by Kit Pearson
“Oh!” Kitty covered her mouth.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
Emily couldn’t bear this any longer. “You keep holding something back . . . it’s not fair! Who are you thinking of that makes you so sad? Who did that doll belong to? Who didn’t eat much? Is it someone who died?” Then she clamped her mouth shut. How could she be so rude?
“Oh, Emily . . .” Kitty’s voice quavered. “I suppose I could tell you.”
The room was hot. Emily poured herself some more lemonade and waited.
“It is someone who died—my younger sister, Pop,” said Kitty quietly. “She passed away two years ago. Today would have been her eleventh birthday.”
Emily tried to remember what you were supposed to say when someone had died. “I’m . . . I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured.
“Thank you. Pop was delicate from the day she was born. She was often in pain and she had to wear a special corset to support her back. But then, when Papa was away, she got even sicker, and then . . . she just went! Oh, Emily, I miss her so much!”
Emily squirmed, hoping Kitty wasn’t going to cry. But the older girl started nibbling at her fingernails.
“Pop is an unusual name,” ventured Emily.
Kitty smiled sadly. “Her real name was Mary . . . Mary Augusta. But we always called her Pop, I can’t remember why. She was only two and a half years younger than me, but she seemed much younger because she was so frail. I did everything for her. Mama was busy taking care of Jack, as well, so I helped her with Pop. I taught her how to paint and I took her on walks when she felt strong enough. We went to the beach where we were this morning and I would gather pretty pits for Pop to play with. She would lean against me when she got tired. She was my best friend!”
Kitty paused. “Emily . . . I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone else.” The fixed look in her eyes made Emily quiver.
“Pop is still here!” said Kitty. Her voice was intense and low. “Every day, whatever I do, I can feel her presence. She’s here, but I can’t see her or communicate with her. It’s almost as if she’s a ghost!”
Emily shuddered and forced herself not to look over her shoulder. She sipped lemonade and tried to concentrate on Kitty’s words, which were pouring out in a torrent.
“I can’t tell anyone in my family about this. Mama and Papa and Frank won’t talk about Pop and I don’t know how much Jack remembers. The first year after she died, we all wore black. We made a heart-shaped rose garden in her memory, and we talked about her constantly. Every night I crawled into Papa’s lap and cried. It was such a tragic time, but it was easier than it is now.”
Now Kitty looked angry. “But after a year Mama said we weren’t to talk about Pop anymore because it made us too sad. She said we had to carry on with our lives and be content with knowing that Pop is in heaven with God. But she isn’t! She’s still here! And today is her b-birthday and even Mama didn’t remember! That’s why I didn’t go on the picnic with them—how could I leave Pop on her birthday?”
“I don’t understand,” said Emily. “How do you know your sister is here?”
“It’s hard to explain,” said Kitty. “I just feel her. Whenever I’m in the places that Pop loved—in this house or the garden or the neighbourhood or in church—she is with me. But if I’m somewhere else, I can’t feel her presence at all.”
Emily tried to make her voice sensible; as if she, not Kitty, were the oldest. “We lost three children in our family,” she said slowly. “Three little boys—William and John and Thomas. They died before I was born. Sometimes Mother shows me their photographs. She misses them terribly, but after someone dies, you have to accept it and carry on with your life.”
Emily regretted her preachy words as soon as they were out of her mouth. What she said was what Mother had told her; she didn’t believe it one bit.
How could you accept someone being gone from your life? Emily remembered how anguished she herself was after her eight beautiful ducklings grew big and plump and were slaughtered for the table. But she couldn’t say that to Kitty. A duckling wasn’t the same as a sister.
Kitty’s voice was desperate. “Oh, Emily . . . I know I’m supposed to accept Pop’s death. I want to be happy again and carry on as everyone tells me to . . . but Pop won’t let me!”
“What do you mean?” Emily whispered. She wished she could leave the room, but Kitty’s eyes held hers in a burning gaze.
