I tried again to get free, but Samuel was just too strong.
“Hold her still,” Agatha demanded.
“I’m trying,” Samuel replied. “I won’t hurt her.”
Agatha tried to take my chin in her hand, but I bucked away.
“STOP!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, expelling all the air inside of me until Samuel released his grip.
Cook and Agatha stepped backward.
“Apparently she can speak,” Agatha whispered.
Cook nodded, her eyes never leaving my face.
Samuel didn’t respond to them. His eyes were focused completely on me, his hands supporting my back, easing my shuddering.
A moment later, Dr. Patterson burst into the room. He looked from Samuel to me. I was still leaning back on Samuel, and my breath was ragged.
“What is going on in here?” Dr. Patterson demanded.
Cook raised an eyebrow at me as if asking permission to tell him. I shook my head so slightly I wasn’t sure she would see it.
“It was I, Dr. Patterson,” Cook said. Samuel paused momentarily, but then agreed.
“It’s my fault, doctor,” Agatha added. “I bet Cook she was too weak to yell with a patient’s force.”
Dr. Patterson smirked. “Well, next time you choose to play your little games, please make sure the kitchen is clear of patients.”
Samuel nodded. “Very sorry, sir. That was bad judgment on my part.”
“See that it doesn’t happen again.” Dr. Patterson swooped out of the room.
Cook was still watching me when Samuel said, “You lied to him.”
“Sometimes that is the way things happen.” She took the two steps toward me and lifted my head so that I met her eyes. “There is a reason this girl doesn’t speak.”
She searched my face, but I gave away nothing.
“What could’ve happened to make someone mute?” Agatha was again speaking as if I were not in the room.
“Isabelle will tell us when she is ready,” Cook promised. “Won’t you, my girl?”
Seeing no other option, I nodded.
CHAPTER 20
If Mrs. Lincoln meant to keep away from me, she did a rather poor job of it. Instead of pretending I didn’t exist, she had Dr. Patterson order me to accompany her on another outing the very next day. I knew she would ask me to speak once more and that I would let her down again. Yet, Dr. Patterson told me he believed it would be good for me, and I needed to keep his good opinion. There was no way out without damaging my safety. It seemed a pointless task to join her, but I couldn’t find a way out of it.
“Mrs. Lincoln has surely taken a shining to you,” Agatha said as she watched me eat breakfast.
I shrugged.
“Well, be glad for it. It’s a change of pace. That’s got to be nice.”
Again I merely shrugged.
“Well, the other patients are jealous. They spoke of little else while you were gone yesterday.” Agatha collected my dishes onto her tray and looked me over. I patted my mouth with a napkin and placed it on top of the dirty pile.
With a wink, she lifted my tray and disappeared out the door. I took my hat and pinned it to my head, taking care that the ribbons fell down my back properly. At the least, Mrs. Lincoln would have no complaints about my appearance.
* * *
Our ride into town was silent. Mrs. Lincoln waved to certain couples as the horses clopped along the river walk. The ride seemed easy until the driver veered off the river walk and onto the main road away from town. Despite myself, I jolted at the sudden change.
I patted Mrs. Lincoln’s knee and gestured around us, hoping she’d explain herself. Instead, she met my eyes and shrugged with the same hard expression I’d given her so many times. I held her gaze for a moment and hoped she’d take pity and say something, but she did nothing. I turned away and crossed my arms. If her only reason for having me join her was to force me into speaking, I’d have none of it.
After a time, Mrs. Lincoln’s face relaxed and she sighed. She reclined on the carriage bench and pretended to ignore me, but I could tell she was listening for the slightest noise from me. I also settled back into the carriage and forced a serene expression onto my face. Two could play her game.
The Fox River rippled to my right, full of mother ducks and their ducklings. Many of the babies were growing up, tufts of feathers erupting atop their heads. Despite Mrs. Lincoln’s anger, these adolescent ducks made me smile inwardly.
It was nearly an hour later when the driver pulled the horses to a halt. We stopped in front of a dark brick building with a second-story wraparound porch. Bright flowers dotted the entry stoop while vines hung from the railing above. It was garish. It brought to mind the time Father took me to New Orleans with him. I wondered whom we were calling upon.
