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By Greta Bates
You see, the women in my family have certain...abilities...talents. We typically step into them on or around our 16th birthday—powers like intuition, precognition, and mediumship. On my mother’s side of the family, we consider these gifts to be spiritual in nature and not associated with the occult. But my father, a strict churchgoer, would not hear of it. The father is the head of the household and is the last word when it comes to the morals and upbringing of the family. On a winter’s solstice not many years ago—it was my 16th year— I was prepared to receive my gift, like my mother and grandmother before me. So, that night, I crept up the stairs to the attic to perform the rite. It’s not unlike what most folks are familiar with, mirror gazing. Like calling on Bloody Mary as children do to frighten each other. All I needed was a candle and a mirror, and an openness. I needed to be willing. I was excited and also a little afraid.
The long full mirror in the corner of the attic would do just fine. I sat down on the floor. Lighting the candle, I closed my eyes, quietly centering myself, beginning to follow my breath. As I continued to breathe deeply, I began to draw sigils on my palms with my fingertips. I was ready. Then, I uttered the word, the word that would unlock the other world. I repeated it three times. I knew when I opened my eyes, I would see in the reflection, someone or something. I would know. I would receive my gift.
After what seemed like half an hour, I slowly opened my eyes, adjusting my vision to the dimly lit space. Gazing into the glass, shadows began to pass before me, some slowly floating by, others quickly darting from side to side in the room. My breath had quickened. Was I ready for this? My fear getting the best of me, I started to stand and leave and return to my room to forget about all of this, losing myself in sleep that would be long in coming. Then, she came to me. Facing me in the mirror was one of my ancestors, my Great Grandmother x4, the Kate Fox. She held up her hand, signifying that I should stop. I stayed, standing there, scared out of my wits, wondering what would happen next. Then, she began to speak. She told me of another winter’s solstice from long ago...
♪♪♪
“Bright Sols—”
“Hush now! Shut the door, Kate. For one, I’m preparing an early supper and I’d like to keep out as much of the humidity as possible. And two, someone may hear you.”
I could smell coffee brewing, and the aroma of fresh baked cornbread filled the air. Mullet sizzled, frying in a cast iron skillet on the stove top and I’m sure there was a pot of greens and bacon stewing as well. It was the day before the solstice on the island, December 1848. The weather was warm and balmy, and no breeze was coming off the Gulf at all. The air was stagnant. The Spanish moss lay limp on the old oak’s branches in the front yard. Our clothes were sticking to our skin, but such is to be expected in Alabama on the day before the beginning of winter.
“Oh, yes, sister,” I said as I closed the door behind me. Then, in a hushed voice I added, “Bright Solstice, Maggie. I picked up some potatoes from the neighbor. Do you want to add them to today’s meal or save them for our Christmas dinner?”
“Bright solstice to you as well, sister. No, I’ve plenty for today. Let’s save them,” Maggie said as she flipped the fish with a fork, the grease popping and crackling.
Pinching a bit of cornbread to nibble on, I skirted a playful swat from Maggie. Putting the potatoes aside in a bin, I looked around the room. We had been sent down south to stay with Cousin Ester, a relative of mother’s, to escape the harsh winter expected in Hydesville. There was a certain peace here. The island provided and the community was a tight knit one. Ester’s house was small and simple but comfortable. Soon we’d cut fresh pine and light candles, adorning the house for Christmas but first, we’d ring bells, heralding the solstice. A cold front was expected and I, for one, was looking forward to cooler weather on the long, dark night.
“Besides the potatoes, did you see to it that all was ready for this evening?” Maggie asked. Word had gotten around quickly and the neighbors, the Bentley family, had requested that Maggie and I hold a séance in their home tonight in hopes of contacting their Papa, Mr. Norwood, who had passed away in the spring from a bout of pneumonia.
“Yes, sister. I made certain that all was prepared. We are to hold the séance in the rear parlor past the dining room. Candles are at the ready and Miss Carlyn, will also provide one of her husband’s belongings for the ritual. Miss Carlyn promised she’d arrange the room to our liking and our needs. Everyone in the Bentley family is eagerly anticipating receiving any messages that their Papa may have for them. However, the youngest daughter, Liza Mae, seems...apprehensive. She is only six years of age. I hope her fears don’t get the best of her.”
“You know as well as I do, Kate, that everyone needs to be amenable, conditions need to be exactly right in order for the dead to make contact; however, it is often the adults who hold onto skepticism, and children are...more open. ‘Become as little children,’ as it is said.” I solemnly nodded a response, slowly shaking my head up and down. “Oh, and Kate, did you get what we need for our ritual, the ash, the herbs?”
