The Life She Was Given

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

  In the living room, she knelt in front of the fireplace, trying to get warm and staring into the flames, thinking, thinking. A quiet desperation gathered beneath her ribs. She had to know more. About her dead sister. About her father’s secrets. About her parents and what they had done. A piece of burning bark stuck to the grate in the fireplace, turning gray and curling toward the chimney, hypnotizing her.

  Three insistent knocks on the mudroom door made her jump. She got to her feet. Who could possibly be at the door at this hour, and in this weather? Claude had left hours ago. Maybe someone’s car had broken down and they wanted to use her telephone. Three more knocks, louder and more demanding with every blow. She hurried across the living room toward the kitchen, then stopped, suddenly nervous. If someone needed help, they’d be at the front door, not the side door. And she was alone in the house, two miles from the nearest neighbor. She blew out the lantern and waited to see if the person would give up and go away.

  “Julia?” a man’s voice called.

  It was Fletcher.

  She let out a sigh of relief. “Coming!” she called out, feeling a little foolish. She relit the lantern, went to the mudroom, and unlocked the door to let him in. He blew into the house and stomped his boots on the rug, his face ruddy below a fur-lined aviator hat. He smelled like winter and hay and woodsy cologne. Julia’s heart lifted at the sight of a friendly face.

  “What are you doing way out here at this hour?” she said. “Did you stop by the barn? Is everything all right?”

  “The horses are doing great,” he said. “But I wanted to make sure you’re okay too.”

  She smiled. “I’m fine, thanks. A little cold, but fine.”

  “Do you have the fireplace going?”

  “Yes.”

  He hunched his shoulders and shoved his gloved hands in his coat pockets. “Brrr. It’s freezing out there. Is there anything I can do for you? Bring in more firewood? Check the faucets?”

  She frowned. “Check the faucets? For what?”

  “You should let them drip so the pipes won’t freeze.”

  “Claude didn’t tell me that.”

  He grinned. “I told you, Claude doesn’t talk much.”

  “I know, but I specifically asked him about the pipes freezing.” She briefly considered asking if he knew anything about her dead sister, then remembered he’d only been working at Blackwood Manor a few months before her father died. Fletcher hadn’t spent enough time with him to learn anything about her family. “I was glad Claude made it over here to check on the horses, though.”

  “Yeah, you can always depend on Claude for that.” He took off his gloves, went into the kitchen, and turned on the faucet just enough to make it drip. Then he looked at her and waited.

  “What?” she said.

  “Do you want to show me where the rest of the faucets are?”

  She thought about showing him the eight bathroom faucets, but changed her mind. If all she had to do was make them drip, she could handle it. “That’s all right, I can take care of them.”

  He shrugged. “Okay. What about wood, do you have enough?”

  “I think so.”

  “Try not to open the fridge too much,” he said. “Your food will stay cold longer that way.”

  She glanced at the refrigerator. “Okay.”

  “Of course you can always set it out on the steps, it’s certainly cold enough out there.”

  “The refrigerator? I don’t think I can lift it.” She smiled and he laughed.

  “Ah, that was a good one,” he said. “You got me.” He put his gloves back on and went to the door. “Well, I guess I better get going. It’s going to be a treacherous drive home.”

  She thought about asking him to stay for a while, but didn’t want him to think she was flirting. After all, he could be married for all she knew. But then he started to open the door, and she realized she didn’t want to be alone. The words came out before she could stop them. “Why don’t you come in and get warmed up before you head back out? There’s food if you’re hungry, and brandy.”

  He grinned, closed the door, and took off his gloves again. “Brandy sounds good.”

  “Okay.” She went to the cupboard and grabbed two juice glasses. “I’m not sure where the snifters are.”

  “No worries. I’m a vet, remember? I’ve been known to drink out of cow troughs if I’m thirsty enough.”

