Chapter 10
WHEN MISS CRENSHAW SAW LUCY’S BODY twisted under that enormous two-seat desk, she seemed to regain her wits and immediately began barking out orders like an army captain.
“Miss Taylor, you must fetch Dr. Stewart. Nurse Gott should prepare a bed in the infirmary—Miss Adair will alert her. Miss McClure, you fetch Jimmy to get this desk off the girl’s leg. We’ll need his help in setting the room to rights.”
When we stared at her numbly, she softened ever so slightly.
“I need you all to stay calm and focused. Now please do as I directed.”
I shook myself and followed the other two through the doorway, intent on finding Jimmy in the kitchen. But when we stepped into the corridor, he was already standing there.
Miss Taylor squeaked in surprise. “Jimmy! You frightened us.”
“Sorry, miss,” he said quietly. “Thought I heard something.”
“There’s been another accident,” I said quickly. “We need your help in the chapel.”
Jimmy nodded and stepped aside to allow Olivia and Miss Taylor to pass. I gestured for him to go ahead of me into the chapel, noting how his shoulders sagged with reluctance as he stepped through the doorway.
His dark face sweated profusely as he worked. He seemed painfully aware of Miss Crenshaw and me staring at him, for he took care not to touch Lucy as he strained to lift the heavy desk. He was visibly relieved to step away afterward. The girl regained consciousness with a gasp, tears streaming down her face and teeth chattering in the deep chill of the room.
Miss Crenshaw knelt beside her and tenderly dabbed at the tears with a handkerchief she’d drawn from her sleeve. She spoke in a low, soothing tone. “Can you speak?” When Lucy nodded, she continued. “We need to know what happened, child, before the doctor gets here. How did you come to be in the chapel?”
Lucy gulped and swallowed several times before finally uttering words. “You won’t believe me.”
“At this point, I’m willing to believe almost anything,” said Miss Crenshaw with a tight smile.
Lucy spoke haltingly, her teeth chattering as she forced the words through them. “I heard a whisper … a voice calling my name … and I followed it here. But I stood alone in the room. The air turned cold … so very cold. Then the door slammed shut and everything fell from the walls. And then … the windows flew open on their own.” She blinked away newly forming tears. “I swear that’s what happened, Miss Crenshaw! I didn’t open them myself.”
Miss Crenshaw stroked her arm and made shushing noises. Once Lucy quieted, she prompted her to continue. “What happened then?”
“Water poured through the windows. Murky, rank water.” She turned her head to the side. “I still smell it in my hair! The water rushed with such force it knocked over the desks. It filled the room and soaked the hem of my gown.” Her lip trembled as her voice grew more ragged. “One of the desks fell over and pinned me to the floor. I thought I was going to die, to drown in that cold water just as Ella did!”
“But, Lucy,” I said, “your hair and dress are dry. There is no water here!”
“I’m not lying,” whispered the girl. “But why would Ella hurt me?” She closed her eyes and cried silently.
It took a while for Jimmy to right the overturned furniture. While he worked, I picked up the damaged picture frames and tumbled books before moving to the windows to shut them. The air outside was pleasant. In the distance I could see two separate lantern lights bobbing toward us—Miss Taylor and Dr. Stewart approached the building.
I turned to Miss Crenshaw. “What are we to tell the doctor?”
The principal’s face drooped with fatigue. “I’ve no idea. I suppose we could say we have another case of sleepwalking, though I’m not sure how to explain the overturned desk.”
She clamped her mouth shut as we heard the front door open, a sound followed by the clatter of footsteps in the corridor.
When the doctor entered, his face was grim. He nodded at the principal before kneeling next to Lucy. I could hardly bear to see Lucy’s face contorting with pain as he examined her. A sudden nausea beset me, and I had to breathe deeply in order to keep my supper from ending up on the floor.
Finally, after binding the leg with a splint provided by Jimmy, the doctor stood. “Her leg is broken—a compound fracture, I’m afraid. But I can find no other injuries.” He rubbed his forehead and stifled a yawn. He turned back to the principal, his face drawn with confusion and fatigue. “How did the desk fall on her?”
