Revealing the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  It seemed only a short time later when she looked up and realized darkness had fallen outside. She heard Ned clomping down the stairs, and then he poked his head in. “What are we planning for dinner?” he asked.

  “I hadn’t thought that far—I got caught up in something here. You feel like cooking, or you want me to do it?”

  “I’ll give it a shot. I’ve been fantasizing about a seafood pizza recipe and I think we have all the ingredients.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I’ll come cheer you on after I wrap up what I’m doing.”

  “You know where to find me.” Ned disappeared into the kitchen and began banging pans around.

  By six o’clock they were sitting at the kitchen table admiring Ned’s efforts. “Did we have puff pastry?” Abby asked.

  “Frozen. I think it got lost in the freezer.”

  “And those are shrimp?”

  “Also from the freezer. I did add some fresh herbs and sliced veggies.”

  “Are we just going to stare at it, or are we going to eat it?”

  “Dig in,” Ned told her.

  Abby grabbed a slice and slid it onto a plate. After giving it a moment to cool, she picked it up and took a good-sized bite. Then another. She shut her eyes and chewed blissfully. After she swallowed, she said, “This is incredible. You are a genius. Did you write down the recipe?”

  “Not yet, but I will if you want it.”

  “I want it! How come you know how to throw something like this together?”

  Ned smiled. “Part of it is science, actually. If you know your ingredients and the flavors you’re looking for, you can create a protocol—you know, what has to go in first, what should be cooked before adding it to the mix, what simply won’t work. Plus, my mother taught me the basics.”

  “Interesting. I’d never thought about applying scientific principles to cooking, but it makes sense. And I’ll be sure to thank your mother when I see her.”

  They’d each finished two sizeable slices when Abby sat back and said, “Can I run something by you?”

  “Is this about the Abby Project?”

  “Yes, kind of. And it’s just preliminary. You know we were talking earlier about creating a school? The more I looked into that, the more overwhelmed I felt. But what about an after-school program, one for what the state labels children with special needs?”

  “Specifically autistic children? Tell me more.”

  Abby outlined what she had learned in a few hours of research. Ned listened attentively, without interrupting. When Abby finished, she said, “What do you think? Is it worth following up?”

  “I see your point about trying to start a school—lots more time and work and expense. But from what you’ve told me, the regulations for after-care are much less restrictive, and your center can be smaller. How would you define the place? And find students?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far. But surely there’s a need? And if I stuck with school-age children, who have already shown they can get along with others reasonably well, I think with an aide or two I could handle maybe ten children? Look, this is all very new to me, but I wanted to get some feedback before I get too invested in it.”

  “I like it, and I would recommend you dig into the research some more. Maybe talk to people who have done things like this—you don’t want to butt heads with any person or group who’s already established. Find out what the competition would be, and if they’re already operating at capacity. And check what full-time schools around here deal with autism, what they offer and what they don’t. Are you going to run this by my mother?”

  “I plan to. Not because she has any specific knowledge or expertise in this area, but because she’s been part of the local community for a long time, and she knows the people and the resources around here.”

  “One last question: how would you handle the psychic component, with the students?”

  Abby looked at him squarely. “Ned, I have no idea—yet. But they’re more than just test subjects, and if I can reach them through whatever this is, maybe I can help. Maybe I won’t find any kids who connect, but even one could make a difference to my understanding of the problems they face.”

  “Fair enough. Let me know what I can do to help.”

  “Don’t worry—I will.”

  Chapter 5

  Monday

  Abby and Sarah had agreed to treat themselves to lunch at the Concord Inn, which pleased Abby because it was right down the street from the cemetery where she’d visited with more than one of her ancestors. Maybe she should pay them a call before she left town—and after she and Sarah had checked out what was new at the bookstore.

  Once they were settled at a quiet table and had ordered their meals, Sarah said, “So you said you had some big idea you wanted me to hear?”

  “Yes, but I have to back up a bit to explain. I’ve been working professionally ever since college, you know, and right now, with no job, I feel kind of useless. I don’t want Ned to support me forever, and I want to do something that matters, whether or not I get paid.”

  “I can understand that,” Sarah said. “So what are you thinking?”

  “Well, two different things. I love the house, but it needs work. No, I don’t plan to renovate the whole place myself, but I’d like Ned and I to agree on what should be done and in what order. Some parts we can handle, but others will take hiring people. I’m trying to keep the plans reasonable in terms of cost and time, but I’d like to know where we’re going and what we can do ourselves if we ever find any free time.”

  “Well, that sounds like a challenge. Ned’s father and I had the same idea when we first moved into our house, but a colonial is much simpler than a Victorian. Although we did have to wrestle with a few issues with plumbing and wiring, which of course were added after the house was built. But I will say that we enjoyed working together. You said there was something else? You didn’t invite me to lunch to talk about plumbing, I assume.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I have the beginnings of an idea. It’s not really fleshed out yet. I’ve been looking at a variety of things, but something that happened last week pushed me in a new direction.” Abby outlined what Ellie had told her about the new boy in school.

