Spirit Talk: (Book One of The Fiona Series) Read online

  Fiona felt relieved she wasn’t the only one in the family with the weird “gift.” She would have to keep an eye on Nula and wait until her niece was old enough to talk about it, all without alarming Ann and Rick. They definitely wouldn't want their daughter hearing the voices of the dead. but Fiona would not allow Nula to grow up feeling like a freak. She would tell Nula it was nothing to be ashamed of and maybe even something to cherish.

  Chapter 3

  That, however, was the day the rain began. It came down all day, and the next day, and the day after that. Fiona and Theresa searched the house for their umbrellas. By Wednesday, Lake Quinn was overflowing her banks. The water rose so quickly that some homeowners woke in the morning to find their basements filled with water, and it just kept rising. News crews dotted the lakefront to report on the unusual flood. The mayor televised his plea for help and the town came together to assist the families near the lake to fill and place sandbags around their homes. Fiona happily stayed home from school to help. The flood was a welcome distraction.

  As Lake Quinn morphed from a beautiful body of water into a frightening monster, the air of desperation in town surged like a red line on a thermometer. Fiona became obsessed with sandbagging and trying to save the homes she’d grown up amongst. She forgot about college and her novels. She woke early every day and had Theresa drop her at the fire station.

  Her single-mindedness and that of the volunteers around her made the work go quickly. Sweaty and tired residents spent entire days in the driveway of the fire station filling endless bags with gritty sand, stopping only to eat and drink. At the ends of these days, her body soaked and aching, Fiona ate donated sandwiches and coffee and realized that she felt more alive than she had since her father’s death. She heard no voices in her ear.

  Fiona loved having a straightforward, important, and satisfying task to perform: hold open the canvas bag, angle it so one of the male volunteers or firefighters could shovel in the sand, then hold the bag steady until it was safely closed. Her body went through the motions until it was mesmerizingly automatic and her warm muscles knew what to do. There was a feeling of happy camaraderie as she and the others took breaks for food and water, watching the rain as they speculated on when it would stop.

  By Thursday morning, Fiona’s neighborhood began to flood. The yards turned to brackish brown ponds dotted with semi-submerged cars and swing sets. Garbage cans bobbed like buoys. Neighbors floated by in kayaks and canoes, asking if anyone needed help. Fiona realized that people were their best, kindest, most honorable selves in a crisis.

  She'd always wished they lived closer to Lake Quinn, and now the lake was in her basement. Peering down the cellar stairs at the bobbing box of Christmas ornaments, Fiona saw that her dream of a flood had come true. Get out! Grandma Kate whispered urgently in her ear. Fiona looked at Theresa and said, “It’s time to get out.”

  Fiona and Theresa gathered their most precious possessions, their favorite clothes, and the family’s financial and insurance documents. Their Social Security cards, birth certificates, car title, and mortgage papers were in a safety deposit box at Lake Quinn Bank and Trust, where Fiona’s mother was head teller.

  Fiona wandered through the house she’d lived in all her life and tried to decide which items were the most important to her. It was impossible, though; every stick of furniture and picture on the wall was attached to her memories, especially memories of her father. There was his favorite chair. There was the last lamp he turned off each night before he climbed the stairs to bed. There was the pullout couch that Ann and Fiona used during sleepovers with friends. There was the candle that they lit on Christmas Eve and put in the front window. There was the white sugar bowl with blue flowers that sat always on the kitchen table next to the matching salt and pepper shakers. There was the replica of a Revolutionary War drum that her father treasured. There was the bird clock with Roman numerals instead of regular numbers. It truly was impossible.

  Upstairs in her bedroom, Fiona put her yearbooks, her crochet hooks and the yarn from a blanket she’d been making, her musical ballerina jewelry box, a tin of eighty colored pencils, some drawing paper, all of her Little House on the Prairie books, her Narnia books, her Anne of Green Gables books, and Misty of Chincoteague into the large storage bin provided by Theresa. She transferred loose photographs and letters from her desk drawer into a manila envelope until it bulged so much she couldn’t close it. She used a cardboard box for her plastic horse collection. She put her favorite comforter and pillows into garbage bags, then sat on her bare bed and looked around her room, the only bedroom she’d ever known. At last, she balanced her boom box and all her cassette tapes on top of the overflowing bin and wandered forlornly into her mother’s bedroom. Theresa, instead of packing, was sitting on the bed and staring at a painting on the wall.

