Chapter Three

Sarah emerged from the bushes, dressed in one of Tsuritsa’s old outfits. She put her torn dress in her bag and now wished she packed another outfit instead of so many books. Perhaps she would stop somewhere for a needle and thread. She could also buy another outfit, but with the travel ahead of her, it didn’t make sense to soil a new set of clothes. She would deal with that later.

Where to go? Sarah and Tsuritsa considered this event for some time, ever since the old woman’s health began to decline. Tsuritsa broached the subject and encouraged Sarah to decide her next step, but Sarah couldn’t manage to come up with any plan so chose inaction. Denial could be a powerful force, but it no longer held sway. It couldn’t.

Sarah already missed her carnival family, except for Dodgerton, but because of him, she could not return. She rejected the option of her parents, not seen in nine years. She felt as though she no longer belonged to a family.

She could work for another carnival, but she hated the need to fabricate responses when she could not establish contact with the world beyond. Employment elsewhere or trying to settle into a normal life seemed risky. What would people say when she spoke to spirits or went into a trance and spirits spoke through her? Hardly apropos for a typical job or a sewing circle.

Where did she belong?

In the back of her mind, she recalled a client who once mentioned a professor at Harvard, William James, who studied the supernatural. If anyone, she felt, he would understand. He would not treat her like a freak. Perhaps she could build a new life around that.

Sarah looked back and forth on the empty road. The sun poked above the horizon, and the sky was filled with beautiful hues of red, pink, and orange. An omen?

****

“The way we perceive the world and order our thoughts conforms to a specific structure, that which we call our consciousness.” Professor James stood in front of a blackboard on which he wrote the name Wilhelm Wundt in white chalk.

The professor wore a three-piece charcoal suit and noticed considerable chalk dust down his right side, where he unconsciously wiped his hand when lecturing. Perhaps this merits a Chapter in my book.

His students, all young men, began to whisper amongst themselves. The professor turned and saw an attractive young woman by the door, dressed in old clothes. She looked like a gypsy.

“Well, what have we here?” he asked as he crossed the room.

“May we speak for a moment, sir?” said the young woman.

Her effrontery took him aback. He considered ordering her out of his classroom but held off as he studied her face. She smiled back at him with equanimity.

The students in the room were abuzz with speculation. The professor shot them an annoyed look and turned back to the young woman. He took her by the elbow and steered her through the door and out into the hall.

“You have one minute, young lady, then I need to reclaim some order in my classroom.”

The woman looked him in the eyes and spoke in a low voice, as though making a confession. “I speak to the dead.”

Professor James did a double-take and cocked his head. “Come again?”

“I hear spirits and often let them speak through me. I was part of a carnival act, but I assure you it’s true.”

The professor assessed the woman before him. Another fraud? She seemed sincere. He wanted to maintain critical detachment but felt like jumping out of his suit with excitement. “Young lady, what is your name?”

“Sarah Bradbury.”

He reached down, took her hand, and pumped it. “Professor William James.”

“Yes, I know.”

“D-did spirits tell you?”

“No.” Sarah chuckled. “A woman after one of my shows told me you were making a scientific study of the afterlife. I would like to join you.”

“Miss Bradbury, do not, under any circumstances, go away.”

The professor threw open his classroom door and ran inside. “That’s it for today, gentlemen. Please read the next fifty pages in Wundt, and I’ll see you all on Wednesday.”

Professor James stopped at his desk and scratched a note. He folded the sheet and wrote Annabelle Douglas on the outside. Searching the stragglers, he spotted awkward Walter Shoemaker, often the last to leave, attempting to pack his book bag.

“Walter, would you mind doing me a favor?”

Walter perked up like a dog at the prospect of a walk. “Sure, Professor! Anything.”

The professor told him to deliver the note to the young woman at work in his office.

“Right away, sir,” said Walter and scampered out the door.

Professor James went back into the hall and beamed with relief to see Sarah waiting for him, worried she had been some sort of apparition who would dissolve the moment he stepped away. He took her again by the elbow and moved her at a quick pace down the hall. He politely put off any student who approached them.

