Silent Echoes

by Carla Jablonski

  Lucy did her best to explain what she’d heard. No one else knew what es-aye-tees were either, but the mention of the upcoming election had certainly stirred a great deal of interest. Finally the guests went in to dinner. Lucy was so astounded by her experience, she completely forgot she was hungry until Bridget, the housemaid, led Lucy and her father into the kitchen for a meal with the staff.

  “That was splendid, just splendid!” Colonel Phillips said as they walked home. “Mrs. Van Wyck was so thrilled by the success of her séance that she tipped us above the fee Peabody negotiated.” He popped a chocolate into his mouth. “I must say, you had me on the run when you deviated from our script. You know I don’t like it when you do that, but it did work to our advantage. Yes, dearie dear, you outdid yourself tonight. Let’s not tell Peabody about the extra cash. Let’s get you new shoes instead. Would you like that?”

  “What?” Lucy asked, realizing that she’d been too preoccupied with trying to understand what had happened to hear much of her father’s conversation. “Shoes? Oh yes, that would be lovely.”

  “Coraline Van Wyck is the center of a very important, very wealthy group,” Colonel Phillips continued as they walked east, toward the less-fashionable section of town. “Infiltrating that world would be quite the coup—and a useful enterprise, for us both.”

  Lucy barely heard his scheming. She was picturing the sad, crying girl trapped between worlds.

  They climbed the cabbage-scented stairs of the boardinghouse. “You get your rest,” Colonel Phillips instructed as he unlocked the door to their room. “I’m going to run round to Bleecker Street and find Peabody.”

  “All right,” Lucy replied.

  The door closed behind her father, and Lucy changed into her nightclothes. She sat on her narrow cot, choosing to leave the lamp on.

  “Spirit?” she called tentatively. “Are you there?”

  The sounds of an argument, a scream, singing, horses neighing, dogs barking floated through the thin walls and up from the street. But nowhere in the sounds of the night did she hear the plaintive voice, the girl with the dreadful mother and worse stepfather.

  “Spirit?” Lucy tried again. No use. The girl was not going to respond.

  Lucy stared up at the peeling ceiling and pulled the thin, moth-eaten blanket up to her chin, trying not to think about who had used the very same blanket before her, about how many lives had been lived in this room.

  Then it hit her. The spirit must live in Mrs. Van Wyck’s house, haunting it. That was why she wouldn’t answer now.

  That settled it. Lucy would go back to Mrs. Van Wyck’s and speak to the spirit again. For once, her father’s schemes and her own interests coincided.

  Three

  Oatmeal with four pats of butter and three tablespoons of thick molasses. Now that’s breakfast, Lucy thought. The smell of fried bacon warmed her to her toes, which were no longer pinched. Her father had given her a new pair of shoes that morning.

  “You did a mighty good show last night,” Colonel Phillips said, draining the last of his coffee. “You did me proud.”

  Lucy smiled but didn’t speak—she was too busy making up for all her missed meals. She lifted spoonful after spoonful of the rich, sweet porridge to her mouth, savoring every satisfying bite.

  “I’m certain Mrs. Van Wyck will put the word round,” Colonel Phillips said. “The others too. All but that wastrel Von Clare. Though I think your performance impressed even him.”

  “Papa, we should make a call on Mrs. Van Wyck immediately,” Lucy said. “Tell her that the spirit I spoke with is actually haunting her house! I can try to make contact again.”

  Colonel Phillips leaned back in his chair and smiled in admiration. “Why, Lucy, I believe you will outshine your father someday. That’s an excellent angle.”

  “No, you don’t understand, Papa.” She shook her head. “I really did it! I really spoke to her.”

  Colonel Phillips raised a dark eyebrow, studied her a moment, then burst out laughing. He slapped the table and hooted. “Oh, you had me going there for a minute, dearie dear. You are a natural actress.”

  “But—”

  “To think that my clever girl could believe such nonsense.” He stirred some sugar into his coffee, chuckling. “Those society types deserve every penny we take from them. They’re too gullible to manage their own funds.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Though you played a very dangerous game last night, taking a gamble like that. We’d had everything worked out beforehand.”

