The Revenant

by Sonia Gensler

  “Is there anyone in the room with us now?” she whispered.

  The planchette continued to move in its figure eight, but after a moment, I felt a pull, as if another hand was upon the strange little triangle. The tingle climbed up my arms to my scalp as the planchette moved toward the full-moon symbol, pointing to yes.

  I looked up and met Olivia’s gaze again. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

  The planchette returned to its figure-eight pattern. Olivia took a deep breath and asked the board her next question.

  “Are you a former student?”

  My heart pounded as the planchette continued its leisurely path over the center of the board. Then I felt that pull again as the triangle pointed once more to yes.

  “Is it you, Ella?” It burst out of me before I could even think the question. I gasped as the planchette jerked downward and came to rest upon goodbye. I glanced at Olivia, who frowned at the board. “What does that mean?”

  “You upset the spirit. One should never be confrontational with the talking board.”

  “But I only asked if it was Ella—how is that confrontational?”

  “It was too forceful, Willie. The spirits often balk when you attempt to pin their identity down like that.” She took a breath and smiled. “Let’s start again. Try to be patient.”

  Once more we said the Lord’s Prayer and concentrated on clearing our minds as the planchette traced its figure eight back and forth along the middle of the board. I stared at the candlelight and tried so hard to think of nothing that my head began to ache. Finally, the tingling began again. Olivia spoke in grave tones.

  “Is there anyone in the room with us now?”

  The planchette pulled toward yes before returning to its figure-eight pattern.

  “Are you the spirit who was with us before?”

  Again the planchette pulled toward yes. Olivia looked at me and gave a tight smile of triumph. But in her eyes was a warning—Let me do this.

  “How did you die, spirit?”

  The air in the room immediately chilled, and I could feel every hair on my body rise as the flesh prickled with goose pimples. The planchette began to circle more quickly, moving to point at the r, followed by i, and then v. It paused in the middle of the board.

  “Did you drown in the river, poor spirit?”

  The planchette moved to yes and continued circling in its figure eight.

  “Spirit, what is it that you want?”

  The triangle circled back and forth for a moment. But then I felt the tingle, the wooden piece pulling, and slowly it made its way to the letter h. I held my breath as it moved three letters to the left and pointed at e. After that it swooped toward the right and landed at l. It paused for a moment and I gulped, wondering where it was taking us. Finally, it made a dip back to the left and down to the second level of letters, coming to a stop at the letter p.

  Olivia nodded. “Do you need our help, spirit?”

  The planchette moved slowly to point at yes.

  “How can we help you?”

  The planchette shuddered ever so slightly, then moved slowly upward and to the left, pausing at d. Then it slid downward and pointed at o. Olivia and I glanced at each other—it was going to tell us what to do!

  A creak of the floorboards in the corridor brought the planchette to an eerie halt at the middle of the board.

  “Someone’s coming,” I hissed, taking my fingers off the triangle, which felt strangely lifeless now. “Put that back in your bag!”

  “I have to say goodbye first,” said Olivia, moving the planchette down to the word spelled out at the bottom of the board. “You shouldn’t have taken your hands off, Willie—we have to do these things properly or there’ll be more trouble.”

  “Just put it away,” I said.

  Olivia shoved the board and planchette into her bag, which she then slid under the settee. As we both stood up, I could see the dim glow of lamplight through the crack under the door.

  “How does Miss Crenshaw always know when something’s going on?” I hissed.

  “We should have planned for this,” whispered Olivia. “Shall I blow out the candle?”

  “She knows we’re here.” I picked up the candle. “I’ll do the talking—she already hates me, so I’ll take the blame.”

  Olivia opened her mouth to protest but snapped it shut again as the door opened. I braced myself for the sight of Miss Crenshaw, her frowning face eerie in the lamplight. Instead, it was Jimmy. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of us.

  “Sweet Jesus!” he cried. “I thought to find a ghost, not you two!” He ran a hand over his sleep-smashed hair. “What you doing here?”

