Read Online Sewed Up Tight (A Quilters Club Mystery No. 5) (Quilters Club Mysteries) by Marjory Sorrell Rockwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marjory Sorrell Rockwell
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was a God-given gift.
“Yes, mediums are trained professionals. While we’re blessed with an innate psychic ability, we must learn how to channel it. We do not come to spiritualism by epiphany like Saul on the road to Damascus.”
“Where were you trained?” asked Maddy.
“I studied mediumship at Camp Chesterfield. It’s one of the leading centers of psychic studies as well as being the headquarters of the Indiana Association of Spiritualists.”
That got Cookie’s attention. “Say, I’ve heard of Camp Chesterfield. About a dozen years ago, the Chesterfield Spiritualist Camp District was added to the National Registry of Historic Places. It’s located somewhere down toward Indianapolis.”
“That’s right,” beamed Madam Blatvia. “The camp was founded in 1886 as a Spiritualist Church.”
“Church?” Now Lizzie was confused for sure. “I thought you were just a fortune-teller.”
“No, dearie, it’s a religion, just like the Methodists and Episcopalians. We believe people’s spirits survive death and that with proper training we can communicate with them. And since the spirits exist on a higher plane, they can offer advice and consolation to the living.”
“Oh.” Lizzie was embarrassed, as if she had intruded on the church services of another denomination. “Perhaps we should go.”
“Don’t be daft,” chuckled Madam Blatvia. “You came to get some answers and you shall have them. We’ll hold a brief séance and ask my spirit guide if he can locate Robert Daniels to speak with us.”
“What’s this about a spirit guide?” said Bootsie, still skeptical. “That sounds like mumbo jumbo.”
“Perhaps to you. But we trained mediums find it useful to have someone from the other side assist us, someone who better understands the afterlife.”
“You mean a dead person?” gulped Lizzie.
“A spirit. We use them like the early pioneers used Indian guides to show them the way west.”
“That’s right,” nodded Bootsie. “Lewis and Clark were guided through the Northwest Passage by an Indian woman named Sacagawea.”
“Actually, Sacagawea was not the guide,” corrected Cookie. “But she did play an important role as interpreter.”
“Whatever,” Bootsie waved her words away. “We get the idea.”
“My spirit guide is an old Mexican named Poncho,” explained Madam Blatvia. “Poncho died at the Battle of the Alamo in 1836. He’s been very helpful to me in finding my way among the spirit world.” As she spoke, the medium dialed the lights low and asked everybody to join hands.
“What’s happening?” asked Liz nervously.
“A séance,” whispered Maddy. “Pay attention.”
“ Gulp ,” responded the superstitious redhead.
“O mighty spirits,” intoned the medium, eyes closed, chin raised heavenward, “send my guide Poncho to me. I need his counsel.”
There was a silence. Then came a Knock ! Knock !
“Ah, the spirits have made contact,” murmured Madam Blatvia.
“Where? I don’t see anyone,” exclaimed Bootsie.
“ Shhhh !” said the medium. “You’ll scare them away.”
“Me, scare spirits? I’d think it would be the other way round,” the police chief’s wife muttered.
“ Shhhh !”
Knock ! Knock !
“Yes, O mighty spirits, send Poncho.”
Suddenly a faint light flickered overhead, a filmy shape like a glowing puff of smoke.
“Oooo,” said Lizzie, the fear obvious in her voice.
“Easy,” whispered Maddy. “Just keep calm.”
“Greetings, Poncho, my old friend,” announced the medium. “We need your able assistance. Can I ask you to go among the recently dead and locate one Robert Daniels, better known to his friends as Skookie?”
“ Whooo .” The sound came from high above. The room had a 12-foot ceiling, lost in blackness with the lights dimmed. Was that the puff of smoke making the sound? Or a hidden microphone?
“Thank you, Poncho.”
“ Whooo, whooo .”
“Alas, Poncho says he cannot find Skookie Daniels. I’m
“Yes, mediums are trained professionals. While we’re blessed with an innate psychic ability, we must learn how to channel it. We do not come to spiritualism by epiphany like Saul on the road to Damascus.”
“Where were you trained?” asked Maddy.
“I studied mediumship at Camp Chesterfield. It’s one of the leading centers of psychic studies as well as being the headquarters of the Indiana Association of Spiritualists.”
That got Cookie’s attention. “Say, I’ve heard of Camp Chesterfield. About a dozen years ago, the Chesterfield Spiritualist Camp District was added to the National Registry of Historic Places. It’s located somewhere down toward Indianapolis.”
“That’s right,” beamed Madam Blatvia. “The camp was founded in 1886 as a Spiritualist Church.”
“Church?” Now Lizzie was confused for sure. “I thought you were just a fortune-teller.”
“No, dearie, it’s a religion, just like the Methodists and Episcopalians. We believe people’s spirits survive death and that with proper training we can communicate with them. And since the spirits exist on a higher plane, they can offer advice and consolation to the living.”
“Oh.” Lizzie was embarrassed, as if she had intruded on the church services of another denomination. “Perhaps we should go.”
“Don’t be daft,” chuckled Madam Blatvia. “You came to get some answers and you shall have them. We’ll hold a brief séance and ask my spirit guide if he can locate Robert Daniels to speak with us.”
“What’s this about a spirit guide?” said Bootsie, still skeptical. “That sounds like mumbo jumbo.”
“Perhaps to you. But we trained mediums find it useful to have someone from the other side assist us, someone who better understands the afterlife.”
“You mean a dead person?” gulped Lizzie.
“A spirit. We use them like the early pioneers used Indian guides to show them the way west.”
“That’s right,” nodded Bootsie. “Lewis and Clark were guided through the Northwest Passage by an Indian woman named Sacagawea.”
“Actually, Sacagawea was not the guide,” corrected Cookie. “But she did play an important role as interpreter.”
“Whatever,” Bootsie waved her words away. “We get the idea.”
“My spirit guide is an old Mexican named Poncho,” explained Madam Blatvia. “Poncho died at the Battle of the Alamo in 1836. He’s been very helpful to me in finding my way among the spirit world.” As she spoke, the medium dialed the lights low and asked everybody to join hands.
“What’s happening?” asked Liz nervously.
“A séance,” whispered Maddy. “Pay attention.”
“ Gulp ,” responded the superstitious redhead.
“O mighty spirits,” intoned the medium, eyes closed, chin raised heavenward, “send my guide Poncho to me. I need his counsel.”
There was a silence. Then came a Knock ! Knock !
“Ah, the spirits have made contact,” murmured Madam Blatvia.
“Where? I don’t see anyone,” exclaimed Bootsie.
“ Shhhh !” said the medium. “You’ll scare them away.”
“Me, scare spirits? I’d think it would be the other way round,” the police chief’s wife muttered.
“ Shhhh !”
Knock ! Knock !
“Yes, O mighty spirits, send Poncho.”
Suddenly a faint light flickered overhead, a filmy shape like a glowing puff of smoke.
“Oooo,” said Lizzie, the fear obvious in her voice.
“Easy,” whispered Maddy. “Just keep calm.”
“Greetings, Poncho, my old friend,” announced the medium. “We need your able assistance. Can I ask you to go among the recently dead and locate one Robert Daniels, better known to his friends as Skookie?”
“ Whooo .” The sound came from high above. The room had a 12-foot ceiling, lost in blackness with the lights dimmed. Was that the puff of smoke making the sound? Or a hidden microphone?
“Thank you, Poncho.”
“ Whooo, whooo .”
“Alas, Poncho says he cannot find Skookie Daniels. I’m
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