Search for the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  She had to figure out this thing she had, and how it fit into her life. It seemed like every time she turned around, there was another interesting path to follow, or idea to investigate, or person to research. Sometimes it was hard to focus long enough to follow any one of them to some sort of conclusion. Sometimes the information she wanted simply wasn’t available, even on the Internet. Was she trying to hide from her “real” life (or lack of one)? she wondered. It was easy to put off making any sort of decisions when there was always one more source to look up, one more person to talk to.

  Should she take a look at the cluster of Concord transcendentalists? As far as Abby knew, they had been more concerned with individuals and society, not with what lay beyond. Then there were ley lines, which she really didn’t understand—something about alignments—but were they created by humans, or did humans follow something that was already there? Apparently Thoreau had been interested, and she remembered hearing that Thoreau had been determined to find intersecting ley lines in Walden Pond. Did that help her? Not really. She’d already considered and rejected the idea of seeking out a spiritualist church, at least for now—it would be too time-consuming to become close enough to people to ask the questions she needed to answer. Of course, she could go around the world (with Ned’s money) seeking out mystics and shamans and the like—but what was the point?

  Why not start with the library in Concord? (Take that, Internet! You don’t know everything!) There had been a cluster of Great Minds there. Had she tried holding a book that one of them had owned? Would a sense of discovering something important be enough of an emotional charge to carry forward through one of their books? Would a librarian let her? (It would have to be without gloves, because she’d already found that fabric muted or blocked whatever signal there was.) Might they have left something intangible that would inspire her more than a century later? And besides, she had ancestors buried in Concord, and they’d contacted her, kind of obliquely—maybe they wanted her nearby. She turned the car toward the Concord Library.

  As she had hoped, once inside the library she found a treasure trove of published information, covering a wide time period, but after an hour or two spent staring at small nineteenth-century print on faded pages, her head felt like it was stuffed with . . . something stuffy. Her patience and her imagination had gone AWOL together. She could ask to take the books out, but she hadn’t even checked to see if the Lexington library had the same materials, and she had borrower’s privileges there. Maybe she should go looking in local bookstores, then? Maybe older books on the subject had been discarded and she should check local used bookstores as well. Or another option: interest in particular subjects waxed and waned, so maybe some older books had been reissued? At least she’d get some exercise walking around Concord looking for all or any of those.

  That search didn’t provide much additional material. Maybe there was a cache of more specialized resources in a local university? She should check . . . yes, the Internet and find out. Plus, there were sources that had been made available online, older books that were now out of copyright. If she had to, she didn’t mind reading on-screen, rather than holding a book in her hand, although she preferred the latter—she was kind of old-fashioned that way.

  She thought briefly about visiting Walden Pond, but decided to save that for another day. Even if this thing was controllable, she couldn’t sit on whatever was left of Thoreau’s cabin and just put out a call and say, “Hey, Henry David (did the man have a nickname?), come talk to me.” As far as she knew, it didn’t work like that. So far she’d only succeeded in connecting with people related to her, which Thoreau wasn’t. She’d checked. Also for Emerson, the Alcotts and the Hawthorne family, just out of curiosity. She didn’t feel any need to pepper her family tree with Important People just to impress others.

  How serious was Ned about investigating this whole research project idea? It hadn’t been part of his life plan until she’d shown up. Well, it hadn’t been part of hers, either. He had a job he loved, and a company that he had created. He served as a guide at local historical sites. He had a family he was close to. Why should he divert his attention from all of those to go chasing wild geese?

  Because it was part of him too. Because now he knew it, and he couldn’t just ignore it. Even if she disappeared from his life today, he was enough of a scientist to be curious about the phenomenon, to want answers. So here they were, stuck with something they hadn’t asked for, and flailing around trying to figure out what they wanted to do about it.

  Even though she’d had a fine lunch with Sarah, Abby found she was hungry again. Or maybe she just needed some sugar and caffeine to boost her spirits. Ooh, Abby, a pun! She decided to leave the library and look for a coffee shop or something, and a few minutes later she found herself sitting in a quiet diner on a side street with a cup of decent coffee in front of her. The waitress who had delivered it to her walked over a second time and said, “You want a pastry with that.” Oddly enough, it was a statement, not a question.

  “I do?” Abby asked, eyeing the woman. Fiftyish, no makeup, a good strong face and solid figure.

  “Yeah. I can tell. Something apple, since it’s too late for blueberries, unless you want them to have traveled quite a ways. Not a pie. Ah, an apple fritter. I think there’s one left. Be right back.”

  Abby hadn’t said a word since her first question. Was she really emanating an aura that cried out “apple fritter”? Was this a teeny-tiny manifestation of psychic awareness, that a stranger could walk up to you and know exactly what you wanted? Even if you didn’t know yourself? Nothing earthshaking—no dire predictions or scary warnings. Just an apple fritter, on its way.

  When the waitress returned, Abby asked, “Do you usually guess what people want?”

  “Most of the time. It’s kinda like a game for me.”

  “What do you look for?”

  “Oh, lots of details. Clothes, of course. How long it’s been since a guy has had a haircut. Whether a lady’s purse is for show or for carrying everything she thinks she needs. That kind of thing. In my job, you see a lot of people, and after a while you get a feel for them.”

