my father was sure to be waiting impatiently. I thought of the way he had struck me the night before, and I picked up my skirts and moved as quickly as was seemly to the far end of the show grounds.

•   •   •

T
he demonstration tent was larger than all the other tents in the show and was located at the end of the midway. I dawdled past wagons belonging to magicians and sword-swallowers, jugglers and dancers. The medicine show offered
much more than miracle elixirs and nostrums. First and foremost, it sold entertainment. All the pleasures a country bumpkin could desire lay stretched out along a dusty strip of flat ground prepared to dazzle and ensnare passersby.

As I passed Johnny's tent I slowed my steps even more, trying to peek inside as the breeze lifted then dropped the tent flap. I hoped to catch a glimpse of his friendly smile before I had to face my father. Johnny was nowhere to be seen.

I lifted the flap of the demonstration tent and slipped inside. The interior was dim compared with the brightness of the day, and my eyes were slow to make the adjustment. I groped my way along to the back of the tent, following the sound of male voices.

“How good of you to grace us with your presence. You were so tardy I asked Johnny to help demonstrate the Invigorizer in your stead.” Father cinched a strap across Johnny's bared chest, a heavy buckle settled right above his heart. “But now that you're here you can make yourself useful at the controls.”

“Father, are you quite certain you know how to safely operate this contraption?” My stomach writhed like it was a pail full of bait worms I sometimes saw the men in the show carrying around in their off times.

“Johnny, pay her no attention. The inventor of this incredible device himself taught me to use it just yesterday. Not only that, but he kindly left me with this booklet to consult in case of any lapses in my memory.” Father flapped a pamphlet in my direction. “Now, Ruby, just flip that switch to check that the battery is fully charged.” I held my breath as I did as he asked. I heard a quiet click and a lightbulb on the top of the Invigorizer glowed brightly.

“It looks like the card reading was right,” Johnny said. “My
fortune is changing. Your father's asked me to be a permanent part of the Invigorizer demonstration.”

“I applaud your enthusiasm, young man. I am certain this device will be the beginning of something spectacular.” Father pointed at me again. “Now switch on the toggle at the far end and watch what this can do.”

And then, I heard the voice.
“Don't.”
I hesitated and looked at my father once more. He flapped his hand impatiently. I reached out and gingerly flicked the switch.

Johnny stiffened. His body began to twitch, and I heard his breathing even over the rustling tent canvas. Before I could move to help him, Father shot out an arm to stop me, and Johnny toppled to the floor. Father flipped the switch back the other way, and Johnny's body lay completely still. Father and I stared at each other, standing almost as motionless as Johnny.

“What have you done?” Father took a step back from me.

“What do you mean, what have I done?” My blood pounded in my ears so loudly I could barely hear my own voice. I felt my knees giving way and I sank to the ground beside Johnny. Father knelt beside me and unfastened the Invigorizer from around Johnny's chest. Burn marks seared his tanned flesh and a bit of his skin stuck to the buckle in much the same way a scrap of ham will cling to a pan.

While I generally pride myself on my steely nerves, I felt quite faint. Father appeared to have felt the same, for he pulled his silver-plated flask from a vest pocket and consoled himself in his preferred manner by taking a good, long tug. I reached out and relieved him of it.

“Really, my dear, even under the circumstances I cannot condone you imbibing strong spirits.” Ignoring him I held the flask
under Johnny's nose and prayed a discernible fog would appear on its shiny surface. It did not.

“You killed him,” Father said. The world around me seemed to slow down and I felt my senses heighten. I was certain I heard a noise at the side entrance to the tent but when I turned to look I saw nothing.

“It was an accident. You told me to flip the switch. You promised it was safe.”

“Irrelevant. Do you wish to be hanged?” Father stood, then bent to grasp Johnny by the ankles. He dragged his body to the makeshift stage and rolled him underneath, screening his body from view with a stack of soapboxes usually used for extra seating. “The first show of the day is due to start in less than thirty minutes. We must leave here at once.”

I felt a sob working its way up into my throat, but before it could make itself heard Father grabbed hold of my wrist and tugged me to my feet.