“We simply don’t know, Dr. Stewart,” said Miss Crenshaw, her voice mild.
“More sleepwalking?” His lips curved in a faint smile. “I’m starting to wonder what you feed these girls that makes them so active in their sleep, Miss Crenshaw.”
The principal bowed her head.
As Jimmy and the doctor carried Lucy out of the room on a makeshift stretcher of quilts, Olivia pulled me aside.
“I never expected Ella’s spirit to turn so violent. I’m afraid these accidents will only grow more terrible if we don’t do something,” she whispered. “It seems to be feeding on the girls’ fear.”
I couldn’t contradict her. I’d just seen something—felt something—I’d never thought to encounter, and Papa’s steadfast skepticism had deserted me. “What does it want? Revenge?”
Olivia frowned. “Perhaps nothing so dire. It may be desperate to make contact because it longs for peace or … some sort of release. We won’t know if we don’t ask.”
“We ask? Why don’t you ask?”
“As I told you before, I am sensitive. And I have the knowledge and experience. But I can’t do it alone.”
“Olivia,” I moaned, “you know how I feel about all that Spiritualist flummery.”
She held my gaze. “I wish you to help me, but perhaps I should find someone more sympathetic. Someone like Miss Taylor, perhaps?”
I straightened up, my cheeks warming at this preposterous notion. “Miss Taylor is a ninny who’d run squawking to Miss Crenshaw at the mere mention of a séance,” I said quickly. “It’d be much safer not to involve her.”
“Willie, are you saying you will help?”
I stared at her for a moment before finally nodding. “Where does one hold a séance? You’re not going to make me sit by her grave, are you?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. My grandmother taught me that spirits linger in the places where they lived and loved, not where their bodies are put to rest. Ella once lived in your room. I think we should hold our séance there in order to be as close as possible to her spirit.”
My stomach twisted. This is how a teacher loses her position.
Olivia took my hand and squeezed it tightly. “I know what I’m doing. We shall not be found out.”
“Fine,” I said. “Tell me what to do.”
• • •
During Sunday’s chapel service, the girls stared at the bare walls and whispered to each other. I frowned at them several times, warning them to be silent, and yet couldn’t fault them for needing to shake off some of their gloom. I only wished I could hear what they had to say—it might have helped make some sense of this puzzle.
I visited Lucy in the infirmary afterward. Her face was gray and pinched, framed by the tangle of black hair that splayed onto the pillow. I pulled a chair next to the bed and took her hand as I sat.
“How’s the pain?”
She shrugged. “Nurse Gott gives me a sleeping draught, but then I have nightmares of pain.”
“I won’t keep you from your rest very long. But I must ask you something about last night.”
Lucy turned away. “I told you everything.”
“I want to know why it happened.” I lowered my voice. “Can you think of any reason why Ella would want to frighten you in such a way?”
She closed her eyes and lay in silence for a long time. A tear squeezed out of one eye and trickled slowly down her face. “I don’t know. She knew I loved her.”
“Did you have an argument before her accident? Was she angry?”
“We didn’t have an argument.” Her eyes opened—they were still damp, but no more tears threatened to fall.
I leaned closer. “She was angry, though, wasn’t she?”
“No!” She wiped her face. “If anyone was angry, it was me.”
“Why?”
“I think you do!”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she growled.
Nurse Gott shuffled in with a tray. Her heavy face sagged into a frown at the sight of me. “Lucy needs her rest, miss. You shouldn’t be upsetting her with questions and such. Why, you’ve made her cry!”
“It’s just the pain, Gotty.” Lucy wiped at her face again and settled into her pillow, her hands clasped over the covers.
“I’ve brought you some broth—it’ll settle your stomach and take your mind off the pain.” She turned to me. “I think it’s best you left now, miss.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Lucy.”
Clearly, the madness of the previous evening was getting to me. Or perhaps it was lack of sleep unhinging my good sense. How else to explain my thoughts as I left Lucy to the care of Mrs. Gott?
If Lucy won’t tell me, perhaps Ella will.