  “How often are you right?”

  “I’d say maybe three-quarters of the time. Of course, some of those people go along with it to make me feel good, but it still sells food. And some say no just to yank my chain. Their loss.”

  Good way to get tips, Abby thought but did not say. “I’m Abby,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Joyce,” the waitress said, taking her hand and shaking it.

  No electricity there. Just a no-nonsense woman who had learned to read people. “Good to meet you. You worked here long?”

  “About half my life. I like it here. You live here?”

  “No, Lexington, but I like to come over here to . . . look in the bookstores.” Saying she liked to visit the cemetery might seem kind of weird.

  “Yeah, lots of people do. Nice town.” Joyce spotted a couple of newcomers. “Well, gotta go—more customers. Nice chatting with you, Abby. Come back again.”

  Abby ate her fritter slowly—it really was very good—watching Joyce move from table to table; she watched the faces of the people at the tables as they lit up when Joyce talked to them. Maybe she should reconsider her concept of psychic ability. It was no single thing, but a combination of elements that at some point resulted in a new way of seeing and understanding. It was a spectrum, and people fell at every place along that spectrum.

  Chapter 15

  “Mom’s coming to visit tomorrow,” Abby told Ned over dinner that evening.

  “Did I know about this?” he asked.

  “Nope. Just set it up this morning. Before I had lunch with your mother.”

  Ned set his fork down. “Was that planned?”

  “Right after I called my mother.”

  “Well, at least I haven’t been completely oblivious to whatever you’re saying. So what Christine told you prompted you to tell your mother
what’s going on?”

  “Yes. If you recall, I told her a lot of our story when we were on the Cape. I think she’s had time to digest it all, but this thing with Christine is a new twist. It’s time to talk to Mom again.”

  “Do you think she’s given it some thought? Or just pushed it aside?”

  “I really don’t know, Ned. That’s why I need to see her, face-to-face. I mean, it was one thing when those of us who felt or saw something were related to each other. Even Ellie, and my mother saw that connection right away. But to have someone out of the blue use Samuel’s and my mother’s names? That’s something else. I don’t really understand it yet, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain it to her, but I thought I should try. I don’t want her to think I’m leaving her out of this discussion. And she might know something. I should see if I can jog her memory.”

  “Abby, you don’t have to apologize for wanting to see your mother. She doesn’t live that far away. And I don’t think she’s going to worry about an explanation either. You and she seem to get along fine. By the way, I think you’re seeing more of my mother than I am these days.”

  “Whose fault is that? Besides, I like your mother, and she has this thing, so we can talk freely. Are you jealous?”

  “No, just kind of surprised. I like my mother too. But I always seem to be so busy.”

  “Your choice, Ned. You did say you’d take time off, or at least cut back to mere eight-hour days.” Abby realized she was sounding crabby again, and resolved to shut it down.

  “I know, I know. I’m working on it. Is your mother coming alone? Is she staying the night?”

  “Yes to the first question, and I don’t know about the second. We only got as far as an invitation for lunch. We still don’t have a bed for her.”

  Ned stood and carried his plates to the sink. While he was up, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at it, and mouthed “Ellie” to Abby. “Hi, Ellie. What’s up?”

  Abby watched, initially with some concern, but when Ned didn’t seem upset, she relaxed.

  “Oh, right. When is that? Next week?” he said. “Don’t your folks usually do that? Oh, I see. Okay. I’ll ask Abby, but it’s all right with me if your mother agrees. Have you asked her? Uh-huh. Well, do that first. Okay. Let’s talk later, okay? Sure. Bye for now.”

  “What’s going on?” Abby asked.

  “Ellie would like to come trick-or-treating in our neighborhood on Halloween.”

  “Why? Don’t her parents take her out?”

  “Usually, yes. But this year Petey’s old enough to understand it and he wants to go, and Ellie doesn’t want to go out with a baby—her word, not mine. Leslie probably can’t handle two kids, under the circumstances, and George is still recuperating and isn’t a hundred percent, so he’s staying home to give out candy. Besides, the houses are kind of spread out in their neighborhood, and I bet Ellie figures there’ll be better pickings around here. Do you mind?”

  “It’s fine with me, as long as Leslie’s comfortable with it. I gather Ellie hasn’t discussed it with her yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s the trick-or-treating like around here?” Abby asked, amused at Ellie’s plotting.

  “I really can’t say. I know I see a lot of kids roaming around, but I usually don’t go the whole ‘carve the pumpkin and hand out candy’ route. Mostly I just turn off the light and hide.”

  “That’s too bad. I love Halloween, as long as you don’t get teenagers looking for trouble,” Abby told him.

  “I think the local cops have that under control—they keep an eye on things.”

  “Well, if this happens, one of us should stay here and deal out candy while the other one makes the rounds. We can flip for it, if you like.”

  “Let’s wait to hear from Leslie before we decide, okay? And ask Ellie which one of us she wants. Look, I’ve got some contracts to go over before bed. You can leave the dishes for me if you like.”

