Death at a Seance

by Carolyn Marie Wilkins

  “Of course she will,” Teo said. “Don’t you worry yourself, Annie. I will keep an eye on your daughter, watch over her like she was my very own chile.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I cried myself to sleep every night for a month. I missed my mama, and I missed Churchtown. I even missed my classes at Frederick Douglass Colored Elementary School. Everything about my new environment seemed strange—the starched maid’s uniform and cap I wore, the hundreds of new tasks I was expected to accomplish each day, and the pressure I felt to succeed.

  Every morning I was up before dawn to get breakfast started. I spent the midmorning shopping for provisions and fixing lunch. After clearing the lunch dishes, I spent the afternoons helping Teo prepare the evening meal. My evenings were spent doing the washing up and mending whatever needed repair before collapsing into bed only to begin all over again the next day.

  It didn’t help that Mrs. Kerchal was a difficult and demanding employer. As I dusted in the parlor or polished the silver, I would suddenly feel my ears buzz and the hairs on my neck rise. Someone was watching me. I could feel it. Startled, I’d look over my shoulder to find Mrs. Kerchal standing not three feet from me.

  “You missed a spot,” she’d say, pointing a claw-like finger at a tiny speck of dirt. Then, without waiting for me to recover, she would glide away as silently as she had come. Terrified I was about to be fired, I’d scrub all the harder, beads of sweat shining on my forehead as I worked.

  The best thing about my week was the Sunday afternoons when I was able to visit Mama. Now that I was a big girl and earning my own living, I was proud to be able to leave a few coins on her kitchen table on my way out. Even so, I couldn’t help but notice there was less and less food in the icebox. On my third visit home, I knew something was wrong the minute I walked through the door. Mama had lost weight since my last visit, and there were new worry lines around her mouth.

  “This little bit of work I got taking in laundry is just not enough to cover the rent,” she said. “I’m gonna go up to Chicago and stay with my cousin Dee for a while.”

  When I opened my mouth to speak, she said, “Don’t even think about giving me anything more from your paycheck. You make little enough as it is.”

  As Mama spoke, my heart sank. I couldn’t conceive of life in Aronsville without her. I’d already lost my daddy. Wasn’t that enough?

  “You’ve never even been to Chicago,” I said. “How do you know it’ll be any better up there?”

  “Cousin Dee says there’s more colored folks in Chicago. More money and more jobs too.”

  I tried to argue with her, though I knew in my heart it was useless. Once my mother’s mind was made up, there was no budging her.

  Two weeks later, she’d booked a northbound ticket on the Hoosier State Limited. As I helped carry her bags to the train station, she told me not to worry.

  “Soon as I get a job that pays anything, I’ll send for you,” she said. “Never forget that your mama loves you.”

  As the tears streamed down my face, she kissed me on the cheek and hurried onto the train.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With Mama gone, the Kerchal’s attic became my only home, and Auntie Teo my only companion. One night as we were washing the dinner dishes, I asked her if she’d ever wished that she was as rich as Mrs. Kerchal.

  At the absurdity of the question, Teo’s round face creased in a giant smile. “I wouldn’t mind being able to pay someone to wash out my dirty drawers,” she said. “But to be honest, I don’t think the missus has a very happy life.”

  “Go on, now,” I said. “These people got two, three times more food, shelter, and clothing than anyone would ever need in life. Got a beautiful house full-a fancy things. More than that, they got respect. The mayor, the city councillor, even Reverend Fletcher from the big Episcopal church downtown, they’ll all be coming to Easter dinner next week. All of ’em paying court here. What’s not to like about that?”

  “All the same, there’s a lot of sadness there,” Teo said. “Sometimes, when she doesn’t think I can see her, the lady sits by the window alone and cries.”

  I was having a hard time picturing the hatchet-faced Mrs. Kerchal in tears.

  “If I had that much money, I’d be hard-pressed to find anything to be sad about,” I said.