They left the building and made their way to Harvard Yard. The two sat on a marble bench. Above them, the leaves on the maple trees displayed variegated hues of red, yellow, and orange, as they rustled in the October breeze.

A moment later, Annabelle arrived and Professor James made hasty introductions and bade her sit on the bench as well. “I have another associate, Dr. Gilpin, who I’d like you to meet, but he is unable to join us at the moment.

“Now, Miss Bradbury,” his voice betraying his excitement, “I would like you to begin at the moment you first realized you possessed these abilities.”

****

After several days of interviews, to see if Sarah’s stories stayed consistent, the professor and Edgar wanted to begin a series of tests they designed. They decided to use the lecture hall after hours, instead of the lab, because it remained unoccupied following classes. Several storage rooms on one side of the hall provided space for Edgar to keep the machines he assembled or acquired. Indeed, when Sarah and Annabelle arrived, the floor before the amphitheater seats looked crowded with Edgar’s devices.

In the midst of it all sat a plain wooden chair.

Professor James hurried over to greet them. “Good evening to you both. I hope you will indulge us, Miss Bradbury—”

“Please call me Sarah,” she said. “After hearing my life story several times over the past three days, I think we can be less formal.”

“Right,” said the professor. “Sarah it shall be.” He offered no familiar name in return. The professor turned toward the center of the room and ushered her forward.

“If you would be so kind as to have a seat,” Professor James continued, “we will get started. I hope you are not disturbed by Dr. Gilpin’s—I mean Edgar’s since we now know each other so well—machinery. We are doing this all in the name of science.”

The professor held the chair for Sarah. She sat and looked around at the devices surrounding her. A camera stood perched on a tripod with a flash-pan above. Before her stood a table on which lay a large black box with a glass portal on top. From this box ran two insulated wires with six inches of exposed copper at the end of each. Another table held one of Edison’s tin drum phonographs with a large megaphone aimed right at her.

Edgar smiled to reassure her and handed her a wire for each hand, the bare copper to be squeezed.

“Is this safe?” she asked.

“Not to worry, there’s no electricity in the lines. Yet. In fact, my device is designed to measure electricity flowing from you. The Society for Psychical Research has published several tracts about electromagnetic charges generated by true mediums. We want to see if these can be measured.”

Annabelle stood by the phonograph, with her hand on its crank, prepared to record. Professor James held a board with paper clipped to it and a pen at the ready.

“Okay, Miss Bradbury,” said the professor, “you may begin.”

Sarah looked at them with amazement. “I’m not sure I can perform like a trained monkey.”

“I understand, but I ask you to try. You worked in a carnival, surely you needed to perform on demand?”

“In which case, I was often forced to lie.”

“Heaven forbid.” The professor tried anew. “Please be assured, we don’t want you to fabricate anything. We’ll all just sit here. If nothing happens, we’ll try again tomorrow evening and the next.”

Sarah closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. After she sat for quite some time, she cracked open one eye. They stared in expectation. She repeated the breathing regimen and tried to call up any psychic impressions.

Nothing.

Sarah opened both eyes and shrugged. She saw their disappointment.

Professor James set the pen, board, and paper on the podium and took out his pocket watch. He and Edgar made eye contact and the professor signaled to continue. “We’ll give it another fifteen minutes,” he said.

Edgar’s audible sigh marked the passage of another quarter of an hour.

“I’m sorry,” said Sarah

“No,” the professor responded, “It’s you who’s owed an apology. We did not intend to treat you as a circus animal. The question is, how do we proceed? If we sat here for several hours more would it be a good use of our time?”

Sarah shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you.”

The professor scratched his head and looked over at Sarah. “What do you need in order to have the insights you described?”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes they wash over me unbidden, leaving me with knowledge I could not otherwise have known. Other times I pass into a trance. Upon awakening, I sometimes need to be told what I said.”

“Can we get you something so you are more comfortable?” asked Annabelle.

“A crystal ball?” asked Edgar.

“No.” Sarah chuckled. “That’s just a prop. However, these two wires are distracting.”

“Let me give this some thought. I’ll try to have a different setup tomorrow.”