  “Wow,” Sarah said. “You think Ellie was right? That she actually made a connection with this boy?”

  “I feel like some character in Star Wars: ‘the power is strong in this young one.’ I haven’t pushed her too hard—Leslie would probably skin me alive if I did—but now that Ellie knows about it and is paying attention, I’d say she’s probably right about Danny. But there are problems.”

  “Like? Oh, wait, I see. You can’t just wander around the school grounds touching children, because you’d probably get arrested. And what would you do if you did find a connection?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to work out. I’ve only just begun the research into what services exist and how they’re offered. Ned and I kicked around the idea of starting a school, but that seems too complicated and too big to handle as a start-up, and I don’t have the qualifications. So I started thinking about after-school programs for children with special needs. Limited time each day, but ongoing. I could get to know the kids, and, yes, touch them now and then. Before you jump all over me, I know there’s a full spectrum of autism, and all cases are not necessarily alike. But it’s a starting point, and a manageable size, and I have relevant experience. Am I making sense?”

  “It’s an interesting idea,” Sarah said slowly. “What does Ned think?”

  “I’ve told him more or less what I’ve just told you. He wouldn’t be directly involved day to day, but he’d subsidize the costs, maybe help out with financial aid. This does need to be a business, run professionally, to be credible and attract parents, and they would expect to pay, I assume. But I’d want it to be affordable to a range of people.”

  “And what do you hope to learn?” Sarah said carefully. “I mean, say you attract a core group of students—I assume you’re looki
ng mainly for school-age children—but you don’t connect with any of them? Or only one or two, in varying degrees? You can’t boot the rest out and find replacements just to suit yourself. And they’re most likely going to be troubled kids, in one way or another. Are you prepared to handle that?”

  “Those are good points, Sarah, but I think I can. I do miss teaching. I left it to please Brad, but I was never happy with what I was doing. I was kind of shifting sideways into dealing with children when I went to work for the museum and the kids’ program there, and I still like it. Starting my own program presents a unique opportunity.”

  Sarah nodded once. “Say you do make a connection with a child or two—what do you tell their parents? They’re probably having a hard time already, dealing with a child with challenges. You can’t just say, oh, by the way, in addition to whatever psychological or behavioral issues your child faces, I think he or she may be psychic too. They’d probably head straight for the door and call the authorities. You’d have to be very careful.”

  “I know, Sarah,” Abby said quickly. “And I know I haven’t done enough research yet. But my main goal is to find a way to reach these children and see if there’s something I can do to help them.”

  “The scientific community would laugh at you or label you a flake.”

  “It’s not like I plan to publish scholarly papers, you know.”

  “How else are you going to get the word out?”

  “I . . . don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far. But I’ve only just started thinking about this. Tell me honestly: is it worth investigating further?”

  Sarah didn’t answer immediately. Finally she said, “If it weren’t for Ellie, I’d say you might be biting off more than you can handle. But this is personal, in a way, and I know you’re sincere. I’d say, learn as much as you can, and tread carefully. Talk to people who teach differently abled children and find out what they’ve observed. Talk to parents of those children, if you can find any, and see what they want and need. If you do go forward, find some sympathetic assistants and tell them what you’re doing, if you trust them. And, by the way, if you start this up, people—parents—will come to depend on you, so you can’t just walk away once you’ve found out what you want. That’s not fair, and it would discredit you.”

  Finally Abby smiled. “I knew I’d come to the right person. You’re raising all the right points, asking the right questions. Some I’ve thought about, but not all. And this is still all new, but at least you’ve pointed me in the right direction. Thank you.”

  Sarah smiled back. “That’s what family is for. Are you going to tell your parents?”

  “Not until I’ve got a real plan,” Abby said quickly. “I love them dearly, but I don’t know if they can handle something like this, even if my mother does seem to share this ability.”

  “Well, I’m flattered that you came to me. Are you up for dessert?”

  “Always.” And by mutual consent they talked of lighter things. “By the way,” Abby said, when their plates were clean, “can you recommend a local plumber? I could start Googling them, but there’s no guarantee they’re telling the truth if they made up the online ads. If you’ve worked with someone, it would help.”

  “Why are you starting with plumbing?”

  “Because I understand it better than wiring, I guess. And I’d like to see how the house works behind the walls, if you know what I mean. You know, what’s attached to what, and where it all goes.”

  Sarah nodded. “We worked with a local company—a small family business, actually—and I think some of those guys are still running the show. I don’t recall the name offhand, but I can call or leave you a message when I get back to the house.”

  “Thanks, Sarah.” Abby paid the check and they made their way to the entrance, where they stood for a moment. “Do you mind if we go visit the family?” Abby asked. “I don’t get to Concord all that often, but I like to touch base with them.”

  “I’m game. You know, they’re my family too. Are you trying to keep them all to yourself?”

  Abby laughed. “No, of course not. But I guess I do feel kind of proprietary, especially since I’ve gotten to know them better over the past year.”

  Sarah’s mouth twitched. “You do know they’re dead, right?”