  Lucy swallowed. Obviously her father wasn’t going to believe the truth about what had happened and thought that only a fool would. “I had to make up for fainting, didn’t I?” she said, attempting to cover.

  “You should never have mentioned the election,” Colonel Phillips scolded. “It’s far too risky. All the papers predict it will go the other way. Once the results come in today…”

  Lucy hadn’t even remembered the bit about the election. She shrugged. “Other mediums have made mistakes, haven’t they? You’ll just come up with an explanation.”

  Colonel Phillips nodded slowly, stroking his stubbly jaw. Then he grinned. “Well, you have a fifty percent chance of being right. And yesirree, we should strike immediately before there’s a chance that you’re wrong.”

  They made quick work of the rest of their breakfast, then walked to Mrs. Van Wyck’s house in Greenwich Village. Now that Lucy had proper shoes, she didn’t mind.

  The housemaid answered the door. “Why, sir, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said, her hand fluttering up to smooth her red hair.

  “Hello, Bridget,” Colonel Phillips said warmly. “My daughter and I would like to thank you for the gift of butter and molasses we enjoyed this morning.” He nudged Lucy.

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you,” she said.

  Bridget ignored Lucy, keeping her eyes on the Colonel. “So pleased you liked it.” She lowered her voice. “Cook never noticed anything was missing, and we did Mrs. Van Wyck a favor—she’s getting awfully plump.”

  She glanced behind her, checking to see if she’d be overheard. “But you really shouldn’t be coming to the front door. Come round the back and I’ll let you in the servants’ entrance.”

  Lucy bristled. “We’re not servants,” she declared.

  Bridget’s eyes flicked to her. “Pardon?”

  “We’re here to see Mrs. Van Wyck, actually,” Colonel Phillips said apologetically.

  Bridget flushed a deep scarlet. “I—that is—of course you are. Come in.”

  She whirled around so fast her petticoats fluttered, and her short, quick steps made angry little clicking sounds on the marble floor as she led them inside.

  “Poor girl,” Colonel Phillips whispered to Lucy.

  Lucy shook her head. It meant no more stolen treats from Mrs. Van Wyck’s larder, but what did Lucy care? She was certain they would have a ready supply of cash now that she had a true ability to speak with the dead! Whether her father believed her or not.

  “Stay here,” Bridget snapped, leaving them in the salon room.

  “What do you think, dearie dear?” Colonel Phillips paced, rubbing his hands together. “Offer a weekly sitting? I’ll have to thank Peabody for this—maybe bring him in to find fresh tidbits.”

  Lucy wandered the room, excited to be there again. The table had been removed, so she plopped onto the sofa. Shutting her eyes, she tried to recapture the sensations she had experienced the previous night.

  Mrs. Van Wyck bustled in, nervously fiddling with the lace trim of her dressing gown. “Colonel Phillips, I wasn’t expecting a caller at this hour,” she complained.

  Lucy stiffened. What if Mrs. Van Wyck didn’t allow them to stay? Lucy’s hands balled into fists. She didn’t want to be thwarted now. Speaking with the spirit, helping the sad soul pass over, and, most of all, understanding this bizarre new ability were all she cared about. “Please—” she began.

  “My dear Mrs. Van Wyck,” Colonel P
hillips said, stepping forward. “You are a radiant vision.” He kissed Mrs. Van Wyck’s dimpled hand. Her frown instantly vanished, and she suddenly looked very young and girlish despite her gray hair and lined face.

  “Why…why, Colonel!” she said. A strange little giggle erupted from her voluminous form.

  Lucy hoped no man would ever make her behave so foolishly.

  “We have called on you at this terribly inconvenient hour because my daughter has something to tell you,” Colonel Phillips said, his voice like honey.

  Mrs. Van Wyck looked at Lucy with widened eyes. “Do you have another message from my darling Amelia?” Her expression was an odd mixture of hope and apprehension.

  Lucy had forgotten all about Amelia. “No, it’s far more serious than that,” she explained. “I believe…” She paused dramatically. “I believe that the spirit I made contact with last night is living here in your home. In this very room.”

