“Is that why you wanted to see me?”
“I’m worried about Sophronia but I’m also worried about all the marchers,” she said. “I fear there is the likelihood of real danger for all those involved.”
“I think you have every reason to worry. People can become violent when they feel threatened,” Yancey said.
“You think men feel threatened by a group of innocently marching women?” Miss Proulx asked.
“I would hardly describe Sophronia and her supporters as innocent.” Yancey looked directly into her eyes and was surprised to see a look of guilt rather than fear. It was gone as quickly as it appeared. “At least not if the term implies naïveté. I think you should be prepared for more aggressive behavior than that exhibited at the rally.”
“You think it could get as out of hand as that?”
“I do. I am concerned for Lucy and you and all of the other women involved. I spoke with Chief Hurley this morning to ask for extra officers to be assigned to patrol the march,” Yancey said. “Not only did he flatly refuse, he said he had no intention of protecting any of you should the crowds turn ugly.”
“So we shall have to fend for ourselves?” Miss Proulx’s posture straightened even more. There was something about that girl that seemed to rise to a challenge. This time, Yancey worried the challenge might be too much for any of the people involved, himself included.
“I’ll be there along with Frank and Officer Lewis.” Yancey thought it best not to mention the chief planned to attend.
“Is that all?”
“There may be one or two others I haven’t heard about,” he said. “I wish you would assure me neither you nor Lucy will take any unnecessary risks. I can’t shake the feeling something bad is in the offing.”
“Do you often have a predictive gift, Yancey? I thought you had no truck with the metaphysical.” Yancey was gratified to see the sparkle return to Miss Proulx’s eyes. It was worth being the butt of some good-natured teasing to see her looking more like herself.
“I may not hold with claiming to speak with the dead but I never discount my instincts.”
“Never?”
“Perhaps ‘never’ is an overstatement.” Yancey’s face clouded over. “Never that I have not soon regretted.”
“Your instincts tell you something will happen at the march?”
“They do.”
“Unfortunately, so do mine.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Sophronia approached me as we left the dining room.
“Ruby dear, I feel the need of some air to aid my digestion. Will you take a stroll with me along the beach?” Her eyes were sparkling and I felt quite sure digestion was not behind her request.
“Let me fetch my shawl and I will join you directly,” I said. I did not want to hear whatever it was that Sophronia wished to confide. I dragged my feet all the way to the back hall cloakroom, where a woolen shawl that had belonged to my mother was hanging on a peg. Honoria had kept all of my mother’s clothing and since I had arrived with nothing besides the garments on my back I was grateful that she had done so. The shawl was a lightweight confection of white, cobwebby lace. It was one of the prettiest things I had ever seen.
Mrs. Doyle had been responsible for much of the finery found in my mother’s wardrobe. She had created a veritable fleet of beautiful, if dated, hats complete with tiny flowers and satin and velvet ribbons. She had added beaded stitching to delicate gloves and even edged handkerchiefs with lace. Most miraculous of all were the knitted items. I hardly dared to wear them for fear they would be damaged. Honoria convinced me Mrs. Doyle’s well-hidden feelings would be hurt if I did not adorn myself with all her handiwork and so I had taken to wearing what seemed to me like something fit for a ballroom to wander the beach.
Sophronia stood pacing the veranda when I pushed open the French doors and stepped out into the night air. The breeze off the water made me glad I had taken the time to fetch the shawl. Sophronia tucked her arm through mine and drew me down the steps and onto the sand. We walked along silently until we had passed several other hotels and were out of earshot of any other promenaders.
“I wanted to speak with you about the platform reading tomorrow,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t wish to get in the way of your communing with the spirits but I would be very much obliged if you could be sure to mention one or two things during your reading. Whether a spirit moves you or not.” My sense of disquiet increased and I thought once more of my conversation with Yancey. Still, if there were no way out of my obligation without telling Honoria why I was so eager to avoid the public eye I would have to acquiesce to her request. At least she was offering to trade favors rather than to blackmail me.
“What sort of things did you have in mind?” I asked.
“I have a phrase or two I would like you to slip into the overall reading. I completely trust your discretion as to how best to do so.”
“And what are the phrases you wish a spirit to convey?” I stopped walking and faced her.
“I would be very appreciative if you would mention February the fifteenth.” Sophronia looked me in the face. The bright light of the nearly full moon shone down on us and made it easy to see her persuasive smile. “I also would like you to mention bribery and unfaithful partners. Do you think you can work those into your routine?” I was uneasy. I could certainly incorporate such broad ideas into any reading whatsoever. But despite my lack of confidence concerning the source of the voice or the insights it provided to those who consulted me I was loath to call what I did a routine.
In the time I had been at the Belden my understanding and acceptance of my abilities had grown. When I first arrived I had worried that my readings were based entirely on my ability to read people rather than on any contact with anything truly otherworldly. I was unsure of the source of the voice I heard and more than that, I was frightened to admit to anyone that I heard it.
As my faith in the possibility of the metaphysical grew I came to believe what I did was more than simple chicanery or even finely honed observational skills. When Mrs. Doyle told me my aura was that of a clairaudient I felt a profound sense of relief and of belonging.