  “Keep your voice down, Jimmy,” I said, gasping with relief. When I’d caught my breath, I launched into the lie I’d concocted moments before the door had opened. “I heard a noise in the parlor but was too frightened to check it myself, so I roused Olivia and made her come down here with me.”

  Jimmy shivered. “I felt somethin’ strange in the air. Coulda sworn I heard whispers.”

  “All the way from the kitchen? That’s impossible,” said Olivia.

  “Oh, it happens all the time, miss. I’m always hearing and seeing them ghosts.” At our gasps he nodded knowingly. “Sometimes it’s people from town who had a bad death. Or slaves from the Bell plantation who died before the war. Other times it’s those seminary girls.”

  I stared at him. “Seminary girls?”

  “More girls than Miss Ella Blackstone have died at the seminary, you know. Sometimes the girls sicken and die, what with the typhoid and all.” He shrugged. “It happens—doc can’t cure everything. But,” he said forcefully, “that Blackstone girl didn’t die natural.”

  “You mean because she drowned?” I whispered.

  “That weren’t no accident, I tell you. And this place has had a queer feel to it ever since.”

  Olivia crossed her arms. “What do you know about Miss Blackstone, Jimmy?”

  “Nothing.” He bit his lip and stared at the ceiling. “Except she used to sneak out at night pretty regular.”

  “And you didn’t tell Miss Crenshaw?”

  He shook his head. “Them girls can be vicious when you cross ’em.”

  Olivia looked ready to launch into an inquisition, but I was getting nervous. “We can’t stay here much longer, Olivia, or Crenshaw’s sure to find us.” I turned to Jimmy. “You’d best get back to your room, Jimmy. We’ll talk to you later.”

  His expression went blank. “I don’t know anything more, miss. Swear to God.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said, and waved them out of the room.

  Chapter 15

  THERE WERE NO MORE SÉANCES after that, for Miss Crenshaw’s gimlet eye was always upon me. I wondered if Jimmy had told her something. He certainly did his best to avoid me.

  My nights were taken up with marking anyway. Sure enough, Crenshaw had confronted me the moment she returned. And I’d had no choice but to confess the truth—I’d made some progress with my grade book, but most of the compositions and exams remained unmarked. She’d trained her withering gaze upon me for several terrifying moments. When she finally spoke, allowing me one week to get my business in order, I nearly fainted with relief.

  When Olivia found me hunched over my desk, the compositions stacked all around me, she’d sighed in exasperation. Then she briskly explained the rubric she used to mark her students’ written work, demonstrating how it could be applied to English compositions. In the early-morning hours, I blessed her for simplifying the process, and for once I was glad of the tapping at the window—it woke me when I grew drowsy.

  Once I’d returned all the student papers—and dutifully shown my grade book to Miss Crenshaw—I could finally distribute the scripts for As You Like It to the juniors and seniors. The principal frowned when I informed her of my choice—a play never performed by the seminary girls before. But when I showed her the scripts and explained the cuts I’d made, she nodded primly and
gave her blessing for us to continue.

  “Keep in mind, however,” she said in ominous tones, “that I’ll be watching.”

  Casting the play took several days and involved all the upper-school English classes. To me it was much like a holiday, for one couldn’t conduct actual lessons when there were readings to be done, parts to be assigned, and set designs to be planned.

  Fannie made it clear from the start that she expected the part of Rosalind. She read for it and nothing else, and it was whispered she had the entire part memorized before the second day of auditions. She read beautifully.

  But I cast her as Orlando.

  I told myself that Fannie, the tallest girl in the seminary, would be the best romantic hero. But my heart knew I just couldn’t let her have the prize. Why did she deserve the best of everything—she who treated everyone else so badly? I would set limits on her even if no one else dared.

  “You all knew some of you would play male parts,” I said when she gave me a darkly mutinous look. “Orlando is the romantic lead—it’s a wonderful role, Fannie.”