  She made a face. “Yuck.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. It’s especially good when it’s been sitting in the sun for a few days. Gives it that little extra zing.”

  Shaking her head and laughing, she led him into the living room. The fire was dying down. She set the juice glasses on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Would you mind throwing on a few more logs while I get the brandy?”

  “Not at all.”

  She hurried toward the den to fetch the brandy, surprised at how happy she was to have a visitor. After the ice storm, worrying about the horses, finding out she had a sister, and the mysterious discoveries in her father’s den, maybe having company would get her mind off things for a little while. When she came back into the living room, Fletcher was leaning back on the couch like he belonged there, relaxed and enjoying the fire, one ankle crossed over his knee.

  She held up the brandy bottle and smiled. “It’s old, but it should be fine.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” he said.

  She filled the glasses halfway, handed him one, and sat on the couch beside him. He took a swig and grimaced a little.

  “Is it horrible?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “You didn’t look like it was fine. You made a face.”

  He grinned. “I have a confession to make. I’m not a brandy drinker. Beer is normally my spirit of choice.”

  “Then why did you—”

  “Because a night like this calls for brandy.” He drained his glass, set it on the coffee table, and swallowed, trying to keep a straight face. “And you looked like you needed some company.”

  Her cheeks grew warm and she fixed her eyes on the fire. Why did he always assume he knew what she needed? “Would you like another?”

  “No, thanks.” He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and gazed into the fire.

  She sipped her drink and watched him out of the corner of her eye, wondering why he agreed to stay. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he took her up on the brandy just to spend time with her. But that was impossible. He was a veterinarian with a college degree and she had never graduated high school. Someone as handsome and accomplished as he surely had a girlfriend, or a fiancée, or a wife. Maybe even a couple of kids and a dog. She shook her head and tried to think rationally. He had come here to check on the horses and only took her up on her invitation because he was kind. That was it. And truth be told, she was grateful to meet someone kind at Blackwood Manor. Maybe he was right, maybe she did need company.

  Despite her earlier decision not to ask if he knew anything about her parents and sister, she changed her mind. Kind people liked to help others. And she certainly needed help. Maybe he’d heard something while working here—if not from Claude, from someone else. After all, he knew the other horse farmers in the area, and people loved to talk. “Can I ask you something?”

  He grinned. “Am I single? Yes.”

  Her face grew hot again. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “How come I’m not married?” He raised his palms as if confessing a crime. “I guess I just haven’t found the right person yet. After all, it takes a special woman to appreciate someone like me. I’m handsome, charming, well educated. And who could resist a guy who wears shit-covered boots and sticks their hands up cows’ asses all day?” He leaned back, put his arm across the back of the couch, and cast her a wry smile. “What about you? Are you single, or will I have to fight someone for your affections?”

  She couldn’t seem to answer him. She had forgot
ten how to breathe, as if taking in air no longer followed letting it out. Suddenly she felt like they were too close. But he didn’t move and neither did she. He gave her a bemused look. Then gradually, his expression changed and grew more serious. She felt like she might dissolve under his scrutiny. She stood, picked up their glasses, and headed toward the kitchen. “You should probably go,” she said. “It’s late and I need some sleep. Thanks for your help.”

  He got up and followed her. “No problem,” he said, sounding puzzled. She went to the sink and he went to the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow and check the pipes.”

  “All right, I’ll see you then. Thanks again.”

  “Night.” He smiled awkwardly and let himself out into the freezing night.

  After he was gone, she leaned against the counter and tried to clear her head. She had no idea if he was trying to be funny or sincere. And to her surprise, she felt like a schoolgirl with a new crush, with sweaty palms and quivering knees. But that was impossible. She had just met him. She didn’t even know if she trusted him. Hell, after everything she’d been through, she didn’t trust anyone.

