Passion's Fury

by Patricia Hagan

  She nodded, staring at him intently through the veil. “Yes. I’d rather go home and try to work things out there. Maybe the sheriff will help me, I don’t know. If you won’t take me there, then just let me go. Let me find my own way back, and I’ll get help from someone, anyone. Oh, Rance,” she gestured pleadingly as his hands fell away from her shoulders. “Can’t you see what it’s doing to me? Being so far from my home? Wondering how my father is? If he’s even still alive?”

  He glanced away, back up the stairway, gazing into space. Finally, with a deep sigh, he faced her once again.

  “All right, April. Cooperate with me tonight, and tomorrow I promise that you will be set free. I’ll even give you the money to get you back to Alabama, and I’ll make arrangements for you to get there.”

  For a moment, she could only stand there and stare at him, not believing her ears. Then she burst into tears once more. This time they were tears of joy. “Oh, Rance, thank you! Thank you! Dear God, you don’t know what this means to me.”

  “We’re going to be late,” he said abruptly, taking her arm once more and moving on down the stairs.

  April felt like singing. He would keep his word. Tomorrow…tomorrow…over and over again she sang the precious word silently, ebullient for the first time in longer than she could remember. She was going home!

  The raw dark night was lit only by streetlights and an occasional zigzag of white lightning stabbing the black sky. The rain had turned to sleet, and the air seemed to become colder with each turn of the carriage wheels.

  But April could not help being warmed by the sight of the White House, with all its impressive beauty. Even if it was the home of the Union President, there was still a stature about it, and she yielded up her respect with a silent apology to her homeland.

  Rance descended from the carriage first, resplendent in a dark red waistcoat, the lapels heavily embroidered in gray satin. His trousers were black, matching his spit-polished boots. His dark hair curled slightly round his face, which had taken on a somber expression. Edward, too, was elegantly dressed. Trella faced the White House with sparkling eyes. She looked quite elegant in a dark gray dress, chosen by Rance for its conservative appearance. Still, it looked glamorous beside April’s drab black bombazine.

  A Negro in a red velvet coat and black satin knee-length trousers appeared from the gate to lead their horses and carriage away. They moved as quickly as possible through the sleet, hurrying up the stairs, where the door opened instantly.

  A silver-haired Negro in austere black velvet bade them enter. He led them into a plush parlor, filled with heavy, ornate furniture of brocades, velvets, and leathers. April stared about, enthralled by the magnificent silver and crystal pieces on display, the oil paintings of past presidents which hung on the high-ceilinged walls. “Magnificent,” she breathed. “Simply magnificent.”

  A young white woman appeared, wearing a long dress of pale blue cotton, a huge white apron, and a ruffled white cap perched on her dark auburn hair, which was pulled back in an austere bun. April noted that she, like all women, looked at Rance with admiration. She obviously found him attractive. Well, April reflected matter-of-factly, so do I. Another time…other circumstances…who knows what might have developed between us? But it was too late to contemplate that now. Tomorrow—tomorrow—tomorrow, her heart sang. I will be free!

  “Mrs. Lincoln will be down shortly.” The girl smiled pleasantly as she extended a tray filled with crystal glasses of liqueurs and wine. “There are appetizers on the sideboard. Please help yourselves.”

  Rance asked whether there would be other guests. When she said no, he asked if the President would be dining with them. She informed him that Mr. Lincoln was meeting with members of his cabinet at an undisclosed place and that Mrs. Lincoln would offer his regrets to them.

  He exchanged looks with Edward, and as soon as the maid was out of the room, they stepped close together and spoke in hushed tones. “Wherever he is, that’s where any important information will be,” Edward said, disappointed.

  Rance shook his head. “Not necessarily. There are bound to be personal records here. A diary, perhaps. Could be to our advantage that he isn’t around. With no other guests and only Mrs. Lincoln and the servants here, we should have more freedom to move around. I’m sure there are guards, but we’ll watch our step.”

  April had a glass of wine, then a second, and a third, and just as Rance began to notice and frown, Mrs. Lincoln made her entrance.

