[Hope Chest 01.0] Mesmerist

by Pam McCutcheon

  “Prove it,” the man called out.

  “I’d be happy to. If I successfully mesmerized you, would you be convinced?” At least, he hoped he could mesmerize the man—some people were simply not susceptible.

  The man’s friends laughed and jostled him, prodding him to accept Drake’s challenge. “Do it, Callahan,” one called out. “Show him what’s what,” another said.

  When the heckler still hesitated, Drake addressed the audience. “Wouldn’t you like to see Mr. Callahan mesmerized?”

  They applauded their approval, so, grumbling, Callahan said, “Awright. Let’s see you try it.” The short, belligerent man strutted up onstage like a bantam rooster to the accompaniment of rude noises and encouragement from his friends.

  Unfortunately, no one could be mesmerized in this sort of environment. Regaining control of the audience, Drake called for complete silence as he seated Callahan. Knowing this stubborn man would need something more compelling to put him under than mere passes of his hands, Drake pulled out the spinning disk Gina had insisted Rupert procure for him. Drake didn’t know where Rupert could have found such a thing and was afraid to ask. In any case, he hoped it would work on Callahan.

  As the audience watched in expectant silence, Drake bade his subject stare at the spinning disk and was relieved when the cocky little man soon went into a complete trance. But now that he had him there, Drake wasn’t sure what to do with him. He didn’t want to repeat anything he had done with the girls, but hadn’t thought to plan anything in advance.

  As he stalled for time and inspiration, Drake asked Callahan to stand and face the audience. Seeing Gina off to the side gave him an idea. Beckoning her to come on stage, Drake said, “So, Mr. Callahan. How’s your mother?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t seen her in years.”

  “Would you like to?”

  The man shrugged. “Only if she don’t scold me like she usta.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. Your mother is here with us tonight. See, there she is, just coming onstage.”

  He pointed Callahan toward Gina and the man did a double take. “Ma! How’d you get here?”

  The audience laughed, and Gina played on it. Shaking her finger at Callahan, she said, “I heard you’ve been a bad boy, sonny.”

  “No, Ma, it weren’t me. The police chief got it all wrong. I didn’t set them fires, honest.”

  Uh-oh, it looked like something entirely different was coming out of this than Drake expected. He hadn’t intended to let the man incriminate himself on stage, guilty or not.

  Gina looked startled as well, but quickly recovered. “That’s my boy,” she said. “You be good now, you hear me?”

  “I hear ya, Ma,” Callahan said contritely.

  As the audience roared, especially Callahan’s friends, Drake turned him to face the front and sought a way to distract the audience from what had just happened, something that would prove to the cocky little man that he had been well and truly mesmerized. Aha, he had it. Calling for silence from the audience, Drake said, “Mr. Callahan, you’re quite the cock of the walk, aren’t you?”

  Callahan thought for a moment then nodded. “Yep, I guess I am.”

  “In fact, I believe you’re the biggest rooster in the hen yard. See all the hens spread out before you?” he asked, giving a sweeping gesture at the audience. “Why don’t you show them how you can strut?”

  Obediently, Callahan tucked his hands into his armpits, scratched at the ground with one foot, and puffed out his cheeks, emitting squawking sounds. He strutted around for a minute, indeed looking like the cock of the walk.

  When a lull came in the laughter, Drake pointed off to the side, saying, “Look, the sun is rising.” Callahan gazed off toward the “rising sun” and stretched to his full height, emitted a piercing “cock-a-doodle-doooooo.”

  The audience howled, but Drake quieted the laughter once more and said, “What do you think? Is Mr. Callahan mesmerized?”

  Their applause was louder than ever, so Drake took pity on the man and brought him out of his trance, telling him he would remember everything that had happened.

  “So, Mr. Callahan, are you now convinced?”

  The short man looked pugnacious and more than a little embarrassed. “Naw, I just did them things to play along.”

