Boston Metaphysical Society Read online

  Jonathan stared blank faced at him. Sampson wondered if he had gone too far.

  “Thank you, Sampson. I will take your advice under consideration.”

  With that, the house manager knew he had been dismissed.

  ***

  Elizabeth frowned as she adjusted her plain brown hat with two threads of copper wire running through the brim. Accustomed to wearing fascinators, she had a hard time fitting it to her satisfaction. Exasperated, she finally yanked it off and threw it on the bed.

  “Now, miss, there’s no sense having a fit over it.” Mrs. Owen picked it up and plopped it back on her head again. “Wear it like so. No one will be the wiser down at the docks.”

  The hat matched her tawny dress, which had two copper wires woven into the hem and the collar and lapel of her long jacket. Mrs. Owen had convinced her to put on a plain white cotton blouse instead of her usual corsets, claiming working Middle District women found them too constricting.

  Samuel poked his head in the room. “You look ready. Are you?”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips. “It’s ugly, but comfortable.”

  “See? You might have something to learn from Middle District women after all,” Mrs. Owen commented as she brushed lint off the back of Elizabeth’s jacket.

  “The dress is perfect. Where did you find it on such short notice?” Samuel asked.

  Mrs. Owen guffawed. “Housekeepers have secrets too.” She backed up two steps and gave Elizabeth the once over. “You’re done.”

  Elizabeth took a good look at herself in the floor-length mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman who reached up to tuck a lock of hair up under the hat. It was as if she was seeing a vision of herself in another life.

  “Elizabeth,” Samuel called out to her. “We need to go.”

  She adjusted the jacket one more time before she took an old leather purse from Mrs. Owen’s hands.

  The older woman smiled. “You’ll do fine, miss.”

  ***

  Elizabeth sat on a lumpy cloth seat in the back of a horse carriage. Samuel had insisted on using a carriage instead of the steam-powered car, saying it would make them less obvious. The last time she had done that was in Europe with some baroness or another. Though the baroness’s mode of travel had been much more well appointed, with fine leather seats and lace curtains, it was still a horse carriage and not a car. It still puzzled her why the so-called European royalty held on to such vestiges of the past.

  She drew back the curtains to take a peek outside. They were passing through the section called the Middle District in Boston. Every major city in the Great States of America had one or something similar. It was a neighborhood that bordered Beacon Hill and the South Side and encompassed Liberty Row. The Middle District itself was divided between those who lived a lifestyle closer to Beacon Hill, those on the other side of the economic spectrum, and everyone in between. The people who resided here were tradesmen, shopkeepers, bureaucrats, and well-educated servants. In short, these were the people who worked for and supported the Great Houses in various capacities.

  The carriage’s wheels rumbled as they ran over uneven cobblestone. They were getting closer to the South Side. Elizabeth felt almost ashamed that she had never been to this part of Boston where the poor Irish lived, but being the heir to House Weldsmore limited her movements more than people understood—not that she ever complained. Elizabeth knew full well her life was one of extraordinary privilege, and she hoped that with the help of her husband she could use it to do some good. That is if she could get her visions under control.

  Samuel touched her hand. “Elizabeth, we’re almost there.”

  She let go of the curtain and sat back. The carriage came to a stop. Samuel opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him. The vehicle rocked as one of the hired guards climbed down from the driver’s perch. After a minute, Samuel opened the door again and offered her his hand to help her out. She took it and stepped into a world she had only read about.

  Coal dust embedded every crack and crevice on the street and the brick tenement buildings. The dirt-encrusted windows on the local shops made it impossible to see their wares though the locals who strolled by seemed not to notice. The men and women dressed in plain brown and black woolen clothing without a hint of metal. Elizabeth was not surprised at this, as anyone outside their social class wearing copper or even brass in their clothing would face harassment if not outright jail. Though there was no law forbidding the lower classes from wearing metal, it simply wasn’t done nor encouraged.

  And then there was the smell.

