Under the Skin

by Vicki Lane

  “Supposedly Joss has sent for the birth certificate.” I wondered if I should tell Phillip about the other thing Gloria had asked the P.I. to look into. Later, I decided and went on with the rest of my troubling news. “Joss got his driver’s license back when he and Glory went into town yesterday. I’ve seen it.”

  “And …?”

  It was almost completely dark now, too dark to see the bats anymore. And in the darkness, all the night sounds seemed louder: the whirring and chittering of katydids, the distant calls of owls, the muted strains of ranchero music from Julio’s house. I stood to start back up the road.

  “And …?” Phillip repeated as he pulled himself to his feet.

  “And the dates match.”

  IX~The DeVine Sisters and Nellie Bly

  May 17, 1887

  “Doe! She’ll be here any moment. You can’t change your mind now!”

  Theodora DeVine rapped again on the locked bedroom door, this time with urgent force, and hissed, “You’ll spoil everything, you silly bitch. Surely you’re not going to—”

  The door opened and Dorothea emerged, her eyes red-rimmed but with her jaw set and her back straight. A step behind her, Lorenzo pulled the door shut and adjusted his cravat.

  “Dear Doe has at last seen reason. These tedious vacillations of conscience are quite at an end, are they not, sister mine?”

  Tight-lipped, Dorothea nodded and moved to take her place at the round table in the center of the room. In a whisper of purple silk, Theodora glided to her and brought her mouth close to her sister’s ear.

  “I thought we’d resolved this earlier. You know Miss Cochrane only wants assurance that her late mother is making her way to the upper planes—that there is no lingering business that detains her—”

  “I’ve got it down cold,” Dorothea replied, her face pallid above her green tea gown. She did not meet her sister’s eye but spoke with every evidence of calm. “Your Miss Cochrane will receive the comfort she hopes for, never fear.”

  Her tone was uncharacteristically harsh and her pretty face grim as she spoke to Lorenzo. “Planchette and later, perhaps, the trumpets. Are you prepared?”

  Assuring her that he was, Lorenzo turned to the window and drew the thick draperies, blotting out the early evening light. “This is a private session, I believe? No curious friends in attendance?”

  Theodora nodded. “Quite private—Miss Cochrane is a recent arrival and, aside from myself, has hardly had time to take up intimate acquaintances. And, Doe—I believe that it might be well to leave some questions unanswered—Miss Cochrane’s papa’s purse seems capacious and I think we might stretch this to three or four sessions if you play this fish wisely.” Her eyes moved over the room, taking careful note of the positions of certain key elements that would be vital to the forthcoming illusion. “The angel kiss? Shall we—”

  “Yes, of course, at the conclusion. Renzo can handle that—you’ll be busy manipulating the trumpets.” Dorothea frowned. “You said there had been rappings in the chamber where Miss Cochrane’s mother died. Perhaps we should begin with rapping—”

  “Not possible.” Renzo gave a last tug to the draperies. “The apparatus has disappeared. I haven’t the least notion—”

  Crack!

  Renzo whirled and tore open the draperies he’d closed.

  “That noise—it was the apparatus! But where …”

  The sisters watched, both puzzled and amused as he fumbled at the cushions on the window seat. Dorothea leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at the slanting light.

  “Theo!” she whispered. “Look there—just by Renzo’s head. It looks as if—”

  A determined knock on the door to the suite caused all three heads to snap round and Renzo hastily pulled the curtains back to cover the windows as Theodora hurried to the door. Only Dorothea remained still, her hands flat on the table before her, her eyes now closed. The medium was preparing for her trance.

  “They are nothing but frauds, Amarantha! And I mean to expose them as such—but I’ll need your help. That’s why I booked another soak and massage—so that we could speak without being overheard.”

  The young woman’s eyes flashed beneath her dark fringe as she stared at the impassive mountain woman seated on a low stool by the marble tub.