Mrs. Lincoln was helped out of the carriage first, and then the driver assisted me. I stayed close to Mrs. Lincoln, hoping she’d explain why we were here. The bustle of her skirt was larger than normal, in the European style. This was no ordinary visit.
“Shall I return for you, Mrs. Lincoln?” our driver inquired.
She turned around with one hand raised. “No, please wait for us, Joseph.”
He nodded and turned his attention to tending the horses.
Mrs. Lincoln said nothing to me, but glanced over her shoulder every few steps to make sure I was still with her. Before we even reached the front door, it sprung open as if they’d been waiting for us. In the doorframe was a woman of Mother’s age in a dark purple gown. Her hair was pulled back, but messy, as if she had slept recently and had forgotten to check the mirror. Her face showed a dreamy expression, as if she were one half in the till. “I have been expecting you, Mrs. Lincoln,” the woman declared in a breathy voice.
Mrs. Lincoln let out a long sigh. “I’ve heard much of your talents, Madam Rosetta. Is the spirit with you today?”
“Oh, yes.” Madam Rosetta’s voice rose in pitch. She placed a hand to her forehead and declared, “The spirit feels very strong today.” She rested her eyes upon me, and I saw a glimpse of tension cross her face. “The girl . . .”
“Is mute,” Mrs. Lincoln said, touching her lips with a finger.
A short pause passed between us as if they expected me to open my mouth and refute Mrs. Lincoln. Naturally, I disappointed them.
“We do not bring strangers into the circle. It disrupts the communication,” Madam Rosetta said.
“This is not negotiable.” Mrs. Lincoln placed a hand on my back. “I shall not sit without her.”
For a moment, Madam Rosetta gave me a sour grimace, but quickly changed her countenance to a soft smile. “Of course. I can make an exception for one so strong in the power.” She took my hand and gasped. “Someone has done you a grave ill, my dear.”
“How do you know that?” Mrs. Lincoln took my other hand and mimicked Madam Rosetta’s hold, trying to learn the same things she had. I pulled both hands away and shook the uneasiness from my shoulders. Papa always said mediums were phonies, but the idea of someone seeing into my soul made my skin crawl.
Madam Rosetta glanced to the sky. “Ah, the sun is well placed. Shall we go inside and begin?”
Mrs. Lincoln and I followed her into a dark hallway and then an even darker parlor. All the curtains were closed, and the only light came from a candelabra on a side table. The walls and furniture were various textures of maroon, giving a unique aura to the room. The only other thing with any color was the dark gray fireplace, which stood open and empty. There wasn’t even a pile of wood in it.
We sat at the five-sided table, and Madam Rosetta held out her hands for us to grasp. Once we sat, the door shut, bathing us in deep darkness. Mrs. Lincoln’s hand was wet beneath mine, but Madam Rosetta’s was as light as a feather, as if she expected to float away.
“Dear spirits,” Madam Rosetta began. “Speak to us and fill the room with your greatness.”
The room was so still I doubted we were even breathing. Mrs. Lin
coln’s hand shook. I tried to hold her tighter to give her strength.
“We need a sign,” Madam Rosetta continued, her voice low and strong. “Show us you are with us.”
We waited a moment. I glanced from Madam Rosetta to Mrs. Lincoln in the flickering light. Both of them had closed their eyes, and Mrs. Lincoln was muttering something to herself. I stared behind her at the candelabra, which cast shadows about the room. The flames momentarily doubled in size before they went out, and we were left in near darkness.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed. Her excitement was palpable, though she stayed seated.
“Yes,” Madam Rosetta sighed. “They are here.” Her voice remained as even as before. It was eerie how little emotion she showed.
“Who?” Mrs. Lincoln’s voice shook with longing. “Who is here?”
“Show yourself, spirit,” Madam Rosetta demanded.
There was a soft chill against my back as if someone had opened a door. Then I saw it. A tall figure in a top hat was circling the table.
