Hidden Voices (Tess Schafer-Medium)

by Deborah Hughes

  Barbara sank back in her chair, her hand splayed across her chest and her expression one of horrified fascination. “Why? Did he threaten you?”

  “No. I just wasn’t expecting to see him suddenly standing so close. He was like, right next to me. Had he been alive, I would have felt his body heat.”

  “You saw him? Did Ted see him too?”

  “I saw him very strongly in my mind’s eye. The vision was so clear it blotted out what my physical eyes were seeing. I don’t know how to explain it, I’m sorry. It’s like my brain switches focus from my outer eyes to my inner eyes.” It was hard to explain this process but I thought this a good explanation and Barbara seemed to understand it as well.

  “So if he wasn’t threatening you, why did you run? Why didn’t you just step away so he wasn’t so close?”

  She was an astute woman, this Barbara was. “He … he’s a big man who was dressed strangely and looked strange, I just needed to get out of there to calm myself so I would be better prepared to confront him again.”

  “So you went back?”

  “Yes. And he was gone. But I went back over to the fireplace and started studying the hearthstones where he’d been standing. One was a little different than the others and on closer examination I noticed it had an arrow etched into one of its corners. I followed the direction of the arrow and," I lifted the box like it was a trophy I’d just won. “Ta da! I found this.”

  “So what’s in it?”

  I opened the lid, removed the smooth stone and handed her the box. Barbara exclaimed over the beads and picked some of them up to better look at them. She examined them closely and oohed and aahed. “This is just so wonderful, Tess. Can you imagine how long they’ve been there?” She looked at the stone I held in my hand and nodded toward it. “What’s that?”

  I held my palm out so she could see the rock I held. “I’d let you hold this, Barbara, but it will absorb some of your energy and I want to try and see what I can pick up from its previous owner.”

  Barbara leaned close to get a better look. “It looks like its smooth as glass. What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Ted says its hematite and so are the beads.”

  “Oh yes, now that you mention it, I’d say he’s right. My brother Leroy is a rock enthusiast. He travels all over the place to find them. He has a huge collection, travels to all the rock shows. He started collecting rocks when we were young and I got lectures about them whether I wanted to hear them or not. But I did find some of his rocks to be very pretty. He has quite an assortment of hematite and yes, that is what these are. I think.” She laughed. “Too bad he’s in Arizona right now, on a dig actually, or I’d ring him up and have him come take a look. He’d go ape over these beads.”

  “Although Ted told me to keep them, I thought I better clear that with the actual owners first. He told me to call a Ridley Truman and talk to him about it.”

  Barbara put the beads back in the box and handed it to me. “You’ll enjoy talking to Rid. He used to be the librarian here in Bucksport but is retired now. He reads extensively and is especially interested in Maine history. You probably should talk to him anyway since you are so interested in the Jonathan Buck story.”

  “He was the librarian?” The man I met on the sidewalk in front of the cemetery had said he used to be the librarian. It had to be the same man. It was no coincidence that the first person I interact with after entering Bucksport would turn out to be an important contact! The universe was working its magic. “I think I met him then.”

  Barbara’s eyes widened with a “tell me more” look and reached for her glass of iced tea. “Oh?”

  “Just before checking in yesterday, I stopped to look at the Buck monument and he was walking by with his dog. He was the one who told me I should take a walk along the river.”

  “Rid walks that dog just about every day. His wife died two years ago. They were married for forty-six years. He’s very lonely.” Barbara shook her head in sad commiseration. “He comes in here every now and then to enjoy a cup of coffee with me or to see if I’ve made anything sweet. He has a sweet tooth and he loves my coffee.” She leaned forward as if to impart a great secret. “I add a dash of salt to the coffee grounds. Makes a big difference.”

  “Really?” I reached for another cookie. “And what is your special ingredient in these?”

  “Lemon curd but don’t tell anyone.”

  I laughed because Barbara really was a treasure and I liked her a lot. She reminded me a little of my mother. “Does Rid live far from here?” I couldn’t imagine that he did if he was walking around Bucksport every day with his dog.

  “About five minutes by car. He lives near the churches up on the hill and has a beautiful home. His son and daughter-in-law live with him. They moved in shortly after his wife died. His son Sidney was worried about him and rightly so. Sid is a lawyer and has an office here in town and in Bangor.”

  “Sid and Rid?”

  Barbara laughed. “Cute isn’t it? Rid’s wife’s name was Bridget but everyone called her Brid.”

  I joined in with Barbara’s laughter. They sounded like a nice family. I looked forward to meeting Rid again and talking with him. Hopefully I could convince him to let me hold onto the box of beads and the stone for a couple more days. I didn’t think it right to expect him to let me keep them. My iced tea finished and two cookies polished off, I figured it was time to head to my room, open my laptop and do some research. “I really need to go hop on the laptop for a while, Barbara. Thank you for the iced tea and cookies and great conversation.”

  Barbara stood and gathered our empty glasses onto the tray. “You run along, dear. Just come on down and give a yell if you need me for anything.”

