Death at a Seance

by Carolyn Marie Wilkins

  “Just where do you think you’re going, Bright Feather? You have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Over what felt like a gallon of hot tea, I told Mrs. Mason everything that had happened since Miss Parker’s murder. When I got to the part about Rudy Gillette’s duplicity, I stopped, uncertain how to proceed. To my surprise, she urged me on with an impatient wave of her hand.

  “My spirit guides warned me about him,” Mrs. Mason said, “but I refused to listen. I was so determined to build a Spiritualist temple in Aronsville that I ruined my finances and my peace of mind.”

  “When I take this new evidence to the police tomorrow, Gillette will go to jail,” I said. “I am sure of it.”

  “My guides have instructed me to regard this entire adventure as a lesson in humility,” Mrs. Mason said, wiping away a tear. “The material world of money and position is not our true home, Bright Feather.”

  My heart went out to the foolish old woman. With all the evildoers running around, it did not seem fair that God had singled her out for such suffering. All at once, a buzzing sensation began to tickle my left ear. Before I could stop myself, I began to speak.

  “Fear not, Chieftess Mason. Your pure intentions have been seen and registered in the Spirit World.” Though I could hear my voice and was aware of where I was, it did not feel as though I was speaking. My voice was richer and fuller than normal, and a full octave deeper. “The last five checks you wrote to Mr. Gillette have not yet been cashed. They are sitting at the bottom of the left-hand drawer of his desk. They will be found within the fortnight and returned to you.”

  When I was finished, Mr. Lewis stared at me as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “If I didn’t know you so well, I’d say you’d just been possessed by the devil,” he said. “I don’t know how you did that, and I don’t think I want to know.”

  “That’s no devil voice, Edward,” Annie said. “Carrie has been blessed with the Sight.”

  Mrs. Mason clapped her hands together like a child with a new toy. “Bright Feather just gave me a message from Red Cloud, my very own spirit guide. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.”

  I had no idea how I’d accomplished this miraculous feat. If Sister Marie had been present, she would have been able to explain to me what had just happened, but in that moment, all I knew was that I was suddenly so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open.

  “Is there some place I can lie down for a while,” I said. “Any couch or even the floor would be fine.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Mason said. “You will stay in the guest room tonight. Mr. Lewis will take you back to Churchtown in the morning after the Klan has finished scaring everybody to death.”

  ~||~

  Sure enough, Mr. Lewis drove me back to Churchtown in Mrs. Mason’s vintage Buick the next day. Though it was just nine o’clock in the morning, the temperature had already begun to rise. For most folks, it would be a good day to have a swim in the river or a lemonade on the front porch. For me, it would be the day I did my level best to get Ralph Barnes out of jail.

  “Your face is on posters all over town,” Mr. Lewis said. He turned onto Lincoln Avenue and shook a cautionary finger at me. “If the police find you, they’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “I know,” I said impatiently. I knew the old man meant well, but the last thing I needed in that moment was a lecture. I’d avoided the police so far, and I intended to keep avoiding them as long as possible. “Can you take me by the Gray Goose?”

  “The Boss’s pool hall will not be open this early, and you don’t want to be seen hanging around the streets. That will definitely attract the wrong kind of attention, especially with a big reward on your head.”

  “All right,” I said. “Take me to the church instead. Reverend Robinson keeps the building open for people who need a place to pray. I’ll wait in his office till he turns up.”

  After a third reminder to be careful, Mr. Lewis dropped me in front of Bland Avenue Methodist Church and drove away.

  To my surprise, the church was locked. I walked around to the side door and rang the bell. After several minutes, the door opened just enough for Reverend Robinson to grab my arm and pull me inside.

  “Thursday morning Bible study class has been cancelled until further notice,” he said. He pulled the door firmly shut behind him and locked it again. The young pastor was unshaven and looked as though he had spent a sleepless night. “Rumor has it the Klan is coming back through here today.”

  “Again?”

  “They’re holding a big rally in front of the courthouse to ask Chief Smith what he intends to do about the ‘Negro Crime Wave.’”