“Where are we going?” Even as I asked, sounds of happy pleasure-seekers rang through the air just outside the tent.

“Since you've gotten us into this predicament we'll have to start over with new names in a new show as far from here as we can get.” Father's voice sounded harsh. “Come to think of it, we'd stand a better chance of eluding detection if we separate.”

“You don't want me to go with you?” I asked, hardly believing the words slipping from my mouth.

“The authorities will be looking for a father and daughter traveling together. It would be to our advantage to split up.”

“I suppose what you are really thinking is that if you're caught it will be easier to place the blame on me if you don't have to look me in the face when you do it.”

“I see you understand my thinking completely.”

“But where will I go?”

“I suggest you head to your aunt Honoria in Old Orchard. If you're very lucky, she'll still be there.”

“But that's across the border, into Maine.”

“That's why I suggested it. Canadian authorities have no power in the States. Even a murderess will be safer there.” Father snapped down the lid on the Invigorizer and started out through the canvas, then turned back toward me. “Have you your secret stash of money on your person? You know, the portion of your earnings you always hold back?” he asked.

I felt the weight of my coin purse tucked into the folds of my skirt. It wasn't much but it might just be enough to buy a ticket across the border. I nodded.

“Then off you go. Head out of camp before anyone misses Johnny. Flag down the first carriage you meet on the road to the train station and beg a ride.” And with that, my father vanished through the flap in the canvas.

I
t was entirely my own fault, of course. I know better than to ignore the voice. At least I always do in retrospect. But in the moment, in the face of difficult decisions and rational concerns, it often feels like insanity to listen to it. No matter how I tried to justify my actions, if I had listened, Johnny would still be alive. I was responsible for his death and there was no way I could forgive myself.

Now, as I felt the strong tug of the train as it hurtled south, across the border into Maine, the voice was silent. It never was one to say
“I told you so.”

I slipped my hand into the small, silken pouch containing all I could now dare claim in the world. Everything, that is, besides my parasol, wedged between the worn upholstery of my seat and the rattling window. I withdrew an envelope from my bag and gently lifted the brittle flap. From within I slid out a photograph wrapped in a letter. For the hundred thousandth time I stared at the faces of the two young women, arm in arm, wearing gowns more than twenty years out of fashion.

Curlicues, fretwork, and window boxes hung off the building
behind the smiling young women, and a sign above their heads read
HOTEL BELDEN
. I looked at the faded postmark on the envelope for reassurance of my decision to seek shelter with my aunt. I promised myself two things. The first was that if I made it there, and if Honoria welcomed me, I was going to go completely straight. No more cons, no more rubes. No matter what happened I was determined to live in such a way that I needn't ever look over my shoulder again. The second was that, no matter what, I would never ignore the voice again, regardless of how much it made me question my sanity.

My stomach rumbled and I was glad the sounds of the train masked the noise. One of the cars served refreshments but my funds were shockingly depleted by the purchase of my train ticket and I was unsure what lay ahead.

Across the aisle a small girl in a rose-colored dress leaned against her mother. The woman stroked her daughter's hair and bent toward her ear to whisper something that provoked a smile. I closed my eyes against the two of them, feeling like someone who stands outside in the dark peering through the glowing windows of other people's homes.

But as soon as my lids curtained the tender scene in the train, another scene unfolded before my eyes. The one that sent me fleeing. The one where I am standing over Johnny's body. The one where my father leaves me to my fate without a backward glance.

•   •   •

P
ickpockets. So many damned pickpockets. The men who owned the Old Orchard Pier Company could boast all day about the good their project was doing the town but they weren't the ones out here trying to explain to yet another elderly lady why she needed
to be careful with her valuables while out in public. While pickpocketing had always been something of a concern in the popular resort town, the coming of the pier had whipped the criminal element into a frenzy. It seemed every petty thief on the eastern seaboard had come to spend the summer making an indecent living.