  “Maybe,” Abby said. After Ned had gone, she made a stab at cleaning up, but gave it up. They really did need to get a new bed to replace the old lumpy one. Better yet, two beds. Then Rebecca could stay and be comfortable. If Marvin came along, they’d need either a double or two twins. But Abby would have to see about painting and papering the guest room—whichever room that was. At least with one or more additional beds, Ellie would have a place to sleep, if Leslie would ever allow that on a more regular basis. Abby was still treating Leslie with kid gloves, mainly for Ellie’s sake. Leslie had a crazy life right now, with a full-time job, a husband who still wasn’t quite recovered from his recent surgery, a precocious psychic child, and a second child who was young, rambunctious, and might be psychic too. Abby hadn’t gone near Petey yet, just to avoid additional complications, and if he turned out to have the ability, she was willing to bet that Leslie was going to keep a lid on that as long as she possibly could.

  Ellie was eight, which in the right neighborhood was old enough to go out trick-or-treating on her own, or at least with a pack of friends. Maybe she didn’t have friends? But Abby could see that tagging along with Mommy and Petey wouldn’t be much fun for her. Or did Ellie have an ulterior motive about Halloween? There were cultures that held that the spirits walked the earth on Halloween. Did Ellie want to keep watch for them, an idea which she couldn’t share with her mother? Well, one step at a time: wait to see what Leslie said. If she said no, it could be out of anxiety for her still-young daughter—or it could be because she still didn’t trust Abby or even Ned where Ellie was concerned, much less out on the streets after dark.

  Having abandoned the dishes, Abby felt guilty, so she decided to go read some of the items she’s photocopied at the library. If she could keep her eyes open long enough.

  Chapter 16

  Rebecca arrived shortly before noon the next day. After frantically cleaning all morning, Abby had been watching for her, and came out onto the porch to greet her. “I found it!” her mother announced proudly. “I didn’t even need that GPS thingie.”

  “Are you planning on staying the night, Mom?”

  “Hey, I just got here! But, no, sweetie. From what little you’ve told me, the house isn’t quite ready for visitors, so I didn’t want to impose. Although I’ve really been looking forward to seeing what you’ve done with it. You may not believe it now, but I’ve done my share of wallpapering in my day.”

  Abby laughed. “I would like to have seen that.”

  “You did, but you were in your playpen at the time. Are we eating in or out?”

  “In, I guess. Nothing fancy. But I want to spend the time talking with you, not wrestling with menus.”

  “Sounds serious. So let me get the obvious questions out of the way. No wedding? You’re not pregnant?”

  “No to both, for now, at least. And Ned and I are not breaking up, either, if that’s your next question. This is about . . . the other thing.”

  “You mean the psychics in the family? And I guess I have to include myself, after what happened on the Cape. You know, when we all saw Olivia.”

  “Yes, that. Why don’t we go inside and I’ll give you the tour, and then we’ll eat?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Abby led the way into the house, stopping in each room to point out what she had done, or what she was planning to do—eventually. Her mother made appropriate noises, although Abby was pretty sure Victorian was not her mother’s favorite style. They ended up in the kitchen. “I’m thinking I’d like to replace the appliances,” Abby told her, “but first we have to figure out what the room should look like. Was Daddy always oblivious to his surroundings?”

  “Well, he never said he wanted to do X, Y, and Z with the places we lived. We worked it out early: he was structural, I was decorative. I suppose if I’d put up wallpaper with giant pandas on it, he might have mentioned it, but we pretty much shared the same simple tastes. And of course, we didn’t have a lot of money when we started, so we couldn’t exactly go w
ild. We had a sort of checklist of things to be done, and we whittled it down when we had the time and the money, which wasn’t all that often.”

  Abby smiled, wondering what “wild” would have been for her staid parents. “I think our philosophy is, keep things as historically accurate as possible, but make sure what you don’t see is modern,” Abby said as she retrieved lunch fixings from the refrigerator. “You want coffee? Tea? Something else?”

  “Coffee is fine, dear.” Rebecca fell silent as Abby quickly prepared the meal. When Abby finally sat down across from her, she said, “All right, so you’ve promised me that you don’t have bad news. What was so important that you had to talk with me, rather than email or phone?”

  “A couple of things, I guess. One, I dumped this whole psychic business on you on the Cape, and we really haven’t talked since, at least, not seriously. I’d like to know what you’ve made of it, now that you’ve had some time to think about it. Like, have you reviewed your life up until now and found things you might have misinterpreted in the past? Or remembered things you heard or saw with your parents, that you didn’t understand at the time? And I’ll fill you in on what Ned and I have learned, and what we hope to do next.”

  Rebecca nodded, but she didn’t appear surprised. “I thought as much. I’ll admit it was a bit of a shock when you explained things to me, and to be honest, on the drive home I really wondered whether you were, well, losing your marbles, I guess. But I know you’ve always been pretty well grounded—”

  “Except for Brad,” Abby pointed out quickly.

  “Well, yes, but that’s a different category entirely. So I kind of let the whole thing rest in some part of my mind and went about my business. But I found soon enough that I couldn’t just put it away and forget about it, so I’m glad you called and want to talk about it now.”