by Linda Hughes
Grabbing her sable coat off the back of her chair, she bolted toward the door. None of her friends even noticed her leaving, focused as they were on one particularly soused flapper on the dance floor who had shed her ostrich feather shrug and high-heeled shoes. When she started pulling up her lacy chemise as if to strip it off, the crowd went wild. Encouraging hooting and whistling reverberated off the walls, until a doorman nonchalantly picked up the dame, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her out the back. Boos rang out all over the room.
Meg fled through the entrance door on Wabash Avenue, uncharacteristically rushing past that doorman without bidding him a courteous good night. Fresh night air thankfully filling her lungs the moment she alit outside. She thrust her arms into her coat and wrapped it tightly around her body against the brisk evening air of springtime, and stood there not knowing what she intended to do next. She’d left her gloves inside and didn’t want to have to go back to retrieve them, so she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat. The gloves would undoubtedly be lost forever but it didn’t matter; it wasn’t as if she didn’t have a dozen other pairs.
“Meg, what’s wrong? Why’d you leave, baby? Aren’t you feeling well?” Robert’s voice behind her came as a surprise and Meg jumped.
“Oh! There you are, honey,” she said, turning to face him. “No. I mean, yes, I feel fine.” She looked up into his exquisitely handsome face. Robert, her intended, her love, her future husband, sounded more irritated than concerned. That irritated her. She couldn’t stand the look of reproach in his eyes, their color so vividly green they looked like emeralds shining through seawater. She had to look away, choosing to set her sight instead on the five carat diamond rock on the ring finger of her left hand. She twisted it nervously.
“Well, what the hell? Why are you being such a wet blanket?” he admonished, tossing his cigarette onto the sidewalk and squashing with the toe of his dapper shoe. “Let’s get back inside. This party is the cat’s miaow tonight!” He took her arm and pulled toward the building. “It’s your birthday we’re celebrating, remember?”
“Oh, yes, believe me, I remember. That’s why we need to talk, Robert. The fact that it’s my twenty-first birthday and I’m officially a grown-up now has made me know there’s something I have to do. Really, Robert, let’s go someplace quiet where we can talk. Please.”
“And leave all our friends? Horsefeathers! No, I don’t want to.”
“Okay, go back in. I’ll catch a taxi cab. Come to my house tomorrow so we can talk.”
“Aw, rhatz, Meg. What a bunch of malarkey. You sure know how to spoil a party. Let me go get my coat. You can tell me about this mysterious ‘thing’ that’s so urgent now that you’re such an old lady.” His sheepish grin didn’t quite redeem him, but came close.
Meg smiled. “Thanks, honey. I’ll wait here.”
She watched him evaporate into The 226 Club and realized she hadn’t given this any forethought or planning. What would she say? How could she possibly reveal what she had to say after lying to him for so long?
She didn’t know how; she just knew she had to do it. This had been niggling on her mind for weeks as this birthday approached until it finally felt like it would drive her mad if she didn’t get it out. If Robert was going to be her husband, he had to know about her mother. She loved him too much to let him marry her and then discover the truth. If their marriage couldn’t be based on honesty, there shouldn’t be a wedding.
Meg bit her lower lip. Brave thoughts to be sure, but how could she possibly translate them into words coming out of her mouth?
Robert appeared in his beaver coat, an open bottle of champagne in hand. He tipped his head back for a long draw and offered her some. “Here you go! Best toot juice in town. One more birthday drink!” She shook her head. “Holy hell, Meg, what’s got into you?” he cast over his shoulder as he headed for his burgundy Pierce-Arrow roadster parked half a block down on the street. Meg followed but tagged behind, knowing full well what had got into her.
They drove to her townhouse, a neat flat in the classy Uptown section of the city, just off Lake Shore Drive. She’d inherited the house from her grandparents, her mother’s parents, when they were killed in one of those horrible motorcar accidents a few years ago. They were people she’d never met and knew nothing about. She’d had no idea she would be a beneficiary but the timing turned out to be perfect for her to take up her own residence when she entered finishing school in the city after five years of living at an expensive girls’ boarding school just outside of the city. Of course, he father insisted on house staff, so the three rooms in the servants’ quarters on the third floor were occupied by a butler, a maid, and a cook. Even though the house made her feel independent, her father made certain she was never left alone.