  Though my intention was to head straight for my laptop as soon as I made it to my room, I didn’t follow through with that plan. Instead, I went straight to the bed and sat down, the box in my hands holding too much of my attention to concentrate on anything else. I took the smooth rock out of the box and rubbed it between my fingers. It was cool to the touch but as I rubbed my thumb across it, the rock began to warm up. Not quite ready to be thrown into another trance, I set it down on the nightstand and put the box beside it. Research first and then I’d explore the interesting properties of the stone.

  I no sooner opened my laptop and started it up when my cell phone began buzzing. I forgot that I had it on vibrate so it was a good thing I’d set it on the desk next to me or I wouldn’t have heard it. The caller ID said Mary Rowan. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Tess Schafer?”

  Mary’s voice came across sounding uncertain, as if she wasn’t sure she should even be calling and I wanted to put her at ease right away. “Yes, I’m Tess. This is Mary who I met at the Veterans Memorial, right?”

  “Yes.” Her tone relaxed and continued on a more sure footing. “Are you all settled at Barbara’s place now?”

  “Yes I am. Thank you for asking. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing okay, thanks. We, my mom and I, would love it if you could come to dinner tonight? I know it’s short notice so if you’ve already made plans we can do it another night.”

  “Oh, Mary, I would love to come to dinner. Thank you for asking.” I could feel Mary’s trepidation through the airwaves. She wasn’t sure about me coming and yet she’d made the invitation and was keeping to it. I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion for her and her family’s situation and very much wanted to lend them my support. She gave me directions that seemed quite simple even for me. I liked a town with a simple layout. Getting lost was something I easily managed to do which made this whole trip to Maine quite a feat for me. It was the first time I’d ventured anywhere on my own. After exchanging a few more pleasantries that helped to ease Mary’s reserve (something told me she was typically quite talkative when not hung up on worries), we said our goodbyes.

  I set my cell phone down on the desk and rubbed my hands together in anticipation. Things were moving right along. The universe
at work. And it was just the beginning. I had a strong suspicion the hours ahead were going to uncover a few more exciting things. The box of beads being just the tip of the revelation iceberg.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Two hours of internet searches and my neck was stiff from leaning over my laptop. Beside me I had a bunch of notes scribbled. Bucksport was rich in history for such a young town. Not so young if you included its history before colonial settlers landed on her shores. The place was teeming with native Indians when Jonathan Buck and his cohorts began to establish their townships. A sad part of our American history occurred in the years following our arrival on America’s shores. The takeover of Indian territories did not go well. It hadn’t been possible for everyone to live together in peaceful harmony. No, of course not. Instead, the Europeans, arriving in droves, took and took and eventually the Indians pushed back. Unfortunately for them, we had guns and they did not. At least not at first; it was survival of the fittest at its worst. Still for all that, it seemed that Buck had a pretty good reputation with the local Indians. He was quite respected among all his peers as well. Certainly he didn’t seem like the sort of man to condemn a woman to death for witchcraft. In fact, his entire family sounded like a pretty decent lot with most of them quite devoted to their religious faith.

  I closed my laptop and stretched up my arms in an attempt to relieve all the tight muscles in my shoulders. Because the beads I’d found were Indian beads, I was now very interested in local history concerning the natives. What really caught my attention during my internet search was the mention of the Red Paint Indians, an extinct tribe believed to be specifically prominent in this area. Very little was actually known about them because they died out several thousand years ago. In fact, the only reason we knew anything about them at all was because several of their burial sites had been found. Apparently this unknown tribal clan used to be heavily concentrated in Bucksport and the surrounding area. In fact, one burial ground was located where the huge paper mill now stands. The thing that particularly excited me about this tribe was the fact that they had a fascination with red ocher! Their dead were buried in the stuff. It was speculated by some historians that the Red Paint People were related in some way to the long extinct Beothuk of Newfoundland because the Beothuk also loved red ocher. In fact, they used to cover themselves in it. The man at the Tenney house was covered in red. Although I naturally thought it was blood, I now wondered if it was actually red ocher covering his face. And if he was, in fact, a Red Paint Indian, what did he have to do with Jonathan Buck’s curse? Especially considering the fact that they were believed to have disappeared from existence several thousand years before Buck and his crowd ever landed in Bucksport!

  I glanced at the rock lying on the nightstand and thought about the smooth tanned hand that had been holding it in my vision. Reason told me that if the red-faced guy was a member of the Red Paint Indian tribe then the stone and beads couldn’t possibly have belonged to him. The girl holding the rock in my vision was probably an Indian but from which tribe? Was there a connection between her and the red-faced guy? It just didn’t make sense. She had to have been from a more recent tribe, one still in existence today. Hopefully this little mystery would resolve itself as more information came to light.