At this, I continued to nod as a knowing smile crept across my lips, punctuated with two small stomps of my feet against the floorboards. Maggie gave me a wink, tightened her apron strings, and turned back to her pots on the stove.
After an early supper, Maggie and I cleaned up the tiny kitchen. Cousin Esther was out for the night, having taken the ferry across the bay to Mobile to stay with a friend. Last minute Christmas shopping, I supposed. As we were about to leave, the front door blew open and a brisk draft entered the house. Maggie quickly slammed the door and latched it. I rushed to the window and peered out across the property, squinting in the late afternoon light. The skies were turning gray. A hard north wind had come over the island, the gulf drawing the bay’s swell into her waters leaving the shores exposed akin to the day’s times of low tide, throwing off the usual pull of the moon, the ebb and flow.
“My goodness! It seems like that cold front is coming through. Kate, we must go through Cousin Esther’s things and find wraps, something to keep us warm on the walk to and from the Bentley’s. The temperature is certain to be dropping.”
I ran into Cousin Esther’s bedroom, the only bedroom really, and began to go through her armoire, grabbing what I could—two woolen shawls, knitted muffs, and what looked like trapper’s caps—a hodge podge at best, as no one in the south ever had need of winter garb. Making my way back to Maggie, I held the items out for her to appraise.
“Well, these will have to do. We’ve no time now. The day’s light is waning and the Bentley’s will be waiting.”
We faced the wind and made our way across the yard. Knocking at the door, we were greeted warmly by the family: the oldest daughter, Clare; Thomas, a fine-looking young man; and Miss Carlyn. Liza Mae was scrutinizing us, hidden safely behind her mama’s skirts.
“Well, hello, hello,” Miss Carlyn warmly received us. “Let me take your things. I guess you weren’t expecting this turn in the weather on your visit south?”
“No ma’am,” I replied, handing my wrap and hat to Miss Carlyn, “Is the weather always this unpredictable on the island?”
“Oh yes,” said Clare, taking the rest of our things, “Typically we have what you’d call winter in February but it looks like Ole Jack Frost decided to give us a chilly Christmas. Why I bet the temperature will drop 15 or 20 degrees while you all are visiting tonight.”
The visit, yes. Only we wouldn’t be the only ones visiting this evening.
“This way. After you,” Thomas said as we all moved into the parlor.
Oh my! Miss Carlyn had outdone herself. The parlor was beautiful! The day was now dark, and the little room off the dining area was lit with candles blazing. They’d already brought in the greenery, pine boughs draped across the room’s thresholds adorned with cinnamon sticks and satsumas, magnolias woven in throughout the branches. Just stunning! The rest of the room, simple, the table draped with a plain white cloth and chairs set round, Mr. Norwood’s hat, and a lone fat candle our centerpiece. There was nothing left to do but begin.
“Shall we?” Miss Carlyn gestured to the chairs. Maggie took the seat nearest the window and the rest of us followed. Liza Mae sat last, finally coming out from behind her mama, taking the chair next to her and scooting it closer.
Clear and direct, Maggie began. “Join hands. Everyone, close your eyes and breathe deeply.” All did as they were told. I peeked, opening one eye and spied Liza Mae clutching her mama’s arm, eyes wide open taking it all in. I didn’t know if we should include a child so young in the circle. I didn’t know if we’d be able to make contact. I was prepared either way. Whether we actually conjured the dead or not, the Bentleys would assume we had. Maggie and I always had a plan. The show would go on.
Maggie began to speak again. “On this night, we ask if any spirits are here, if anyone who has passed over has any unfinished business here on this earthly plane?”
Then, there was silence.
Maggie continued, “If anyone has a message to deliver, knock once for no and twice for yes.”
Again, silence.
Then, we heard it, barely audible. Two faint raps. Tap, tap.
I heard little Liza gasp. I looked at her again, now gripping her mama more tightly. Everyone else, solemn, eyes shut. I looked at Maggie.
She began to convulse, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the candlelight. But she held onto the hands around her. Then, she stopped, her head falling abruptly forward, her shoulders slumping. A deep voice emerged as Maggie slowly lifted her head.
“Carlyn? This, this, is wrong. The children mustn’t...the church teaches...” The voice raspy, almost croaking, escaped Maggie’s lips.
The color quickly drained from Miss Carlyn’s face, her skin now pale, “Norwood...is that...you? What, what do you mean? Oh, Norwood, I’m afraid!”