Without a word, Robert drove, speeding his way down Wabash Avenue, going forty-five miles an hour and barely missing a horse and buggy as he passed them. The city now had more horseless carriages than horses and carriages but enough of the latter still existed that motorcar drivers had to be careful. Robert was not being careful, but Meg didn’t admonish him, seeing that driving fast always made him happy. When he turned to follow the Chicago River to Lake Shore Drive she focused on the pretty view of the new electric city lights reflecting off the river and then when they turned the corner the gas lamps on boats reflecting off Lake Michigan. She loved this city and wondered if, after tonight, it would become her permanent home or if she’d feel the need to escape.
When they reached her townhouse and parked, Robert hopped over his door and ran to her side of the car, flamboyantly opening the door for her and extending his hand. “Beautiful miss, may I help you out?” His antics made evident his call for a truce. He’d accepted her wish to talk.
Meg took his hand and didn’t let go until ringing the doorbell. Frederick, her butler, took so long to answer she’d begun searching her coat pocket for her key.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Sullivan,” Frederick said as he opened the door. Meg had never seen the tall, thin, fossil of a man in anything but a black suit, causing her to wonder if he slept in the thing. He looked a bit like a fossil, but a calming one. She knew from the other servants he was a retired Chicago police officer, hired by her father to keep her safe more than to provide buterlery services. Even the big family home in Michigan didn’t have a butler. Meg prided herself in never giving old Frederick a thing to worry about. She went to speakeasies until the wee hours of the morning but never overdrank like most of her friends, including Robert. She believed in chastity until marriage, so Robert had never been invited to spend the night. Sexual freedom might be normal now for people her age but it wasn’t for her. Meg felt certain her butler’s clandestine reports back to her father were as boring as beans. Still, her father’s prying into her life aside, having an old police officer in her home made her feel safe and secure, and she was glad to have him. “You’re home earlier than usual,” Frederick said, “so I was up in my room. This being your birthday, we expected you to be out late.”
She and Robert had entered, and Meg said, “That’s okay, Frederick,” as the man took their coats.
Robert addressed the butler, as well, explaining, “We came home early because Meg wants to ‘talk.’” He rolled his eyes. The butler, probably out of habit due to his many years in law enforcement, did not respond.
“Frederick,” Meg said. “Would you please have Anna bring tea to the parlor?”
“I don’t want tea!” Robert insisted. “I’ve got this.” He held up the champagne bottle.
“Well, I want tea,” Meg said.
“Yes, Miss Sullivan, of course,” Frederick said and disappeared.
Once in the parlor, Robert sat on the flowered chintz loveseat and patted the spot beside him. “Come on over here, my love, and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Meg went up and took the bottle out of his hand, setting it on a side table. She sat down and faced her fiancé.
“Oh, my, this is serio
us, I see,” Robert said, crossing his legs and stacking his hands on his top knee. “Okay, I know what it is. You want to set a wedding date. You’re unhappy we’ve been engaged for a year and haven’t done that yet. Well, my love, I have a surprise for you. I was going to do that tonight, anyway. I’m ready whenever you are. So there.” He grinned broadly, picked up her hand, and kissed it.
He could be a gallant charmer when he felt like it, a regular Rudolf Valentino, Meg thought. This promised to be more difficult than she’d expected. She cleared her throat.
“No, honey, that’s not it. Although that’s great! I want to set a date. But first I have to tell you about my mother.”
The maid came in and placed a tea tray on the table in front of the loveseat.
“Thank you, Anna,” Meg said as the stocky young woman left the room.
“I already know all about your mother. She’s in a hospital for consumption. She’ll probably never get out. I’m sorry for her, Meg, but that shouldn’t stop us from getting married.”
