We Hear the Dead

by Dianne K. Salerni

  “Wait a moment,” requested the soft-spoken Mr. Post, stroking his beard. “That is not an unreasonable suggestion. Perhaps we should hold a public lecture on the spiritual realm and the immortality of the soul. You could present your work, Eliab,” he added, nodding at the journalist. “It would be good advance publicity for your book.”

  “And a source of income for the ladies,” Mr. Capron added virtuously. He drew on his pipe with a thoughtful expression.

  Leah shook her head gently. “My dearest companions,” she said, “you are forgetting that we are modest and respectable women. I fear it would not be seemly for us to appear on a public lecture stage.”

  “Mrs. Fish,” said Mr. Capron, “I will do the public speaking, and you need only be physically present in order to translate for the spirits. Your reputation will not be injured in any way.”

  Under Mr. Capron’s kind prodding, Leah cast her eyes down in acquiescence. “If you feel it is a wise course, Mr. Capron, then I will, as ever, abide by your judgment. I only think that we should ask the spirits for guidance before making a final decision.”

  The alphabet board appeared in my hands as if I had somehow known in advance it would be needed. Mr. Capron took it upon himself to ask the question, and the spirits rapped out their answer immediately: Hire Corinthian Hall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maggie

  Corinthian Hall was the pride and joy of Rochester, a tall and majestic building with vaulted ceilings and tall windows. It served as the venue for countless cultural events and educational lectures; even the famous Frederick Douglass had spoken at the hall that summer. Never in a million years had I imagined that I might stand upon the platform as a fourteen-year-old girl and perform my parlor tricks before a public audience!

  Mr. Capron managed to reserve the hall for the evening of the fourteenth of November. I fluctuated day by day between ecstatic excitement and pure terror, one moment reflecting upon a choice of dress, the next pledging that I would lock myself in my room and refuse to come out. Kate, by contrast, was serene and assured, looking forward with almost adultlike intensity to the opportunity, not suspecting that fate would intervene to prevent her from appearing there at all.

  It was the only time Mr. Capron ever got the better of Leah. They were discussing their preparations for the event when Mr. Capron said in passing, “Of course, Miss Kate will not be present with us.”

  For a moment Leah blinked at him in confusion, and then, composing her face, she covered her surprise by agreeing, “Of course not. She is too young to appear on a public platform.” Knowing her as I did, I could sense the vexation beneath her calm exterior, but it would have been foolhardy to take any other stance. Leah already strained the boundaries of propriety by allowing scarcely known acquaintances into her home each night, taking money from them, and sitting in near darkness with men who were not related to her by blood. She was daring to appear on display at a public lecture, and without the support and patronage of Mr. Capron, she would certainly have been courting disaster.

  “I have had my qualms even about Maggie,” Leah went on. “But we certainly must have one of them with us, for the spirits do not rap except in their presence.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Capron agreed, “but I have been reflecting at length on what arrangements could be made for Kate, and I have exchanged a number of letters with my wife. I may not have mentioned to you, Mrs. Fish, that my wife was a schoolteacher before our marriage, and as you can imagine, education has always been highly valued in our house. For some time now, the lack of schooling for Kate has weighed heavily on my mind. It is one thing for Miss Maggie here, as she has likely taken enough education for a young girl of her social standing, but our Miss Kate is…what, twelve?”

  “Eleven,” corrected Leah, although Kate had in fact passed her twelfth birthday. My sister was intent on making us out to be younger than we were.

  “Far too young to give up her schooling,” Mr. Capron said, reaching into his vest pocket to remove a folded paper. “I have here a letter from my wife, Rebecca, inviting young Kate to come and reside at our home in Auburn for a period of time. My wife can tutor her at home, and once she is satisfied with her progress, we will locate a placement for her in a suitable school.”

