The doctor produced a nod that wasn’t a nod and a shrug that wasn’t quite a shrug.
No absolutes there, Meg thought. She tried to sort through her confusion. To what good purpose had this meeting accomplished? She glanced at her watch. “I think my time is up, Doctor Peterhof.”
“I booked you last. That left it open-ended. First visits are always an uncertainty—not that you’ll need another visit. Listen, why don’t we go downstairs to the coffee shop for a bite. We can try to clear up loose ends while we eat. I’m famished.”
“Well—I— ”
“Can you take a later train?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good! It’s settled.”
The outer office was empty. The secretary had gone home. Meg wrote out a check for the hour and the doctor closed up.
Conversation over their meal was polite and touched on topics as bland as the vegetable lasagna Meg was picking at. The doctor finished her roast pork special and ordered spumoni when the waitress brought coffee. Meg took a pass on dessert.
“We’ve been chatting away, Meg, but don’t think I’m unaware that we haven’t come back to your situation.”
“Predicament is more like it.” Meg put down her fork. “You know, I think I understand most of what you’ve told me—it’s just that, well, I don’t know that it’s helped me.”
“I hope that I’ve helped in two areas, Meg. First, in my listening and believing. Second, and this is related to that, I guess, is that I can vouch for your sanity.”
Meg gave a little laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Not everyone would. I’ve been willingly staying in that house alone.” Meg took a breath. “But what about the bad things that have happened—Juan’s fall and Bernadine’s death?”
“Ah, there is that. You feel guilt.”
“Yes, of course.”
“You shouldn’t. You didn’t ask for any of this. You just thought you were getting a house.”
“Yes, not one with sprits or ghosts. Doctor, any idea which one I’m dealing with?”
“Spirits or ghosts? No, you might think about hiring a psychic.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You said there’s a difference in the way they may appear, but is there a difference in behavior?”
“Oh, yes, the spirits are usually benign, even supportive.”
“And ghosts?”
“They’re to be feared and avoided, Meg. They can be quite malignant. Look Meg, I don’t wish to scare you but what you’ve described to me are out of body experiences. OBEs, they call them. It’s also called astral projection, whereby the astral body leaves the physical body and moves to the astral plane. Some people have this occur to them at a near death experience or during illness.”
“With me it was the house.”
“And what may have come with that house.” The doctor paused, then continued: “Some people deliberately practice astral projection.”
“Sweet Jesus—why?”
The doctor shrugged. “Who can figure people, living or dead? Maybe it’s the dare or the challenge, like surfers seeking out the most dangerous waves on earth.”
The spumoni arrived for the doctor. Licking her lips, she took up a spoonful. “Delicious. Ah, it’s good to be alive, I say.” She looked at Meg now. “I’m thinking, Meg, that you want me to tell you what to do. Oh, you wouldn’t stand for advice from a friend or husband—and you might not listen to my advice, either—but you’re seeking it, nonetheless. Yes?”
Meg smiled. “I can see that you’re very good at what you do, Doctor.”
“Please, I asked you to call me Krista. Not because we’re chums now—although I hope we are, this has been delightful—and not because I’m going to tell you what to do, because I’m not—at least in reference to staying at the house. You need to make that choice yourself. But I am going to caution you.”
“Yes?” Delightful? Not a word Meg would use to describe their interview.
“Some say we all project in our dreams, and you may have unconsciously experienced these OBEs, but you’ve not been aware of them before moving into the house?”
“I have not.”
“Then it is possible you are being deliberately drawn into the astral plane.”
Meg’s heart seemed to pause for several beats. “That’s possible?”
“According to the people who have learned the art of projection, yes. They claim that there are lower and higher levels on the astral plane. On the lower level, or dimension, the lost souls—or ghosts—and other dark entities are found. It’s a kind of hell in which every imaginable evil lurks. They operate on low vibrations and feed on those souls who might wander in. Some experienced travelers claim that in weak and fearful moments they were literally dragged into this dimension.”
Meg’s heart was racing now. “How do they get away?”
“Those who have experienced such abductions say that they will it, that they deliberately call light or abundance or God into their life, and that they are released.”
“Good God,” Meg whispered. “And the higher dimension?”
“All good reports. Beings there thrive on high emotions, high vibration, goodness, and light.”
Meg felt a shiver run up her back and her whole body followed suit and shook.
The doctor seemed to ignore the effect these things had on Meg. She continued: “Now, I want to tell you about a man in my field and the conclusion his life’s work brought him to.”
“All right.”
“His name is Abraham Maslow. He came to believe that the psyche of man is not so terribly dark and forbidding—like, say O’Connor in Heart of Darkness. He believed that the psyche is the fountain from which creativity and self-actualization spring and flow. He wrote of the inner core of a person as having “impulse voices” that have to be heeded, that one should rebel against fear, weakness, and indecision. It is this inner voice that you must accept, Meg. It comes from your core. Accept it and embrace it. You’ll then know what to do.”
