Wednesday afternoon, October 22, 1879
“Lena Moroney, Spirit Medium, Private Sittings, 1023 Stockton Street”
.— San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
Twenty-four hours had done much to bring down the swelling in her knee, so Annie was able to walk without much discomfort as she and Kathleen made their way to the Framptons, where Annie was scheduled to have a “private” sitting with Evie May. On Monday, before the séance had begun, Simon had offered her this chance to meet alone with Evie May. Later that evening, when arguing with Nate about whether she should return to the Framptons, Annie brought this up as proof that Simon didn’t know about her connection to Madam Sibyl. After yesterday’s accident getting off the horse car, she wasn’t so sure.
While the storm had rumbled its way out of the city sometime late last night, yesterday afternoon it had been throwing its full force at Annie as she hobbled up the hill from Market. She was a sorry mess when she finally arrived home: hair soaked, coat muddy, gloves ruined, and limping so badly she had trouble making it up the stairs to her room. She’d had some faint hope of repairing most of the damage before encountering anyone else in the household, but, as luck would have it, just as she was about to creep into her second floor room, the Stein’s sitting room door opened and Kathleen came out, followed by Esther Stein.
Annie thought Kathleen had actually shrieked, so she must have looked awful, but Esther had made no comment, just ordered Kathleen to go down to the kitchen and bring up the hip bath and as much water as she could get from the hot water reservoir on the stove. She then told Annie to strip while she got a pile of towels from the hallway linen closet. In a short time, Annie was sitting in steaming hot water, having her hair washed by Kathleen and her knee looked to by Esther. Her story of an errant gust of wind, unwieldy umbrella, slippery horse car steps, and a fall, seemed to satisfy both women, who were more concerned about making sure Annie didn’t catch cold and unsuccessfully arguing that she cancel Madam Sibyl’s evening clients. What she didn’t reveal to the two women, or later to Beatrice, was the role a sharp shove had played in her accident, nor her discovery of another note in her coat pocket. Written like the first note, in black ink, the message was short and sour: STAY AWAY OR ELSE.
She hadn’t stayed away, since here she was, once again at the Framptons’ door. Ringing the door pull, she reassured herself that there wasn’t anything to fear. It was a sunny afternoon, Kathleen was with her, and the worst that could happen was that the Framptons might turn her away and refuse to let her have her private sitting with Evie May.
On reflection, she couldn’t even take the shove too seriously, since whoever did it couldn’t even be sure Annie would fall, much less be hurt. Unbidden, Annie had an image of Arabella, wearing some long hooded cloak as a disguise, following her to the restaurant, maybe expecting to catch her in a secret tryst with Simon, and using the confusion of the rain and the crowded horse car to slip the note in Annie’s pocket. She then imagined Arabella so overcome by jealousy that she had shoved Annie in a fit of anger.
Rather amused by the scene she had just conjured up, Annie’s fear dissipated, permitting her to address Albert with equanimity when he opened the door and stood glaring at her. “If you will be so good as to summon Mr. Frampton,” Annie said, stepping forward, forcing the butler to give way. “I have an appointment with Evie May at three. I will wait for him in the parlor. Kathleen, you wait for me here, and I am sure that Albert will see that you are given a cup of tea.”
Annie walked over to the parlor door. She had hoped to have a few moments in the séance room alone to explore its secrets, but when Albert opened the door she was disappointed to see Simon standing in front of the fireplace, waiting for her. The curtains were pulled open, revealing two sets of French doors leading to the side garden, a dark tangle of shrubs whose rain-washed green contrasted favorably with the artificial leaves of the room’s wallpaper. Overall, this room did not fare well in natural light, which exposed the worn edges of carpet, the sheen of an inexpensive velvet tablecloth, and a chip in the marble mantel.