  “Of course I do. But those of us who visit cemeteries—whether or not we have any family there—are honoring their lives, in a way, not their deaths. I think they appreciate it. Does that sound silly?”

  “Not at all. I’ve always been drawn to cemeteries, even before I knew about our, well, gift. But let’s get moving, because it’s getting colder.”

  Side by side they walked the short blocks to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, and Abby led the way to the Reed family plot. They stood in front of the central stone for a moment, silent. There were no living humans in sight, even though the well-known Authors Ridge was right up the hill.

  “You know,” Sarah said softly, “we probably have plenty of other links right here. Do you ever feel anything more general? I know the Reeds would be the strongest, but maybe the connection varies according to how close the link is. Do you feel anything else here?”

  “I’ve found a couple of collateral members, but it’s always the lineal members who come through most strongly. And before you ask, no, I don’t have conversations with them. I may talk to them, when I’m alone, but I don’t expect anyone to answer.”

  “How different is it for you, seeing the dead from the past versus talking to someone—like me, or Ellie or Ned—who’s alive and standing right in front of you?” Sarah asked.

  “I get more details, and a stronger signal, sort of, from the live ones. One thing I haven’t figured out is whether there’s a single charge when a person dies but it fades over time, or it’s drained just a bit each time someone makes contact—like with the Reed tombstones. I’m afraid to test that because I don’t want to wear out the connection with any one of them.”

  “I can understand that. Would you like to see more scientific research into this whole phenomenon?”

  “Yes and no. You know there are a lot of people who resist new ideas, sometimes to the point of violence. Spiritualists and psychics have been around for a long time, but a lot of them are still regarded as fakes. Maybe I have the best possible situation: Ned can do as much research as there is these days, and he’ll share it with me, but he doesn’t need anyone else’s approval or recognition.”

  “That certainly is handy,” Sarah agreed. She rubbed her arms briskly. “Are you ready for the bookstore yet? Because there are a couple of books I’ve been eager to find, and I feel guilty every time I use Amazon. I’d rather support a real store if I can.”

  “But it’s not always possible,” Abby said regretfully. “Lead on!”

  • • •

  Abby arrived back at the Lexington house before Ned got home, and after she’d left her stack of new books on the dining room table, she prowled around the house, sizing up individual projects on her list. She’d done enough DIY projects to know that something that looked like a simple weekend project could blossom into something much more complicated, once you started stripping off the wallpaper that apparently had been holding the plaster together for the last century. Or you ripped up the 1950s linoleum and found that all the nice wooden boards you were hoping for beneath were riddled with rot and termites. Nothing about home repair was ever simple, it seemed. But the fact that any house had survived more than a century of New England weather was a testimony to its architectural soundness. Besides, she wasn’t afraid of hard work.

  Sarah had left a text message on her cell phone about the plumbers. Should she call now? Wait to talk about hiring these plumbers with Ned? Right now she was looking for something that would keep her hands busy while a portion of her brain chewed over this after-care idea. She knew herself well enough to realize that any idea needed to ferment in her head, or at least in her subconscious, and she needed to give it time. So up front she needed a small pr
oject that didn’t involve anything structural and wouldn’t create too much mess or chaos in the house. As she had told Sarah, she liked the idea of dealing with the plumbing. The Romans had it figured out a couple of thousand years ago, and she was pretty sure she could handle a basic discussion.

  She reviewed her list for plumbing projects. The kitchen was functional, and she hadn’t run into any problems there—yet, she amended. She was rather fond of the big upstairs bath, with its deep tub. It could probably use an overhaul, but like the kitchen, it worked for now. The laundry area outside the kitchen was a newer addition, so she wasn’t worried about that. That left the tiny powder room on the first floor. She pulled open the door and peered in. Obviously the fixtures were not original, but the space was, based on what she could see of the woodwork. What had it been? Still, it fit her criteria: she could call in a plumber and ask his, or her, opinion about it; it was small enough that it could be overhauled relatively quickly; it wouldn’t make too much of a mess; and they could live without it for a few days. The perfect test case.

  She copied the phone number from Sarah’s text, took a deep breath, and made the call. “Maguire Plumbing,” a gravelly male voice answered. Clearly an older man.

  “Hi, this is Abby Kimball in Lexington. I’ve recently moved into a Victorian-era house and I wondered if I could talk with someone about the state of the plumbing and what might need to be updated?”

  “Nothing broken right now?” the man asked.

  “No, it’s all working. I’m just trying to plan ahead.”

  “Tomorrow morning okay with you?”

  “Uh, sure. What time?”

  “Say, ten?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “What’s the address?”

  Abby gave him the details and was surprised when he said, “Nice place. I think my dad said he’d worked on it, years ago. See you in the morning, then.”

  “Fine.”

  When she’d shut off her phone, she wasn’t sure how she felt. It was progress: she’d taken a positive step. She’d gotten a recommendation and she’d acted on it. But the guy seemed kind of gruff, and she hoped he wasn’t going to treat her like a stupid woman. Well, if he did, she’d cross him off her list fast enough and move on to someone else. This was just a start.