“Mostly the last, I think,” Abby said gently. “Like I said, we’re both kind of new at this. Ned spent most of his adult life stifling it, and then we met and that wouldn’t work anymore. We’re still trying to figure out how and why it works. And equally important, we want to know how we go on living reasonably normal lives when dead people keep popping up in front of us, singly or together.”
Christine seemed to relax just a bit. “So you want to sign me up as a guinea pig too?”
“Only if you want,” Abby rushed to reassure her. “If the status quo is good for you, we won’t mess with that. Tell me, when did you first know you had . . . something?”
“When I was a kid, I guess. I had a couple of so-called imaginary friends, and luckily my folks either didn’t notice or figured I’d grow out of it. Only I didn’t. Then for a long time, in my teen years, in college, I just told all the people in my head to shut up. Which they did, more or less.”
“Do you know who these people were?” Ned asked. “Was there something they wanted to communicate to you?”
“I hadn’t a clue, and I didn’t look very hard. They weren’t exactly sending me messages saying ‘a plane will fall from the sky on Thursday’ or ‘the president will be shot.’”
“Could you interact with them? Like a conversation?” Abby asked.
“Not really. I saw them, and I’m pretty sure they saw me, or at least some of them did. But they only talked among themselves, not to me. So it wasn’t interactive, exactly.”
“That sounds like Abby’s experience. Was it always the same scene, the same place? The same people together?” Ned demanded. Abby sent him a warning glance, trying to signal to him to back off. Too much, too soon.
“I wasn’t keeping notes. I’ve led a pretty quiet life. The farthest I’ve ever traveled has been to Boston, or maybe a summer in Maine. I’ve never married. I work long hours, mainly because I don’t have a husband or kids waiting for me at home. And before you ask, the communications I have with my patients are mostly nonverbal, even if they’re in my head. More visual, emotional.” Christine checked her watch. “Look, guys, I think I understand what you want, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I need to think about it. I’m glad to know that there are more of . . . well, us, I guess, but that doesn’t mean I want to get together and hang out a lot. I don’t sense that you two are part of any cult or spiritualist group, right?” When both Abby and Ned shook their heads, Christine went on, “So right now this is for your own knowledge, to satisfy your own curiosity. If you find something tangible, what are you going to do about it?”
“Uh, we hadn’t really thought about that,” Abby said, after glancing at Ned again. “If what you’re saying is true, there might be some medical application. We’re not in this for money. We don’t want to create any kind of business organization, and we’re not do-gooders, looking for other seekers to ease their pain. The bottom line is, we don’t have a plan. We probably won’t, until we figure out exactly what this thing is, so that’s our first priority. Can you understand that?”
“I think so,” Christine said neutrally.
“Christine, we’re not looking to pressure you,” Ned said. “If you want to take part, we’d welcome you. If you don’t, we won’t bother you anymore.”
“Thank you,” Christine told them both. “I appreciate that.” Then she went still, her gaze distant. Abby and Ned exchanged a look but kept silent.
After a couple of minutes Christine shook her head. “That was odd. What I heard was, Samuel wants to tell Rebecca that he’s sorry. Does that make sense to either of you?”
Abby felt tears starting, and had to swallow before she could speak. “Samuel Ellinwood was my great-grandfather. He left his wife and daughter when he lost his job in the Depression and his second child died—he just couldn’t deal with it all. My great-grandmother never spoke of him again. Rebecca is my mother, his granddaughter. His daughter Patience died several years ago.”
“I see.” Christine was silent for a few moments, then stood up abruptly. “I’ll call you later in the week, once I’ve had time to think. But I’m glad we had a chance to talk. It’s been a pleasure meeting both of you. You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake hands again?”
“Of course,” Ned told her. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
While they were gone, Abby collected her scattered wits. When Ned returned and eyed her quizzically, she said, “She’s for real, isn’t she? No way she could have known all that, except from Samuel.” She looked around the room, where shadows were gathering in the corners, then whispered, “Samuel? I’ll pass the message on to Rebecca.”