  “I know it doesn’t seem possible,” Teo said. She pulled another plate from the sudsy water and wiped it clean in one smooth, practiced motion. “But think about it. Sure, her husband runs the Aronsville Savings Bank. Sure, he’s a big, important muckity-muck. But he’s never home. Works all day, then stays out late most nights smoking cigars, drinking whiskey, and visiting the sporting houses on Front Street. And when he is home, he hardly speaks to her.” She leaned in a little closer to me and winked. “Don’t think he spends too much time with her in the bedroom either, if you get what I mean.”

  “You mean he doesn’t love her?” I said.

  “’Bout the size of it,” Teo said with a knowing wink. “The missus don’t care a fig for him either. It’s her son, Sam Junior. He’s the apple of her eye. Worships the very ground the boy walks on. He’s been away at college, but he’s coming home for Easter. Missus can barely contain herself, she’s so excited.”

  I was about to ask more, but in that moment, as if she was aware we were talking about her, Mrs. Kerchal walked in.

  “Mr. Samuel and I will be hosting a special dinner on Easter Sunday,” she said briskly. “As you know, Easter is less than a week away. Here is the dinner menu and a list of items that will need to be done.”

  For several days, Teo and I worked late into the evening to get the house ready for the holiday. On Thursday, we washed, dusted, waxed, and polished every surface in the house until it gleamed. Good Friday, we baked an angel food cake, a lemon pie, a pound cake, and three dozen sugar cookies. On Saturday, we brined the turkey, brought an extra ham up from the larder in the basement, prepared the dough for the coffee cake to be served on Easter morning, and started work on the stuffed celery, scalloped potatoes, French-cut green beans, and butter rolls that would accompany the main course. While the Kerchals attended Easter morning worship, I set the table and arranged the flowers while Teo cooked. Neither of us considered going to church ourselves. To be honest, we were so tired we barely noticed what day it was.

  When it was finally time for dinner, Teo and I watched through the open kitchen doorway as the guests took their places at the dining room table. Samuel Kerchal Sr., looking every bit the patriarch of the family, sat at the head of the table with his chair pushed back to allow room for his massive belly. He had a thick head of gray hair and a luxuriant mustache that curled around his lips like a small animal. The look in his blue eyes reminded me of an eagle surveying the landscape. One wrong move and he would pounce.

  Mrs. Kerchal sat at the other end of the table, wearing an unfashionable but very expensive chiffon gown. If her husband reminded me of an oversized eagle, Mrs. Kerchal, with her claw-like hands and narrow face, was more of a vulture.

  “Welcome to my home,” Mr. Kerchal announced, waving his arms expansively. “Before we begin, let us thank the Lord for all that we have been given. Reverend Fletcher, would you do the honors?”

  There was a scraping of chairs as the guests stood and held hands. Clearing his throat, a horse-faced scarecrow of a man in a clerical collar rose and spread his hands in a gesture of blessing.

  “Heavenly Father, on this glorious Easter Sunday, we thank you for all your blessings. For the blessing of good crops, good company, and good food. For the safe homecoming of our beloved Sam Junior, who has been away at college. For the continued health, wealth, and prosperity of his parents, who have contributed so much to our community. Bless our city, O Lord, that we continue to prosper. Bless our beloved country, the United States of America. Let her shores be forever free. Bless President Wilson and the members of his cabinet. Bless our representatives in Congress.”

  As the Reverend droned on, praying
for each Indiana Senator and Congressman in turn, Teo whispered a running commentary.

  “The fat old man standing next to the blonde with the deep cleavage in her fancy dress? That’s Mr. Pottsdam,” she said. “Owns the brewery on Maple Street and married a girl young enough to be his daughter after his first wife died. Across from him is Mayor Charles Handy.”

  I pushed the kitchen door open a little farther for a better look. Sure enough, the mayor, with his shiny bald pate and trademark grin, looked exactly as he appeared on the front page of the Aronsville Gazette.

  The last guest was a pale young man who looked to be about twenty years old. He had thin, delicate features and a wayward lock of dark hair hanging over his left eye. From the doting glances Mrs. Kerchal sent his way, I gathered this was her son, Sam Jr.

