“That,” replied David sadly, “will prove to be difficult.”
***
Mr. Bell did not stay much longer. He accepted a chair, and then he and David discussed his next course of action. He wanted to see the house, of course, and hear the rapping for himself. Kate gripped my arm fiercely upon hearing this.
David broke the news to him that remains had been discovered in the cellar, and Mr. Bell was very careful in his response, appearing as concerned as any good citizen but not overly distressed. When David, acting on his natural enthusiasm, offered to show him the box of bones, Mr. Bell recoiled in distaste and almost refused. But he seemed to consider how that might appear to us, and perhaps remembering the old wives’ tale about a murder victim’s body bleeding afresh when the murderer was near, he changed his mind suddenly and expressed a frank eagerness in viewing the remains. My brother cheerfully fetched the box and proudly showed off his find, apparently not finding it awkward that he was showing it to the purported killer. Mr. Bell solemnly viewed the contents of the box for a respectable number of seconds while Lizzie and I leaned forward, craning our necks. The bones did not bleed.
Finally, David closed up the box, Mr. Bell stood up and shook his hand, and in a procession we led the visitor to the door. Only my mother remained behind in the parlor, her stony expression unchanged. Among us all, only she truly and utterly believed that our visitor had invited a peddler into his home, slit his throat with a knife, stolen his belongings, and buried his body in the cellar.
***
Kate’s fingernails dug into my arm. “I will not rap for that man!” was the first thing she said when she could get me alone. “If we rap for him, he will catch us!”
“Demosthenes Smith caught us, and it did us no harm,” I pointed out.
“This man is different. He has much to lose, and people will believe what he says.”
“Don’t you feel the least bit guilty that he stands accused of murder because we thought it would be fun to scare everyone?”
Kate shook her head at me sadly and gave me that intense violet gaze that seemed to mesmerize my entire body. “Maggie, that man is not a gentleman. Didn’t you see him? He tried to act innocent, but he had to think carefully about every word he said.”
“I can see why Mrs. Redfield does not like him,” I admitted. “She never thinks a second about what she says before it reaches her tongue. But he was talking about getting a lawyer and entering charges of slander!”
“Who has spoken slander? No one in our family! Who has said that he is a murderer? Who has said it aloud?”
“Why, the people listening to the raps,” I said in surprise. “Mrs. Redfield, Mr. Duesler. At least they asked the questions, and the spirit answered with its knocking.”
“Then let him charge the spirit with slander and see what a judge makes of it!”
I paused to think this over. Kate took my arm and shook it. “Maggie, do not forget. David found those bones. They are real.”
“What do you want to do?” I asked weakly.
“Nothing. The spirit will not rap tonight when Mr. Bell is at the house. We cannot, Maggie. I feel this very strongly.”
Kate sometimes had very strong feelings that one thing or another would happen. Sometimes she was right, but just as often she was wrong, and then she would say that the event did not happen because she had foreseen it and diverted it. I was never able to argue a way out of this, because how could I disprove something that never occurred?
“But what will happen when Mr. Bell goes to the house tonight and the spirit does not rap the accusation?” I asked in my final weak plea.
Kate held my gaze. “We won’t get caught.”
***
That night, Kate and I selflessly volunteered to look after Ella and the baby so that everyone else could go to Hydesville. Lizzie stayed behind with us, and Father would not go, but everyone else rode off, eager to hear the spirit rap out his accusation to Mr. Bell. Sadly, the evening was a disappointment to everyone except Mr. Bell, for the spirit remained silent. Mother said the spirit was offended by the presence of his killer. Mr. Bell renewed his doubts about our family, but dozens of people were ready to swear that the Fox family had not made up the story. Mr. Bell was led unwillingly through the house as witnesses explained how thoroughly the premises had been searched for an earthly explanation for the rapping noise.
In the morning, Father collected his tools, as he did every morning, and started on foot for the site of our new house. He had been working long hours, often alone, doggedly trying to finish it so that we could move in.
It was my turn to bring his lunch that noon, and a happy chance that was for me, because as soon as I came within sight of the partially completed house, I could see that Father was not alone. A carriage that belonged to the Hydes was pulled up alongside, but it was not Mr. Hyde who had driven it. When I realized that Mr. E. E. Lewis was speaking with my father, I nearly broke out into a run, with Father’s lunch rocking in its basket on my arm.
The daybook was out, and my father was gesturing with his hands, indicating his frustration and helplessness in a way I knew quite well. Mr. Lewis was nodding, slipping his pencil inside his coat, closing his book. I slowed my footsteps as they became audible to the men, and when they turned, I was walking at a demure pace, breathing deeply to conceal my breathlessness and smiling in what I hoped was a fetching manner.
“Margaretta,” my father acknowledged me with a nod and quickly relieved me of the basket.
“Miss Fox,” Mr. Lewis smiled at me, bowing deeply. “You bring the sunshine with you, I think, for there have been nothing but clouds all morning, and now that you are here, everything is brighter.”
“I see you have finally captured my father,” I said, still a little breathless and doing my best to conceal it.