Meg poured a cup of tea for herself. Robert waved her off when she offered him a cup, opting to lean back and light a cigarette.
“No, Robert.” She took a strong sip of tea for courage. “That’s a lie. I should have told you a long time ago, but when we first met two years ago I didn’t know we would ever be serious about each other, so a little lie of omission didn’t seem to hurt anything. I didn’t want to have to explain where my mother is really at. And then the time never seemed right. But you need to know the truth.”
“Oh, god, is she living in sin with a sailor or something?” He puffed and grinned.
With a shaky hand, Meg put down her teacup and looked squarely at her husband-to-be, knowing this would determine if he truly loved her. “No, Robert, my mother has been in the Northern Michigan Asylum for the Insane for fifteen years.”
“What? No, that can’t be right. You don’t mean ‘the’ asylum do you?”
She knew she didn’t need to explain about the asylum; he knew good and well what it was. He’d even teased her when they first met about such an infamous place being in her hometown. He was especially aware of it because of the popularity of its Kirkbride architecture and being in the architecture business himself, the lavish Victorian style was well known in his field for having been used for asylums and hospitals around the country.
“Yes,” Meg said, “my mother is mad. She’ll never get out, from what I understand. My father had her committed when I was six years old and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Meg, you can’t be serious. I know your father. He’s an upstanding citizen and a very successful businessman. He wouldn’t be married to someone who isn’t playing with a full deck, for crying out loud. You must be mistaken. You haven’t seen her in years; you don’t really know. She must be in a hospital for consumption, tuberculosis. That has to be it.”
“No, my father insists she’s mad. But I’ve been wondering lately if that’s true or if he just had her put away because she was too much of a free spirit for him, maybe even an embarrassment. Some men do that, you know.”
“Yes, but either way! Hell, Meg, I can’t marry a woman with a mother who is probably insane! In an asylum! What would people say? My family owns one of the biggest architecture firms in the city. It’ll all be mine one day. I can’t have a wife who could inherit insanity! My god, what if our children end up insane, too? No, this can’t be right. You must be wrong. She must be in a hospital for consumption.”
Robert had stood and paced faster and faster the more riled up he became, swiping his cigarette through the air. He stopped and looked at her, the ash from his cigarette falling to the plush Persian carpet below. Meg didn’t move or say a word. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh, my god. It’s true, isn’t it?” Robert whispered, so discombobulated he forgot he held the cigarette and raked the fingertips of that hand through his hair. Dead ash fell onto his head.
“My father says it is.” The tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“I, well, I see then,” he stammered. “That changes things, doesn’t it?” He confronted her, hands on hips.
“I suppose it does.” She stood up and walked over to him, taking the diamond ring off her finger. Never so disappointed in anyone in her life, she said, “Here,” and held the rock out to him.
“Oh, no, I’m never going to let anybody say I’m a cheapskate,” he said, swishing his cigarette around as if to ward off the evidence that he’d ever been connected to this woman. “That’s yours, Meg, even though our engagement has to be called off and we can’t get married. You do understand, don’t you?”
“Of course, I understand,” she rasped, although she didn’t. All she knew was that Robert didn’t really love her. If he did, her mother’s state of mind wouldn’t matter to him, or at the very least he would have helped her find out the truth of the matter before calling it quits.
So that was that.
Robert, now her unintended, flew out the front door as if he walked barefoot on hot coals.
Meg stood in the middle of her fancy parlor, sobbing as she heard his fancy roadster rev up and speed away.
3
TRAVERSE CITY, MICHIGAN, 1921
Home.
The girl was coming home.
Abequa Crane, “All-Seeing Abby,” the local Chippewa Indian fortune teller, had no other messages coming through tonight as that one clamored through so strongly, shoving any others aside. Margaret Ann Sullivan, “Meg,” would be returning home soon. Perhaps within the week.
Abby figured there could only be one of two reasons for this message from her ancestor spirit guides to pound out so fervently, like the beating of powwow drums. Its vibrational energy permeated the thin veil between this plane and the next with a bang rather than the usual tap-tap.