Chapter 12
For no clear reason, Abby woke up cranky the next morning. Monday: bleah. She hadn’t slept well. Was she really troubled about having a spirit—heck, an unknown number of spirits!—lurking in her home? Watching her? Why had Samuel spoken to Christine and not straight to her? Well, maybe she could answer that one: because she hadn’t had an interactive conversation with a spirit. Or, no, with a long-dead spirit. The very nice woman who’d helped her at the historical society had passed on before Abby met her, although Abby hadn’t known it at the time and wouldn’t have guessed it when she was speaking to her, but she was kind of in transition, with one ghostly foot in the here and now and the other one in some other realm. Figuratively, anyway—Abby was pretty sure she’d seen two feet on the woman, neither of which was actually there.
Abby knew that when he was young, Ned had played—interactively—with a boy named Johnnie, who had once lived in his house and died a sad death; Ellie had played—also interactively—with Hannah in the cemetery. Of course, they had all been children, living or spirits. On the other hand, the adult Samuel Ellinwood had died in Montana a long time before Abby had been born. Was he unable to bridge that gap? Could Abby cultivate the power to talk with him and others? And did she really want to?
Ned was whistling happily while he dressed. Sure, why not? To him Christine had just been a potential research subject, and Samuel he didn’t know and had no personal link with. But to Abby, Samuel was a person, and part of her family. He wasn’t someone to be poked and prodded—or zapped and recorded. Shoot—how had Samuel even known about her mother, Rebecca? She’d been born the year after he died, and as far as the family knew, he’d had no contact for over twenty years at that time. Had he been watching over his daughter all along? That would have been hard in the pre-Internet days. Or maybe he had reached out, and his wife, Ruth, had been so angry that she had refused to have anything to do with him. She’d even taken back her maiden name, and given it to her daughter Patience as well, as if to erase Samuel from their lives.
But clearly Samuel, in whatever non-corporeal state he was in, would have a heck of a time communicating his message directly to Rebecca, who had never shown the slightest interest in her ancestors, whether or not they appeared to her.
Ned sat down on the bed, which bounced under his weight. Apparently he believed it was time for Abby to get out of bed. “Why are you so cheerful?” Abby grumbled.
“Why are you not?” he responded. “We learned several important things yesterday—thanks to you, I might add. Are you going to talk to Sarah about this?”
“Yeah, I guess. What do you think was so important?”
“Well, we confirmed that the spirits can communicate through a non-relative.”
“How do you know Christine isn’t a relative?” Abby shot back. “We don’t have her family tree.”
“All right, I’ll put that on the back burner for now. But we learned that your great-great-grandfather is watching.”
“And that’s a good thing? Having all those spirits peering at us all the time, everywhere? I think it’s kind of creepy.”
“Abby, they’re dead.”
Abby sat up in bed and said indignantly, “But they’re not dead, not if they’re watching now, and trying to talk to us about current events. What’s your definition of ‘dead’?” Abby made a
ir quotes.
Ned’s smile faded. “Abby, can we talk about this later? I’ve got to get to work.”
“I thought you were cutting back your hours?” My, Abigail, you’re certainly being bitchy this morning.
“I plan to, but I’ve got things to finish up, and our own research hasn’t really taken off yet. I will, I promise. What were you planning to do today?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought past yesterday.”
“You were expecting some sort of enormous revelation from Christine?”
“Well, no. And I didn’t expect her to walk in and declare she was a fraud, either. But I guess I hoped she’d open up some clear avenue forward. But she did contribute something important. The problem is, every time I meet someone or talk to someone or read something new, the whole picture just gets murkier.”
“Abby . . .” Ned began helplessly. “I’m sorry—I know it must be frustrating for you, and I know there’s a lot you want to understand. Maybe you need to do more research?”