Simon moved to her side, shaking her hand, and commanding her attention with his extraordinary gray eyes as if, she thought, he feared letting her spend any more time in observation. “Mrs. Fuller, how good it is to see you. Please let me take your coat. Albert will hang it in the hallway for you.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Frampton, I believe I will keep it on, I got a little chill yesterday from the rain,” Annie said. She stepped neatly around Simon and moved towards the fireplace. She thought for a moment that leaving her coat in the hallway might give Kathleen a chance to see if someone deposited another note. She decided, however, to keep her coat on. She was once again wearing one of her older black silks, not only for convenience since this evening she again had appointments as Madam Sibyl, but also because Annie had only a limited number of outfits appropriate for the role she was playing as a wealthy young widow.
“I am so sorry, Mrs. Fuller,” Simon Frampton said. “Please, why don’t you have some sherry before we commence the sitting. It will warm you nicely.” He walked over to the drinks table, and, without waiting for her response, poured out a very generous helping.
Annie had no intention of dulling her faculties in preparation for her sitting with Evie May, so she said something about it being too early in the afternoon, walked over to the second set of windows, and looked out to see if there was a path that would provide access to the room from outside. The strong breeze she had felt at each séance prompted this curiosity. Despite the overgrown nature of the side garden, the patch of ground right next to the house was cut back, and she could see a narrow opening in the bushes that would lead to the rear of the house. Albert, or the yet unseen lady’s maid, could easily slip into the room and stand behind the curtains until one of the sections of the séance when the room was in complete darkness. To do what? Fool around with the lights? Play the tambourine?
Not wanting Simon to note her interest in the side yard, Annie turned and began to burble out a series of questions designed to establish further her credentials as a naïve, unthreatening woman. She asked how the spirits knew to come, did his wife have a way of calling them, and did they come to Arabella when she wasn’t holding a séance. She then asked if someone could communicate on their own . . . because she felt sure that last night as she lay in bed, she heard her mother’s voice, “clear as a bell.”
Simon got a word in edgewise when Annie paused. “Please, Mrs. Fuller, do have a seat, and I will try to answer your questions.” He then indicated the small sofa in the corner. When she sat down, trying not to react to the sharp twinge in her knee, he sat beside her and reached out to take both of her hands in his, his thumbs resting on her wrists in uncomfortable intimacy.
Annie resisted her impulse to pull away, reasoning that his move would not have been unwelcome by most women. Mrs. Larkson, for example. However, she also knew from her experience as Madam Sibyl that Simon could use the beat of her pulse under his thumbs to determine how agitated she might be.
So, she sighed and said, “Oh Mr. Frampton. You are such a comfort,” while at the same time she pulled her hands from his grip and swiftly clasped his right hand in her own, squeezing tightly. “I am glad that I have you here to advise me. Father seemed extremely upset with me on Monday. He sometimes hid my dollies away when he wanted me to study my sums more diligently. I don’t know that I will listen to him if he persists in being so mean.”
Annie pretended to pout, glancing upwards through her eyelashes to gauge Simon’s reaction.
Simon smiled at her and used his free hand to pat her on the shoulder. “Mrs. Fuller, I can assure you that your father is just looking out for your interests. I am confident that he will have some very good suggestions on how to invest your money. But tell me, why aren’t you asking Madam Sibyl for this sort of advice?”
Her first thought was, Blast you, Nate Dawson. Did you have to be right? Her second was, I should have been
prepared for this. I have seriously underestimated Simon, but he hasn’t indicated that he knows Madam Sibyl and I are the same person, thank goodness.
Fortunately, several years of working as Madam Sibyl had taught Annie how to think quickly while stalling verbally, so she let her mouth continue to rattle on in the same vein as before.
“Why, Mr. Frampton, do you know Madam Sibyl? Of course, I don’t know what would make me think you wouldn’t, seeing as you are in the same business. Is there some sort of organization? A secret society? My father was a member of the Masons. Oh, dear, he told me over and over again that I should never reveal that. Well, he’s dead, so I can’t see that it would hurt him. You don’t think they have such groups in the afterlife? Oh, my, that could be awkward. Please promise you won’t mention it, I mean to your wife. I wouldn’t want it to slip out the next time she communicates with him. He already seems so unhappy with me.”