  His friends hooted with derision. “I didn’t know Shorty was a mama’s boy,” one of them called out.

  “Yeah,” another said. “But he ain’t Shorty no more. Now he’s Cock-a-doodle Callahan!”

  The aptly named Shorty turned beet-red and gave Drake a fulminating glare. “I’m gonna get you for this,” he muttered. But he didn’t follow through, evidently more intent on reaching his friends who were still crowing like roosters.

  When they finally quieted under Shorty’s threats, Drake judged that he had established his point. Facing the audience alone, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I have used a number of parlor tricks this evening to show you what mesmerism can do. But it’s not about parlor tricks, it’s about helping people. By putting people in a mesmeric trance, I can assist them to eliminate their fears, change their bad habits, and calm nervous dispositions. If you have one of these ailments, I would be more than happy to give you a free consultation on the first visit. Just stop by Dr. Ziegler’s office in the west wing any weekday between two and four. Thank you.”

  He left the stage to thunderous applause—quite different from the reception his first lecture had enjoyed. But the proof was yet to come. Would they see it just as entertainment, or had he finally reached people in need?

  “You were perfect,” Gina exclaimed as he joined her backstage. “And so were the girls.”

  They had already left to join their friends in the audience and enjoy their moment in the limelight. “Thanks to you,” Drake said, basking in the pleasure of her approval. “You were right—the lecture did go over much better this way. I just hope it proves effective.”

  “It will,” Gina said. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  She tucked Scruffy under one arm and dragged Drake off the stage with the other, but they were soon waylaid by a young couple. “So,” the beefy young man said, greeting Drake with a hearty slap on the back. “You can change bad habits, can you?”

  “Yes,” Drake said simply, hoping the man wanted to change his coarse attitude. He’d be happy to help him with that.

  “Good. The wife here could use your help,” he said with a jerk of his thumb in her direction.

  The wife in question was a lovely young woman with honey-blond hair, porcelain skin, and fine features, who appeared embarrassed by her husband’s crudity.

  Drake smiled down at her, hoping to put her at ease. “How do you do, Mrs. . . ?”

  “Mrs. Rutledge,” the man boomed. “Annabelle Rutledge. And I’m her husband, Clyde Rutledge.”

  Gina stuck her head in, saying, “Nice to meet you, but we have to be going now.”

  She tried to tug Drake away, but he resisted. Something in Mrs. Rutledge’s eyes reminded him of Charlotte. Speaking directly to the woman, he said, “I would be most happy to help you in any way I can. If you would like to come to Dr. Ziegler’s office at two o’clock tomorrow . . . ?”

  Her eyes lit with hope but she turned to her husband for guidance, and the hearty man said, “Good idea. We’ll be there.”

  Drake nodded and allowed Gina to drag him away. Thankfully, Callahan and his friends had already left so he didn’t have to run that gauntlet, but they were stopped several more times by people who wanted appointments.

  “See?” Gina whispered fiercely. “I told you it would work.”

  “So you did.” He was quite willing to give credit where credit was due, and he was becoming quite encouraged by the reaction.

  Finally, she found the man she was looking for and Drake was surprised to see it was the seedy little man who had sat next to her at the last lecture.

  Grinning, Gina said, “This is Lester Suggs. He’s a booking a
gent for the lecture circuit. So, what did you think, Mr. Suggs?”

  The man nodded sagely. “Very impressive. Very impressive indeed. Quite an improvement from the first lecture.”

  “So you’ll do it?” Gina inquired eagerly. “You’ll offer him a contract?”

  “Oh, I think I can see my way clear to a tour of the West,” Mr. Suggs said with a smile that implied he was offering Drake quite a concession.

  “Isn’t that great?” Gina enthused.

  What was she talking about? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “A tour,” Gina explained patiently. “He’s offering you the opportunity to take your lectures on a tour of the West.”

  “Yes,” Suggs said with an expansive grin. “I’ve had a vacancy come open and you can start in two weeks. Whaddaya say?”