  As I followed Reverend Robinson down the stairs, I could feel my heart begin to race. He didn’t need to tell me that Ralph and I were a big part of the “Negro Crime Wave” the Klan was so angry about.

  “I’m praying our church will not be attacked,” Reverend Robinson continued, “but it’s definitely possible.”

  I nodded. Twenty years ago, when a Negro was accused of killing a white man, hundreds of whites had swept through Churchtown, burning and looting. The police had been forced to surround the jail to keep the mob from dragging the man out and lynching him on the spot.

  “I’m worried about you, Carrie. If they find you here, you could be in serious danger.”

  Not the first warning I’d received in the past few days. If the spirits were trying to tell me something, I made up my mind not to listen, at least not yet. The way I saw it, this whole mess was pretty much my fault. It was up to me to do what I could to fix it.

  “I’ve discovered some evidence that could get Ralph released from jail. Do you know where I can find Boss Tisdale?”

  “I was just about to telephone him to give him an update. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  After pouring me a cup of stale coffee from the battered metal percolator bubbling on the stove, the reverend led me into his office. As I sat down across from his desk in a rickety folding chair, it occurred to me that the two of us had never actually had a normal conversation. Too much life and death drama going on, I guessed. But in the early morning quiet as we each sipped our coffee, I remembered how much I’d liked Reverend Robinson from the moment I first saw him.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Reverend?”

  “Of course not, Carrie. And please, call me John. All my friends do.”

  “I really appreciate everything you’ve done, believe me, but I haven’t been to church since my daddy died. Why are you putting yourself in danger to help me?”

  John Robinson smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t take much credit for bravery. I’m just doing what I believe God wants me to do.”

  “But I’m a Seer,” I persisted. “To some people, that’s almost like being a witch. Even in your own church, there are folks who turned away when they saw me.”

  “Never let small-minded people bother you, Carrie. Any minister worth his salt would be honored to keep a beautiful woman like you out of harm’s way.” He flashed me a disarming smile. “Anyway, you’re far too nice to be a devil worshipper.”

  Although John’s tone was light, I was surprised to detect a note of sincere appreciation in his banter. Was this handsome young reverend flirting with me?

  After an awkward pause, he cleared his throat. “I’d love to answer your question in greater depth another time. But now, I really must call Mr. Tisdale. Please excuse me.”

  From what I could overhear from the minister’s end of the conversation, Boss Tisdale was not at all happy to hear the church was locked up.

  “Yes, William,” John said. “I agree. We should not allow ourselves to be intimidated. Still, I have the safety of my congregation to consider.” After a long pause, he said, “Carrie McFarland is here. She says she has news.” After another long pause, John nodded and hung up.

  “Mr. Tisdale feels that I showed a lack of courage by locking down the church. He also said he wants to talk to you. He’ll be h
ere in ten minutes.” He sighed and ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. “Do you really have news that could save us?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I plan to convince the police that there is a far more likely suspect out there than Ralph Barnes.”

  The minister gave me a wan smile. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

  “Rudy Gillette is involved in this thing all the way up to his neck,” I said. “I saw him with my own eyes out in Woody Glade the night Gaylord Wilson was killed. And he was seen coming from Wilson’s house. He was supposed meet with Sam Kerchal that night, but he never showed up.”

  “You’re saying Gillette was too busy killing Mr. Wilson to keep his appointment?”

  “Exactly,” I said triumphantly. “That should be enough evidence to get Ralph Barnes out of jail.”

  “Perhaps,” Robinson said. “But then what? The way things stand right now, we could be taking Ralph out of the frying pan and putting him into the fire. He could walk out of jail and right into the waiting arms of the Klan. The mood those white folks are in, we could be setting ourselves up for another race riot.”

  As the minister and I contemplated this sober reality, the doorbell chimed, accompanied by the sound of urgent fists pounding on the door. Gesturing for me to remain downstairs, the minister bowed his head in a silent prayer before he left the room.