  The painting was of an enormous clipper ship on a choppy, roiling green sea. Waves viciously and mercilessly lashed the boat. “Are you going to take it?” Fiona asked as she sat down next to Theresa. She was wondering why her mother was giving the painting such intense scrutiny.

  “No,” Theresa said dreamily, “I’m not. I never liked it.” Theresa then began to laugh, quietly at first. Fiona started to laugh, too. The laughter loosened the tension that had been building in her body since she’d awakened that morning, and the sound of her mother’s guffaws made her laugh even harder. Theresa was doubled over and her shoulders were shaking. By the time their outburst subsided, both Fiona and her mother were wiping away tears. Sail away, a voice whispered.

  Rick came in his pickup truck and loaded as much as they wanted to take. He wore yellow boots that came up above his knees and Fiona looked longingly at them, wishing she owned a pair. She believed that she would never again have dry feet. They made soggy trip after trip from the house to Rick’s truck with boxes and bags until they couldn’t think of anything else that they could not live without.

  Ann and Rick’s home behind the stables was on the outskirts of town and far from Lake Quinn. Fiona’s mother’s old wine-colored Ford Granada was parked in the lot at the bank; they’d returned her father’s company car, a new red Ford Taurus, to the steel company after he died. It felt strange to think of another salesman driving her father’s car, which had been his pride and joy. Whenever Fiona saw a red Ford Taurus, her heart would leap and she would look for her father in the driver’s seat. It was never him.

  As they drove away, all three in the front seat of Rick’s Chevy pickup, Fiona tried to glance back at her house. Their piled possessions, however, blocked her view. To leave their home defenseless against the water felt like leaving an old friend to drown. As they drove slowly down the flooded street, she watched in horror at her neighbors cramming their possessions into cars; seeing others performing the frightening task made it more real and more final.

  Weirdly, in spite of the nightmarish days, she was embarrassingly relieved that she didn’t have to go back to her classes. She and Theresa decided that it was too late for Fiona to pick up where she’d left off before the flood.

  “It’s still early enough to withdraw,” Theresa said as they sat at Ann and Rick’s kitchen table with cups of milky, sweet Constant Comment. “I called the college today. You’ll even get most of your tuition back.” Her mother was wearing one of Ann’s fluffy robes. She hadn’t cut her hair since before her husband’s death, and the longer length made Theresa look younger than her years. Gray hairs were mixed with the brown, but only at her temples. The rain against the windows made Ann’s kitchen feel even cozier than usual.

  Fiona’s childhood home was possibly underwater, yet she felt a flood of relief course through her body. That's how much I hated college, she thought.

  *****

  After the initial comfort of simply having somewhere to go, Fiona and Theresa quickly understood that there was barely enough room for even one of them to stay at Ann and Rick’s. There was one bathroom with a shower for four adults. Ann and Rick insisted that Fiona and
Theresa were both welcome for as long as it took, but the coach house was tiny, almost like a giant doll’s house. It was filled with antiques and Fiona felt, when there, that she was Laura Ingalls or Anne of Green Gables. The floors, stairs, window frames, and cabinets were wood and the house always smelled faintly like a vacation cabin in Wisconsin. Sometimes, when lying on Ann’s pretty floral couch, Fiona found herself wishing that she were Ann. Her sister had everything, even though she didn’t appreciate the horses.