“No!” she said, more loudly than she intended. “I’m getting sick of research. Like I said, every fact or theory I add just makes things more complicated. Look, I never assumed I was alone in this, or that I was unique. If I hadn’t happened to stumble into it with you, I don’t know what I would have done. Probably shut down and pretended it had never happened, made it all go away. Gone to a psychiatrist or looked for medications to turn off the visions and the voices. But the way it happened, I couldn’t. It wasn’t an option.”
“And I respect you for that. You’re facing this head-on.”
“Because I want to understand. It’s just that it’s kind of overwhelming, all at once, and I can’t figure out what thread to grab on to.”
“There’s no timetable, Abby,” Ned said. Abby had to stifle an urge to swat him for being so calm and reasonable while she was acting like a spoiled child. He went on, “And my research into the biology and genetics of this thing is not dependent on yours, even if they’re related.”
Abby sat up abruptly and tossed off the covers. “But I want some answers, don’t you see? Maybe I’m being unrealistic, but I want to get a handle on this and move on with my life.”
“Doing what?” Ned asked softly.
Abby stared at him. She knew that it was unlikely that she’d be going back to museum work. She’d liked teaching, and dealing with younger children. Maybe there was an opportunity there? But if she wanted to do that, with or without using her special abilities, she’d probably have to go back to school, maybe get a master’s degree. In Special Education? Could she help children who had problems like autism? Were there other conditions that she might be able to work through with kids? The only thing she was sure of was that she wasn’t about to become a medium and give readings to needy strangers waving five-dollar bills. She didn’t mean to belittle Christine and those mediums who truly had a gift, but she didn’t see that as a career path for herself.
“Abby?” Ned prompted.
Abby shook her head. “Sorry. It’s just that I never looked past the research part. I’ve been avoiding thinking about what I want to do—what I can do—with the rest of my life, and it scares me.”
“You’ll spend it with me,” Ned said quietly.
Oh. She realized that she had kind of left him out of the equation. But then, they hadn’t really discussed their future together. She’d moved in only when the house-sit she’d been enjoying had ended when the owners returned for the summer. Ned had said it made sense to move in with him, since he had the house and it needed work, and she had the time to do the work. But that didn’t exactly amount to a proposal. Was that where they were headed? Was that what she wanted? And was he waiting for an answer for a question he hadn’t asked?
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just in a lousy mood, and this is not the time to be discussing all this stuff. I don’t want to bite your head off.”
Did she sense some disappointment from him? But all he said was, “I understand, Abby. I can’t say I have a plan either. I can map out experiments. I can sit down with Kevin and get his take on what kind of testing he can do. We’re lucky we have the financial means to indulge in this kind of exploration—we don’t have to make money, or publish, or please anyone but ourselves. This is for us, and that means you and me, Abby. If it proves to be useful to other people, that’s just icing on the cake.”
Abby reached out to him, and he pulled her close. Thank goodness they were wearing clothes, or the conversation would have been entirely derailed. As it was, she could feel their physical connection simmering just below the surface. “I’m glad we’re in it together, Ned. It’s just that there are things I have to work out. But I won’t shut you out.”
He smiled down at her. “As if you could?”
She returned his smile, if reluctantly. “Well, there is that.” She pulled away. “All right, I’m up. You go to work and do whatever you do—by the way, I still want a tour of your lab—and I’ll . . . talk to my mother, I guess. Although I have no idea how I can explain that her deceased grandfather has sent her a message.”
“You’ll figure it out. Give your mother a chance. Maybe she shares your ability but she’s buried it deep.”
“Maybe,” Abby said dubiously.