  “My word!” Mrs. Van Wyck put a hand on her ample bosom. “Do you mean to tell me that my house is…haunted?”

  Colonel Phillips led Mrs. Van Wyck to the settee and helped her sit. “Have no fear, dear lady,” he said soothingly. “We have come because we believe we can help. We would never open the door to the other realm and then leave you on your own with the spirits of the departed.”

  “Spirits?” Mrs. Van Wyck repeated. “Do you think there are more than one?” She glanced around the room nervously.

  “The only way to find out is to contact the other side again,” Colonel Phillips said.

  “The sooner the better,” Lucy added. “I think we should try right now.”

  Her father looked startled. “Is that wise, child?” he asked.

  Lucy swallowed to gather courage. She was going against his plan, and he never liked that. His intention was to set up another séance in order to charge another fee and be introduced to more potential clients.

  None of that mattered. Lucy itched to contact the spirit. “We must, Father!” she insisted. “Just think of what might happen to Mrs. Van Wyck if we postpone!”

  “What could happen?” Mrs. Van Wyck’s voice trembled.

  Lucy shuddered. “Oh, Mrs. Van Wyck, a restless spirit, a soul that has not yet crossed over! They can be terribly dangerous! What I’ve seen…” She shook her head as if it was all too horrible to relate. She saw her father’s expression struggle between irritation and amusement.

  “Dishes flying through the air,” Lucy elaborated. “Moans, shrieks all night long. Skeletal fingers reaching for you, desperate for your help, their owners furious that you live while they have perished…Oh, Mrs. Van Wyck, I do not envy you.”

  Mrs. Van Wyck clutched Lucy’s hands, frantically searching both Lucy and the Colonel’s faces. “We must do something! You must help me!”

  “Exactly,” Colonel Phillips said firmly. “Another séance.”

  “No, no,” Mrs. Van Wyck moaned. “We must do something this instant. I can’t spend another night here if these spirits are going to come after me. You must do something now!”

  “It may take some time to rid you of their presence,” Lucy warned. “They may not go when first asked. They may want us to help them in a variety of ways—set things right. But I will intercede for you and beg them not to harm you.”

  That should satisfy her father. Lucy knew he was interested in stringing this out as long as he could, and as long as she kept the fish on the line, he would be fine with whatever she did.

  “Please, I beg you.” Mrs. Van Wyck squeezed Lucy’s hands harder. “Contact the spirits now.”

  “I’ll do my very best,” Lucy vowed solemnly. “Let’s begin.” She shut her eyes.

  Nerves she hadn’t noticed before twitched in her face, set her toes tingling. Now that she’d gotten what she wanted, she wasn’t sure if she could pull it off. What would she do if she couldn’t rouse the spirit?

  How did I make contact before? Then she remembered—it was when she called out in a commanding tone.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Lucy declared. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk to you some more. I want to help you.” She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to remember details from last night that might help her now. “Lindsay!” she called forcefully. “Lindsay, please—speak to me!”

  Lucy waited a moment, then heard a stunned, “What?”

  She smiled. Contact.

  Lindsay startled awake, banging her head against a wall behind her. “Wh-what?” she sputtered. She shifted her knees, and clothes dropped into her lap. Closet, she remembered. I’m in my closet.

  She rubbed her face, waking herself up. Did someone call me? The voice sounded so close—as if it was in the closet with her. A voice she didn’t recognize.

  She heaved herself up, about to unlatch the door.

  Wait, she thought. I heard that voice before.

  Last night. It was the same voice last night too. Lindsay’s forehead crinkled as she remembered an entire conversation with an unseen speaker—a girl about her age, it sounded like. She shut her eyes to recapture the feeling. It had felt good to talk, to complain, to cry to another person.

  Only it wasn’t another person.

  Lindsay shook off the creepy feeling, reminded herself she had dozed off mid-sentence practically. Just a dream, she thought. Same thing this morning. I was still dreaming.

  Mystery solved, she reached for the door again. School beckoned, and to get there, she had to first make it out of the house.