“Sort of like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz?” Later, Meg would wonder what made her say such a thing. Had she meant it facetiously because of the strangeness of this interview and what she was expected to believe? Had she meant it at face value? Or was it a mix of the two?
Krista Peterhof laughed nonetheless. “Exactly! Listen to yourself. Isn’t that what Dorothy learned? You see, literature and science do mix.”
The next day, while eating a lunch of tomato soup and crackers, Meg sat in the first floor den absently watching some cable talk show she had never seen before. It wasn’t long before the soup cooled and she was drawn into the program.
The host was speaking with an English woman who had recurring dreams and memories that placed her in Ireland a generation before—as a mother of a large family. The husband was alcoholic and abusive, and the parenting fell squarely on her shoulders alone. She was dying of cancer, however, and her greatest concern was for her children. She could not bear leaving them behind. Yet, she did die.
The Irish woman had died with the kind of strong, electrically charged emotions that Krista said take on a life of their own.
After years of these dreams, the English woman, in her twenties now, traveled to Ireland for the first time. She located the town that she knew so well only from somewhere within, then she found the very house in which the Irish mother had lived and died. Neighbors remembered the family. The English woman found out that her own birth preceded the mother’s death by several years, so reincarnation seemed impossible.
The English woman went on to search out the children of the woman, who were older than she. Appearing on the show were some of these children who—while very skeptical at first—had confirmed details of the memories and dreams as perfectly descriptive of their mother’s life. Further, they had come to believe that traits of the mother somehow resided in this woman that was younger than they. How strange! And, clearly, a bond now existed between the English woman and the Iris
h siblings.
The show emphasized merely the mystery and strangeness of the situation. There was no guest—no professional—to offer any kind of scientific hypothesis or logic to explain it. If only Dr. Krista Peterhof had been there, Meg thought, the theory of the holotropic mind and the concept of the transpersonal world would have offered the only logical solution to the mystery. And that woman’s mind would have been eased after so many years of wondering. She had tapped into the emotional angst of that dying woman.
Meg realized now that her own mind had been eased—at least to the extent that she could understand the science of it. But she still had a growing curiosity and desire to discover the full truth about Alicia and Claude.
And—science or no—remaining in her heart was a well of fear over what she might find—and what they might do.
EIGHTEEN
Meg was waiting outside the Calumet Room when Miss Millicent arrived.
“My, you are anxious to start today, child.”
“Yes,” Meg said. She could tell that beneath the cheerful greeting, the woman had been shaken by Bernadine Clinton’s death. Meg had called her the evening before with the news. Of course, she said nothing to her—just as she had said nothing to the nursing staff—about the appearance of Alicia in the room.
The two women embraced. It was something that came naturally, and later Meg would not remember which of them had initiated it. Drawing back, she looked for some trace of suspicion or accusation in the lines of the old woman’s face, but found none. Just grief for her friend’s death and concern for Meg.
More guilt.
They talked briefly about Bernadine Clinton, then Miss Millicent went about her duties and Meg resumed her microfiche research. Her mind remained distracted, but she moved fast, nonetheless. Too fast, she worried—she might be missing something important.
Yet, she did make discoveries.
She found several articles detailing Claude’s talent at the piano and appearances he had made. Mendelson and Debussy were cited as composers he admired. He often played their works, as well as some of his own. No pictures accompanied the articles.
And then—in the obituaries of July 17th, 1911, she found the death notice for little Claude. It yielded little, however: age, parents, visitation times at the Springfield Street home, church service and burial site.
Meg clipped through nearly a full decade in an hour, striking paydirt in a 1918 paper: a cluster of three Reichart obituaries within five days—those of Jason Reichart and his twin sons, Robert and Peter. The cause of the deaths was listed as “influenza,” this at a time when the front page was carrying headlines proclaiming a citywide epidemic.
Meg shuddered. So, just seven years after losing Claude, Alicia lost the rest of her family in one blow. Her family had been decimated. What a burden it must have been! For a brief moment, the dark and unrelenting grief that had been Alicia Reichart’s seemed to wash over and through Meg in galvanizing waves. In that moment, Meg didn’t have to imagine the woman’s pain and despair—she felt it.
She pushed on with her work.
She had just one hour’s time left before the Calumet Room closed when Kurt walked in.
She looked up in surprise and her heart quickened a bit, mostly in pleasure. He had come!
His face seemed so very serious.
Meg smiled. “You did take a day off, Kurt. I’m glad.”
“A few hours only, Meg, then I have to dash back. I borrowed a car.”
“Oh—Okay,” Meg said tentatively. Something serious had prompted him to drive out in a borrowed car.
Kurt looked around. A young man researching his family and Miss Millicent, who glanced up from her desk now, were the only others in the room. “I think we should talk outside,” he said.
“All right.” Truth was, Meg felt bad about losing precious research time.
They went downstairs and outside the double doors, stepping into the parking lot to stand face to face.
“I didn’t come out by choice. Mrs. Shaw threatened to drop us unless she gets cooperation.”