Annie, pleased to see a small, puzzled frown on Simon’s brow, judged it was time to answer his original question. “But at least I get a chance to see him, or at least hear him, when I attend one of your séances. Madam Sibyl just reads palms or talks about the stars. Silly business. I admit I did think at first that she could help me. I mean, how convenient, right there in the house, and I got a discount on her fees. It was one of the reasons I agreed to rent out the downstairs parlor to her. It would help pay my expenses, and she would be able to advise me in my investments. But it was all a sham. I tried investing money as she suggested, but my income didn’t increase at all, and when I wanted to sell shares to purchase a new gown, she got quite cross.
“That’s when I decided to try to talk to my father. Maybe he is angry with me because he knows I have gone to a fortuneteller. He always said they were charlatans, and now I am inclined to agree. If I didn’t need the income, I would ask her to leave. But Mr. Stein said I shouldn’t do anything so hasty.”
“My dear Mrs. Fuller, I do hope you will find better success with your father,” Simon interrupted her. “But I do believe that financial advice is not your only motivation in contacting the spirits. I was under the impression that you had a request of a deeply personal nature. Which is why I suggested this sitting with Evie May, such an extraordinary way of channeling the spirit world.”
Feeling as if she had passed some sort of test, the knot in Annie’s stomach began to ease. What would have happened if I hadn’t reassured him of my lack of complicity with Madam Sibyl? Probably Evie May would have then turned out to be indisposed. She would have to be very careful from now on not to deviate from the role she had created for herself. She was sure Simon had not spent a lifetime fooling people with his magic, mesmerism, and mediums without developing a well-honed ability to detect when other persons were trying to pull the wool over his eyes.
Pushing that unsettling thought aside, Annie replied, infusing her voice with nervousness she didn’t have to pretend. “Mr. Frampton, I am so uneasy. I know I asked for a chance to speak with my little boy, but now I am afraid. He was so young when he went. What if he doesn’t remember me?”
Simon pulled Annie to her feet while telling her not to worry. “If your boy comes, as I am sure he will, you may find his spirit will seem older than when he left you. I don’t understand it myself, but my wife tells me that some spirits, particularly those of children, continue to grow and mature in the afterlife.”
What a convenient way to cover any discrepancies, thought Annie. He had just told her not to be concerned if the child he produced isn’t anything like her dead son. What inconsistencies about Charlie had he explained away to Sukie? At least he can’t explain away the manifestation of a child who never existed. The sudden memory of her own real lost daughter intruded, and Annie resolutely pushed that thought away.
Simon had moved over and opened the pocket doors to the small adjoining parlor, where the cabinet sat. In this room the curtains remained closed, so the only light came from the larger parlor and that mysterious shaft of light coming from the room above. Sitting in the cabinet, in that shaft of light, was Evie May. Today she was again dressed all in white, but this time in a very young fashion, with a linen sailor top, pleated skirt, and white stockings. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, with the front bangs prominently displayed. Annie was startled to realize that if she hadn’t known Evie May was a girl, she could have passed in this outfit as a very young boy. Someone had spent a good deal of time dressing her for this particular sitting. She speculated that this was what the girl wore when she was “Charlie” and had her private chats with Sukie. Did they ever just dress her as a boy?
As they walked up to Evie May, she seemed to be staring right through them, which was disconcerting. There was no recognition of Annie, no hint, thank goodness, of Maybelle, no expression at all on her face.
“Please, Mrs. Fuller, come join Evie May in the cabinet, and I will pull this curtain to give you privacy. I will be in the next room if you need me,” Simon said, giving Annie’s shoulder a reassuring pat. She sat down, and the girl didn’t moving a muscle. As the curtain closed, the light in the cabinet dimmed considerably. Annie knew her eyes would adjust quickly, but for an instant she could neither see nor hear Evie May, although she could feel the girl’s knees touching her own, which ached in response.
Outside, Simon intoned as he did in the séances, “Oh, departed ones, call the spirit of this woman’s child, let Annie Fuller speak with him and find comfort.” Evie May stirred.