  CHAPTER 19

  LILLY

  Three weeks after Cole tried to convince Mr. Barlow to put Lilly in the elephant act, The Barlow Brothers’ Circus landed its biggest venue yet, in a town outside New York City on the Fourth of July weekend. It was their first time performing at that spot, and Mr. Barlow and Merrick barked orders nonstop.

  Inside the dressing tent, Glory finished fixing Lilly’s hair and helped her with her pearl necklace. “Are you nervous?” she said. “Mr. Barlow says everything has to go off without a hitch so we can come back next year.”

  “No,” Lilly said. “But the bigger the venue, the more people I have to lie to.”

  “I know,” Glory said. “But even if what you’re doing isn’t real, at least it makes the rubes happy to think they’re talking to their lost loved ones.”

  “That’s what I keep trying to tell myself,” Lilly said. “But what happens when everyone finds out I’m nothing but a gaff?”

  “You need to quit worrying ahead,” Glory said. “It won’t change anything.”

  Merrick stuck his head inside the tent. “Let’s go, Lilly.”

  She stood, gave Glory a hug, and left with Merrick.

  Over the next few hours, the rubes coming inside The Albino Medium’s tent ran the entire gamut, from men looking to connect with their long-departed mothers, to little old ladies desperate to hear from their dead cats. When Pierre meowed from inside the wardrobe and the gray-haired lady with the sweet smile sitting across from Lilly started to cry, it was all she could do not to get up and walk out. Until the chance to do something else had presented itself in the form of working with the elephants, she hadn’t fully realized how weary she was of this gig. And she knew in her heart of hearts the day would come when she would make a mistake and someone would peg her as fake. Then there would be hell to pay.

  After the gray-haired lady left, Merrick gave Lilly two names instead of the usual one, because the next rube insisted on trying to reach two dead family members. As soon as Merrick left, a big, surly man in a worn jacket and dungarees limped into the tent. He looked to be about forty, his grimy face covered with two or three days’ worth of beard, his hair sticking out in all directions, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes wafting from his clothes. Scowling, he fell into the seat across from Lilly, then sat forward, his elbows on the table as if ready to arm-wrestle a sworn enemy.

  Lilly swallowed, her mouth suddenly parched. “Hello and welcome,” she said. “Before we begin, let me tell you a little bit about what I do. I’ve been communicating with the dead since the age of four and eventually came to realize I needed to share my gift. Messages from the beyond can come in the form of music, voices, and other sounds. What I’d like you to do is close your eyes and think about your departed loved one. While you’re doing that, I’ll try to connect with the spirit world. Then I’ll ask you some questions, to which you must answer either yes or no. Are you ready to begin?”

  “Name’s John,” the man said.

  She blinked at him, confused. “Is that your name, or the name of the person you hope to reach?”

  “Mine.”

  “All right, John. Please relax, close your eyes, and think about the person you’d like to hear from today.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” John said.

  Lilly tensed. Here we go, she thought. My first difficult rube of the day. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But perhaps you misunderstood. Would you like to tell me something about yourself? Maybe that will—”

  “I lost my wife and son in a car wreck a year ago. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t know, but I’m very sorry for your loss. It must be extremely hard for you. If you’ll give me a chance, I can try to reach them for you.”

  John fixed his watery gaze on her. “It was my fault ’cause I was drinking, and I been trying to tell them sorry ever since.” He cleared his throat. “I been to all sorts of people sayin’ they could talk to my wife and boy, that they could bring them into the room so I could ask their forgiveness. That’s all I want. I just want to say I’m sorry.” His face contorted in misery.

  “I understand,” she said. “Why don’t we see if I can help?” She closed her eyes and waited a few seconds before continuing, guilt churning in her stomach. The agony on John’s face burned itself into her memory next to the thousands of other rubes she had tricked into believing she could speak to their loved ones on the other side. “I’m seeing the figure of a young woman. She’s very pretty. I believe her name is Lisa . . . no, that’s not right. It’s Lynette.”

  “Stop it,” John said in a hard voice.

