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Authors: Marschel Paul
Tags: Fiction
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doing the spirit circles. What are we going to do if not this?”
Izzie was quiet a moment then looked at Clara. “But what if I start hearing voices like Mamma? I heard someone say the name Susan that evening at Mrs. Fielding’s séance. I heard it clearly, but you didn’t and Papa didn’t. What if that was the beginning of being like Mamma? Maybe insane. Loony. Wouldn’t it be better to do something dull and necessary, something honest?
And what if we both could do better than being seamstresses? I could get a governess position with one of the families on Main Street or even up in Rochester or Albany.” Izzie gazed out the window. “Back in Homer, you know my friend Julianna’s family educated me beyond what any girl’s seminary could have. I know I could find a governess position. I should at least try. The hoax shenanigans might turn real for me and make me like Mamma.”
Down on the street, everyone heading into the wind had a hand on their hat and was bent forward. Everyone going the other way was bent back.
“Izzie, you’re nothing like Mamma. You’re smart and strong and can do whatever you want to. You’ll never buckle to anything. That’s the way you are. I don’t want to be a seamstress either. Never ever. I want to be an actress and maybe travel the world.”
Izzie chuckled and looked at her. “You have a lot of growing up to do. If that’s what you want, you better marry above your station then, Clara, and I don’t mean a little above. I mean quite well above.”
“Why don’t you find a wealthy, smart gentleman and I’ll marry his brother?” Clara laughed and slid closer. “There!” She pointed outside. “What about those two?” A bearded man wearing a fine greatcoat and holding a stovepipe hat and cane climbed into a plum-colored runabout hitched to two dapple, gray horses. He leaned over the side of his carriage and spoke to another man on the walk who was also well dressed in a fitted black coat.
“You saw them first. Go ahead, Clara. Which one?”
Clara shook her head and twisted the ribbon around her finger. “Not yet.”
Izzie looked down. “I’m afraid of that spiritual world. Why did Anna Santini say those things about me?”
“Are you sure you don’t have a gift for spirits?”
“I don’t. I don’t.”
“Well then, see, you don’t have to worry about being like Mamma or Anna. Besides, we won’t have to always be mediums. Just for a while. If we’re good at it, we can make money like Mrs. Fielding and travel to different cities. The Benton Sisters of Geneva. That sounds just as good as the Fox sisters of Hyde Park. You won’t be like Mamma, Izzie. You won’t.”
But Clara knew there was something for Izzie to be at least a little afraid of. Izzie sometimes did know things in a mysterious way and Mamma used to tease her when she was little and tell her she would have spirits visit her when she got older.
Clara wrapped the hair ribbon she had been playing with around Izzie’s wrist and tied it with a bow.
“Izzie, I’m afraid. I’m afraid Papa will leave us again if we don’t make some money right away. Please, Izzie, for me?”
Izzie looked at her a long moment, then sighed. “Only for you, Clara. Not for Papa, not for Mrs. Fielding, not for Andrew Jackson Davis and his Harmonial Philosophy.” She looked into Clara’s eyes. “If I don’t like it, I’ll quit, Clara. I don’t care what Papa says. I’ll defy him. I’ll leave. I’ll do whatever is necessary to end it if I hate it. I’ll be a governess.”
Clara bounced up and down on her toes. “Oh, Izzie, you’ll see. Being mediums will be thundering fun, much better than being a governess.”
“I swear, Clara, you could charm a fish out of a stream. You’ll certainly be a better medium than a seamstress. You’d be wasting yourself with a needle and thread. Maybe those pompous people who say that reading
Izzie was quiet a moment then looked at Clara. “But what if I start hearing voices like Mamma? I heard someone say the name Susan that evening at Mrs. Fielding’s séance. I heard it clearly, but you didn’t and Papa didn’t. What if that was the beginning of being like Mamma? Maybe insane. Loony. Wouldn’t it be better to do something dull and necessary, something honest?
And what if we both could do better than being seamstresses? I could get a governess position with one of the families on Main Street or even up in Rochester or Albany.” Izzie gazed out the window. “Back in Homer, you know my friend Julianna’s family educated me beyond what any girl’s seminary could have. I know I could find a governess position. I should at least try. The hoax shenanigans might turn real for me and make me like Mamma.”
Down on the street, everyone heading into the wind had a hand on their hat and was bent forward. Everyone going the other way was bent back.
“Izzie, you’re nothing like Mamma. You’re smart and strong and can do whatever you want to. You’ll never buckle to anything. That’s the way you are. I don’t want to be a seamstress either. Never ever. I want to be an actress and maybe travel the world.”
Izzie chuckled and looked at her. “You have a lot of growing up to do. If that’s what you want, you better marry above your station then, Clara, and I don’t mean a little above. I mean quite well above.”
“Why don’t you find a wealthy, smart gentleman and I’ll marry his brother?” Clara laughed and slid closer. “There!” She pointed outside. “What about those two?” A bearded man wearing a fine greatcoat and holding a stovepipe hat and cane climbed into a plum-colored runabout hitched to two dapple, gray horses. He leaned over the side of his carriage and spoke to another man on the walk who was also well dressed in a fitted black coat.
“You saw them first. Go ahead, Clara. Which one?”
Clara shook her head and twisted the ribbon around her finger. “Not yet.”
Izzie looked down. “I’m afraid of that spiritual world. Why did Anna Santini say those things about me?”
“Are you sure you don’t have a gift for spirits?”
“I don’t. I don’t.”
“Well then, see, you don’t have to worry about being like Mamma or Anna. Besides, we won’t have to always be mediums. Just for a while. If we’re good at it, we can make money like Mrs. Fielding and travel to different cities. The Benton Sisters of Geneva. That sounds just as good as the Fox sisters of Hyde Park. You won’t be like Mamma, Izzie. You won’t.”
But Clara knew there was something for Izzie to be at least a little afraid of. Izzie sometimes did know things in a mysterious way and Mamma used to tease her when she was little and tell her she would have spirits visit her when she got older.
Clara wrapped the hair ribbon she had been playing with around Izzie’s wrist and tied it with a bow.
“Izzie, I’m afraid. I’m afraid Papa will leave us again if we don’t make some money right away. Please, Izzie, for me?”
Izzie looked at her a long moment, then sighed. “Only for you, Clara. Not for Papa, not for Mrs. Fielding, not for Andrew Jackson Davis and his Harmonial Philosophy.” She looked into Clara’s eyes. “If I don’t like it, I’ll quit, Clara. I don’t care what Papa says. I’ll defy him. I’ll leave. I’ll do whatever is necessary to end it if I hate it. I’ll be a governess.”
Clara bounced up and down on her toes. “Oh, Izzie, you’ll see. Being mediums will be thundering fun, much better than being a governess.”
“I swear, Clara, you could charm a fish out of a stream. You’ll certainly be a better medium than a seamstress. You’d be wasting yourself with a needle and thread. Maybe those pompous people who say that reading
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