  “But I played Titania last year—as a junior!” She crossed her arms. “Perhaps I’d rather play nothing at all.”

  “That’s fine.” My heart pounded. “You may work with the sophomores on set design.”

  “Why are you punishing me?”

  I took a deep breath. I would have loved nothing better than to ban her from the production altogether. How satisfying it would be! But … that was something a petty schoolgirl would do, so I choked back my pride and tried to imagine how Papa would convince her. He certainly wouldn’t wheedle or beg. He would direct.

  “Fannie, you are tall and carry yourself with dignity. You have a commanding presence when you read. I cast you as Orlando not to punish you but because I thought your talents would be put to best use in that role.”

  She stared for a moment, jutting her chin out. Then she looked about her, as if seeing for the first time the anxious faces of all her classmates. Did she see how much they dreaded her temper? How much they wanted this to be resolved?

  Finally, she lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine! I’ll play Orlando. I hadn’t thought the fate of the world hinged upon it.” She looked at her classmates, her face determined. “But I warn you now—I’m going to upstage each and every one of you.”

  I sighed in relief. “Thank you, Fannie. That settles just about everything, for Lucy Sharp has agreed to manage the scripts and act as prompter during rehearsals. There’s only one other item of business. Before Christmas, when the seminary boys came to serenade, I went up to the third floor and found the primaries dancing.”

  Most of the girls looked confused, but Alice nodded. “Sometimes they put on little performances, and we go up to watch them.”

  Fannie snorted. “I’m sure I never do.”

  “It’s very sweet to see them dance and sing,” cried Alice. “Don’t you think so, Lucy?”

  Lucy shrugged her shoulders lightly, her face a blank.

  “I tell you this because it gave me an idea,” I said, affecting teacherly confidence. “Why don’t we invite the primaries to dance for the audience at the beginning of act four, right after intermission?”

  The girls stared.

  “Why would we do that?” asked Fannie.

  “Well, they danced very prettily. And … I’m sorry for them, for they must feel rather lonely up there … from time to time.”

  Lelia gasped. “Oh, I see what you mean—they could dance as the forest people.” She giggled. “It could be very quaint.”

  “They could perform the Green Corn dance,” said Alice. “It’s a summer dance, but I don’t see why they couldn’t do it in April.”

  “Oh, not that rubbish,” said Fannie. “Surely you don’t want to put everyone to sleep with that tiresome old custom? The very idea makes me yawn.”

  “Do you have a better suggestion, Fannie?” I asked.

  She smiled. “I think we mustn’t take it all so seriously. We should make it fun. I like Lelia’s idea of using the primaries to represent the quaintness of the forest people.” Her eyes brightened. “I know! Oh, it would be so amusing.”

  I’d rarely seen her so animated—at least about something remotely related to school. “What, Fannie?”

  “They could perform a warrior dance. Surely Lucy could teach them something.” She gave a sly glance at Lucy, who stared at the ground and said nothing. “And,” she continued, “we could dress them in buckskin and put feathers in their hair.”

  “And give them bows and arrows to carry!” cried Lelia.

  Alice raised a hand. “Or hatchets?”

  “Would our audience enjoy it?” I asked.

  “Oh, there’s no doubt,” said Fannie. “As long as Miss Crenshaw will allow it. She rarely lets the primaries out of the attic, you know.”

  “It’s not an attic,” said Lucy, speaking for the first time. “It’s the third floor, and I’m certain they think it a refuge from girls like you.”

  “And I’m certain I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Fannie, raising her chin. “Anyway, it will be great fun. We are putting on a comedy, after all.”

  “Since you are so keen, Fannie, I’ll put you in charge of the primaries.”

  Her eyes flashed with panic. “But—I have a whole new set of lines to learn!”

  “You may choose some sophomore and freshman girls to assist you.” I stood tall, for it felt very teacherly indeed to delegate. Certainly it would do everyone good to have Fannie well occupied. “Who better than you,” I continued, “to make sure this performance will be charming?”