  Leah accepted the letter from Mr. Capron and quickly read it. Then, with a fixed smile, she returned it to his hands. “This is a very kind and generous offer. Your wife is obviously a lady of excellent character and a charitable nature. However, I am afraid that my sister is of delicate health, subject to debilitating headaches and even occasional fits. Furthermore, she has never been away from her family and is extremely attached to Maggie and to her mother. To my regret, we shall have to decline your kind offer.”

  Mr. Capron folded the letter back into his vest pocket, inclining his head politely, and turned the conversation deftly back to the upcoming performance at Corinthian Hall. No doubt Leah thought the subject was closed, as did I, but we had not considered one important fact. Leah was not Kate’s mother.

  To our great consternation, Mr. Capron took his offer to Mother and convinced her of the need to continue Kate’s education. Mr. Capron was passionate enough about his desire to sponsor her education that my mother was completely won over. Soon after, and much to Leah’s dismay, Mother had agreed and the travel plans had already been made.

  Predictably, Kate became recalcitrant, railing shrilly at Leah and crying piteously to Mother. “I won’t go!” she promised our sister with a tear-streaked face. “I’ll be ill! I’ll have a fit!”

  Leah faced her impassively. “Then let us go now to Mr. Capron’s lodgings, and you will confess to him that you have been deceiving him from the beginning. We will admit that we have made a right fool of him but that you are tired of the game now and wish to end it.”

  I sank down upon the bed weakly, even though I knew Leah was only herding Kate into compliance and had no real intention of doing such a thing. For a moment I envisioned what it would be like to confess and heard a great rush of blood in my ears. I truly felt dizzy, contemplating the awful possibility of being found out, seeing the faces of Mr. Capron, the Grangers…

  Kate was pale and trembling with emotion. “You don’t mean it.”

  “I do,” Leah insisted. “That was our agreement from the beginning. You would do exactly what I told you to do, or I would tell the truth.”

  Temper subsiding, Kate’s eyes filled with tears of sadness and misery instead of anger. “But I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to go live in Auburn.”

  “We need Mr. Capron. If this is what it takes to make him happy, then you will have to show some grit and do it.” After a moment, Leah relented and put her arm around Kate. “I’ll bring you back as soon as I can. Mother will miss you, and I imagine she will regret her decision as soon as you are gone. Besides, you are sorely in need of tutoring in spelling, as many of our spirit messages have proved!”

  Kate sniffed. “What shall I do about the spirits while I am in Auburn?”

  Our sister considered. “Continue as you did in Hydesville,” she said. “You may hold spirit circles and rap for Mrs. Capron. But take no risks, and it would be better if you kept to your original method of rapping and didn’t try any of the new tricks you’ve learned from Calvin.”

  Kate turned suddenly and looked at me with worry. “How will you manage without me at Corinthian Hall? Maggie cannot rap as loudly as I can.”

  I had been worried about this myself for many days. “I dare not bring any bells in my pockets,” I said.

  Leah shook her head. “Nor any of those lead balls in your hem. We’ll be relying on nothing but your toes, Maggie.”

  “They’ll never hear it,” I said.

  “Calvin and I have some ideas,” Leah assured me. “Although I will be on the platform with you, you know I cannot help you make the actual rapping. We will have to depend on Calvin,
whom no one will see or pay any mind to. Trust that he will be nearby and serving our cause.”

  ***

  The evening of the fourteenth of November arrived with a frigid blast of northeasterly wind. Kate had departed, sad and unwilling, just two days before. Without her presence and unflagging confidence, I felt panicky about the lecture. How could I possibly crack the joints in my toes loudly enough to be heard in that immense hall?

  It was not until Leah had tried and failed to make any noise with the joints in her feet and ankles that I realized it was not a skill possible for everyone. Kate had patiently demonstrated for her, time and time again, exactly the movements we made, but our sister was unable to make a sound. She could crack her finger joints with a sharp noise, but such a movement was obvious and easy for an observer to detect. Feet, ankles, and legs were always hidden beneath long skirts.