  The odor of rotting garbage and sewage made her gag. As she dug into her purse for a handkerchief to cover her nose, several children, their faces covered in soot and their clothing two sizes too small, scurried over and begged her for coins. Clutching the purse to her chest, Elizabeth backed up against the carriage, not knowing what to do.

  One of the Irishmen Samuel had hired stomped over and shooed them away. They yelled at him for interfering as ran off.

  “Elizabeth, they won’t hurt you.”

  “I know. I just didn’t expect . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Samuel took her elbow. “Let’s go.” He gestured toward a door next to a shop that sold leather goods. It opened up to a four-story walk-up. Elizabeth followed her husband up the creaking wooden stairs for two flights. The Irishman who’d chased away the children stayed at the bottom of the stairwell. She was sure his looming presence would dissuade anyone from bothering them.

  Samuel stopped on the final small landing and knocked on the door. There was shuffling inside, then it jerked open. A tiny, wizened old woman with pewter-colored hair and cataract-ridden eyes stared out.

  “You be him to come see my Rachel?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Myself and my wife.”

  The old woman inhaled sharply.

  Worried that she might not be well, Elizabeth stepped in front of Samuel and smiled. “Are you all right? May we come in?”

  The old woman ignored her and turned to walk back into the apartment, leaving the door open. Samuel shrugged then gestured for Elizabeth to go inside.

  She walked into a clean but dilapidated room with dark-blue linen curtains, a moth-eaten wool rug with an unrecognizable pattern, and two couches with blankets thrown over them to hide the holes. An ancient wood-burning cookstove took up one corner and vented up through the ceiling. The old woman disappeared into an adjoining room. They followed.

  Smaller than the first, Elizabeth suspected that the space used to be a bedroom, but now it was furnished with a wooden table that sat four and was covered with a lovely ivory lace tablecloth and a single large candle. Four wooden chairs surrounded it, and the window was blocked by a solid sheet of black cloth. But the most interesting part of the room was the woman who sat at the table and the man who stood next to her.

  Elizabeth guessed the woman was in her forties, with the gray streaks that riddled what she surmised was once striking red hair. Her eyes were green with a hint of white as she had undoubtedly inherited cataracts from the older woman, whom Elizabeth assumed was her mother. She wore a pewter wedding band on her left hand and a matching necklace of three intertwining hollow leaves that formed a triangle. To her surprise, Elizabeth remembered it was called a trinity knot. Elizabeth also sensed that whoever the woman’s husband was, he was long gone. It might be why deep furrows lined her face, as if each had been won in a hard-fought battle. Time had not been kind to her.

  The man standing next to her was a little older and his hair was completely gray. His face had a kinder and calmer aspect than the woman. He looked somewhat familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place him. The idea that she had met him before seemed far fetched, but she thought he recognized her too. It took a moment for Elizabeth to realize that they were assessing her in the same way she was assessing them. She wondered what they saw when they looked at her.

  Then the unexpected happened. Both of them turne
d their attention to Samuel. The woman peered at him as if searching for a hidden clue while the man’s face took on an almost overwhelming look of sadness. Elizabeth wanted to reach out and comfort him, but that instinct was swept away when a blinding headache and nausea hit her.

  “Samuel.” Elizabeth reached out and grabbed his arm.

  He pulled out a chair. “Sit.”

  “Ah, I should have known she’d be reacting like this,” the woman commented, her Irish accent soft and lilting. “Sometimes mediums feel sick whenever they’re around others of their kind. It be like two balls bouncing into each other unexpectedly. Whenever you ever feel that way, sing a tune in your head. It might help.”

  “Seriously?” Samuel guffawed.

  Elizabeth thought the idea was silly, but tried to think of the last song she had heard. A little ditty bounced around inside her head and the pain eased.

  Samuel pointed to the Irishman next to Rachel. “Why is he here? I thought we agreed that it was just to be the three of us. No outsiders.”

