Thursday, April 11, evening
We waited ’til everyone had left the parlor before making our escape down a back stairway to the kitchen. I didn’t complain none when Charlie managed to scrounge a platter filled with enough sliced lamb and bread for both of us. Mrs. Giles beamed at our thanks as we hightailed it to his room.
For the first few minutes we didn’t talk. Fresh bread and young roasted lamb slathered with mint jelly is worth concentrating on.
Finally I said out loud what I’d been thinking. “Nell Gramercy may truly be communicatin’ with spirits. She’s only been in Wiscasset a few days. How could she have known Mrs. Quinn’s husband and son were both dead, and both named Michael?” I kept my thoughts about Ethan to myself.
Charlie shook his head. “It’s all humbug. Has to be. No one can get messages from the dead. She must have found out ahead of time about the people who’re coming to her sessions.”
“Not if the spirits speak to her directly,” I pointed out. “And what about that . . . that white stuff that came out of her mouth?”
“I’ve read about spiritualists. That stuff she called ectoplasm is supposed to show that spirits have entered the medium’s body, or something like that. Sometimes spirits knock, to give answers or spell out words, or move furniture in the room when a spiritualist is working. Some spiritualists make fog-like figures appear. I would’ve liked to have seen that! Or the table rising into the air!”
“It was spooky enough to see her cough up that stuff and hear what she was saying,” I said. I didn’t need ghosts appearing or knocking or furniture floating around. “If we report what we saw, we have to say that Nell Gramercy got messages from dead people.”
Charlie shook his head and brushed crumbs off his shirt front onto the floor. “The Boston paper said ectoplasm may be spiderwebs, all mashed up together, that the spiritualist hides in her cheeks.”
My stomach turned sideways. I pushed the almost-empty platter of lamb away.
“Maybe it’s not true. But no matter what it was, I think she knew what she was going to say before she went in that room.”
“But how could she? Unless we know how she got her information, we can’t say she didn’t communicate with spirits.”
Charlie crumpled the piece of paper on which he’d taken notes earlier that evening. “I don’t know. But you’re right—we have to find out more. Nell Gramercy is just a girl. She’s younger than we are. She can’t be doing all this herself. Maybe that uncle of hers is somehow telling her what to do and say. He sold the tickets. He knew who would be there.”
“How could he tell her anything? He hardly spoke tonight.”
“He must have a way. Some signal. We just have to figure it out.” Charlie turned to me. “What did she say to your father? I didn’t even know you had a brother.”
“I don’t talk about him much,” I said. “If you’d been in Wiscasset longer, you’d have known. Ethan was older than me. His skiff was caught in the current at The Narrows, between Westport and Davis Islands. It sank about eighteen months ago.”
“I’m sorry. You must miss him a lot.” Charlie was silent for a moment. “I always wanted a brother.”
“Ethan and I fished together and went sliding on Courthouse Hill in winter. He wanted to be a mariner and sail to the South Seas.” I stood up. I didn’t feel comfortable talking about Ethan. Charlie didn’t know what it was like to lose a brother. “Thank Mrs. Giles for the grub. I’ve got to get to home. Ma’ll be worried.”
“I’ll come over to the office early tomorrow,” Charlie said. “Right after I check the news from the South. I’ll help you finish up Saturday’s issue and start printing it. With or without a story about Nell Gramercy.”