  • • •

  The next Saturday I chaperoned a group of junior girls in charge of costumes for the play. The weather was unseasonably warm, and thus everyone was cheerful as we set out. We were on the hunt for woodsy-looking fabric appropriate to the Forest of Arden.

  At Foster’s store we encountered Dr. Stewart, which sent the girls into flirtatious sighs and giggles. “Hello, ladies,” he said, sweeping off his hat. His blue eyes were merry. “Buying material for dresses today?”

  I allowed them to explain their quest, standing by as they effused about romantic forest attire. The doctor nodded and smiled very attentively, but when his eyes turned glassy, I directed the girls toward the bolts of fabric. He grinned at me over their heads, his eyes grateful, and I blushed with pleasure.

  We’d just found a fine rust-colored cotton, which the girls proceeded to unroll for experimental draping, when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a tall figure standing a few paces away. I turned to find Eli Sevenstar, hat in hand.

  For the past few weeks, I’d forced him from my mind—so effectively, in fact, that I’d become convinced my schoolgirl crush had waned. And yet there I was in Foster’s, heart leaping and cheeks burning at the mere sight of him across a room.

  “Excuse me a moment, girls. Stay right there.” They looked beyond me to Eli, their brows wrinkling. But at that moment I didn’t care what they thought. I casually stepped toward him, taking care to keep a bit of distance between us. Larkin Bell stood at the front of the store, talking with Dr. Stewart. It seemed we would be watched from all sides—but that didn’t mean we’d be heard.

  “Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Sevenstar?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “I did.” He cleared his throat. “I owe you an apology.”

  My heart, still leaping, began to sing a little too. “I am listening.”

  “Before Christmas, at the Bell home, I took liberties in the way I spoke to you. It was inappropriate, I know that now.”

  The words sounded rehearsed, but his eyes crinkled with genuine worry. I could not look away or feign indifference.

  “I accept your apology,” I said quietly. “I only wish I’d known, as a student, how much words could hurt a teacher, even if they were only meant in jest.”

  “I meant to tease you … as a friend, not as a teacher.”

  I lowered m
y voice another notch. “It pleases me that you might think me a friend.”

  His eyes widened, but before he could say anything more, I said goodbye and turned back to the girls, who were doing their best not to stare. In the distance I heard Larkin Bell, his tone peevish, asking, “What was that all about?” I did not hear Eli’s response. I didn’t need to. I’d seen the look of relief, and of hope, in his eyes. And at that moment I didn’t care that I was a fool for encouraging him to hope at all.

  As I walked toward the post office to mail my usual payment to Mother, I saw Fannie coming toward me. She walked with bold strides, her face determined. I considered postponing the errand but couldn’t bear to give her the satisfaction of knowing I did so because of her. She said nothing, but waved for me to go ahead. Mindful of her standing behind me, I kept my envelope facedown when handing it to the clerk and hoped she didn’t notice the extra coins I passed along with it. A sense of misgiving chilled me when I turned to find her studying my face. Giving her a stern nod, I brushed past to walk out the door. Her eyes had been sly, her brows arched in challenge. Fannie Bell was up to something, and whatever it was didn’t bode well for me.

  When we returned to the seminary, I carried one of the many packages of material up to the third floor. Mae sat with her friends in the alcove, all of them giggling companionably. Her expression sobered when I beckoned her to the corridor.

  “I have the fabric for your costumes, Mae. Do you wish to see?”

  She led me to her room, where I spread the caramel-tinted cloth upon her bed.

  “Mind you, I couldn’t find actual buckskin. I suppose we shouldn’t have been able to afford it if I had. Miss Thompson told me you girls could work on the costumes in your sewing classes. The dresses should be simple tunics—modest and comfortable. Miss Thompson has some ideas.”

  Mae nodded.

  “How are the dance rehearsals coming along?”

  She grimaced. “Miss Fannie doesn’t know much about warrior dances.”

  “Oh well, it’s meant to be lighthearted fun.”