Across the square a crowd was forming. Women in summery dresses, their wide hats tipping precariously, stretched on tiptoe to see into the center of the throng. More often than not, street performers were the cause of scenes like this, but sometimes they were more serious, even dangerous. Yancey headed for the group, his hand on his billy club in the event he should need it. He elbowed his way through a ring of bystanders seven-deep. A young woman in an emerald green dress lay on the ground. Her hat spilled to the side of her. A handbag lay next to her hand on one side and a battered-looking parasol on the other. At least no one had taken advantage of her misfortune and robbed her.

“Step aside, please. Step aside.” Yancey's voice rang with authority, and the inner ring of people pressed backward into the ring behind them. Yancey knelt by the prone figure. Her chest rose and fell slightly. At least she wasn't dead. “Did anyone see what happened?”

“I did.” Henry, one of the young boys who drove a confectionary cart along the beach, spoke up. He snatched his cap from his head and leaned toward the policeman.

“Well? What did you see?” Yancey placed the back of his hand on the woman's forehead as though he were a mother checking for fever. Her skin seemed clammy but it might just have been the weather rather than any sort of internal injury.

“The lady was standing just over there. She seemed like she was looking for something or someone.” The lad pointed toward
the train depot. “She took a few steps away from the station and a man came up and grabbed at her purse.”

“That one there?” Yancey pointed at the handbag.

“That's the one, sir. The lady held tight to her bag and even began to bash the fellow over the head with her parasol. She got a few good licks in before she lost her balance and fell.”

“Did no one help her?”

“I came a-running as soon as I knew what was happening. Things happened awful fast and it was confusing for a minute there.”

“You say she slipped?”

“The man was tugging and she was just a-swinging away with her parasol and it musta tipped her right over. Her head hit the bricks when she landed on the ground. I wasn't sure if she was dead or alive.”

“Didn't you try to revive her?”

“She's a lady, sir. I wasn't sure I ought to touch her.” The youngster looked down at his shoes, a blush spreading up his face like a slow-moving sunburn.

“I'll need a description of the man you saw. But first, I need to attend to this young lady.” Yancey slipped his hands beneath the girl's head and turned it slightly, looking for blood or a bump. Her eyes fluttered a bit but did not stay open. He scooped her up and stood. The crowd parted and watched him as he strode up Old Orchard Street toward the new police station housed in the first floor of the Odd Fellows Hall.

•   •   •

S
omeone was draping something cool and moist across my forehead. A spot on the back of my head throbbed dully. I winced when I reached up to feel a small lump I couldn't
remember acquiring. At first my thoughts were jumbled and came in images. Then, as the pictures in my mind of the train, of Johnny, of my hasty departure from my father sorted themselves into proper order I remembered my predicament. I creaked open one eye and then the other.

My worst fears appeared realized. A man wearing a police uniform sat opposite me, staring directly into my eyes. My heart beat so fast I was certain he would hear it as he leaned forward to adjust the cloth. I could not fathom how the police could possibly have caught up with me so quickly. I wouldn't put it past Father to have alerted them to the possibility of my arrival.

“You seem to have gotten yourself into some difficulty. Do you know where you are?” he asked.

“Last I knew I was in Old Orchard, Maine.” I offered the gray-eyed policeman a weak smile. My instincts told me to play the part of the damsel in distress and to see where it led. There was no sense in giving up until forced to do so.

“You still are. A little while ago I brought you to the police station. I'm Officer Warren Yancey. Are you feeling well enough to tell me about the incident?”

“Other than a bit of a headache, I feel fine, thank you. However, I am not sure which incident you mean.” I removed the cloth from my brow and handed it to him, hoping to gain a moment to gather my thoughts. Life in the medicine show had trained me to avoid and distrust officers of the law, as we are so often on opposite sides of it. Even without the harrowing events of the previous hours, awaking to find myself in the company of the police rattled me good and proper.

“According to witnesses, you were accosted near the train station by a man determined to relieve you of your purse.” It
appeared my visit to the police station was wholly unconnected to Johnny. My relief was so profound I felt myself becoming faint once more. I sagged back against the chair and shut my eyes.

“I meant to cause no distress. Please, take your time.” He leaned away from me and settled back in his chair. I took the opportunity to decide on a story. I marshaled my thoughts to the pickpocket.