“Abraham!” Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed and began to rise.
“No!” Madam Rosetta insisted. “Do not make any sudden movements or break the circle, for the spirit may leave.”
In the darkness, I saw Mrs. Lincoln nod as she grasped my hand even firmer than before. “Just . . .” she began. “Just tell me if it’s my Abraham.”
“Spirit, are you he?” Madam Rosetta requested. “Tap once for yes, twice for no.”
Almost immediately a single knock vibrated in my ears. Impossibly, President Lincoln’s spirit was there—in the room with us. He continued his restless walk around our circle. Mrs. Lincoln hunched forward, nearly overcome with emotion. “I’ve waited so long to contact my beloved. So long,” she whispered.
I kept my grip firm on her hand so the spirit wouldn’t leave.
Mrs. Lincoln tried to take the spirit’s hand, but he moved before she could touch him.
As I studied Mr. Lincoln’s figure, there was something off-putting about how he stood. He swayed as if off balance and hiccupped every few moments. I watched his hands and twisted around to see more clearly in the darkness. The figure stepped away from the table and into the darkness of the large room. Mrs. Lincoln was still leaning down, presumably praying or crying, and Madam Rosetta was staring into the ceiling. A faint shush sound came and again I felt cold air on my back. Squinting in the dimly lit circle, I spied a dark figure behind me.
“Stop!” I exclaimed. Before the “spirit” could vanish, I jumped to my feet and grabbed the tall man. Once I had him, I could just make out the outline of the fireplace.
“What’s this?” Mrs. Lincoln’s tone was flat.
“Pass the light,” I demanded as Madam Rosetta exclaimed, “Sit! The spirits will shun such energy.”
As Mrs. Lincoln passed a candelabra to me, I dug my nails into the man’s skin. “Don’t think about running,” I threatened. He turned to the wall.
The firelight flickered against the fireplace. On first glance, I thought I’d made a fool of myself, but then I saw a slight crack in the corner. I let go of my prisoner, crouched down and pushed against the back of the fireplace. It opened in an almost silent whoosh, revealing a small room of costumes.
“Explain this!” Mrs. Lincoln demanded.
“I . . . uh . . .” Madam Rosetta stuttered. “Maria!”
* * *
The man turned from the wall to face us and then slowly pulled the top hat and beard from his face, revealing himself as a woman. She hiccupped once again before belching loudly. Mrs. Lincoln took a step back and shook her head.
“I believe I’ve seen enough,” she said, taking my hand and pulling me from the room.
Madam Rosetta was on our heels. “My dear Mrs. Lincoln. That was an unfortunate trick my sister played on us, and I will make sure she is punished. Perhaps next time we will have real luck and—”
“There will be no next time,” Mrs. Lincoln interrupted. “I will not be back here again.”
Madam Rosetta’s eyes turned to slits. “I am not the only fool here. You said that girl was mute. Perhaps you are not as honest as you seem, either.”
Mrs. Lincoln turned from the door and weighed Madam Rosetta’s words. She sighed. “Perhaps a spirit guided her tongue. If anyone asks, I shall tell them of the healing powers of your room, but nothing of your sister.”
My mouth dropped open. Mrs. Lincoln was bribing this fraud just to keep my secret.
“Yes,” Madam Rosetta agreed. “The spirit clearly moved the girl.” Her posture relaxed, and I knew my secret was safe.
Mrs. Lincoln nodded and opened the door. Sunlight flooded on us. Then she pulled me toward Joseph and the carriage.
* * *
I hadn’t dreamt; in fact I had barely slept. Lying in bed later that night, watching the trees move back and forth across the moon was all I could manage. Helping Mrs. Lincoln during the séance had awakened something within me, and it was banging against my chest.
I had no idea how long I’d been lying down when my door creaked open and the familiar smell of coconut and lavender filled the room. Mrs. Lincoln didn’t pause at the door, but walked straight to my bedside. I sat up against my pillows and made room for her to sit beside me.
The moonlight danced off her face, and the darkness concealed her wrinkles so that she looked like a young woman. This was the woman Father described and, I was sure, whom President Lincoln fell in love with.