As Ned went down the stairs, Abby lay back and considered how to approach her mother. She loved Rebecca, and even respected her—her mother was a happy, no-nonsense person, with a solid marriage, a circle of friends in her community, and plenty of activities, at home and outside it, to keep her busy. Abby knew that Rebecca worried about her settling down. She wasn’t exactly pushing for Abby to get married and produce some grandkids, but Abby knew it was in the back of her mind—and she’d really liked The Jerk Brad, who’d gotten her hopes up—even while she’d scored points with Abby for not nagging about it.
Rebecca had come from a small family, since her mother had been an only child, so there was no way to tell what genetic kink she might have shared with siblings or her parents. Abby had never known her great-grandmother, although given Ruth’s enduring anger toward Samuel after he had abandoned her, and her determination to survive, she must have been a strong and formidable woman. The kind who terrified small children. Abby had known her grandmother only slightly better. Patience Pendleton had been a rather distant figure in Abby’s life—they’d only met at holidays and the occasional vacation. She had vague memories of her grandfather Richard, who had been pleasant enough but was clearly under his wife’s thumb. He’d taken her out into the yard now and then to toss a baseball around, but Abby had never been much of an athlete. And he’d always had peppermints in his pocket—that she was sure she remembered.
Why was there so much emotional distance among them all? Had there been some kind of rift between Rebecca and Patience? No one had ever mentioned it. But keeping secrets had apparently been a way of life among the Pendletons. In any case, Rebecca had emerged as a sensible woman who didn’t dwell on the past. She’d been a good wife and a good mother. So what do I want from her now? Abby wondered. It didn’t seem quite fair to dump this psychic business in the middle of her perfectly nice life.
Should she talk to Sarah about it? Or was that ducking the issue? She and Sarah needed to compare notes about their experiences at the fair in greater detail, but that wasn’t urgent. But Sarah would probably want to know about her conversation with Christine, wouldn’t she? So, Abby should call her mother first and set up a time to get together for more than a fast lunch. Then call Sarah. Should she offer to drive up to Maine, where her parents lived? Or should she invite Rebecca down to the very unfinished house? Not that she had a decent bed to offer her, but Rebecca lived only a couple of hours away, and she could easily drive down for lunch. At least that way Rebecca could get to know Ned better. Would her father, Marvin, want to come? Would he be hurt if she told him gently that this was a ladies-only kind of thing?
Abigail, stop waffling! What was she worried about? She loved her mother, her
mother loved her. Rebecca was easy to get along with. And what was the worst case? Either her mother would pat her on the head and say something like, “Why, that sounds so interesting, dear,” and them promptly forget it, or her mother would be shocked, horrified, scared, and any number of adjectives Abby didn’t want to think about—and promptly sweep it under the rug. Was it fair to do this to her? In the name of, what, science? But somehow it had become a major part of Abby’s life and of her choices for the future, and her mother should know that, even if she didn’t believe it applied to her. Which maybe it didn’t.
Before she could lose her nerve, Abby picked up the landline phone they kept in the bedroom and hit her mother’s speed dial number. Rebecca answered on the second ring. “Abigail! How lovely to hear from you. I was just thinking about you.”
No, Abby, do not assume that was a psychic connection.
Rebecca was still talking. “We had such a lovely time last month at the Cape. Thank you so much for including us.”
“I’m glad you could make it, Mom. Look, I was wondering if you’d like to come down here for a visit, for a day or two?”
Abby could almost hear Rebecca’s mother-senses snap to attention. “Is anything wrong, dear? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. It’s just that there’s something I need to talk to you about, and it would be easier face-to-face.” Once she’d said the words, Abby realized how many negative ways that could be interpreted. “And before you ask, no, I don’t have a deathly disease, and no, we’re not planning any, uh, special events in the near future. But it involves you, and your mother, and her mother . . . and it’s complicated. Can you come?”
“I don’t suppose Marvin would enjoy this?” her mother asked.
Perceptive of her. “I doubt it. But don’t let him worry. You can come down for a night, or maybe two. Whatever works for you.”
“Everything’s still all right with Ned?” her mother asked anxiously.
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