  To tell the truth, I found it all pretty fascinating and now that my interest was aroused, I wanted to learn more. Especially considering what I learned when I looked up red ocher. It was a byproduct of hematite, the very stone from which the beads were made. The hematite stone had history I found particularly fascinating. Egyptian pharaohs were buried wearing hematite amulets because it was supposed to protect their energy and guarantee survival into the afterlife. A stone right up my alley! Additionally, American natives believed the war paint made from the red ocher rendered them invincible in battle. As if those beliefs concerning the stuff weren’t interesting enough, the stone was also supposed to help with divination and acted as a protective shield for whoever wore it. And still there was more. It was believed by some ancient societies to have healing qualities as well. How interesting that I now had a small stash of beads that could possibly do all that! The question uppermost in my mind, though, was what were these beads used for? And the stone? What was its purpose?

  Suddenly the hairs stood up on the back of my neck as the temperature in the room dropped. I was no longer alone, it seemed, and I quickly imagined my protective light. Once I had that established firmly in my mind, I stood to face my unseen visitors. Goosebumps rose on my flesh as unease prickled the surface of my skin. Whoever now shared the room with me was not very happy about the circumstances in which we found ourselves–me in physical life aware of their presence, them (for I did feel there was more than one) in spirit and just as aware of me. I didn’t think the anger was directed at me, however, and that was a tad comforting. Their discontent was in the fact that I was the only one at present to pick up on them and our connection was tenuous at best.

  “I’m here to help.” I thought I should get that out right away. It might help matters if my intentions were clear to them. I tried to feel out their location but it seemed they were everywhere. The idea that my room was crammed full of spirits didn’t sit well. Even for me. “Give me some space.” The air was so stifling I could hardly breathe. This distracted me so much that my focus on the imaginary light fell away and began to slowly extinguish. As a warning shiver raced through me, I pulled my focus from my struggling breath and closed my eyes to better imagine the light growing strong again. What was this? Were they out to attack me? This would be a first. Never having dealt with Indian spirits, I wasn’t sure what I was up against. Surely they couldn’t be any different than non-Indian spirits? The cold air grew frigid and when I opened my eyes, I could see my breath coming out in puffs of white fog. All around me I heard the whispered echoes of chanting. The metal box on my nightstand began to vibrate and shimmy across the surface. I stared at it for a moment and then again tried to talk to them. “I want to help you. I’m on your side.”

  The box rattled harder across the nightstand’s surface and then the lid popped open just before it flew onto the floor. In complete fascination, I watched the beads scatter in an almost controlled manner, as if some sort of force were directing their movements. What happened next was really quite unbelievable, even for me. The beads started banding together to form a shape. The lightest shade of beads, an almost pale yellow in color, began to take on the shape of what looked like some sort of bird. Then another shade slightly darker, not quite pink, not quite red, formed a solid circle around the bird. After that, the varying shades continued to band together and form circles about two layers thick around each other until there were about seven layers of circles in all, each shade getting darker and darker until the solid red ones formed the final layer. The remaining beads, the ones made from black hematite, began to form a single layered circle considerably larger than the solid design just finished. Once it was completed, I knew what I was looking at. A necklace. For a moment, all I could do was stare, the cold forgotten, my focus on the light gone. I have never witnessed anything like this in my life and honestly, I didn’t quite know what to make of it. You think you’ve seen it all and then you realize you’ve seen nothing. Who, I wondered, was going to believe this story?

  Once the last bead rolled into place, the cold temperature vanished and the room was once again comfortably warm. Released from my paralysis (which I hadn’t even realized I was in until that moment), I dropped to the floor on my hands and knees and looked at the beads in complete fascination. What on earth did this mean?

  A rapid knock sounded on my door and I glanced up. No doubt Barbara heard the box drop to the floor and came to investigate the noise. “Come in.”

  Barbara opened the door enough to poke her head through and peak in. “Is everything okay, Tess? I heard something fall and then I got the strangest feeling. Max started growling low in his throat and he never does that. It made me worried.”

  I
waved her into the room and beckoned her to come join me. “Come look at this, Barbara!”

  Barbara came into the room and around the bed to where I was crouched on the floor. I waved down at the beads. “Look.”

  Barbara looked and shook her head as if what she saw was more a mild catastrophe than anything spectacular. “Oh dear, did you drop the box? Do you need me to help you gather them back up?”

  Puzzled by her response, I glanced down and stared in shock and dismay. Disbelief chased doubt as my thoughts raced to consider the situation. Had I imagined it all? The beads were no longer forming a symmetric design. No. They were now scattered all over the place. “But…just a moment ago they were all formed together.”

  Barbara knelt down next to me and began to gather the beads. “What do you mean?”

  “The beads were just formed into a necklace with the most interesting design. I was looking at it when you knocked on the door.”

  “Well, they aren’t in any sort of design now.” Barbara looked at me with doubtful eyes and I knew she was wondering if I was going bonkers.

  “No, they aren’t. But I’m going to put them back together as I saw it.” Even as I said it, I knew that I probably wouldn’t have the patience to do it. There were hundreds of beads and it would take me a deuced long time to accomplish. What was the point anyway? “I could draw it.” Although I was speaking more to myself, Barbara gave an enthusiastic nod.