  Rick’s parents lived in the main family house with his two brothers, one older and one younger. They were both single. No woman had been able to do what Ann accomplished with Rick: draw the brothers out of their shyness. Fiona knew Rick’s brothers, Jay and Stuart, as the mute and mysterious men who quietly cared for the horses but never spoke to the riders or gave lessons. Rick’s father mostly stayed in the house and, according to Ann, watched television and smoked cigarettes all day long. Rick’s mother Julie, however, was an alert and ever-present figure at the stables. She was in charge of the finances and she made sure no one got on a horse until they’d paid in advance for their lesson. She was a force to be reckoned with and Ann gave her a wide berth. According to Ann, Julie wasn’t happy about losing her favorite son to marriage. Fiona could believe it.

  Rick’s brothers would probably live in the main house forever with their aging parents. Until they could figure out things like insurance claims and a new place to call home, or a long and tedious repair to their current house, it was very clear that Fiona and her mother needed to come up with a plan, and quickly.

  It was necessary for Theresa to stay near her job and keep working, especially in light of their new predicament. She’d been head teller at the bank for as long as Fiona could remember, dressing every weekday in a smart skirt, flattering blouse, panty hose and high heeled shoes before departing for the bank. She had a large collection of earrings, necklaces and scarves which she rotated in a mysterious system that Fiona and Ann could never decipher.

  Fiona, however, was free to go anywhere. She was, as Ann pointed out, “unencumbered.” As they sat around Ann’s homey kitchen table, Ann shocked them all with her suggestion: “Maybe you could go and stay with Grandma Mary in Minnesota.”

  Fiona froze and looked at her mother. Her mother froze and looked at Ann, who stared back unwaveringly. Nula was in her lap and playing with a spoon. She repeatedly pressed her tiny fist against the bowl to make the spoon jump, then laughed at her own trick. “Mom,” Ann said, “I talked to Grandma yesterday. She called and wanted to know if you were okay. She saw the flooding on the news.” Fiona tried to picture her grandmother watching the news in her living room, but it had been so long since they’d last visited their grandmother that Fiona could not imagine the scene. She knew her grandmother lived in the apartment above her sewing shop, but she could not remember what it looked like.

  Surprisingly, Fiona’s mother smiled and nodded. It occurred to Fiona that now that her father was gone, the chilly relationship between Theresa and her mother might thaw. Fiona’s father was the one who discouraged contact with Grandma Mary. Mary’s “occupation” was a source of shame for Theresa and a source of outrage for Fiona’s father.

  Grandma Mary, in addition to running the sewing and yarn shop on the first floor of a store in Fireside, Minnesota, also told fortunes and read palms in her apartment on the second floor. Both girls had heard their father refer to Mary more than once as a witch. It had been the only conflict in their parents’ otherwise happy marriage. Theresa claimed to be in complete agreement with her husband that they needed to keep their daughters away from Mary’s “occult practices,” but now Fiona wondered if her mother’s compliance was just an act to keep the peace. It wouldn’t be a complete shock if that were the case because Fiona’s father had been formidable when riled, especially when the subject of Grandma Mary arose.

  Over the years, Theresa told Fiona and Ann bits and pieces about her childhood in Fireside as the daughter of the local “witch.” Her stories always left Fiona wanting to hear more. When she begged for details about seances, palm readings, and fortune-telling with cards, Fiona’s mother would jump up, claiming there were dishes to be washed or laundry to be folded. It’s a forbidden topic, Fiona always thought. This, of course, made it endlessly fascinating. Fiona devoured every book she could find on the subject, which was never enough to satisfy her curiosity.

  They'd visited Grandma Mary only twice that Fiona could remember, and both times they stayed in the local hotel so the girls wouldn’t be “exposed” to any “Devil worship,” as her dad called it. Once, after saying this, Fiona remembered her mother snapped at him, which was very unusual. “What my mother does has nothing to do with the Devil!” she barked. Theresa’s eyes narrowed at her husband in a way Ann and Fiona rarely witnessed.