“Pop wants something! I don’t know what it is, but I can feel her longing to ask me to do something for her. I often talk to her. Mostly in my mind and sometimes out loud if no one is around or if I’m in bed. I’m always asking her what she wants, but she can’t answer—she can’t tell me what’s wrong!”
So that was why she had been muttering on the beach! Emily trembled inside. Could this be true? Could Kitty’s younger sister with the silly name still be here, even after she had died?
Now Kitty’s eyes swam with tears. “Oh, Emily, if only I could help Pop, she would be more peaceful! If only we could really talk to each other! If only there was a way to get through to someone who is dead!”
Emily flinched as a sharp memory came to her . . . a memory so scary she wasn’t sure she wanted to share it with Kitty. “There . . . there could be a way,” she said hesitantly.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Now Emily had to tell her. “There’s a woman in town who can do what you want. Last summer my sister went to see her, and Alice and I went with her.”
Kitty moved her chair closer to Emily’s. “Tell me!” she demanded.
The unusual morning was still vivid in Emily’s mind. Slowly she made it come alive for Kitty.
Tallie had invited Alice and her to go with her into town. She had told Dede they were going to buy thread, and asked Emily and Alice not to say anything about their real destination. It was such a treat to go anywhere with Tallie that they eagerly agreed.
They had walked for many blocks to a brown house on Cook Street. Emily and Alice had to wait on the veranda. Tallie stayed inside for a long time, and they got very hot and tired. Finally Tallie came out, all fluttery and excited.
Mrs. Tolliver, said Tallie, was a fortune teller. Tallie was trying to decide if her beau, John, was the right man for her to marry. “She looked into a crystal ball and told me I would marry someone who had dark hair and a moustache.” Tallie’s eyes had shone. “Isn’t that amazing! I hadn’t told her anything about John, but it was he! Now I know I’m meant to marry him.”
She had reminded them not to tell anyone. “Dede would be so scornful—she’d say it was a complete waste of money. She doesn’t have any truck with the supernatural, but I absolutely believe Mrs. Tolliver. She’s a true clairvoyant.”
“What’s that?” Emily had asked.
“Someone who has a talent to see into the future. And she’s also a spiritualist. She told me she can summon the dead!”
Emily had shivered then, despite the warm day. Tallie had gone on to explain how Mrs. Tolliver had regular clients who had conversations with their dead relatives. She had invited Tallie to come back if she ever wanted to do the same thing.
Kitty reached over and squeezed Emily’s arm so hard that Emily winced. “But how?” Kitty asked. “How can she communicate with people who have passed on?”
“I don’t know,” said Emily. “Tallie told us she was just born that way.”
They were silent. Then Kitty said slowly, “Emily . . . do you remember where Mrs. Tolliver lives?”
“I remember exactly,” Emily said. “It’s a brown house on the corner of Meares and Cook.”
Kitty stood up. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
Kitty’s voice rang with hope. “To see Mrs. Tolliver, of course!”
No! Emily wanted to shout. This was much too spooky. But Kitty had already rushed out the door.
EIGHT
Kitty found Chin hanging out the washing. “C
an you drive us into town?” she asked.
“Yes, Missy!” Chin grinned. He always wanted to go into town so he could visit his friends.
“Meet us at the gate in ten minutes,” Kitty told him.
She tried to still her breathing. Pop was going to speak with her! Would her sister sound the same? Would Pop say why she was so agitated?
Surely this woman was authentic. Emily’s sister was a grown lady, and she had trusted her. But how would Mrs. Tolliver do it? How could she possibly summon a little girl from the dead?
Kitty tried to quash her doubts. This had to work! Her need to hear from Pop was so intense that she could barely stand up. She made her legs walk back to the dining room. “Go and find your boots and stockings,” she told Emily. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
Emily looked frightened. “I don’t think we should go,” she said.
Kitty had to sit down. “What do you mean? Of course we should!”
“Mrs. Tolliver said Alice and I were too young to come in. She’ll probably think the same of you and me. And she was really crabby. I accidentally broke off one of her roses and she shouted at me.”
