think?”
Emily smiled in spite of herself. “I know exactly what you mean, although I admit I don’t even attempt it most of the time. If people don’t understand you, they may think you are speaking nonsense, but if you do it with enough confidence they will give you the benefit of the doubt, which doesn’t always happen when they do understand. The art is not so much in being intelligent as in being kind. I really do mean that, Rose, believe me!”
Rose looked for a moment as if she were going to make some witty response, then the lightness drained out of her. “Do you believe in life after death, Emily?” she asked.
Emily was so startled she spoke only to give herself time to think. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you believe in life after death?” Rose repeated earnestly. “I mean real life, not some sort of general holy existence as part of God, or whatever.”
“I suppose I do. Not to would be too awful. Why?”
Rose gave an elegant shrug, her face noncommittal again, as if she had retreated from the edge of some greater honesty. “I just thought I’d shock you out of your political practicality for a moment.” But her voice held no laughter, nor did her eyes.
“Do you believe in it?” Emily asked, smiling a little to make the question seem more casual than it was.
Rose hesitated, obviously uncertain now how she was going to answer. Emily could see the emotion in the angle of her body—her dramatic gown with its rich wine and flesh colors, and the tension in her arms where her thin hands gripped the edge of the chair.
“Do you think there isn’t?” Emily said quietly.
“No, I don’t!” Rose’s voice was steady with total conviction. “I am quite sure there is!” Then just as suddenly she relaxed. Emily was certain it had cost her a very deliberate effort. Rose looked at her, then away again. “Have you ever been to a séance?”
“Not a real one, only pretend ones at parties.” Emily watched her. “Why? Have you?”
Rose did not answer directly. “What’s real?” she said with a tiny edge to her voice. “Daniel Dunglass Home was supposed to be brilliant. Nobody ever caught him out, and many tried to!” Then she swiveled to look directly at Emily, a challenge in her eyes, as if now she were on firmer ground and there was no hurt waiting under the surface were she to misstep.
“Did you ever see him?” Emily asked, avoiding the direct issue, which she was quite certain was not Dunglass Home, although she was not sure what it was.
“No. But they say he could levitate himself several inches off the floor, or elongate himself, especially his hands.” She was watching Emily’s response, although she made light of it.
“That must have been remarkable to see,” Emily replied, unsure why anyone would wish to do such a thing. “But I thought the purpose of a séance was to get in touch with the spirits of those you knew who had gone on before.”
“It is! That was just a manifestation of his powers,” Rose explained.
“Or the spirit’s power,” Emily elaborated. “Although I doubt any of my ancestors had tricks like that up their sleeves . . . unless you want to go back to the witch trials in Puritan times!”
Rose smiled, but it went no further than her lips. Her body was still stiff, her neck and shoulders rigid, and suddenly Emily was convinced that the whole subject mattered intensely to her. The trivial manner was to shield her vulnerability, and more than the pain of being laughed at, something deeper, perhaps having a belief snatched from her and broken.
Emily answered with total seriousness she did not have to feign. “I really don’t know how the spirits from the past could contact us if they wanted to tell us something important. I cannot say that it wouldn’t come with all kinds of strange sights, or sounds, for that matter. I would judge it on the content of the message, not on how it was delivered.” Now she was not sure whether to go on with what
Emily smiled in spite of herself. “I know exactly what you mean, although I admit I don’t even attempt it most of the time. If people don’t understand you, they may think you are speaking nonsense, but if you do it with enough confidence they will give you the benefit of the doubt, which doesn’t always happen when they do understand. The art is not so much in being intelligent as in being kind. I really do mean that, Rose, believe me!”
Rose looked for a moment as if she were going to make some witty response, then the lightness drained out of her. “Do you believe in life after death, Emily?” she asked.
Emily was so startled she spoke only to give herself time to think. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you believe in life after death?” Rose repeated earnestly. “I mean real life, not some sort of general holy existence as part of God, or whatever.”
“I suppose I do. Not to would be too awful. Why?”
Rose gave an elegant shrug, her face noncommittal again, as if she had retreated from the edge of some greater honesty. “I just thought I’d shock you out of your political practicality for a moment.” But her voice held no laughter, nor did her eyes.
“Do you believe in it?” Emily asked, smiling a little to make the question seem more casual than it was.
Rose hesitated, obviously uncertain now how she was going to answer. Emily could see the emotion in the angle of her body—her dramatic gown with its rich wine and flesh colors, and the tension in her arms where her thin hands gripped the edge of the chair.
“Do you think there isn’t?” Emily said quietly.
“No, I don’t!” Rose’s voice was steady with total conviction. “I am quite sure there is!” Then just as suddenly she relaxed. Emily was certain it had cost her a very deliberate effort. Rose looked at her, then away again. “Have you ever been to a séance?”
“Not a real one, only pretend ones at parties.” Emily watched her. “Why? Have you?”
Rose did not answer directly. “What’s real?” she said with a tiny edge to her voice. “Daniel Dunglass Home was supposed to be brilliant. Nobody ever caught him out, and many tried to!” Then she swiveled to look directly at Emily, a challenge in her eyes, as if now she were on firmer ground and there was no hurt waiting under the surface were she to misstep.
“Did you ever see him?” Emily asked, avoiding the direct issue, which she was quite certain was not Dunglass Home, although she was not sure what it was.
“No. But they say he could levitate himself several inches off the floor, or elongate himself, especially his hands.” She was watching Emily’s response, although she made light of it.
“That must have been remarkable to see,” Emily replied, unsure why anyone would wish to do such a thing. “But I thought the purpose of a séance was to get in touch with the spirits of those you knew who had gone on before.”
“It is! That was just a manifestation of his powers,” Rose explained.
“Or the spirit’s power,” Emily elaborated. “Although I doubt any of my ancestors had tricks like that up their sleeves . . . unless you want to go back to the witch trials in Puritan times!”
Rose smiled, but it went no further than her lips. Her body was still stiff, her neck and shoulders rigid, and suddenly Emily was convinced that the whole subject mattered intensely to her. The trivial manner was to shield her vulnerability, and more than the pain of being laughed at, something deeper, perhaps having a belief snatched from her and broken.
Emily answered with total seriousness she did not have to feign. “I really don’t know how the spirits from the past could contact us if they wanted to tell us something important. I cannot say that it wouldn’t come with all kinds of strange sights, or sounds, for that matter. I would judge it on the content of the message, not on how it was delivered.” Now she was not sure whether to go on with what
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