  “Do you know what those women pretend to do? The cruel deceptions they practice on grieving mothers? It was the suicide of one such dupe that brought me here; she was the older sister of an associate at the newspaper where—”

  She caught herself and hit the surface of the cloudy water that surrounded her. A spray of drops flew up and imprinted themselves on the long white skirt of the attendant, who allowed herself a little smile.

  “You’re powerful het up over these folks, ain’t you? Are you sure about what you say? There’s been quite a few going for these sessions, as they name them, and ain’t none has made the first complaint.”

  Nellie Bly—for it was thus she thought of herself when she was at work as an investigative reporter; indeed, the name seemed more her own than the one she’d answered to since birth—looked up at the mountain woman.

  “It’s only because those people are suffering and want so badly to believe that these DeVine sisters can get away with their hoax. Oh, they do the business well—but they are charlatans just the same!”

  Amarantha nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Nellie continued, her indignation growing with each word.

  “Dorothea—the green one—was the medium but Theodora and the brother were there as well. You know, when we first met, Theodora pumped me, oh so delicately and efficiently, for details of my life. And I obliged, filling her bucket to overflowing—but every particular was false. Oh, Amarantha, it was too comic for words! There was that pretty charlatan, moaning and swaying and rolling her eyes back, telling me that my dear mama was waiting just beyond this world and eager to contact me. Whereas I have it on good authority—a telegram received this very afternoon—that my dear mama is safe in Pittsburgh, packing for the coming move to New York and wishing to know whether she should dispose of my childhood books.”

  Amarantha made a snorting sound which was quickly transformed into a cough. Oblivious, Nellie Bly continued with her tale.

  “Miss Dorothea and I each had our fingertips on the planchette. You should have seen it dashing about the little alphabet board with messages from Mama—no longer suffering, pain a distant memory, how she missed her darling Liza Jane—Liza Jane, indeed! Mama always calls me Pink. Oh yes, and ‘Mama’ expressed urgent hopes that our session might be repeated.”

  It was Nellie Bly’s turn to snort. “I’ll just bet they wish the session might be repeated—at the exorbitant fee they charge—oh, but I wanted to tell you about a strange thing, Amarantha. And I think I’ve soaked sufficiently now.”

  As soon as the young woman was wrapped in a robe of fluffy Turkish toweling, she pulled up a second stool and sat knee to knee with the mountain woman.

  “It was such a queer thing—and I’m sure that—unlike the faraway voice and the invisible kiss that came later—this was not something of the DeVines’ manufacture. This was something real!”

  She shivered and pulled the robe tighter.

  Amarantha leaned forward. “What was it, honey?” The older woman’s hand flew to her mouth. “I ask your pardon, miss. I didn’t mean—”

  “Fiddlesticks, Amarantha! I like it. But let me tell you of this queer thing—my supposed late mother had just begun a long message—probably quite wearisome for the medium who was dragging the planchette all around the alphabet board—she doesn’t spell very well, by the by. The message had to do with the knocking sounds the Dear Departed was supposed to have been using in an attempt to communicate with me back home. And in the midst of all this nonsense, there came a whole series of knocks from the vicinity of the window seat. At first I assumed it was part of their ruse but Dorothea started like a frightened deer and the planchette slid off the table altogether. Then she jumped up and i
t seemed she wanted to go to the window where the sound was but her sister caught hold of her hand and pulled her back down. Of course, it was quite dark in the room—I’m interpreting the vaguest of perceptions.”

  Nellie Bly caught sight of the older woman’s face. “Amarantha? Why are you smiling? Do you know something about this knocking?”

  “It ain’t the doing of them DeVine folks—that I’m sure of. They carried on with their foolery, you say?”

  “Oh, yes. They were shaken, especially Dorothea, but the knocking lasted less than a minute and then there was a voice calling for Liza Jane—such a low whispering sound—I had goose bumps all up my arms in spite of knowing it was a hoax and my dear mama was most probably sitting in the parlor reading a novel by her beloved Ouida.”