  Leah assured me that I would not have to rap for any test questions at Corinthian Hall or spell out any messages. “You just need to be heard,” she said. “A few loud raps while Mr. Capron is speaking. Calvin has found an entrance to the crawl space beneath the audience hall. If he can gain access undetected, he will create a few raps of his own, and it will appear as if they are coming from different locations.” Perhaps I still looked frightened, for she placed a hand under my chin and fondly lifted my face for a sisterly kiss. “Twenty-five cents a ticket, Maggie, and half of it coming to us.”

  ***

  Wrapped tightly in our cloaks against the biting wind, we arrived around seven o’clock in the evening at the side door to the Corinthian, and the manager, Mr. Reynolds, ushered us inside. If I thought the hall immense when I visited it and sat among the audience, it was nothing compared to the size of it as viewed from the raised platform. The tall windows stretched upward on either side of us, drawing the eyes toward the bronze gaslights hanging from the lofty paneled ceiling. Four Corinthian columns, for which the hall was named, stood at the back of the platform before a heavy red curtain. A lectern had been placed near the front of the platform for Mr. Capron, and nearby were four chairs, neatly arranged with two prominently in front and the remaining two set apart and slightly behind the others. There Leah and I would sit on display, with Amy Post and her husband discreetly positioned nearby.

  The Grangers escorted my mother to a seat in the front row of the audience, skirting the crowds of people who were noisily progressing to their places in a seemingly endless procession. The echoes of voices rumbled off the walls, and I gripped Leah’s hand in cold fear, squeezing her fingers mercilessly. We would learn later that more than four hundred tickets had been sold, and we stood to earn at least fifty dollars from the event.

  Mr. Reynolds, the manager, kindly took my cloak and Leah’s, and we smoothed our skirts and hair in preparation for walking shakily out to our seats. Calvin had already melted away like snow, unnoticed. Mother thought he would be waiting behind the platform; Mr. Capron assumed he would be seated in the audience with my mother.

  The evening proved to be a long, torturous ordeal of sitting patiently and self-consciously in a hard wooden seat, my eyes cast modestly down at my folded hands. I saw more of my own skirt than I did of the audience, although I did peek beneath my lowered lashes, searching for faces I might know, for friendliness, for credibility.

  Mr. Capron began by comparing himself to some of the world’s greatest men of discovery, such as Galileo and Columbus, who were ridiculed for their findings before humankind was ready to believe in them. Then he went on to recount the story of the Hydesville peddler whose spirit had implored for justice by rapping out a message to a pair of innocent country girls.

  My first attempt at creating a rap failed, for I was nervous and afraid of making some kind of visible motion with my foot. On my second attempt, I heard the crack quite clearly, and several people in the front row lifted their heads simultaneously. Clearly, the sound did not carry far, but some heard it, and those who did not hear it would see the reaction of those who did.

  “Ah,” Mr. Capron said, “I hear that the spirits have joined us.” He continued his narrative by explaining how the rapping sounds had followed us to Rochester, and he began to expound on his own theories about communication with the spiritual world.

  On the left side of the hall, about two-thirds of the way back, people seated in the audience began to murmur. One man rose from his seat and placed his hand upon the wall, then turned and made some comment to his companions. A few minutes later, some ladies seated in the center of the hall gasped and drew back in their seats, their faces turned toward the floor near their feet. Although I could not hear anything from my position on the platform, it appeared that various spots in the audience were experiencing some unusual phenomena, and I could only assume that our wonderful accomplice had indeed gained access to the crawl space beneath the hall.

  Mr. Capron continued with his lecture, unperturbed by the sudden and apparently random disruptions in the audience. Feeling emboldened, I continued to produce the raps at varying intervals, and it was evident that Calvin was freely moving beneath the hall. When Mr. Capron reached the end of his prepared speech, tentative applause broke out in the parts of the audience that had heard the mysterious noises issuing from the walls, the floor, and the air.