The professor sighed as well and snapped his watch shut. “Not a very promising start. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

****

The two women left campus and caught a cab to their rooming house. The professor billeted Sarah in the same place as Annabelle, a rooming house catering exclusively to women. The boarders would share meals together, and the proprietor, Mrs. Flanders, served as not only as a surrogate mother for the chicks who nested in her house but as an excellent cook.

Sarah stared out the cab’s window. They rode in silence. At first, Annabelle didn’t intrude, but after several minutes, she decided to press the issue.

“So,” Annabelle said, “what do you suppose is the problem?”

Sarah turned to look at her, just visible in the light cast by the small oil lamp inside the cab. “I don’t know. Perhaps all the apparatus? I’ve done legitimate channeling before crowds for years. I’m not sure why it sometimes deserts me. Did I embarrass you?”

Annabelle looked incredulous. “I should think it would be you who’d be feeling embarrassed.”

Sarah lowered her eyes and smiled. “I can tell you are in love with the professor—”

“Stop right there!”

The cab jerked to a stop and they could hear the horses’ hooves scrambling upon the cobblestones.

Annoyed, Annabelle, pulled down the hatch in the ceiling so she could see the cabbie outside. “I’m sorry, driver. I did not mean you. Please proceed with my apologies.” She let go of the cord and the small hatch sprung back into place.

Annabelle looked back at Sarah, “Of all the nerve!” Her indignation evaporated as a sudden thought caused her heart to drop down to her abdomen. “Did you—did something tell you?”

Sarah reached out and took Annabelle’s hand. “I could see it with my own eyes. I could also see he is oblivious to your affection and by his ring that he is married.”

Annabelle used her free hand to cover her mouth. “Oh, my.”

“Don’t worry,” said Sarah, “I won’t tell a soul.”

Now Annabelle stared out the window.

They traveled in silence for several more minutes until the cab pulled up before their red brick rooming house. Annabelle got out and paid their fare. She ascended the steps, unlocked the door, and held it open for Sarah, who thanked her.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Annabelle offered.

Sarah said she would, and the two went up the stairs to where all the boarders stayed.

Anabelle opened her room and encouraged Sarah to take a seat while she left with the kettle to fill it in the bathroom down the hall. When she returned, she set the pot on a small gas fire she ignited in the grate, then offered Sarah some biscuits from a tin. They both sat at the little table in her room and began to nibble.

“I’ll trust your discretion,” Annabelle said at last. “You were right, but I’ve told no one.”

“Of course.”

Sarah scanned the apartment.

It mirrored Sarah’s, but Annabelle added homey touches. A bouquet sat in a vase between them and several bucolic prints hung from the striped wallpaper-covered walls. Next to the bed stood a small table, crowded with a lamp, a picture frame, and a stack of books. Two piles of books rose in one corner, next to a bureau. On top of the bureau sat a blue and white ceramic washbasin and a matching pitcher.

“You’ve been here long?” asked Sarah.

“Ever since I came to Harvard, well, Harvard Annex—it’s where the women are for the time being. Someday soon I’m confident they will admit women on an equal footing.” Annabelle got up and retrieved the folding picture frame from beside the bed. The gilt frame contained sepia-colored photos of a middle-aged man and woman, the man on the left side and the woman on the right.

“Your parents?” Sarah asked, reaching for the frame. The moment Sarah touched the picture of Annabelle’s mother, she collapsed onto the floor and began to shake, as though having a seizure.

Annabelle dropped down beside her and put her hands beneath Sarah’s head, to keep it from banging on the floor. A moment later, Sarah’s eyes flew open.

“I miss you, dear,” said Sarah, in the voice of Annabelle’s mother. Sarah smiled as she looked at Annabelle, but her expression darkened.

Sarah reached up and grabbed Annabelle’s forearm in a vice-like grip. “There’s danger ahead! Take care!” Annabelle’s mother said. “Promise!”

“Yes, Mother, I promise!” Annabelle cried.

The kettle began to whistle and Sarah went limp. Her eyes closed and she lapsed into unconsciousness.