  She was small, fat to the point of dumpiness in a plain black dress. Her mouth was turned down at the corners, and her fleshy face wore a very unhappy expression. April thought her sweet and gentle, and her heart went out to her. The woman’s grief was mirrored in her eyes.

  When she introduced herself to April, she clasped her hands and gazed longingly up at her as though searching for something. The touch of a smile was on her lips, but it faded quickly and was replaced by the grimace of misery. “I am so happy you could come, my dear.” Her voice was gentle, soft. “When Lizzie told me about your vibrations, a calling from the other side, I knew it meant Willie was trying to get through.”

  April swallowed hard, remembering everything Rance had told her. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what it is, Mrs. Lincoln. I can feel an even stronger presence here, in this house. I am confident that Willie will reach through from the great beyond and speak to us tonight.”

  She squeezed April’s hands. “Oh, I do hope so. It’s been awhile now since any of the mediums I’ve had here could reach him. I think perhaps he did not feel comfortable with them. You’re such a pretty young thing. I think Willie would have liked you, trusted you.”

  April bit her lip and turned away. She felt positively blasphemous to be talking this way. Why had she let Rance talk her into this? She was not even sure she could go through with it. Rance realized her state of mind and stepped forward before Mrs. Lincoln had time to notice her mood.

  “We are sorry your husband can’t be with us tonight,” he said quickly. “I hold him in such high esteem. It would have been an honor to meet him personally.”

  That brief, fluttery smile touched her lips once again. “Thank you for saying so. Unfortunately, the war news is not good. It breaks my heart to see so much suffering on both sides, and it causes my husband even more distress. He has such a burden of responsibility on his shoulders.” She glanced around anxiously. “Well, now. Shall we go into the dining room? I want us to enjoy good food and good fellowship, but I must admit to being in a hurry to get on with our seance. I imagine Willie is growing impatient, also.” She looked at April, who nodded nervously.

  The long mahogany table was covered with a delicate lace cloth. There were place settings for five. The china was fine bone, edged in gold. Ornate silver sparkled in the candlelight.

  They took their seats, and a waiter helped the maid bring in huge platters of steak and onions, pheasant, and quail. There was also blancmange, pâte de foie gras, fruits, and a variety of rolls and crackers.

  Only Trella appeared to have an appetite. She heaped her plate, while Edward glowered at her. Mrs. Lincoln was having only fruit. Rance and Edward had steaks.

  “How long have you felt this calling?” Mrs. Lincoln inquired, eyes shining.

  April repeated what Rance had instructed her to say. “Since I was a child. My grandfather had died, and he came to me one night in a dream. I felt such comfort that I began to call to him whenever I was lonely or had a problem. He always came and spoke to me. He still does.”

  “Oh, my, that must bring you such solace. I wish I had the gift! To think of calling Willie whenever I wanted to! It would be wonderful.”

  “The next best thing will be April reaching him.” Rance reached to pat her chubby hand. “She has helped so many others.”

  April asked how many seances had been successful in calling Willie from the other side. “I can’t be sure,” Mrs. Lincoln replied quietly. “There have been charlatans, you know. That is to be expected, I s
uppose. But I like to think they only meant to help a grieving mother.”

  She shook her head sadly. “Much sadness comes from the criticism. My husband tries to shield me, but Lizzie tells me about it. My half-sister, Emilie Todd Helm, visits here often.” She paused to take more fruit, then reached for a roll and slathered it with whipped butter before continuing. “I love her dearly, but it bothers me that she is so harsh in her criticism. She complains to my husband, tries to talk him into stopping the seances. If only she would believe, then she would be comforted also. She lost her husband not long ago. He fought for the Confederacy, a brigadier general, Ben Helm. He was thirty-two years old when he was killed in battle at a place called Chickamauga.”

  She sipped from a crystal water glass, then said, “Emilie is eighteen years younger than I. Perhaps she can bear up better. I don’t know. I do wish she would give Ben a chance to speak to her. But she refuses to ‘consort,’ as she calls it, with spiritualists.”