  The woman smiled, her eyes lighting up in amusement. “Aye. I’m sorry. Andrew be so much a part of what I do I often forget he’s here.”

  Andrew sighed. “And here I thought you be appreciating me,” he quipped in a thick Irish brogue.

  “Still . . .” Samuel did not look happy.

  “It be fine, Mr. Hunter. This be Andrew O’Sullivan. A medium and spirit photographer. He be my anchor when . . .” Her hand spun around in the air. “When I be in the minds of other folk. Not unlike what the missus can do from what you told me.”

  The pain in Elizabeth’s head subsided enough for her to remember her manners. She extended her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Hunter. Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Rachel Callahan.” She stared at Elizabeth’s hand. “It not be wise to take another medium’s hand without an invitation. It could lead you into even more trouble if you’re not ready.”

  Elizabeth dropped it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Rachel leaned back in her chair and peered at her. “I’m thinking there be a whole parcel you need to learn.”

  “You don’t have to be rude,” Elizabeth shot back. She wiped her brow with her handkerchief. “Are you going to help me or not? Otherwise, there are other places I’d rather be.”

  Rachel laughed. “I say this, Mr. Hunter, the missus has some fight in her.” She leaned forward on the table, hands clasped in front of her. “I want ten thousand dollars. Five by next week and five in six months, as I reckon that’s how long it will take for the lady to learn enough not to hurt herself or anyone else.”

  “That’s outrageous!” Elizabeth seethed. “Samuel, this is extortion.”

  “Did you think I be doing this out of some sort of bond between the likes of us?” Rachel asked.

  “I’d assumed you’d be doing this out of a sense of responsibility.”

  Rachel tapped her fingers on the table. “Responsibility. Well, then, let’s see . . . I’m responsible for those you and your kind cast aside.” She gestured toward the ceiling. “For those with nothing. Not even a roof over their heads.”

  Samuel put his hand on hers. “Elizabeth, you have to learn how to control your visions. Mrs. Callahan knows how to do this.”

  “You’re on her side?”

  “Elizabeth, I will always be on your side. That’s why we’re here.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she stared down Rachel. “What are you going to do with that kind of money?”

  “Buy food, clothing, find lodging for those with none.”

  “Fine, but we’re doing it my way.” Elizabeth yanked her hat off and plopped it on the table. “You say you need the money for food, clothes, yes.”

  “Aye.”

  “I will buy them,” Elizabeth declared.

  “What? No!” Samuel protested.

  Both Rachel and Andrew gaped at her in astonishment.

  Rachel recovered first. “You? You’re going to waltz into one of our shops and order clothes and food for the likes of us? I don’t think so.”

  “You’re right. I can’t do that. But I can negotiate bulk quantities through my family’s business contacts and have them delivered through those gentlemen my husband hired to escort me here. And I can get a far better price than you can. It would make the money go much farther. Plus, it’ll help cut down on the skimming.”

  Andrew burst out laughing. “The lassie’s got you, Rachel.”

  “Do I have anything to say about this plan?” Samuel asked.

  “No,” both women replied.

  Rachel offered her hand. “It be a deal, Mrs. Hunter.”

  Elizabeth eyed the medium’s hand suspiciously.

  “It be fine, since I be the one doing the offering.” Rachel reassured her.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Callahan.” Elizabeth reached across the table and grasped the older woman’s hand. This was the first real business deal she’d ever made, and she was determined to make it work.

  ***

  Elizabeth spent the next hour listening to Rachel explain that not all mediums have the same abilities. Some were able to commune with the dead while others sensed ghosts or demons. Some could see the future or the past. A rare few could reach into the minds of others. Those with that kind of power either used it to heal or to do harm. Rachel revealed that she had a small talent for reading tarot cards, but was also one of those like Elizabeth who could inhabit the minds of others, but only in the present. Though she was able to enter a mind at will, she had never been able to take physical control over the person in question. When Elizabeth described what had happened to her, she saw Rachel’s face tense up in alarm then relax just as quickly, as if she were trying to hide her concern.