  But one man rose from somewhere near the back of the hall and began to stride up the center aisle toward the platform. A murmur of anticipation rose from the audience as he approached, and I could see that Mr. Capron stiffened as he recognized the oncoming man. He was short and heavily whiskered, nicely dressed in elegant evening wear, and giving off an air of self-importance. He was clapping his hands as he came, in that slow, deliberate way that showed disdain rather than appreciation. When he was sure that he had the attention of everyone in the hall, he called out in a loud, clear voice, “Very good, Mr. Capron. Very good. A marvelous tale of ghostly drama, but rather short on actual facts. Entertaining, but deceptive.”

  “Mr. Bissel,” replied Mr. Capron, “I fail to see where we have been deceptive.”

  “Oh, it is very easy to deceive the innocent and the gullible and thus lead them away from a righteous path,” answered the man before the platform. “The Bible tells us we must not suffer a witch to live, and what you have presented to us tonight must be none other than witchcraft or fraud.”

  A murmur rose from the crowd, and my heart froze at the word “witchcraft.” But Mr. Capron leaned across that lectern and pierced Mr. Bissel with the intelligent gaze of reason. “We live in the nineteenth century, Mr. Bissel. Rational men do not believe in witchcraft, and I believe that those who have joined us here tonight are neither gullible nor uneducated.”

  “I am glad to hear that, Mr. Capron,” stated the man from the audience. “Then I can assume your ‘spirit mediums’ would be prepared to undergo scientific tests to determine whether they make these sounds by trickery?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “A committee,” stated Mr. Bissel. “Let us say, five men, who will examine your mediums at a time of your choosing, but at a place that we have designated, to see if they can produce ghost noises by any means that we can prove to be false.”

  I could hear the indrawn breath of many in the audience as they waited for Mr. Capron’s reaction to the challenge. Our journalist friend turned to look at Leah, who raised her eyes and nodded briefly, placing her welfare in his hands. Mr. Capron looked out at the audience, then dropped his gaze to Mr. Bissel. “We agree to your terms, sir—but only if a committee can be gathered from the persons already present here tonight, who could be assumed to have an open-minded stance on the issue.”

  Applause broke out spontaneously from the audience, and immediately a barrage of nominations erupted, with accompanying catcalls and cheers. Glancing at each other, the Posts rose and moved to the front of the platform to supervise the selection process. Leah signaled Mr. Capron, who escorted us from our seats and to the doorway
at the back of the platform.

  I clutched at Leah, whispering fiercely, “What is happening?”

  “They are choosing a group of men to determine whether we are making the raps by deceit.” Leah gave me a glance meant as warning, conscious of Mr. Capron’s presence at our side.

  Still, I pressed on with my anxious inquiry. “How do they propose to determine this?”

  Mr. Capron leaned forward to give me a placid and comforting smile. “There is nothing to fear, Miss Maggie, because there is nothing they can find. The spirits will surely prove themselves to be real, so that even a committee appointed by Josiah Bissel and his friends cannot lack satisfaction.”

  And to this, there was nothing more Leah or I could say.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Maggie

  Before the end of that evening, we learned that Leah and I would be expected to meet the chosen committee at ten the following morning and again at two in the afternoon. A carriage would arrive to take us to the appointed place, which would not be revealed until the last minute for fear that we would plant some mechanism for trickery there.

  Leah wanted to know who had been chosen for the committee. Mr. Post told her, “I did the best that I could to make certain it was a fair group, impartial in the balance of votes, if not in the individuals. Josiah Bissel won places for a couple of his cronies, but I managed to acquire two judges of the court who are known to be fair and honest.”

  I turned to Amy Post and asked her urgently, “Who was that man, that Mr. Bissel?”

  Anyone else of the company might have dismissed my question without serious answer, but I knew that Amy would grant me the dignity of a reply. “Josiah Bissel is a dangerous man to run afoul of, with many friends and associates who will do whatever it takes to keep his favor. I would be very wary of his men on the committee, Maggie.” Amy took my hand and patted it, seeing the worry in my eyes. “I will be with you tomorrow, and you may call upon me if you need my help. I have faced down enough slave hunters in my time that I am not easily intimidated by the likes of Mr. Bissel!”