  She told them of her oldest son, Robert, and how he, too, resisted any attempts to include him in seances. “He’s nineteen, a student at Harvard. He was so fond of Willie. If only he would let Willie speak to him, they would both feel better.”

  April saw Trella shudder. Smoothly, Rance got to his feet and, with a polite nod to Mrs. Lincoln, told her how much he had enjoyed the fine dinner. “Will you excuse Mr. Clark and me while we have an after-dinner brandy and a cigar in your lovely parlor? April always likes a few moments to relax after eating, in preparation for her seance.”

  “Yes, that would be nice.” Edward stood also. “Rance, did you see those lovely oils in the hallway? I want to see them closer.”

  “Please feel free to look all you wish,” Mrs. Lincoln offered graciously. “I like to feel that the White House belongs to all the people.”

  April held her wineglass out for a refill. There was a warm buzzing coursing through her trembling body, and she felt a bit light-headed. She could not remember ever drinking so much wine at one time, but she liked the glow, the feeling of confidence that seemed to be taking over.

  She listened politely as Mrs. Lincoln told of other seances, other communications with her dead son, and all the while, April wondered what Rance and Edward were doing. Preparations would have to be made for the seance, she worried, but they had disappeared.

  “Do you feel ready now?” Mrs. Lincoln asked, touching her arm.

  April jumped, startled. She had not been listening at all. “No,” she said quickly, hoping she had not spoken too sharply, for the woman was frowning. “You and Trella talk now, please. I want a moment to myself…to meditate, to prepare myself. There has to be the proper mood.”

  She got up and hurried from the dining room, not giving her hostess time to protest. The gas jets’ soft, hissing sounds were the only sounds she could discern. Oh, dear, she thought, the house was so large, much larger than Pinehurst. Where had Rance and Edward gone? What would the servants think if they saw them prowling about where they had no business? Didn’t they realize that they could all wind up in jail as spies?

  She made her way down a narrow corridor and saw darkened stairs leading upward. She moved up them cautiously, hoping all the while that Trella would be able to keep Mrs. Lincoln occupied long enough for her to find them and tell them what a dangerous thing they were doing.

  The second-floor was too dark to see where she was going. She had to grope her way along, resisting the overwhelming desire to call out to Rance. She dared not make a sound. Damn him, she thought furiously, where was he? Why was he taking such a chance?

  Suddenly, she froze. Someone was coming down the hall, briskly. Pressing herself against the wall, she held her breath. Whoever it was was moving along as though he knew his way, even in the dark. A guard! It had to be a guard!

  He was almost to where she waited, not daring to breathe. A few more steps, and he would pass. She would be safe. She willed him to move faster.

  He was there, in front of her, had not broken his stride, had not seen her. She was safe.

  And then it happened.

  Something shot out of the blackness to squeeze her throat tightly, pressing her against the wall. She tried to scream, but the sounds were cut off by the ever-tightening force that held her. She could not breathe, could not move. The hold was paralyzing. She felt herself slipping away, knees buckling, losing consciousness. He was moving closer, pressing against her.

  “Damn it, April!”

  She felt herself being released. Strong arms held her up, pulling her body tight against his.

  “I could have killed you,” Rance hissed.

  “You…you almost did,” she whispered hoarsely, painfully, gasping for breath.

  “I thought you were one of the servants, just waiting to sound the alarm. I couldn’t take any chances. Not now. We’re in too deep. What in the hell are you doing up here, anyway?”

  “Looking for you. You were gone so long. I got worried. I told her I needed time to meditate.” Her fingers touched her throat gingerly, and she winced.

  He chuckled softly, suggestively. “Only you could feel so desirable in a bombazine mourning dress. Now get back downstairs and start setting things up the way I told you for the seance. Edward and I will be along in a few minutes.”

  She turned to leave, then saw the flicker of a light coming from a room nearby. “Who’s that?” she asked, frightened once again.

  “Edward. He’s found the President’s bedroom, and he’s rummaging through his personal desk. Now go on, April. Get out of here. You almost ruined everything.”