“I'm happy to tell you what I remember. I left the train station and had gone no further than a few steps when I felt tugging on my purse. I turned and saw a man, somewhere around thirty years old, trying his best to rob me.”

“A witness stated that you gave a full measure of resistance.”

“The purse happens to be my favorite.” Not to mention it contained the entirety of my worldly goods. I looked down, hoping to see my purse sitting in my lap, but found it empty.

“So you raised your parasol and commenced beating him about the head with it?”

“What else could I do?”

“Did he seem surprised by your forceful reaction?”

“He did. He released his grip on my purse so abruptly I keeled right over and cracked my head against something hard. I do hope I didn't end up losing it anyway.”

“After witnessing your willingness to protect it, I believe any spectators would have been too frightened to try to snatch it from you even while you were rendered senseless.” Officer Yancey deposited my satiny bag into my hand. “Could you identify this man if asked at a later date to do so?” After years of reading crowds in the show, I had an eye for faces. Even without any special experience, the man would be easy enough to recognize. It's hard to forget a man sporting two gold front teeth. However, I wanted nothing to do with the police and saw no reason to continue my
involvement. After all, as I had not lost my purse I needn't aid the authorities in its recovery.

“Everything happened so quickly I'm not sure I could. Although it might improve my memory if I were allowed to thrash any suspects with my parasol once more.” The policeman smiled and I felt a little safer, for the moment at least.

“I would like to give such a man a good thrashing myself although I doubt my weapon of choice would be a parasol. I shall need your name and your address in order to contact you if necessary.” He leaned over to a large wooden desk for a notebook and a pencil.

“My name is Ruby Proulx.” The truth felt sticky on my tongue. Father and I never used our real names in the show, hardly even with each other. We had used so many false names my real one felt rusty with disuse. As a reminder to myself of my intention to go straight I had decided during my long train journey to use the name my mother had given me. If I had known the first person I would speak it to would be a policeman I might have been tempted to hold off on my rehabilitation.

“And your address?”

“I'm not certain of my address.” I once again felt the gnawing concern that had accompanied me on the journey from New Brunswick to Maine. The rashness of my journey occurred to me once more. In the cold light of the police station I felt foolish for fleeing from the life I knew with nothing but a photograph tucked into a letter sent to my mother twenty years earlier.

“It needn't be the one for a hotel here in Old Orchard. I shall need a permanent address as well.”

“I haven't one of those, either. I'm here in search of someone but I am uncertain as to her exact address.”

“If she's a full-time resident of long standing I expect I can help you to locate her. What's her name?”

“Honoria Belden.”

“Of the Hotel Belden?” Officer Yancey's eyebrows shot upward, then scrunched back down as he squinted and scrutinized my face.

“I believe so.”

“How do you know Miss Belden?”

“I don't.” I loosened the ties on my purse and withdrew a much-handled envelope. “This letter and accompanying photograph were amongst my late mother's things. I believe Honoria Belden is my aunt.” I handed the papers to Officer Yancey and watched as he handled them carefully. He inspected the address on the envelope and then removed its contents. He read aloud from the card enclosing the photograph.

“‘I am certain they have softened. Please come home. Your devoted sister, Honoria.'”

“I knew you reminded me of someone. And not just because of your unorthodox use of a parasol. The family resemblance is marked.” He handed me back my things and I glanced at the photograph again. I had lain on my cot every night for years imagining what the inside of the hotel was like, what surrounded it. But most important, I wondered about the women in the photograph and whether or not I would ever meet Honoria.

“Is Miss Belden expecting you?”

“I would be very surprised if she were.” I felt my stomach lurch with nervousness. If Honoria refused me I would need to call on all my skills to keep body and soul together. The purchase of the train ticket had eroded my savings. I doubted I had enough
money left for more than a single night's stay in a hotel and certainly nothing left over for food.

“Then I'd say both of you are in for quite a surprise.” Officer Yancey seemed amused by something, and I must confess it left me with an even greater sense of unease than before. What about a hotel was cause for such a knowing smile? “As soon as you are feeling able I will take you to her myself. It is but a short walk from here.”