“Mrs. Shaw? Huh? What cooperation?”
“Yes, Meg. First, there’s the matter of the For Sale sign, and then she said you were uncooperative and rude to her on the phone.”
“No—well, I might have been. But she can be pushy and rude herself.”
“She said you haven’t answered the phone or responded to her messages.”
Meg raised her right hand. “Guilty, your honor.”
“This isn’t funny. Meg, she’s got someone interested in the house, and— ”
“Who?” Meg became immediately on edge.
“That couple that tried to bid against us after we made our offer. We can’t louse this up.”
“What about the spirits? I mean ghosts?” She had no idea why this tactic was the first that came to her.
“What do you mean?”
“Do we tell them?”
“We don’t even know— ”
“Oh, yes we do. According to Krista— ”
“You’re on first name terms with the shrink? No! For God’s sake, we don’t tell them. We want to get rid of the house, Meg, without having to give the damn thing away!”
“So it’s ‘Buyer Beware’?”
“Exactly! I suspect that was the situation with us.”
Meg glared at Kurt. “I’m not quite ready, Kurt. You know, I’m making real progress. I’m on my way to solving this—to putting the ghosts to rest.”
“Listen to yourself, Meg! Good God!”
“They’re troubled— ”
“What do you think this is—Hamlet? I’ve read it, too, Meg, believe it or not. It’s a play, with medieval notions about ghosts and why they can’t rest.”
Meg started to speak, but Kurt lifted his finger in a shushing motion. “We’re selling the house, and that’s all that needs to be said. On Friday night you’re coming back with me. We’ll hire someone to pack it up. Oh, and no funny business in between.”
“Funny business?”
“Yeah, like the For Sale sign.”
“What about it?”
“Don’t be coy—it disappeared.”
“It’s gone? Well, I didn’t touch it. Maybe some neighbor kid— ”
“Meg,” Kurt interrupted, “I found it in the basement—in the old coal room!”
Meg stood staring.
“Don’t look so shocked.”
She bristled at the insinuation. “How dare you, Kurt Rockwell!” Hard to ignite, her temper flared and burned brightly when it did. “I may not always do the right thing. I make my mistakes. But I can tell you one thing—I tell the truth! What about you? Are you truthful? You with your ‘Buyer beware’?”
Kurt stood stunned by Meg. He had never seen her get so angry.
“Do you have moral integrity, Kurt?” Meg continued.
“What?” Kurt looked perplexed.
Meg paused, allowing a woman to pass them and enter the library. She hadn’t meant for the subject to come up in this way, but it had.
“I’m talking about faithfulness, Kurt. You have not been the faithful husband!”
“Huh?” Kurt registered complete surprise. He drew in a sharp breath. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you. Tell me, just why did your first wife sue for divorce?”
He paled at once.
“Why?” Meg pressed.
Kurt tried to collect himself. “I—I was having an affair.”
“Adultery.”
He nodded. “Is that what this is about?”
“What’s the cliché about leopards and their spots, Kurt? I bet you know that one.”
“What do you mean? I can assure you, Meg, that— ”
“I mean your sordid little affair with Valerie Miller, for God’s sakes! Or was it just a little one-night stand? How many others have there been, Kurt?”
“Valerie Miller! Meg, the woman is— ”
“I have a witness!”
“A romance in the White Hen! Then a rendezvous in her condo. Couldn’t you be a little more discreet? And Valerie Miller! Let’s throw in discerning, too!”
“Oh, for God’s sake who told you this?”
“What difference can it make?”
“I want to know who!”
“And I want to know why!”
“Meg, it’s not true! I’ve been faithful to you.”
“Right. You know I could forgive you, Kurt, for a weak moment or a stupid choice. But not your lying to me. I won’t!”
Meg spun around and hurried into the library.
Kurt stood numbed by the exchange that had just played out. He couldn’t believe the turn his visit had taken. He had to talk to her, to settle this.
Yet, to go back in after her—there would be a scene, a very public scene. And he had to get the car back to his friend Delaney in Chicago. More importantly, there was a late afternoon one-on-one meeting with the president of the hospital. He couldn’t miss it, didn’t dare.
And to complicate things, there were important meetings scheduled through the weekend. God only knows what spin Meg would put on that, he thought.
He moved toward the silver Lexus now, feeling more than ever that events were spinning out of control.
Meg sat at her microfiche station, shaking with emotion. Sensing Miss Millicent’s curious eyes upon her, she started working with the machine, praying that the woman would not come over. After a few minutes, she lifted her head and stared at nothing in particular.
She could not get the vision of Kurt’s face out of her mind. At the mention of Valerie Miller’s name, something had stirred in his expression. Something like recognition? Guilt? There was something to it, Meg thought now. Her heart sank.
It was true—or was it?
NINETEEN
Kurt was not surprised that Meg did not pick up the phone or answer his messages all day Friday. The intensive series of meetings with visiting bigwigs at the hospital precluded the usual end of the week trip to Hammond on the South Shore line.
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