  The young woman stood and stretched out a hand to Amarantha. “You will help me, won’t you? All I need is for you to let me into their rooms at a time when the three are otherwise engaged. If you can manage it that the sisters are booked for the tubs and massage at the same time, I have an idea for dealing with Mr. DeVine.”

  From The New York World

  October 21, 1888

  Margaret Fox’s Confession

  “My sister Katie was the first one to discover that by swishing her fingers she could produce a certain noise with the knuckles and joints, and that the same effect could be made with the toes. Finding we could make raps with our feet—first with one foot and then with both—we practiced until we could do this easily when the room was dark. No one suspected us of any trick because we were such young children … all the neighbors thought there was something, and they wanted to find out what it was. They were convinced someone had been murdered in the house. They asked us about it, and we would rap one for the spirit answer ‘yes,’ not three, as we did afterwards. We did not know anything about Spiritualism then. The murder, they concluded, must have been committed in the house. They went over the whole surrounding country, trying to get the names of people who had formerly lived in the house. They found finally a man by the name of Bell, and they said that this poor innocent man had committed a murder in the house, and that these noises came from the spirit of the murdered person. Poor Bell was shunned and looked upon by the whole community as a murderer. As far as spirits were concerned, neither my sister nor I thought about it … I have seen so much miserable deception that I am willing to assist in any way and to positively state that Spiritualism is a fraud of the worst description. I do so before my God, and my idea is to expose it … I trust that this statement, coming solemnly from me, the first and most successful in this deception, will break the force of the rapid growth of Spiritualism and prove that it is all a fraud, a hypocrisy, and a delusion.”

  Chapter 27

  Dreams and Dreamers

  Sunday, June 3

  Gloria looked at her the bedside clock. Ten-thirty P.M. It was too late to call Aunt Dodie, who, like others of her generation, made and expected phone calls only between nine A.M. and nine P.M. Any call this late would be construed as an emergency and would surely send the old lady into palpitations. But it had been hard to get a moment alone within the prescribed time frame. Joss was so … was attentive the right word? It was wonderful how eagerly he had claimed her as his mother. And surely, his eager affection was just what any mother would wish for on being reunited with a long-lost child …

  But still … she wanted to have it out with Dodie. Sweet little Aunt Dodie, who’d always seemed so good. Mama’s best friend from school days and a constant sender of birthday and Christmas gifts—this little porcelain doll of a woman had taken in the pregnant embarrassment that was Gloria without a word of reproof, had cheerfully put up with her storms of emotion and her moments of despair, had alternately bullied her into walking for exercise and coddled her with delicious food, all for the health of the baby. And then, that smiling, sweet little southern magnolia snake-in-the-grass had lied through her teeth, saying that the child was stillborn. The old bitch had colluded in keeping Gloria from her child all these years.

  Maybe Dodie deserved to be awakened by a phone call. Gloria frowned, her mood growing blacker. It would be small payment for the years of her child’s life she’d missed. So what if a phone call late at night startled the old woman? She deserved to be shaken out of her smug complacency.

  Reaching over, Gloria turned down the exuberant strains of “I Dreamed a Dream.” At home she would have turned it up full volume but Elizabeth and Phillip’s room was just across the hall and they went to bed so unbelievably early—

  What was that?

  Gloria stabbed the pause button and sat up straight, listening hard. There were so many night sounds here, one reason she’d gotten the CD player in the first place. Elizabeth’s darling dogs invariably had to go out at some point, or points, in the night, and James often broke into the weirdest peal of barking on stepping out the door. Then, of course, the creatures had to come back in. And there were always anonymous creakings and rustlings outside—the forest came down the mountain almost to the door of the guest room and god knew there were undoubtedly wild animals of every sort roaming around all night long. But this sound … was it in the hall … or outside?