  The next five minutes were among the longest of my life. Had the police discovered my whereabouts? Or did those pounding fists belong to some angry Klansman determined to destroy what little property the Negroes in Churchtown had managed to accumulate since the riot of ’01?

  When Robinson returned to his office accompanied by Boss Tisdale, I let out a breath I was not aware I had been holding until that moment. To my surprise, The Boss of Churchtown was grinning from ear to ear. He tipped his straw hat in my direction and sat down on the edge of the minister’s desk.

  “The pastor here’s been telling me about your adventures,” Tisdale said. “You’ve done well.”

  Like a plant starved for sunshine, I felt myself glow all over. “Do you think the evidence I found will convince the police to let Ralph go?”

  “Nope,” The Boss said cheerfully, “but you’re going to tell Mayor Handy your story anyway. Don’t worry, I’m going to go there with you. It’ll give me a chance to have a chat with the good man. I’ve turned up some information he’s gonna be very interested in.”

  “What is it, William?” the minister said. “You’ve been acting like the cat who swallowed the canary ever since you walked in here.”

  The Boss flashed Robinson an enigmatic grin. “Let’s just say I contacted some old friends and made a few enquiries. You do not need to concern yourselves with the details, my friend. But trust me, despite all appearances, it is an excellent time for Miss McFarland and I to go down to the courthouse.”

  Reverend Robinson looked at Tisdale like he had gone mad. “There’s a Klan rally going on there, William. Haven’t you heard?”

  “I’m aware of it,” The Boss said, unruffled. “That is why time is of the essence. Once the mayor and I have had our little conversation, the Klan will no longer be a problem, I assure you.”

  As the minister looked on in amazement, Tisdale stood and offered me his arm. “Are you ready, Miss McFarland?”

  It seemed like a totally crazy idea to march into the teeth of a mass rally of hundreds of angry men in white sheets, but Tisdale’s air of serene confidence was infectious.

  “Say a prayer for us, Reverend,” Tisdale said. “We’re about to walk into the lion’s den.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The streets of Churchtown were eerily deserted. Though it must have been sweltering inside the ramshackle tenements along Canal Street, no one sat on their front steps. No children played stickball in the street. Even the drunks and the prostitutes who normally frequented the dives along Lincoln Avenue had vanished. As Boss Tisdale and I turned down Sycamore Avenue in the direction of the courthouse, it wasn’t hard to see why.

  Massed along Eighth Avenue, hundreds of white-sheeted Klansmen waving miniature American flags roared in approval as DC Stephenson, Grand Dragon for the State of Indiana, climbed to the top of a makeshift platform across the street from the courthouse.

  “Foreigners are taking away our jobs, while nigra criminals run wild in our streets,” he shouted, waving his hands as the growing crowd stomped and whistled. “It’s time to clean up our city, ladies and gentlemen. It’s time to make Aronsville one hundred percent American.”

  “This way, Carrie,” Boss Tisdale said. Grabbing me by the hand, he pulled me into the alley and began to run. “Hurry.”

  He didn’t need to tell me twice. The mood of that crowd was ugly and getting uglier by the minute. No telling what they might do if they caught sight of me, the colored hoodoo witch who’d started all the trouble. But when we arrived at the back door of the county jail, soaked in perspiration and severely out of breath, I thought The Boss had lost his mind.

  “I’m trying to stay out of jail, remember?” I said.

  Tisdale flashed me an irritated look and pressed the buzzer next to the building’s heavy steel door.

  “The Klan folks are at the courthouse around the corner,” he said, “but there’s no one over here by the jail. Once we get in, we can use the underground tunnel that connects the jail and the courthouse.”

  Two minutes later, the door opened a crack. When I saw the dark face of the janitor peering out at us, I broke into a broad smile.

  “That you, Jimbo?” I said.

  “The very same,” the janitor said, waving us inside. “Nice to see you again, Miss Carrie. You too, Boss Tisdale.”

  “You two know each other?” Tisdale said.