  She listened cautiously for a moment. Melanie and the Husband were probably still asleep, but she didn’t want to be ambushed. All was quiet. Ready, set—

  “I want to help you.”

  The voice! She rocked back on her heels. “Who’s there?” she whispered.

  She held absolutely still but felt her insides trembling. For a moment she flashed onto the idea that someone was on the other side of the door. Maybe someone heard the knockdown, drag-out between the Husband and her mom last night and hauled them away. Now they were here to rescue her. It could happen, right?

  She shook her head, deflated. She must have heard a voice outside her window, someone offering someone else help.

  “It’s all right,” the voice said. “I can be your friend. I will do all I can to help you. To rescue you from this dark place.”

  A wave of terror rippled through Lindsay. The voice was clear—and clearly in her own head. A voice speaking to her, a voice not her own, coming from inside her brain.

  She burst out of the closet and raced to the window. I’m hearing someone outside, that’s all. Only her window was closed and the sounds distant and blurred.

  Music blared from somewhere, making Lindsay jump, then laugh with relief. Of course! The walls! She must have heard someone in the next apartment. The building had been divided and redivided over the years, breaking what once had been a single-family home into apartments with paper-thin walls. Reassured that she hadn’t gone crazy, she started getting ready for school.

  “Please don’t be afraid. Please talk to me. I want to help you.”

  With a shriek, Lindsay ran out of her room.

  Four

  “Please don’t be afraid. Please talk to me. I want to help you,” Lucy called. The spirit had certainly been chatty enough last night. Why not now? Lucy heard something that sounded like a squeal and then nothing. “Hello?” she said. “Are you still there?”

  Time ticked on; the chimes rang the hour. It was a full thirty minutes before Lucy admitted defeat. She avoided looking at her father. She knew what he expected of her: satisfy the customer. But she couldn’t playact—not now that it was real.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “She was here—I heard her. But she didn’t want to speak this time.”

  “Oh no!” Mrs. Van Wyck moaned. “What will I do?”

  “Lucy will just keep trying,” Colonel Phillips said.

  “But if the spirit won’t speak to her—”

  “I’m certain the spirit will communicate with Luc
y at a later time,” Colonel Phillips said. “It was probably too soon after such an extensive visit through the veil to make an attempt. I told Lucy that we should wait and set up another séance.” Lucy shivered as her father turned his cold smile on her. “But my daughter is headstrong and doesn’t always listen to reason.”

  “I—I just wanted to help Mrs. Van Wyck,” Lucy said. “I was worried about her.”

  “Thank you, dear girl.” Mrs. Van Wyck patted Lucy’s knee. “I’m relieved that I have someone who will help me.”

  “And she will,” Colonel Phillips insisted. “But under the proper conditions. Come along, Lucy.”

  Lucy stood, wishing she could think of some way to postpone her father’s anger.

  “You’re not going to leave me, are you?” Mrs. Van Wyck pleaded.

  Was this her way out? “Would—would you like us to stay?” Lucy asked.

  “Please,” Mrs. Van Wyck said, rising quickly. “Until we get the spirit out of here.”

  Colonel cocked his head sharply. “Do you mean you’d like Lucy and me to…board with you? Until such time?”

  Lucy blinked several times, astonished by her father’s audacity. But if Mrs. Van Wyck took the bait, if she moved them out of the boardinghouse and into the mansion, there would be no penalty for Lucy, only praise. She might even be able to claim that had been her game all along.

  “Oh, would you?” Mrs. Van Wyck said, her face brightening. “I don’t believe I could stay here one more day on my own, surrounded by spirits. I’ve shut up the house in Newport, so I can’t retreat there. After all, the season in New York has already started.”

  “Yes, I can see how it would be inconvenient for you to vacate now,” Colonel Phillips said sympathetically.

  “I’d be terribly grateful if you wouldn’t mind staying here.”

  “If it would give you comfort, dear lady, of course Lucy and I will oblige,” Colonel Phillips said.

  “Oh, thank you.” Mrs. Van Wyck looked enormously relieved. “We’ll send for your belongings later. But now would you join me for breakfast?”