  Lilly opened her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “I said stop it.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Is something wrong? Sometimes it takes a little while to get—”

  “Yeah, something’s wrong,” John interrupted. He glared at her. “You’re a fake, just like the rest of them. Mediums, spirit guides, séance holders. Every last one of y’all is a goddamn fake!” He spit the words out like poison.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But I—”

  “I just wanna know one thing. What kinda person takes a hardworking man’s money and lies right to their face about their dead kin?”

  She shook her head. “I . . . I don’t know. But if you’ll just . . .”

  John shot to his feet and slammed his fists on the table, rattling the candleholders and bell globe. “Don’t lie to me!” he shouted, his chest heaving in and out. “I know this is a setup!”

  Lilly got out of her chair and backed away, starting to shake. “Now listen, John. If you’ll just calm down, we can give you your money—”

  John stormed over to the wardrobe and yanked on the door handles. When they didn’t open, he smashed his fists through the wood, reached in, and dragged Pierre out by the scruff of his shirt. “Who’s this?” he snarled.

  “Let go of me!” Pierre shouted. He tried punching John in the stomach, but his short arms wouldn’t reach. John lifted him in the air and shook him.

  “Don’t!” Lilly shouted. “Please! It’s not his fault!”

  Just then, the back entrance flew open and Merrick rushed in, threw an arm around John’s broad neck, and tried to wrestle him to the ground. Pierre yanked himself from John’s grasp and scurried out of the way, his face white as a sheet. John pulled away from Merrick, then turned and threw a punch at him. Merrick ducked and John fell forward, landing on his knees. Then he found his footing, stood, and upended the table with one swipe of his arm. The candles toppled over and the glass bell globe shattered on the hard earth. The legless “spirit” baby flopped upside down from its wooden attachment beneath the table, its stuffed arms hanging limp next to its yarn-covered head. Pierre stomped on the candles to put them out, and Merrick threw his arms around John’s shoulders. Nearly
twice his size, John tore Merrick off his back, pushed him to the ground, and punched him in the face. Then he got up and tore down the curtains and stars and mirrors. Merrick groaned and rolled over on his side.

  “Stop!” Lilly said. “Please, John! Stop!”

  John bellowed like a madman and ripped down one of the sidewalls, nearly bringing the entire roof down with it. Then he wrenched down the wall facing the midway, revealing the interior of the tent to the line of waiting rubes. Women gasped and stepped back, and men moved forward to protect them.

  John gaped at the crowd, his eyes wild, pieces of canvas and ripped curtains in his hands. “They’re stealing your money!” he yelled. “It’s all fake!”

  Mouths dropped open in confusion and shock. Faces contorted in anger. Several men shook their fists and demanded a refund, while others grumbled amongst themselves.

  Merrick struggled to his feet and held up his hands. “Now, now,” he said, blood gushing from his nostrils. “Can’t you see this man is intoxicated? And at a family gathering, no less! He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

  “Then why are you asking for names before we go in?” a young woman called out.

  “Yeah,” a man yelled. “What’s that for?”

  “That’s for a money-back guarantee, just like we told you,” Merrick said. He pointed at Alana, who stood between the tent and the rubes, her notebook clasped to her chest, her slack face the color of ash. “She’s the only one who sees the names until the end of the day. We’re also keeping track of every spirit The Albino Medium contacts because we’re trying to break the world record. And when you fine people read about that in the papers, you’ll know you and your loved ones had a hand in making it happen. Your family will be famous!”

  “Hogwash!” a man shouted.

  “You’re lying!” someone else yelled.

  “Damn right, he’s lyin’!” John shouted. He trudged over to the wardrobe and yanked out the stuffed glove. “See this? This is what that midget touches you with, all the while the albino’s tellin’ you your feelin’ a ghost!” He yanked out the harmonica and bell and tambourine and threw them on the ground. “See? It’s all rigged!”