Kitty wanted to shake her. “But why did you even tell me about her if you don’t want to go?”
“I told you because you asked, but now I wish I hadn’t said anything. Can’t we forget about it and stay here? We were having such a pleasant time.”
“We have to go,” said Kitty fiercely. “Please, Emily, don’t you understand? I have to hear from Pop!”
“You go. I’ll just wait here,” said Emily. “I could read your books and maybe paint again.”
“I can’t leave you all alone! You’re only nine!”
“And you’re only thirteen!” retorted Emily. “Are you allowed to go into town all by yourself?”
Kitty flushed. “Not really, but I’ll ask Chin not to tell Mama. Emily, please . . . you have to come with me!”
Two pairs of grey eyes locked; then Emily’s looked away. “Oh, all right . . .”
“Thank you! Now, please hurry. Put something on your feet, find your hat, and meet me at the gate.”
Emily got up slowly and trudged towards the door. Then she paused. “You’ll need money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll just take all the money I have,” said Kitty. “Surely it will be enough.” She dashed to her room and found the savings that she kept in a stocking in her drawer. She picked up the small reticule that she used for church and stuffed the stocking into it. Then she chose two parasols from the hall and ran to the gate.
Chin was waiting for them with the carriage. He had let down his pigtail and put on an elegant black coat that buttoned up to his throat. “We want to go to the corner of Cook Street and Meares Street,” Kitty told him.
Emily was stroking Blackie’s nose. “May I sit up in front with Chin?”
“No, that wouldn’t be proper,” Kitty told her. She handed Emily a parasol. “We’re bound to pass someone we know, but we can hide our faces behind these. And we don’t want to run into anyone from our families.”
“I thought your family was on a picnic,” said Emily.
“Mama and Jack are, but I have an aunt and uncle who live in town. And perhaps your sisters will be out shopping.”
“They won’t,” said Emily bluntly. “They’ll be with Mother.”
Kitty felt the usual lurch in her stomach at leaving her house behind. But she wasn’t abandoning Pop this time—she was going to her! She grasped Emily’s hand. “I’m so excited!” Emily still looked frightened, but she squeezed it back.
Kitty gazed at her fondly. Now she knew why she had asked Emily over: to pretend she had a younger sister again. Exuberant Emily couldn’t be more different from sweet, gentle Pop, but that didn’t matter. Kitty could accept Emily as she was, because now she was going to be in contact with her real sister!
They drove over the Rock Street Bridge, trying not to breathe in the smell of the gasworks. As they turned up Discovery Street to Government Street, they passed a water barrel sprinkling the road, but dust still flew into their faces. Along the sides of the street were several Indians, sitting cross-legged beside their baskets of wares. “My father’s store is down there on Wharf Street,” pointed out Emily.
Kitty tried to make polite conversation, as if she weren’t on her way to an extraordinary destination. “What does he sell?” she asked.
“Groceries and liquor and cigars,” said Emily. “And delicious English sweets!”
Kitty hadn’t been into town for a long time. She’d forgotten how noisy and smelly it was compared with her neighbourhood. Carriage wheels clattered, stray dogs barked, and distant shouts came from the ships unloading at the harbour. The air was pungent with manure.
“Did you know that Victoria used to be a Hudson’s Bay fort?” asked Emily.
Kitty tried not to smile at how important Emily sounded. “I did know that,” she said. “Were your parents here then? Mine weren’t.”
“Neither were mine. But Mama’s friend Mrs. Lewis has told me stories of those days. She remembers the fort from when she was a young girl!”
As usual, the wide wooden sidewalks along Government and Fort Streets were bustling with shoppers. “Put up your parasol!” Kitty ordered. They were just in time. Jessie Dunsmuir was walking with her mother, and Mr. Ward was coming out of the bank. What if they recognized the carriage and told Mama? I don’t care! Kitty thought. Talking to Pop would be worth Mama’s displeasure.
It was much hotter than at home and the parasols provided welcome shade. The carriage turned up Fort Street and passed a noisy saloon. A strong smell of beer wafted out from it. “Don’t look,” warned Kitty.