“I was finding him a bit difficult to reach, but then someone told me, ‘Why, he’s out every day laboring at his new house. I can’t think why you are unable to find him.’ And didn’t I feel like a fool when I found him exactly where everyone in town knew he would be?” Mr. Lewis was looking as fashionable as ever, in his spotless cutaway coat and vest. I found my eyes fixed upon the askew loops of his rakishly tied cravat, and my fingers itched to reach out and straighten them.
Father was digging in his lunch basket and paying no attention to us. I turned my shoulders slightly away from him, and Mr. Lewis turned in tandem with me, so that Father was left behind in spirit, if not in distance. “I am rather glad that I have encountered you today,” I said, “for I wanted to tell you that I had fathomed your Christian names at last and assure you that your secret was safe with me.”
“My very soul quakes at the thought of exposure. Do tell me how you discovered them.”
I tipped my head and looked up at him through my lashes. “With your dark hair and complexion, it is obvious that your mother was a red-skinned Indian, probably with the power to tell the future. And envisioning your career as a reporter of mysterious events, she named you Eagle Eye.”
He threw back his head and laughed so good-naturedly that my father actually raised his head from his meal and looked at us curiously. “Miss Margaretta,” Mr. Lewis exclaimed, “you have made this visit every bit as interesting as that old murdered peddler has. Sometimes even more so, since I understand the peddler was quite silent last night.”
“That is what I heard. Was Mr. Bell very angry?”
“I wasn’t there, but I was told he was more self-righteous than angry. Look here. This was delivered to me this morning.”
He removed a paper that was folded inside his daybook and smoothed it out so that I could read it. It was a petition, stating that the signers knew Mr. John Bell and believed him to be of sound character and completely incapable of criminal activity. It was signed by about thirty people, including almost the entire Hyde family and a few other Hydesville r
esidents.
“Land sakes!” I exclaimed. “There’s Mrs. Jewell’s name!”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Not especially. Just the other day, she was telling Mrs. Redfield that it was a wonder Mr. Bell hadn’t murdered them all in their beds. But Mrs. Jewell’s head is stuffed with feathers, so she has trouble keeping track of her opinions from one day to the next.”
Mr. Lewis tried to stifle his snickers as he folded the paper and put it back in his book. “Miss Margaretta, you are a caution! If you were a few years older, I would be utterly under your spell.”
“I will be a few years older, in a few years,” I quipped.
“A fair warning,” he remarked, turning to check the horses on the carriage team.
“You weren’t at the house last night, then?”
“No, I was not.”
“You haven’t heard the rapping at all, have you?”
“No, sadly, I have not.”
I took a breath. “Mr. Duesler said you will not go to hear the rapping, because then you would have to admit it was real. He said that you are going to write about the people of Hydesville as if we were superstitious bumpkins and make fun of us all.”
Mr. Lewis fiddled with the harness for another moment, then turned to face me. “That is not true. I plan on writing about Mr. Duesler and every person I have met here with the utmost respect. But you are correct. I have avoided going to the house to hear the rapping for myself. I came here as a recorder, not as a witness. If I hear the haunting for myself, then I will form my own opinion, and that will cause me to write with bias. I have listened; I have taken down the stories of those who experienced these events. I believe that these people have been unable to solve the mystery of these noises, and that is what I plan to write about.”
“You haven’t taken my story.” The words passed my lips before I could even think of holding them back.
“Miss Margaretta,” he smiled. “I can’t take your story.”
I suddenly felt all the breath leave my body. Did he know?
“What do you mean?” I asked in a voice that was nothing but air.
Mr. Lewis looked down on me, and I suddenly felt all the flirtation leave the conversation. “You have to understand, this is how I make my living. I plan on making money from the publication of this story. But I hope that I have enough virtue in me that I refuse to make money by publishing the name of an underage girl.”
“But my name is already in your book. I heard my mother and Mrs. Redfield tell their stories. I was there on the night this started. My name is already part of the story.”
Mr. Lewis made a slight grimace. “That is the only thing I have changed in their stories. Otherwise, I will quote them word for word.”
“What did you change?”
“Your name. I have taken it out. Yours and your sister’s and your niece Lizzie’s.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve removed your names,” he explained, “wherever they appeared. You’ll be grateful later, when you are grown. It is not appropriate to print the names of underage girls in a publication about spirits and hauntings. It would not be a gentlemanly thing for me to do.” Mr. Lewis vaulted up into the driver’s seat of the carriage. I stepped back and took a fresh look at him.
“You removed my name,” I repeated, just to make sure.
“It was the right thing to do,” he said. And he bowed to me from his seat, shook the reins, and clicked at the horses. The carriage jerked forward while I stood alongside, staring up at him, with my father somewhere behind me devouring his meal in total oblivion.
***
That afternoon, I cornered Kate in a private spot. She had been pestering me for days with ideas to enliven and expand our prank, and I had, for the most part, discouraged her. Now, however, I was irritated enough with Mr. Lewis to take a bold risk. “Do you remember when you wanted to call yourself a ‘medium’ for the spirits?” I hissed. “Let’s talk about that again.”