  “I appreciate the opportunity, but I’m afraid I shall have to say no.”

  Gina appeared quite taken aback. “Why?”

  “Didn’t you hear the people who stopped me? The lecture was a success—I have quite a list of patients who want to see me.”

  “But—”

  “I can’t just leave when I’ve promised to see them, now can I?”

  “What’s the matter?” Suggs growled. “You turnin’ down my offer?”

  “No, no,” Gina said. “He’s just a little confused, that’s all. Let me talk to him and we’ll get back to you.”

  “All right,” Suggs said, appearing rather disgruntled. “But the offer ain’t open long. You got two days or I’m giving it to someone else.”

  “Thank you,” Gina said fervently, shaking his hand. “We’ll get back to you in two days.”

  As Suggs wandered off, Gina turned to Drake with a determined look in her eyes.

  To forestall whatever it was she had to say, Drake spoke first, firmly. “I don’t want to hear your rationale or your reasoning. I have patients now who need me—”

  “You wouldn’t have them without my help.”

  “Granted, but that doesn’t change the fact that they need me. I won’t desert them to traipse all over the country in some kind of traveling circus. The answer is no—and that’s final.”

  Gina looked stunned. “I went to all this trouble to give you this great opportunity . . . and you turn it down?”

  “I didn’t ask for this—all I wanted was a few patients.”

  “I can’t believe it,” she muttered fiercely as the crowd eddied around them, congratulating them for a wonderful performance. “We need to talk. In private.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea,” he muttered back. “Remember the last time you approached me privately?”

  Gina blushed. “I didn’t mean we should meet there. Somewhere else.”

  Drake sighed. Why did she insist on spoiling his moment of triumph? “I’m in no mood to listen to a harangue. And it will do no good. My mind is made up.”

  “But—” He could almost see the thoughts revolving in her mind like pinwheels as she sought for a way to keep him there. “But I need to fulfill my promise to you.”

  He looked surprised. “Promise?”

  “Yes. Remember, you made me promise that I would tell you why I want you to leave.”

  That’s right In the excitement, he’d forgotten. And he would like to know. “Are you willing to tell me now?”

  “Yes, but not here.” She glanced around. “I don’t see any of our chaperones about. I have to get something from my room first, so what do you say you meet me in Dr. Ziegler’s office in fifteen minutes?”

  He nodded. He did want to hear this. At least one mystery would be solved.

  They met in the doctor’s office, and Drake felt a little awkward. Every other time they’d been alone, she’d somehow ended up in his arms. This time, he’d just have to keep his distance if he wanted to finally learn the truth.

  “So,” Drake said, sensing that she felt as awkward as he. “You are finally going to tell me why you’ve been trying to get me to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “The truth? Not one of your evasions, now—you promised.”

  “Yes, the truth. Though you’re not going to believe it.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  Gina sank into a chair and Drake did the same, careful to ensure he sat on the opposite side of the desk.

  Taking a deep breath, she stroked Scruffy’s coat as if for moral support and said, “All right. The reason I’ve been trying to get you to leave is because if you stay here, you’ll die.”

  Whatever he had expected her to say, this wasn’t it. He raised an eyebrow. “So, you’ve added soothsaying to your many talents?”

  “No, it’s not a prediction, it’s a fact. I know because . . .” She made an exasperated sound. “Hell, there’s no way to say it but flat out. I know because I’m from the future.”

  “The future,” he repeated. And she expected him to believe this? “I see. And how did you manage this feat? Is Rupert going to show up with some contraption you claim to have sent you back in time?”

  “No, actually it was a pistol in a hope chest that sent me back.”

  A pistol? “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

  “I don’t take you for one at all. I said you wouldn’t believe it.”

  “And I don’t. You promised you’d give me the truth.”

  “This is the truth. Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I really did come back in time.” Her voice rose. “And it’s all your fault—you sent me.”