  After what felt like a very long time, the Reverend Fletcher said “amen,” and the guests resumed their seats with barely disguised relief. Two minutes later, Mrs. Kerchal rang the silver bell she kept beside her plate. It was time to serve the soup.

  With painstaking care, I carried the heavy china tureen filled with Teo’s cream of mushroom soup into the dining room and, standing just to the left of each diner, ladled a spoonful into their bowl. Though my hands were shaking, I didn’t spill a drop. As I carried the bowl back into the kitchen, I heaved a sigh of relief.

  By the end of the meal, I was starting to feel pretty good about myself. I’d successfully ferried in the soup, the roast turkey, the mashed potatoes, the ham, and the green beans. I’d fetched more lemonade for Mrs. Kerchal and poured out a second and then a third glass of Burgundy for Mr. Sam Sr. But as I cleared away the dinner dishes I began to hear a faint buzzing sound in my left ear, a sure sign my intuition was trying to tell me something. Whatever it was, however, it would have to wait. Mrs. Kerchal was ringing the bell for coffee.

  Teo had shown me how to serve it. I was to drape a white towel over my arm, stand to the left of each guest, and offer to pour the scalding-hot liquid into their cup. Keeping my voice low and deferential, and being careful never to interrupt the flow of the conversation, I was to say: “Would you care for coffee?” They would then push their cup forward and I would pour. Simple, right?

  Everything was going fine until I got to Mrs. Kerchal. Inexplicably, she jerked her cup back just as I’d begun to pour, causing the scalding liquid to spill over the white linen tablecloth and down onto the floor.

  “You clumsy girl,” she said. Her shrill voice brought the rest of the conversation to a halt. “Look at what you’ve done!”

  My face was flush with embarrassment. “So sorry, ma’am! Are you all right?”

  “Just barely, and no thanks to you.” She grabbed the silver bell next to her plate and shook it until Teo came running in from the kitchen.

  “Teo, this girl has made a terrible mess. Serve the coffee and see that this is cleaned up at once.”

  As Teo poured coffee for the remaining guests, tears of humiliation stung my eyes. I got down on my hands and knees and began to wipe coffee off the floor.

  “This silly nigra doesn’t have two brains to rub together inside that empty head of hers,” Mrs. Kerchal said, raising her hands in a gesture of frustration and disgust. “If it wasn’t so hard to get decent help, I’d fire her in the morning.”

  In the awkward silence that followed, Sam Jr. reached across the table and patted his mother’s hand.

  “Don’t fret yourself, Mother. I’m sure the girl didn’t spill the coffee on purpose.” He turned to face me. “You didn’t do it deliberately, did you?”

  I said nothing. Surely the young man had not actually been talking to me. If I could have disappeared into the floorboards and melted away, I would have. Using the white towel I’d been holding, I concentrated intently on removing brown liquid from the parquet floor.

  “Speak up,” Sam said. “I asked you a question. Did you spill that coffee on purpose, or didn’t you?”

  Holding the coffee-stained towel self-consciously in my hands, I stood up and shook my head. Avoiding the warning glance Teo fired at me from the other side of the table, I said: “I would never do such a thing.”

  “Are you sorry?” Sam Jr. persisted.

  Defying both convention and Teo’s unspoken warning, I looked the young man in the eye. “Of course I am.”

  Sam spread his hands wide and grinned at the assembled guests. “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The girl regrets the incident. The coffee has been poured, and now, I suggest we drop the subject. I, for one, would like a brandy by the fire.” He helped his mother from her chair, took her arm, and led toward the drawing room. “Come sit with me, Mother. I can’t wait to hear about what’s been happening in dear little Aronsville since I’ve been away.”

  Once we had returned to the relative privacy of the kitchen, Teo read me the riot act. “You nearly got us both fired today, Carrie. Missus is mighty particular, and when she’s in one of her moods, she is not to be trifled with.”

  “I know, Teo. I know. But the woman pulled her cup back just as I began to pour that coffee. Honest she did.”

  “She’s mean enough to do a thing like that,” Teo said. “That’s why you’ve got to mind your Ps and Qs. Don’t give her even the smallest excuse to find fault. No slip-ups. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said quietly.