  Rachel told her that Andrew’s abilities were quite different from hers, but because they had both been trained by his uncle when they were children they had formed a strong and trusting bond, like a brother and sister. She used him as her anchor whenever she journeyed into someone else’s mind; he was her link back in case she got lost. Rachel said she hoped Elizabeth would feel comfortable enough with Andrew to use him as her own anchor once she had a better grasp on her abilities.

  The first thing Rachel wanted to do was to enter Elizabeth’s mind to get a sense of how strong a medium she was.

  “You want to do what?” Elizabeth’s voice went up a notch. “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want anyone roaming around inside my head.”

  “Lassie, she’s not going to pick up on any secrets unless you want her to,” Andrew chimed in.

  “And how can I stop her?”

  Both Rachel and Andrew chuckled.

  “Every mind has its own defenses. I suspect yours be strong, but I’ll teach you a few tricks,” Rachel chided her.

  Elizabeth turned to Samuel, incredulous. “And you’re all right with this?”

  “I want you to be in control of your visions. You are in too powerful a position to allow anyone else to have influence over you.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Besides, I’ll be here the whole time.”

  “I don’t like it.” Elizabeth scowled.

  “This is the way it’ll be, Mrs. Hunter.” Rachel sat up straight in her chair. “I’ll help you relax and enter a place we call spiorad pasáiste. A kind of spirit passageway. From there I will lead you to a vision. If you practice entering this passageway first, it will help you control when you have your visions. Then, with Andrew’s help, I’ll enter your mind. And I be hoping you take a walk in some nice person’s head.”

  Elizabeth tapped her foot as she considered her proposal. “Fine. But I still don’t like it.”

  Rachel reached around her neck and took off the trinity knot necklace. She held it about two feet in front of Elizabeth’s face and let it swing back and forth like a pendulum. “Watch the charm. Get all that clutter and worry out of your head. This be a safe place.”

  Elizabeth watched the charm sway. Her mind refused to let go of all the turmoil in her life. Images o
f Samuel, her father, and her vision kept surging around in a whirlwind. She closed her eyes and focused on relaxing her body then her mind. Elizabeth had no idea how long it took, but she finally quieted it.

  She imagined floating, and when she opened her eyes, there was nothing but darkness—a dead void of nothingness. Elizabeth gasped, panicking in this dark abyss. Her arms and legs flailed, trying to find purchase, but there was nothing to grab on to. She thought she was lost . . . until a woman’s whisper calmed her down. Rachel was with her. A speck of light far away twinkled as if to call her. She willed her mind to follow it. Soon the vision began.

  In an instant a sea breeze swirled around her, brushing a stray lock of hair across her cheek. An airship soaring over the bay from Dorchester filled the sky. It dwarfed the sailboats that cruised by.

  Whoever’s body Elizabeth inhabited took off running and waving their arms. The person shouted at someone. That’s when she realized her vision had brought her into the mind of a young girl. She glanced down long enough for Elizabeth to see she wore ill-fitting and tattered woolen clothing. From what she could tell, she was still on the South Side shoreline off the old Bay.

  Something pinged in the back of her mind. She suspected that was Rachel now traveling with her. It gave her a sense of confidence she’d never had before and she decided to enjoy the sea breeze that whisked though her hair as the girl ran, then hopped, skipped, and jumped. It was a joyous moment of freedom.

  The girl rushed over to three other children—two boys and another girl—as they dug for clams in the hard-packed and ash-ridden sand. One boy looked up, his freckled face sunburnt.

  “About time,” he remarked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “Where be Abigail?” she asked. “I thought she was bringing more buckets.”

  He shrugged. “Her Ma said she never came home last night.”

  “Did you go look for her?”

  “Nah. Not my business. Here.” He handed her a small shovel. “I can’t do it all myself.”

  As the girl took the shovel, dizziness overwhelmed her. “Gabriel!” The girl staggered and fell to the ground, her eyes closed.