I had never considered the possibility that what I was experiencing was a gift to be valued rather than a form of insanity or a grubby knack for trickery. Hearing what I did called a “routine,” as if it were a medicine show performance, felt tawdry and wrong. I felt an overwhelming desire to vigorously defend myself against Sophronia’s assumptions.
“Hold your tongue.”
Despite my conviction the voice was mistaken to counsel me to essentially admit to wrongdoing by not contradicting Sophronia, I did as the voice instructed. But I didn’t have to like it.
“You wish me to mention all three of those topics at the march tomorrow?” I asked, working to keep my voice neutral.
“Yes, if you can manage it.” Sophronia squeezed my arm. “But what am I saying? A talented young woman such as yourself will accomplish this request with remarkable ease.”
Without another word we turned back toward the Belden, reaching the veranda once more in only a few moments. Despite the warmth of the shawl and the mildness of the evening I felt chilled to the bone. Sophronia bid me a good night’s sleep and left me alone with my thoughts as I looked out over the dark waters of Saco Bay.
• • •
I stood on the veranda until the damp night air had soaked through my shawl and onto my skin. Even then I was not eager to step away from the soothing sound and smell of the sea. Ever since arriving in Old Orchard I’d been startled to find a comfort in the proximity of the ocean. I had never seen it before I had come to the Belden but now that I had it was as though an ache I never knew I experienced had eased.
Finally the cool damp was too much for me and the body demanded more than the spirit. I headed for the kitchen with the anticip
ation there would at least be residual heat from the cookstove to warm myself a bit before I made my way up to bed. I was in no hurry, being certain I would find it difficult to fall asleep after my encounter with Sophronia. I wandered listlessly down the back hallway and into the kitchen.
Mrs. Doyle sat in an old maple rocker in the corner as if waiting for me to arrive. She looked up from a sock she had stretched over a darning egg. A large hole marred the toe and she was busy pulling a fine, threaded needle through the gap. She waved me toward her and gave me her customary squint.
“You look all off-kilter, child. Is that woman still bothering you?” She laid the wooden darning egg in her lap and gave me her complete attention.
“I wasn’t entirely honest with you before. I didn’t lie but I didn’t tell you the whole truth about what was said when Sophronia asked me to serve as a platform reader.”
“I told myself at the time you held something back. Your aura wasn’t really muddy but it was very faint.” I knew there was no way to withhold information from Mrs. Doyle entirely. It was simply bound to come out no matter how well I thought I parsed the truth. “What is the trouble, girl?”
“It wasn’t just that I had no desire to make a spectacle of myself upon the stage once more. It was also that Sophronia confided to me that she is not the medium she purports to be.”
“Is that what’s bothering you, child?” Mrs. Doyle waved her hand as if such a confession was of little consequence. After all, Sophronia wasn’t plying her trade at the Belden and the reputation and success of the hotel was most often all that mattered to Mrs. Doyle.
“No, it wasn’t that. She told me that she knew me to be a fraud and that she wanted me to use my performance skills to convince the crowds at the rally of the righteousness of the suffrage cause.” Mrs. Doyle’s lips thinned as she clamped them together. I decided to risk telling her a bit more. “Tonight she asked me to include three specific things in my readings tomorrow. She implied it would be worth our while for me to be sure to do so.”
“She did, did she?” Mrs. Doyle set her mending aside in a basket on the floor next to the rocking chair and drew herself to her full height. “What did you say to that?” Mrs. Doyle crossed her thick arms over her pillowy chest and stared up at the tin ceiling like the answer to my dilemma was written in a code made of pressed leaves and ornate stars.
“I agreed to do as she asked.” When Mrs. Doyle squinted at me once more I felt I needed an excuse. “The voice told me to fall in with her plans.”
“Voice or no voice the Hotel Belden does not need favors from the likes of her.” Mrs. Doyle untied her apron and hung it on a peg near the door. “I want you not to worry about this anymore. Mark my words, Miss Foster Eldridge is going to regret placing you and the Belden in such a position.”
Whatever Mrs. Doyle was planning, I was quite sure I didn’t want to know the details. It occurred to me, and not for the first time, that of all the people I had ever met, Mrs. Doyle was the one I would least want to have as an enemy.
Chapter Twenty-two
The marchers lined up for the length of three blocks down Grand Avenue. I had been prepared for a great number of participants but must confess that I had no real idea what more than five hundred women in a group would look like. A lump swelled in my throat as I looked at the Velmont sisters in the group in front of me, staring straight ahead and ignoring the jeers and cheers of the spectators.
The crowds that had gathered to watch were almost entirely composed of men. Nothing could have prepared any of us for what such a circumstance would feel like. As the drummers at the front of the line started tapping out a beat, and the marchers moved slowly forward, the noise from the bystanders increased in volume and hostility.
A few rows ahead of me Sophronia stood at the front of the line, holding a brightly colored standard that fluttered in the stiff sea breeze. With a clammy hand, I clutched the edge of the banner Orazelia had created and hoped I looked more confident than I felt. Even the stage at the medicine show had felt less intimidating.