  “Only thing saved you this time was Sam Junior. But you can’t count on him being around all the time. He goes back to college in a week.”

  After I finished my chores that night, I retreated to my cot in the attic and cried myself to sleep. Much as I wanted to run away, the truth was, I had nowhere else to go. Until I could find a better way to support myself, I was just going to have to put up with Mrs. Kerchal and her nasty attitude.

  The next morning I awoke determined to do everything right. Before the sun had fully risen, I had stoked the downstairs furnace and started the dough for the day’s bread. As I was setting a kettle to boil in the kitchen, I heard someone call my name. When I turned around and saw Sam Jr. standing at the kitchen table, I nearly dropped my teacup.

  “Be at ease,” he said. “I’ve no wish to frighten you.”

  “I’m not frightened,” I lied. “I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone down here this early.”

  Sam smiled, pulled out a chair, and sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m an early riser as well,” he said. “If you’re making tea, I’d love a cup.”

  “Of course,” I said, managing a small curtsey. “I’ll bring a pot up to your room directly.”

  “No need for that,” Sam replied. “After all, I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll just drink it down here, if you don’t mind. To be honest, I could use the company.”

  The truth was, the man’s unexpected presence in the kitchen made me uncomfortable. In my experience, white people never came into the kitchen except to issue orders. And never had any white person expressed an interest in keeping me company. Flustered, I busied myself with taking an additional cup and saucer down from the tall cupboard over the sink.

  An awkward silence hovered over the room. What was supposed to happen now? Was I supposed to say or do anything?

  “I’m here about last night,” Sam said finally. “I want to apologize for my mother. I don’t know why she pulled her cup away like that. It was wrong of her to do, and I’m sorry for it.”

  My eyes widened. “You saw it too?”

  Pushing a lock of dark-brown hair out of his eyes, Sam nodded. “Yes. Without a doubt. And as I just said, it was wrong.”

  “She must hate me,” I said softly.

  Sam shook his head sadly. “How could she? She barely knows you. The truth is, my mother hates her life. Father’s never home, and when he is, he bullies her all the time. She’s miserable, and she just happened to take it out on you.”

  Forgetting my shyness, I pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. “To be honest, I don’t know if I’m really cut out to be a maid.”

  “Seems to m
e you’re doing a great job,” he said. “Lord knows you’re easy on the eyes. You’ve already improved the atmosphere around here.”

  “Stop teasing me,” I said.

  “I’m not teasing you, Carrie. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. With those big eyes and long braids, you could be a Red Indian princess.”

  “Go on,” I said, blushing.

  “I mean it, Carrie. You’ve got such a bright smile—makes me feel light as a feather just to look at you.” He stood up and handed me his empty cup. “From now on, that is what I’m going to call you: Bright Feather. It will be our private name, just between the two of us, all right?”

  Bright Feather. For the rest of the day, I turned that name around in my mind as I dusted the bric-a-brac and swept out the fireplace. How I’d come by long hair and a tawny complexion had always puzzled me. Was I part white? Many black women had been raped by their masters in slavery times. If that had been the fate of any of my ancestors, my parents had not spoken of it. I’d never seen an Indian, even though my mama was part Cherokee. I’d been taught that they were wild savages who at one time had roamed the Western Territories, scalping settlers and generally wreaking havoc. But Mr. Sam hadn’t been talking about that kind of Indian. He’d been talking about a princess. A princess.

  The next morning, before the rest of the house was up and stirring, Sam walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. After I’d put a steaming hot mug of tea before him and begun to knead the dough for the morning’s rolls, he began to talk. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, not like any other white person’s voice I’d ever heard. And instead of calling me “girl” or “you there” as his mother was prone to do, Sam called me by what we’d begun to refer to as my secret name—Bright Feather.

  “Sit down a minute,” he said, nodding at the chair across from his at the kitchen table. “I feel like I can talk to you, Bright Feather. You’re the most unusual Negro I’ve ever seen. Can I tell you something?”