“My friend,” she said, taking my hand in hers. “My nurse is sleeping so we have a little private time.”
She paused and stared down at our interlocked fingers. Her thumb moved back and forth thoughtfully. I was about to ask why she had come when she spoke once more.
“I should’ve liked a daughter,” she whispered. After a pause she asked, “I know what speaking today could cost you. Why did you do it?”
Why indeed? “I don’t really know.” My voice was raspy from lack of use. “Papa always said he owed his life to you. Thaddeus Larkin, perhaps you remember him? You nursed him during the war. He spoke often of your intelligence and your kindness. I couldn’t let you be taken in by those pranksters.”
“I nursed your father?” Mrs. Lincoln sat back and sighed. “That was a long time ago. Before . . . well, I was a different person then.” Her eyes shifted.
Leaning forward, I laid my hand on her knee. “Not so different. The woman Papa described was kind, caring, and full of life. You are still that person. Living here—it brings out the best and worst in us. You are still the woman Papa admired. I think he’d be proud that we’ve become friends.”
“I worked with many men during the war. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I remember your father.”
I held up my hand to silence her. “I remember Mother reading the lists of injured and dead men. I didn’t think that you’d remember him.”
“All those men.” Her eyes clouded over. “Can we speak of something else? I don’t want to invite nightmares.”
“Of course,” I replied instantly. I’d listen to stories of the war all night if she’d share them, but I knew better than to press.
Mrs. Lincoln turned something over in her hand and said, “It’s taken the better part of the day to decide how best to repay you for helping me expose those charlatans today.”
As she closed her mouth, her hand opened. I looked down and gasped. Lying against her white skin and swollen knuckles was a pair of drop pearl earrings. The top pearl was round and small, but the bottom one was nearly as big as my thumb. Not even the jewelry Mother was saving for my wedding was as rich as these.
I moved my hand out to touch them, but paused, feeling suddenly presumptuous.
“F-for me?” I asked.
Her eyes were moist. She nodded.
“Why?” I asked. The earrings were in my hands now and their smoothness was like heaven to my fingertips. I longed to rush to the mirror, hold them to my ears, and watch them dangle.
“I know your suitor is comi
ng to call. Perhaps if you wear these, he will see you’ve not lost your value.”
It was as if she’d thrown a bucket of water over my head or singed my hand with an iron. The earrings fell from my hand before I could find the sense to simply give them back. Luckily they landed on my dressing table.
Mrs. Lincoln’s face tightened. “Do you not like them, Isabelle?”
I picked the earrings up and returned to the bed. The woman beside me looked suddenly self-conscious. I knew I needed to answer quickly, but her mentioning Gregory’s visit froze my mind.
“They are everything I could wish for,” I said, finally.
Mrs. Lincoln brushed a lock of hair from my face. “You are too pretty to fear anything. He’d be a fool not to love you.”
“I do not wish him to love me.” My voice was crisp in the darkness. A breeze came in through the window.
“But he is coming to see you—surely that means something.”
Yes, it could mean any assortment of things, but I doubted the primary reason for Gregory’s visit was mere affection. Mrs. Lincoln would only understand that if I entrusted her with the truth of what happened. Closing my eyes so I wouldn’t see the skepticism on her face, I began to tell her my story. I left nothing out, from the stone that had led me to the scene to hiding under the bed to seeing Gregory and Lucy the following day.
“You see why I can’t tell anyone else,” I said when I was done. “No one is going to take my word when my own mother and Dr. Carson think I’m a liar.” I clenched my hands into fists, waiting for her to poke holes in my story.
The silence that filled the room was thick. The moonlight had gone from dark blue to highlighted pink. Morning was near.
Finally, Mrs. Lincoln spoke. “You are sure of what you saw?”
I nodded.
“Oh my dear child,” she exhaled. With those words she enveloped me in a hug and lifted the stone wall that had weighed my spirit these past months.
“And he’s arriving next Sunday?”
“Apparently we are to attend church with Mother and Aunt Clara.”
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