Maggie began to shake, more violently this time, breaking the circle. The glass in the windows began to rattle. Everyone’s eyes opened and watched, mouths agape in shock. Liza Mae began to cry. Then, a forceful gust of wind blew the doors and windows open. The table was now practically jumping off the floor, tipping side to side. And all at once, Maggie froze, her hands gripping the table’s edge. One final, powerful blast of night air and the candles extinguished, leaving us in darkness. A scream rang out, an unsettling outcry from whom I did not know.
In what was surely only seconds but seemed like hours, a match was struck, the center candle relit. It was Thomas. As he shook the match with his wrist, our eyes adjusted to the dim light. We looked around the room. Maggie’s head was down on the tabletop, resting on her hands.
And Liza Mae was gone.
Clare screamed, throwing her head down and sobbing. Miss Carlyn brought both hands to her mouth muffling her own cries. Thomas breathed deeply, seemingly growing taller, having taken over the role as man of the house.
“Now, now, mother and Clare,” he spoke, calmly but still his voice trembled. “Gather yourselves. Liza Mae must have become frightened and run off, that’s all. I’ll gather some of the local neighbors and we’ll find her in no time. I promise you that.”
Clare moved to Miss Carlyn’s side, wiped away her tears, and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. Now it was Miss Carlyn’s turn to take a deep breath.
“Of course, you’re right, Thomas. We shouldn’t have...no. Go, now. Hurry. Round up the others. The temperature will be falling rapidly tonight. You must find Liza Mae and quickly.” Then, she turned to me and Maggie.
“Girls, run along home now. There’s nothing you can do here. Get some sleep. We may need you in the early morning to help with the search, and you’ll be of no use if you just stay around here fretting with me and Clare.”
Maggie and I just looked at her, not a word spoken between us.
“Go on. Bundle up. Make your way home before it gets too cold.” And as she said this, Miss Carlyn looked away, pressing her lips together—keeping a stiff upper lip as it were—all the while patting Clare’s head, comforting her.
Once home, Maggie bolted the door to hold it tightly closed against the bitter wind. I gathered our hats and wrappings, putting them back in Cousin Esther’s closet. On the way back, we had steeled ourselves against the cold front moving through. A little red fox had darted across our path. I took this as a good omen, hoping I had spied the small animal as a sign of protection.
“Sister, what happened tonight?”
Maggie put on a kettle preparing to make a pot of coffee. “I’m not sure, Kate. Things seemed to be going as planned, just as they do when we perform any of these events. For heaven’s sake, we’ve got the act down pat. But...but...tonight, something was different. I’m not sure if it’s because the eve of solstice is upon us and the spirits are restless or...”
“Or what, Maggie?”
“Mr. Norwood may have unfinished business here. I’m not certain he wants to cross over. You know, some spirits want to hold onto their earthly existence. They don’t want to let go. Especially when they leave children behind. As a parent, Mr. Norwood as patriarch, may still seek control.”
The kettle whistled and steam began to escape the spout. Before I could add anything, Maggie continued, “At any rate, this will not be an ordinary solstice. We can’t just sit here as Miss Carlyn suggested. Surely, we would be of no use joining Thomas and the others in a search tonight, but we can do something. First Kate, light the yule log in the kitchen fireplace. We’ll need that to keep away any lost souls as we work. Then, bring me the ash and the herbs you gathered for our annual ritual of release and transformation. The ushering in of solstice will have to wait. We need to perform a summoning spell and see if we can’t bring Liza Mae home. I’ll get the salt.”
I grabbed the dried milkweed I’d gotten from an elderly lady nearby and set it to burn in a censer pot as Maggie poured the salt on the floor in the shape of a ring. Grabbing the small bucket of ash, we stepped into the circle. Maggie dipped her fingers into the ash and marked my forehead with a sigil, one for finding lost things and I did the same, blackening her brow. Then, we grabbed hands and held tight. Maggie spoke the word, the word we had learned from the local woman who regularly supplied us with herbs. This word would allow us to see, to shed light, to open the veil. She voiced the word three times, “La lueur. La lueur. La lueur.”
Maggie began, head bowed, eyes shut, offering pleas and petitions, speaking the summoning spell over and over again, in hopes that Liza Mae would return home soon. I too spoke the words, repeating them again and again, until our voices merged into murmurs and mutterings, the air humming, static with the building of electricity.
After what seemed like hours, we stopped, catching our breath. Maggie broke the circle and moved to the cupboard grabbing two tin mugs. She poured two cups of coffee and motioned for me to join her at the table. Wiping her hands on her skirts as if to remove any magical residue, she then raised her cup to her lips and took a sip.
“Now,” she said, “All we can do is pray. And wait. No bells to ring tonight.”