  “I?”

  “Yes—you. Well, your ghost really.”

  Time travel and ghosts? “Preposterous.”

  “Ha—that’s what I thought, until your ghost crawled into bed with me.”

  Wasn’t a ghost incorporeal? He didn’t understand how one could crawl into bed with her . . . though he could understand the temptation. “Nonsense. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If you go on the way you’ve been going, you’re going to become one real soon, whether you believe or not.”

  This was turning from the ridiculous to the absurd. “Really, Miss Charles, if that’s all you can say—”

  “No, it’s not.” She chopped downward with one hand and her voice turned cold. “Drop your condescending attitude for one minute and just listen, okay? I was right about the lecture, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes, but—” He broke off, realizing she was right. He should do her the courtesy of hearing her out. “All right, I’ll listen. But you have to come up with something more convincing than wild tales of time travel and ghosts.”

  She took another deep breath, and spoke in calm tones. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I really am from the future. The year 2014 to be exact. Haven’t you noticed odd things about me? The way I speak, the words I use, the way I don’t understand how you do things in this time?”

  “Well, yes, but I assumed that’s because you were from the far West.” That’s what he’d heard, anyway.

  “No, I’m from the far future. When I ran away from Jerry and my wedding, I ended up in Hope Springs and your ghost crawled into bed with me. Since I was the only person who could see or hear you after you died—”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, sounding miffed. “You thought it was because I could help you find out how you died. So you could ‘move on’ or whatever and stop haunting Hope Springs.”

  Ah, he found a fallacy in her reasoning. “Then if you don’t know how I died, why are you so adamant about making me leave the resort?”

  “I didn’t know then, but I do now. You pestered me until we went to the newspaper office and found your obituary.”

  The thought made him shudder, as if a goose had walked across his grave. He still didn’t believe a word of this, but he had promised to hear her story to its end. “And what did it say?”

  “It said you died in a fire—along with a woman you were meeting secretly.”

  Ah, he had finally found the root of her con
cern. “And you were the woman?”

  “No,” she said with a clipped tone. “The woman you were meeting was Mrs. Rutledge.”

  So much for that theory. “But that’s ridiculous—I just met her for the first time tonight. I don’t even know her.”

  “Maybe not now, but according to the newspaper article, you’re gonna get to know her real well before you die. Not only that, but you’re going to die in a fire, one that was deliberately set at this hotel. Now, who does that remind you of?”

  “Shorty Callahan,” he murmured. The man had been totally unconvincing in protesting his innocence in the matter of arson. And the man had threatened him . . .

  Drake shook his head. Lord, she almost had him believing her nonsense. “I’m sorry, but this story is just too farfetched. How can I believe a word of it?”

  “You might ask Miss Sparrow.”

  “Would she corroborate your story?” he asked incredulously. The housekeeper seemed so down to earth, so . . . sane.

  For the first time during her recitation, Gina looked doubtful. “I’m not sure. Oh, she knows it’s true, but she’s awfully evasive. . . .”

  “Then you can’t prove it.”

  “Oh, I can prove it all right. I was saving this as a last resort, because I don’t think I’m really supposed to show it to anyone.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “Here. Read this.”

  He took the proffered paper and scanned it quickly. It purported to be a page from The Hope Springs Times. Right next to an article about a spiritualist whose machinations had been exposed, there was a sketch of him and an article about his death, just as she’d said.

  No, it couldn’t be true. “Did you and Rupert concoct this ‘evidence’ between you?”

  “No, Rupert has nothing to do with it,” she said in exasperation. “Look at the paper. Have you seen anything like that in these times?”

  “No . . .” It was very high quality, bright white, with perfectly straight edges. But . . . “This isn’t newsprint.”

  “That’s because it’s a photocopy.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind,” Gina said urgently. “That’s not important. Look at the date.”

  December 22, 1885. “Are you trying to tell me that this is the date of my demise?”