The first reason was that Meg coming back to her hometown foretold a momentous event that would change the young woman’s life and the lives of those around her forever. Perhaps even change the town of Traverse City itself forever.
The second reason, or perhaps an additional one, sat before her. Truth was, the girl sitting in front of her was so insipid and namby-pamby the spirits most likely were as bored with her as was Abby. The seer tried to focus her attention on the wan, skinny, young woman. Nope, nothing came through from the spirit guides. They were either so much more interested in the Meg message they didn’t care about this unfortunate girl’s future or the Meg message proved too strong for any other missive to slip by. In either case, the situation called for a measure this clairvoyant had seldom had to resort to in over twenty years of offering readings. She was going to have to act her way out of this one.
She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and straightened her spine as she sat in her chair. She once read about that in a Photoplay Magazine she found blowing down the street, most likely left behind by a tourist in a silly bathing costume lolling around on one of the area’s many white-sand beaches. Whether driving in their motorcars or taking the train up north to this part of Michigan from Detroit and Chicago, Abby would consider the intruders to be a nuisance except for the fact they reveled in partaking of what they saw as the occult, something they might not do unless on vacation. And that fattened the pot for All-Seeing Abby. The magazine that had probably been cast aside by one of the tourists had an article describing how entertainers prepared to go on stage for the Ziegfeld Follies on Broadway by standing tall and breathing deeply, all the way to their diaphragms. This might not be New York City but this performance promised to be just as challenging as far as Abby was concerned.
Norma… Was that the girl’s name? Oh lordy, she was so dull Abby couldn’t even remember. Obviously a vacationer from a wealthy city family, she wore a yellow suit with matching mid-calf skirt and knee-length cape. Brown fabric with a zig-zag pattern edged the cape and made up the belt at her waist. A white shirtwaist blouse and silky brown scarf tied in a bow at her neck added to the ensemble, and a brown short-brimmed felt hat topped
it off, leaving only an inch or two of blond, tightly waved hair escaping into view. Abby thought it a ridiculous outfit for springtime. Well, for any time.
“All-Seeing Abby!” the girl exclaimed, embarrassingly breathless with anticipation. “You’re so quiet. What do you see?”
Ah, Abby remembered her name just in time. “Nola, my child, I see….” She paused, needing to amend her thoughts quickly. “A tedious and mundane life” would never do. Better to out-and-out lie. “I see a happy life….” She paused again for effect, placing her hands over the crystal ball sitting in the center of the small table between them as she pretended to be glaring into the mysterious glass orb.
In truth, she didn’t need a silly ball to receive messages from beyond. It could be a purple beet from her garden sitting there, for all that mattered. But Abby had learned years ago that her visitors were more likely to return if the scene fit their narrow conceptions of transcendence. Thus, they sat in her one-room log cabin, lit only by candles and a fire in the large fieldstone fireplace, with a filmy curtain mysteriously obscuring none other than her simple bed.
“I see a tall, dark, handsome man,” Abby lied. Although, she assuaged her conscience by telling herself she had no idea what might ever happen to this painfully plain girl but anything was possible. Well, probably not, she admitted, but miracles did happen. Didn’t they?
Nola’s frail hand fluttered to her sunken chest. “Oh! All-Seeing Abby, that’s wonderful! Will this tall, dark, handsome man fall in love with me?”
“Of course.” Lying became easier as Abby hankered to get this person out of her cabin. Besides, it suddenly struck Abby that with the girl’s apparent family fortune, there was no doubt some money-grubbing man would grab up this malleable female as his wife. “And that’s all for this evening. The spirits are fluttering away in happiness for you.”
“Thank you so much!” Nola picked up her handbag and stood. “Here!” She dug into her bag and came up with six one-dollar bills, three times the usual fee. “Here’s extra for giving me such great news!” Reverently, she slid the bills across the table to place them next to what she considered to be the magical crystal ball.