Annie, aware that Simon could hear everything that went on in the cabinet, admonished herself to stay in character. “Oh, it’s so dark,” she said, making her voice tremble. “Johnny, are you there? Can you hear mama?” Her eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, she could see that Evie May was now sitting cross-legged, doing something with her hands. Annie almost laughed out loud when she realized the girl was pretending to stack objects, probably blocks, one on top of the other. Of course, since they only knew that her son had died when small, they had Evie May play the one game every child by the age of three knew. How clever!
Annie went along with the charade and said, “Johnny, is that you? What are you doing? Are you playing with your blocks? Darling, do you remember, they were painted such pretty colors.”
Evie May looked up at her and said in a child’s lisp, “Mama, course it’s me. Do you want to play with me?”
“Certainly I will play with you, my sweet,” Annie replied, and she proceeded to pretend to build a tower of blocks, laughing when Evie May pretended to knock them all down. Annie was surprised at how at ease she felt with this pretend Johnny, doing pretend things. Then she thought about how this would feel if, like Sukie, she believed she was playing with the spirit of a real child, and her mood darkened.
She lowered her voice and began to ask Evie May a series of questions about where Johnny had been . . . if he had seen his father, his grandfather, grandmother. Finally she said sharply, “How do I know you really are my son Johnny?”
Annie stopped, aghast when she saw that Evie May had started to cry. Instinctively she put her arms around the girl, who snuggled closely and started to suck her thumb. Fighting to keep her voice no more than a whisper, Annie said, “Please, child, tell me who you are? Are you my son, Johnny?”
Evie May reared back and said, “No, I’m not! The bad man told me to make-believe, but I don’t want to, cause I’m not a boy.” Then the girl smiled and said, “You know who I am. I’m Maybelle. Why didn’t you come the other day? I saw you, sitting right in that other room. I tried to tell that old man I didn’t want to see him; I wanted to see you. But you came today, I’m glad. I didn’t want to be that Johnny.”
Frantic thoughts cascaded through Annie’s mind. Could this really be her child? Could Simon have been telling the truth, that children aged in the afterlife? And if Johnny was made-up, but Maybelle was real, was the spirit of Charlie real or not?
As the girl again popped her thumb in her mouth and put her head on Annie’s shoulder, Annie whispered
urgently in her ear. “Maybelle, tell me, who are you? Where did you come from?”
The girl sniffed and said, “I’m Maybelle, you said so yourself. I dunno where I come from, I just am. Aren’t you my mother? I thought you might be. I guess I wished you. You will take care of me, won’t you?”
“Maybelle, who is the bad man? Tell me who is he? Does he hurt you?”
Annie felt the girl go rigid in her arms, and then she was pushed away as Evie May sat up and glared at her. Before Annie could say another word, the girl spoke, this time in a different, much rougher voice. “Lay off, she’s just a kid. She don’t know. Can’t remember. Silly girl, always looking for her ma. She don’t need a ma, she’s got me to protect her.”
With this, Evie May turned around and started to scrabble down behind the bench in the cabinet, coming up with what looked like a boy’s cap, which she jerked on her head, stuffing her braid up and under it in the back. She then leaned back and crossed her arms and glared at Annie, who said in bewilderment, “And just who are you?”
“Lady, don’t be stupid. I’m Maybelle’s brother, Eddie.”
Annie was absolutely speechless for a few seconds. She then pulled herself together and started asking this new person questions. First, she asked him what his last name was and how old he was.
“Nickerson, watcha think? I’m no baby, that’s for sure. Think I’m nine. But no one’s ever given me any birthday parties or presents, so you might say I’m a little fuzzy on that,” the boy answered. Then, again reaching behind the bench, he pulled out a small cup and ball toy. He began to count under his breath while he flipped the ball into the cup.
Annie was surprised at how much this “Eddie” seemed like a real boy, playing with a real toy, unlike the imaginary Johnny playing with his imaginary blocks.
Annie watched him play the game for awhile and then said, “Did Mr. Frampton ask you to visit me, or Maybelle?”
Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 16