  She hurried downstairs and entered the dining room just as Mrs. Lincoln and Trella were getting up. “Oh, there you are,” Trella said nervously. “Mrs. Lincoln was just about to have the servants look for you.”

  “Yes, it’s easy to get lost in this big house when you don’t know your way around, my dear,” Mrs. Lincoln said sweetly. “Especially when it’s dark. Whenever we’re having a seance, I keep down the light as much as possible throughout the evening. I want to set a welcome atmosphere for the spirits as early as I can.”

  “A…a very good idea,” April stammered, frightened at having almost been discovered upstairs. “I think it’s time to begin. I feel an urgency. It’s this house, the vibrations—” She pretended to sway, which was not hard to do after all the wine she had drunk and the near-disaster of only moments ago.

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Mrs. Lincoln appeared flushed with excitement as she hurried to pull the bellcord. The same maid appeared and was instructed to make the parlor ready. “And get Lizzie. She was going to wait in the kitchen and pray for April.”

  April looked at Trella, saw the sick, unsure expression on her face. No time for that now, she felt like screaming. As Rance said, we’re in too deep. There can be no slipups, no turning back.

  Her head snapped up, new fingers of fear clutching her as Mrs. Lincoln asked, “Where is your husband, dear? And your friend, Mr. Clark? I do hope they haven’t gotten lost. I’ll have one of the servants go and look for them. I believe the guards are all outside, and—”

  She reached for the bellcord once more, and April all but shouted, “No!” She took a breath, lowered her voice, and forced a smile. “There’s no need. I saw them a moment ago. On the back terrace. Watching the storm. Please, let’s move along. They will be here by the time we’re ready to begin.”

  As they entered the parlor, Mrs. Lincoln moved ahead, and Trella stepped close to whisper in April’s ear, “We hadn’t planned on the nigra being here. Rance isn’t going to like it.”

  The wine was subduing her own anxiety, and April murmured, “Rance will improvise. He has that way about him. Now stop looking so frightened. You’re going to give us away.”

  She and Trella stood to the side as Lizzie entered and, with the help of the young maid, arranged chairs in a circle around a table in the middle of the room. Mrs. Lincoln pulled the thick velvet drapes across the windows.

  “Darling.”

 
April turned slightly and Rance rushed across the room to put his arms about her. “Darling, do you feel ready? Do you feel the calling?” he asked, a deeply concerned look on his face. Behind him, Edward appeared equally concerned.

  “Yes,” she lifted her chin confidently, wishing she had one more glass of wine. But it was now or never. “Let us begin.”

  With thudding heart, April directed everyone to a seat. Rance had also told her there would be no argument here, for it was always the medium’s prerogative to designate seating.

  She placed him on her right, with Edward next to him, and then Trella, Lizzie, and, finally, Mrs. Lincoln on her left. They were in a tight circle.

  “The lights,” April whispered, closing her eyes and holding her head tilted backward. “We are ready.”

  The young maid extinguished the gas jets. They were suddenly consumed by total darkness. There was the sound of a door opening and closing as the maid left them.

  Too late to back out now, April thought dizzily, fighting the nausea rising to her throat.

  Taking a deep breath, April began the seance.

  Chapter Nineteen

  April did not know what to expect. Rance had wanted it that way. He had instructed her in the basics of what she should say and do, but that was all. He wanted her just as awe-stricken as Mrs. Lincoln would be, as though she could not believe her own “powers.” That way, the sitting would be quite believable.

  Actually she felt rather foolish once the room was plunged into darkness. She held Rance’s hand in her right, Mrs. Lincoln’s in her left, wondering if they could feel the cold clamminess of her hands. They were all waiting for her to begin, and suddenly she realized that she could not utter a word.

  It was too much. She could not go through with it. Dear God, she prayed frantically, what have I gotten myself into? She felt the firm squeeze of Rance’s hand against her own, silently coaxing her. When still she did not speak, he nudged her with his elbow. Mrs. Lincoln and Lizzie were making small movements, their breathing harsh and raspy.