Chapter Eight
Maggie
I learned an important lesson that spring. People can view the same events and interpret them in completely different ways. For example, I thought that I was an important part of the manifestations that occurred in the Hydesville house that year, but Mr. E. E. Lewis thought that I was an irrelevant girl who was best left out of his account of those events. In addition, I thought that through my own cleverness I had convinced an entire town that a certain house was haunted, but my sister believed that she had proved her ability to communicate with the dead. In the end, it was a matter of perspective that was perhaps too complex for me to grasp.
When Kate first suggested that we continue the rapping outside of the Hydesville house, I refused to cooperate. It seemed clear to me that if we rapped outside of the house, we would soon be caught in the act. However, Kate insisted that people already suspected it was our gift of second sight that made communication with the spirit possible. I admit I was easier to convince when I was angry with Mr. Lewis. He had already left town, having gathered the sworn certificates of dozens of witnesses. I promised myself that he would soon return when he learned it was the girl rather than the house that was haunted, but I was wrong. I never met Mr. Lewis again, although he did indeed publish his pamphlet. As promised, it did not include my name or Kate’s, but by the time it was printed, our notoriety was already ensured.
When the rapping first descended upon the Fox family farm, a day of chaos and confusion ensued. I distinctly recall Lizzie clasping her hands to her ears and crying, “I won’t hear it! I won’t hear it!” My poor sister-in-law, Betsy, fell into a state of collapse, sobbing that no one had been murdered in her house. The peddler’s bones fell under blame, and David ran the box out of the house and into the barn for temporary storage. For my part, I regretted my actions almost at once, out of pity and fear for Betsy. I was afraid she would lose the baby, and this was something I did not intend and for which I would not forgive myself.
Through it all, Kate was a center of calmness and serenity, with her hands folded placidly and her voice firmly stating, “I don’t think it is the same rapping. I am sure it is not the same spirit at all.”
Of course, it absolutely was the same rapping, caused by the same source, and yet Kate’s continued insistence that it sounded different eventually had an effect on the listeners, and they agreed that the sound was not identical to the one heard in the Hydesville house. This surprised me, for I had not yet come to understand the magnificent power of suggestion that would play a role in our future deceptions.
David asked if the spirit would rap for the alphabet, and two knocks were heard for yes. Painstakingly and patiently, David spelled out the alphabet, waiting for a rap to confirm each letter, until the following message was revealed: We are all your dear friends and relatives.
This caused another commotion, resulting in David taking his wife to her brother’s house, where she could rest in peace, away from the rapping. Before he left, he argued with Mother about the new noises.
“Your sister has the gift,” I heard Mother tell him.
“Now, Mother, don’t talk superstitious nonsense,” David hushed her.
“Superstitious nonsense!” my mother sputtered indignantly. “Did you not just recite the alphabet for a ghost? My grandmother had the second sight—”
“Yes, so you’ve told us,” David interjected. “I’ve heard the stories.”
“Stories! Is that what you think? But surely you remember your aunt Elizabeth!”
“Certainly I remember her—vaguely—but whether or not she actually prophesied her own death…”
Mother gasped. “Do you think I don’t know whether or not my own sister had the sight?”
“Perhaps, but I am just as sure that my sister does not!” David stared her down stubbornly.
“Then how
do you explain all that has happened here this month—and today, here at this house?”
“I don’t know, Mother. But there must be an explanation, an explanation that is based on science we don’t yet understand. Perhaps in twenty years we will laugh at how ignorant we were today. Perhaps spirit communication will be as commonplace as the post. Think how we marveled at the telegraph only a couple of years ago!” Mother continued to glare at David, with her hands on her hips. He dropped his voice, and I had to strain to hear him continue. “This is not what I want for Kate, or Maggie. Do not give them this reputation. I want to see them married into good families and happy. You must not jeopardize that!”
I was touched by his protectiveness. David, fourteen years older than I and nearly seventeen years older than Kate, was almost a father to us. As for my real father, he packed his own lunch and walked out to the new house that day, turning his back on the rapping for the last time. The new house was partially under roof, and Father moved in immediately, preferring the frigid April wind to living in a house with spirits. Mother never commented on his desertion, and although the house would be finished within a month’s time, neither she nor Kate or I ever lived in it as anything more than a guest.
It would be wrong to say that we did not think about him or miss him. But Father’s absence did not trouble us greatly.
In spite of David’s protests, it did not take long for people to find out that the rapping had followed us to the farm and was heard only in the presence of the two youngest Fox daughters. Mrs. Redfield was soon included in my mother’s confidence—and then Mrs. Jewell and Mrs. Duesler. Every evening Mother lit a candle in David’s parlor, drew the curtains and closed the door, and then the ladies waited eagerly for rappings from the spirit world. Kate and I sat together on the settee, holding hands, smiling indulgently as the spirits rapped yes and no to questions about their heavenly reward.
We Hear the Dead Page 5