  The two trips were short and spent mostly fishing in Fireside Lake with their father rather than spending much time with Grandma Mary, who Fiona remembered as looking nothing at all like a witch. Rather, Mary was lovely and elegant with long, white hair that hung loose down her back. On those trips, Fiona desperately wanted to get to know her grandmother and feel comfortable with her like she had felt with her Grandma Kate, but there was never enough time. She felt shy with Mary and couldn’t shake it off or get past it. She always wanted to, though; Grandma Mary was a fascinating woman who watched Fiona in a way that made Fiona feel special. Every year on their birthdays, she and Ann received cards from Grandma Mary with crisp five-dollar bills. Every Christmas season, Grandma Mary sent the family a five-pound box of assorted Fannie May chocolates. Her father never ate even one.

  Now, in Ann’s cozy kitchen, Fiona realized with a swell of emotion that she wanted very much to go and stay at Grandma Mary’s. It came over her like an answer to a puzzle that she’d been trying to solve for months. “I’ll go,” she said, resolutely placing her teacup on the table. “I’ll go there if she’ll have me.”

  Chapter 4

  The night before Fiona left, she and Ann sat up late in the kitchen. Fiona didn’t have much packing to do because her clothes and possessions were already pared down to a minimum.

  They were looking through old family photo albums spread on the table amongst the tea things. “I can’t believe you’re going to live with her!” Ann exclaimed. “I’m so curious about what she’s like and what her life is like. You have to call me every week. Or write lots of letters.”

  Fiona took a bite of one of Ann’s special carrot muffins, savoring it because she wasn’t going to have another for a long time, depending on whether she came back for Christmas. “I promise,” she said, “and you have to send lots of photos of Nula.” Fiona shuddered suddenly. “What if she forgets me?” she asked fearfully. She pulled a loose photo of Nula closer and stared down at it. In the picture, she was holding a newborn Nula.

  Ann shook her head and touched Fiona’s hand. “She won’t forget you! I’ll put her on the phone every time we talk.” Ann paused, then asked, “How weird is it that we have a living grandmother two states away and we’ve only seen her twice in ten years?”

  “It is so weird,” Fiona agreed. “When we were growing up, I hated it when my friends would ask why I never went to stay with my other grandma and why she never came here. It made me feel like there was something seriously wrong with our family.”

  “There was something seriously wrong with the situation. She’s a fortune-teller, for God’s sake, not a drug addict or a prostitute. Dad really was crazy when it came to Grandma Mary. And Mom was crazy to go along with it.” Ann shook her head disgustedly.

  Fiona let out a guffaw of laughter at the idea of her grandmother as a prostitute.

  “I’m so nervous to be the one to break the ice after all this time,” Fiona mused. “What if she’s awful and makes me feel bad for the way dad treated her?” Fiona anxiously twisted the ends of her hair around one finger. She had no idea what to expect from her grandmother.

  “Of course she won’t be,” An
n said reassuringly. “She’s probably relieved to make up for lost time. She always seemed so happy to see us. You have to tell me everything, especially all about the fortune-telling stuff.” Ann held up a photo of herself as a teenager and she handed it to Fiona. “I thought this was a picture of you at first,” she laughed.

  Fiona stared thoughtfully down at the photo and smiled. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to be able to satisfy a lifetime of curiosity about her. What if she really is a witch?” Fiona whispered, her eyes wide. “What if I wake up at three a.m. and she’s doing spells by candlelight?”

  “Naked,” Ann added. Fiona and Ann both tried to smother their laughter because everyone else in the small house was in bed. Their shoulders shook with the effort. “Then you have to learn,” Ann gasped, “and teach me.” Ann added, more seriously, “It’s our heritage, whether Mom likes it or not.”

  “It is,” Fiona agreed. “It’s our right to know her.”

  “And it’s her right to know us,” Ann said.

  “Maybe Mom will visit,” Fiona said wistfully. “Maybe those two will make up and we can have Grandma Mary in our lives for good.” The two sisters sat in silence then, each feeling a little sad and a little excited. “And even if they don’t, we can still have her. Dad can’t stop us anymore.”

  “True,” Ann sighed. “Maybe we can all spend Christmas together. You’d better get to bed, Fi,” Ann whispered, picking up their teacups and carrying them to the sink. “You’ve got an early day tomorrow.” The cups rattled pleasantly in the empty sink as Ann rinsed them.