“My sisters are always telling me that,” said Emily. “Let’s do look!”
Kitty felt so reckless she said, “Why not?” All they could see below the swinging doors were men’s feet and legs. Then a sailor sauntered out. He caught their eye, whistled, and called out, “Hello there, my pretties!” They ducked under their parasols again.
The busy centre of town gave way to houses with large gardens full of flowers and vegetables. The road became rutty with dried mud and Chin had to slow down for some cows that wandered across it. Emily was describing all the cats that lived in her father’s store, but Kitty only pretended to listen.
She gnawed a nail so savagely that her finger bled. Papa often said how wise Kitty was for her age . . . but was this a wise thing to do? He wouldn’t think so. Neither would Mama. Kitty had a lot of money in her stocking; she was supposed to be saving it for England. What if she had to pay all of it to Mrs. Tolliver? How would she explain that to her parents? And what if Mrs. Tolliver was a fraud?
The closer they came to Cook Street, the closer Kitty came to turning back. But something compelled her to keep going. If there was even the slightest possibility that Pop could speak to her . . . oh, what bliss, what comfort!
“Can you see the house?” she asked when they reached Cook Street.
“It’s one block to the right. There!” Emily pointed to a brown bungalow isolated in a field.
They scrambled out of the carriage. “How long did your sister stay with Mrs. Tolliver?”Kitty asked.
“About half an hour, I think.”
“Come back in half an hour and wait outside,” Kitty instructed Chin. “No longer, do you understand?”
“Yes, Missy!” Chin touched Blackie with the switch and trotted smartly towards Chinatown.
Emily headed straight for the chickens scratching in the yard, but Kitty called her back. They stood at the front door. A small sign read “Mrs. S. Tolliver, Clairvoyant. Appointments Only.”
“Oh, no—we haven’t got an appointment!” said Kitty. What if Mrs. Tolliver sent them away? That would be unbearable. She squared her shoulders. “We’ll just hope that she’ll see us anyway,” she told Emily. “You’ll have to do most of the talking. Remind her about your sister.”
> “All right,” whispered Emily.
Kitty knocked on the door and a woman opened it. She was scrawny, with wiry grey hair and a sour expression.
“Are you Mrs. Tolliver?” asked Kitty.
“I might be. Who are you?” The woman had a broad English accent.
“I am Miss O’Reilly,” said Kitty. Introducing herself as if she were a grown lady made her feel braver. “And this is Miss Emily Carr.”
“Well, I am Mrs. Tolliver,” said the woman stiffly. “What are you young ladies doing here all alone?”
Kitty poked Emily.
“My—my older sister, Tallie . . .” mumbled Emily.
“Speak up, child!”
Emily cleared her throat. “My older sister, Tallie—I mean Clara, that’s her real name—she came to see you last year. Miss Clara Carr . . . You predicted her future. I was here with my other sister, but we had to wait on the veranda.”
Mrs. Tolliver glared at Emily. “I remember you. You tried to steal one of my roses!”
“It was an accident,” said Emily. “It broke off when I was smelling it.”
The woman looked even more cross and started to close the door.
“Please, Mrs. Tolliver, mayn’t we come in?” begged Kitty. “I have something very important to ask you.”
Mrs. Tolliver glared at Emily again, but then she turned to Kitty. “You’re supposed to have an appointment . . . but I happen to be free, so I suppose so. Follow me.”
She led them into a gloomy parlour with the curtains half drawn. Kitty could barely see at first and there were so many cushions on every surface that it was difficult to find a place to sit. Finally they perched on the edge of a sofa. Mrs. Tolliver sat in a chair opposite them.
“What do you want of me?” she demanded.
If only she were friendlier! Kitty began haltingly. “Emily’s sister said you can speak to—speak to the dead,” she began. Her voice came out in a bleat.
“Perhaps I can,” said Mrs. Tolliver. “But you’re only a girl.”
“I’ve brought a lot of money with me,” said Kitty. “I’ll pay whatever you wish.”