Yancey had been right to be concerned about the threat of a mob. The language spilling from the mouths of well-dressed men I recognized as prominent local business owners would have put the medicine show roustabouts to shame. I felt rather than saw Lucy move closer to me as the line pressed ahead.
Dewitt Fredericks marched directly behind them. I imagined he was taking note of the sights, sounds, and smells for his book. As we drew closer and closer to the pier the crowds grew larger and spilled from the sidewalk. Men pressed in closer than polite society would ever allow and some even reached out their hands and snatched at the women’s sleeves and the backs of their gowns. I wished I had thought to bring along my trusty parasol as protection. I looked right and left and behind but could not see Yancey or any police officers in sight.
We picked up speed as the jeers grew louder. I thought fleetingly of a pack of dogs and how the worst thing one could do was to break into a run and activate their instinct to chase. A woman bumped into me from behind and I stumbled. If I had been wearing a full-length gown I would have tripped and likely started a chain reaction. As it was, the cycling costume saved me from a fall.
Elva looked back at me and gave me a reassuring nod. I kept my eyes on Elva and Dovie. As the crowds grew increasingly rowdy I regretted telling the Velmonts their mother supported their plan to march. If anything happened to them I would not forgive myself.
Old Orchard Street hoved into view and the pier rose up on the right. Sophronia had arranged for a makeshift podium to be placed at the foot of the pier, and she intended to deliver her speech from there. It was also the place I was to use for the platform reading. The lectern looked like it had been borrowed from a local church. It sat upon a riser swathed with a deep blue fabric hiding the underpinnings. I was reminded of the many stages I had worked with my father in the medicine show over the years and I was reminded once more of the similarities between Sophronia’s ability to attract an enthusiastic audience and Father’s.
Even a seasoned showman like Father would have been impressed by the numbers Sophronia drew. The crowds at the junction of Old Orchard and Grand Avenue were larger than any I had ever seen. They were so large, in fact, I felt a moment of panic that we would be crushed to death. Even with the breeze blowing about I suddenly was overwhelmed by the feeling there might not be enough air to breathe.
I looked over at Lucy but she had eyes only for Sophronia, who had come to a halt. Before the rest of the line was stopped she was energetically mounting the steps to the podium. I made my way through the crowd to the edge of the platform and she beckoned for me to join her onstage. As I forced myself to mount the first step I heard the voice.
“Stop. Look around. Remember what you see.” The voice came clearly into my ear despite the deafening noise of the crowd and the background sound of waves crashing upon the nearby shore.
I swept my gaze all around the square. Standing near to the podium up on a raised platform of his own was George’s brother, Osmond. Immediately to his left was Yancey’s boss, Chief Hurley. They stood watching Sophronia and leaning toward each other to exchange words. All at once, Henry, a young boy who drove a Peanutine cart on the beach, darted up to the chief. He yanked his cap off his head as he approached the older man. The chief bent down and seemed to be speaking to him. I couldn’t be certain but I thought the chief handed him something. Henry nodded and ran off.
I strained to keep an eye on him as he approached a group of boys about his same age. After a moment the group disbanded and the boys scattered to the four winds. Something in their looks of excitement left me feeling uneasier than anything else I had witnessed during the march.
“Friends, I want to thank you for coming out today to support the cause of women’s suffrage. It is with great pleasure I look out over such a robust army of women. I also feel overwhelming gratitude for the courageous support of
the men in this community.” Sophronia turned on a smile that would have outshone one of my father’s and raised both her hands, spreading them out toward the crowd. The jeers increased in volume and it occurred to me that she was deliberately agitating her detractors.
From the sidelines photographers and men with notebooks chronicled the day’s events. I felt more certain than ever from the gleam in her eyes that the safety of the marchers was of little consequence compared to the value of the press coverage for the cause.
“It is also clear that those who would deny us the same rights they enjoy are here in force as well.” Sophronia paused and turned her gaze toward Chief Hurley and Osmond. I felt certain something unexpected was about to unfold. “My spirit guides assure me their time of unchecked and corrupt power is almost at an end.” She turned to me and motioned with her hand that the time had come to join her in the center of the stage.
At Sophronia’s words cheers went up from the marchers. A roar emanated from the crowd assembled around the edges. Flashes from the photographers’ cameras went off in every direction. I looked out, hoping for some sort of sign all would be well. Mrs. Doyle appeared at the edge of the stage and instead of scowling at me like always she just stood there staring intently at Sophronia. Mrs. Doyle had promised she would get me out of the platform reading obligation. Unless she had a very last-minute plan it seemed as though it was a promise she would not be keeping. My throat became drier and the flutters in my stomach more insistent when I spotted Honoria standing near the Velmont sisters, all three wedged into the center of the marchers. I felt a squeeze in my heart as I considered all I had to lose if the newspaper coverage connected me with Johnny’s death.
I took another step up the stairs that led onto the stage. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something soar through the air coming right toward me. Something hard struck me on my temple. I reached up as I felt a trickle of blood running down my cheek. Before I understood what was happening, all around me rocks and bottles and rotted pieces of fruit began to fly through the air.
Whispers of Warning Page 12