  “Jimbo was kind enough to dance outside my cell when I was forced to spend the night in jail,” I explained.

  Tisdale, already focused on the next problem, merely grunted. “Where’s the guard who’s supposed to watch this door?”

  “Out front, tryin’ to keep the Klan under control,” Jimbo said. “Funny thing, though. So many officers calling in sick today. Detective Johnson, for instance. Even Chief Smith called in sick today. A case of ‘Klan Fever’ if you ask me.”

  Tisdale’s expression was impassive. “Quite likely,” he said. “We need to get in to see the mayor right away. Can you take us through the tunnel and into the courthouse?”

  With a wry smile, the janitor executed a nimble pirouette, landing deftly on one knee in front of me. “For this pretty young lady, I am happy to oblige,” he said grandly.

  For the next several minutes, we followed Jimbo through a twisting warren of hallways, down a back staircase, and into long concrete tunnel. When we emerged at the other end, the courthouse, except for the chanting mob outside, was eerily silent.

  “What happened, Jimbo?” I said. “The mayor send everyone home? When I looked behind me, the wily old janitor had disappeared.

  “Follow me,” Boss Tisdale said. “The mayor’s office is on the second floor. And remember, once we get inside, let me do all the talking unless I ask for your input, understand?”

  I nodded, not clear exactly what he had planned anyhow.

  Outside the heavy wooden door that led to Mayor Handy’s office, Boss Tisdale squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked. Gesturing impatiently for me to follow, he pushed past the uniformed policeman who opened the door and strode into the center of the room.

  “It’s all right, Feeney,” Mayor Handy said, waving the aggrieved patrolman aside. The mayor was a short man with unruly red hair, a thick build, and muscular arms. Just as I remembered him from the Kerchal’s Easter dinner. An unlit cigar protruded from the corner of his mouth. “This man is an old friend. Why don’t you stand guard outside the door for a few minutes.”

  After the patrolman stepped into the hallway, Mayor Handy broke into a lopsided grin. “William Tisdale, as I live and breathe. Chairman of the Vanderburgh County Colored
Republicans. The Boss of Churchtown. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to help in your time of need,” Tisdale said.

  “Don’t fool with me, William,” Mayor Handy said sourly. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a full-blown riot brewing on the courthouse lawn.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Tisdale said. “DC Stephenson and his boys want you to hang my associate Ralph Barnes immediately. Better still, they want to string him up themselves. Half your police force has mysteriously called in sick, leaving you and your jail severely undermanned. Am I right so far?”

  The mayor nodded glumly.

  “Fear not, my friend,” Tisdale said. “I’ve brought Miss Carrie McFarland here to testify about what happened the night Mr. Wilson was killed. She saw the murderer with her own two eyes.”

  “’Course she did,” the mayor said sourly. “Most likely she was doing a voodoo dance while her friend Ralph Barnes bashed Wilson’s brains in.”

  Unruffled, Boss Tisdale continued. “Ralph Barnes is not a murderer, and we can prove it. Tell the man, Carrie.”

  Before the mayor had a chance to stop me, I launched into my story. “Gaylord Wilson and Rudy Gillette were involved in a scheme to steal money from people interested in Spiritualism. They took thousands of dollars from Mrs. Portia Mason right here in Aronsville.”

  Mayor Handy cut me off with an impatient wave of his hand. “Bayard Mason swore out a complaint against both men yesterday. It doesn’t change the fact that Ralph Barnes was seen going into Wilson’s cottage on the night of the murder.”

  “But Wilson was already dead when he got there,” I said.

  Mayor Handy’s beefy face was a study in skepticism. “Why didn’t Barnes call the police? Only a guilty man keeps quiet about a thing like that.”

  “Not true, Charles,” The Boss said quietly. “A colored man would have a hundred reasons to keep his mouth shut. Even an innocent Negro would be afraid to be caught at the wrong place and the wrong time. Why? Because he knew he might never even live to get a fair trial. If you don’t believe me, just look at those people outside. Do you think they really care about the facts? They just want to see a Negro hang.”