  And had she locked the door to the little porch? It was one of the few doors in the house that actually had a working lock and she’d made a habit of keeping it locked. But she’d stepped outside before supper to call Turo—had she locked it after that?

  The sound that had caught her attention—she was sure now that it had been outside and close by—had not been repeated. Still …

  What was she afraid of? Phillip had assured her that the Eyebrow was in jail. It couldn’t be him again. Nonetheless, it was a struggle to fight back the temptation to call for Phillip, so conveniently just across the hall but undoubtedly sound asleep. At last, winning the battle with herself, Gloria slipped out of bed, careful to make no noise, and approached the French door.

  It took all the nerve she had, indeed, more than she’d known she possessed, to glide her hand under the curtain and feel for the little nubbin on the lever door handle. A quick twist established that it was already locked.

  Fortified with this knowledge, Gloria flipped the light switch to the left of the door to turn on the outside light. She drew back the curtain, ready to take a look at whatever creature was poking around out there. In the morning she’d mention it—oh, so casually—to Lizzy. Let her see that her little sister wasn’t the complete scaredy-cat she—

  Gloria gasped. A huddled shape sat on the edge of the tiny porch, rocking back and forth.

  “Joss?” She opened the door and stepped out. Her satin pajamas were perfectly modest—and anyway, this was her son, after all. Leaning down, she put a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing out here? I thought you took some pills for your headache and went to bed.”

  His face was buried in the crook of his arm and she couldn’t make out his muttered reply. As he continued to rock, she looked across the branch to the cabin where Ben and Amanda lived. No light showed; they’d taken themselves off for the weekend with some story about friends in another county. Provoking—but in time Ben would get used to this new family member. A shame that her two boys were so different.

  “It was the dream.” Joss lifted his pale face to her, his eyes huge and imploring. “I’ve had this dream over and over, as long as I can remember. My mother is getting on a bus and going away and I’m standing in the middle of an empty street and crying for her. When I was little I tried to tell Mom—the woman I thought was my mother—about it … I couldn’t understand why the one in the dream didn’t look like her … but Mom would just tell me to go back to sleep.”

  “Oh, Joss, I’m so sorry! I wish …” Gloria started to caress the young man’s head then pulled back, remembering his recent injury. Instantly, his hand caught hers.

  “Could you stay with me … just for a little while? Mom never would. When I was really little, I used to try to get in bed with her and Dad but they’d ma
ke me go back to my room. I just wanted her to hold me and help me forget the bad dream. I just wanted—”

  Once again he buried his face in the crook of his arm. A brief sob escaped him.

  Gloria tugged at the hand that was squeezing hers. “Joss, I wish I could have been there for you. You know I’d give anything to undo all that happened back then. Please talk to me.”

  He made no reply but held her hand uncomfortably tight. Gloria started as a giant moth tangled in her hair then escaped to continue its mindless fluttering around the porch light. With a shudder, she realized that the light was a beacon for night-flying bugs of all kinds and she made up her mind. She gave another tug on Joss’s hand. “Please, Joss, I don’t like standing out here. Get up and come in my room. We can talk there—but quietly, okay?”

  She had turned the CD player back on to cover up the low murmur of their voices. Now, propped up on pillows beside her on the bed, Joss had whispered out more and more of his past—the feeling of not belonging to the family he lived with, confirmed by his overhearing a conversation between the woman he called Mom and a friend of hers.

  “I heard her say they’d really wanted a little girl but they took me because they were afraid they might not get another chance since they were already considered borderline too old. And she told the friend that I’d never really bonded with them and that I scared her sometimes, with my strange dreams. She said I was just too needy.”

  He looked at Gloria again with those huge dark eyes and her heart overflowed. She put her arm around him, this big sad man, and pulled him closer till his head was on her shoulder.

  “There, there, Jossie, Mama’s here. It’s all right; I’ve got you now.”