♪♪♪
The men found Liza Mae just before sunrise at the Fort on the east end of the island, curled up in a ball on the ground in the blacksmith shop trying to keep warm. When they found her, she was clutching her Papa’s hat in her hands. All parties surmised that she’d grabbed it in the dark before she bolted from the Bentley’s home. The little girl, no worse for wear, had no memory of how she’d gotten there or of anything else that had transpired that evening. She was sent to bed though, for rest and recuperation, taking necessary precautions in hopes that she hadn’t suffered exposure.
The solstice had come and gone. The air was crisp, the sky clear. Daylight glittered, shimmering off the bay like jewels winking. We woke after sunrise that Christmas morning and had a jolly time with Cousin Esther, exchanging gifts and enjoying a late breakfast of warm bread with butter, boiled potatoes, and oyster stew. After tidying up, Maggie and I donned our new hats and capes that Cousin Esther had given us, put a few paper-wrapped parcels in a basket, and went to visit the Bentley’s.
“Hello, hello, and a Happy Christmas, girls!” Miss Carlyn let us in and took our wraps.
“I hope we’re not interrupting your celebration,” I said, handing her my hat.
“Oh no, no. Please come and join us!”
I started to speak, but Maggie placed her hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Oh no. We won’t stay long. We just wanted to bring over some things for the family and a special present for Liza Mae.”
Maggie handed over the basket of packages to Miss Carlyn but took out a cloth wrapped trinket for Liza Mae.
Miss Carlyn nodded, “Thank you so much for thinking of us. But girls, don’t stay too long with Liza Mae. She seems fine but...I worry.”
“Of course,” I added, “and, Miss Carlyn...about the other night...”
“Think nothing of it. I’ve put that evening behind me. I was so glad to have Liza Mae home; it’s all forgotten. The dead need to stay at rest, at peace, don’t you agree? I should have never, we should have never...I know better.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” I said.
Maggie and I made our way down the hall and into Liza Mae’s room. Her papa’s hat dangled from her bedpost. She sat up tall, smiling, happy to see us.
“Well,” Maggie said, “You gave us quite a fright the other night, little miss.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I wish I could remember but I can’t.”
“It’s alright,” I said. “It’s probably for the best.”
“Here,” Maggie offered the girl the simple present, “I made this just for you.”
“It’s a poppe—” I started.
“It’s a doll, Liza Mae,” Maggie corrected, cutting eyes at me. “I want you to promise me you’ll keep her near. This dolly needs a home, and I thought you were just the little girl to take care of her.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Liza Mae said. “I will keep her near, I promise.”
“Good, good,” Maggie said, “We don’t want to get you overly excited. We’ll be taking our leave now.” And, then she bent over giving Liza Mae a kiss on the head.
As we reached the door, I heard something fall to the floor. Maggie was already down the hall, saying her goodbyes to Miss Carlyn and the family. I paused in the threshold wanting to turn and see what fell. Then, I heard something else. It was the sound of heavy boots, crossing the floor, making a loud thud with each step. The hair on my neck stood on end, my breath caught in my throat. I shook off a chill as though a rabbit had run across my grave.
And then, I heard only one more thing. The soft sound of Liza Mae whispering, “Papa?”
♪♪♪
A father’s love, his hold on the family, transcends death. Mr. Norwood knew his place, to protect his family from evil, from dabbling in things not of the church. My Great Grandma Kate told me her story just as I’ve told you. She was telling me, yes, she and her sister, Maggie, had “gifts.” They could speak to the dead, communicate with the other side. Oftentimes, preparing a “show” for those willing to pay for their services but this “show” did not discount their powers. They were always ready if the dead decided not to come through on a particular evening. People would still get their money’s worth. Fraud? Yes, but a woman had to do what she could to earn a living in those days. You might call them early feminists. But that is not for me. I...know my place.
From this tale, I knew. I knew two things. One, the dead surround us, haunting this plane, moving in and out of our lives, all around us! And two, I knew that the women in my family had long chosen the path of witchcraft! I wanted nothing to do with this! I had to honor the wishes of my own father and turn away from this. Spiritual gifts are one thing, but the devil is in the details of the craft. I know it!
My Grandma Kate’s image began to fade, and I was left alone that night in the attic in candlelight. I made a promise to myself. I would refuse said “gifts,” take another path. After hearing this story, I knew that was not the way for me. What happened that night led me to the church and to you all. And until this night, I’d thought I’d left all of this behind me. And then, that doll, that thing. It’s nothing to me though. Nothing but a reminder of the life I didn’t want. I don’t want it, I tell you! I know my place! I know my place!
