tablecloths, and crawled under the table. The ear trumpet was in readiness: she made sure of the placement of the open seam in the cloth and the threads that would control the movement of the chandelier. Then she waited.
It was very hot. Maud had chosen to wear her underclothing under her nightgown, and already she regretted it. There seemed to be no air under the table, and in five minutes she was damp with sweat, though her hands were cold and clammy. As the time passed, her heartbeat slowed. Maud had begun to feel almost drowsy when she heard the door of the dining room open.
“Come into the back parlor — there’s a table there,” Victoria was saying.
The unfamiliar voice of Mr. Burckhardt answered her: “I cannot tell you ladies how grateful I am — how much I appreciate the attempt —”
Judith spoke next. She sounded disapproving, as she so often did with Maud — for a brief moment, Maud experienced a wave of sympathy for the Weeping Walrus. “I hope the attempt will be a brief one, Mr. Burckhardt. You must remember that these attempts take a good deal out of my sister. Hyacinth is not strong. After the last séance, she was seriously unwell. We were forced to have the doctor three times that week.”
Mr. Burckhardt spoke again: “I cannot tell you how sorry I am to hear it. Believe me, I wish I need not put you to such trouble. . . . If there is anything I can do —” He seemed flustered. “At least let me be responsible for the expense of the doctor —”
“Always so generous!” It was Hyacinth’s voice, but she sounded fluttery and unsure of herself. “Please, Judith, don’t scold him! He must try — I feel it. You know I have an instinct for such things. I almost feel as if . . .” She paused. “You will think me silly, I’m sure, but I feel as if someone from the other side wants me to try.”
There was a brief silence. Then Victoria said reluctantly, “It’s true that you are sensitive to such things.”
“Miss Hawthorne is a true medium,” Mr. Burckhardt said reverently.
Maud heard the sound of chairs scraping against carpet. The participants of the séance were seating themselves around the table. Hyacinth said, “Oh no! My gift is a very small one! And it’s so hard for me — you cannot guess how difficult it is!” Maud put her fingers over her lips, cautioning herself not to giggle. “If you only knew, dear Horace, how I long to be able to help you — and yet I may fail!”
“Stop fussing,” Judith commanded. “Mr. Burckhardt, you must take my sister’s hand.”
Maud listened intently. She wished she could lift the tablecloth and take a peek.
“Shall we begin with a hymn?” asked Victoria.
They had come to the part of the program that had been rehearsed. Victoria began “In the Sweet Bye and Bye,” and the others joined in. Maud was surprised by how good they sounded. She knew that Victoria had a fine contralto voice, but the beauty of Burckhardt’s tenor surprised her. He sang harmony — Maud would have liked to listen, to understand the notes he chose, but she had work to do. After the second verse, Maud began to sing along: But no words, just “ah” — and softly, as Hyacinth had cautioned her. It will suggest the idea of a heavenly choir. If you hear Burckhardt stop singing, you stop, too — you don’t want him to ask himself where the voices are coming from.
Burckhardt did not stop to listen. The tune went to the end, and then Victoria began “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” As they began the final verse, Maud’s fingers unwound the two threads. She then began to pull gently, still singing her angelic “ah.”
For perhaps five seconds, no one noticed. Then Burckhardt gasped, “The chandelier!” and Maud heard the tinkling of the prisms.
“Be still!” commanded Judith. “Don’t move! Hyacinth has fallen into a trance — it is death to startle her now!”
“The spirits are here,” Burckhardt whispered hoarsely. “I heard them as
It was very hot. Maud had chosen to wear her underclothing under her nightgown, and already she regretted it. There seemed to be no air under the table, and in five minutes she was damp with sweat, though her hands were cold and clammy. As the time passed, her heartbeat slowed. Maud had begun to feel almost drowsy when she heard the door of the dining room open.
“Come into the back parlor — there’s a table there,” Victoria was saying.
The unfamiliar voice of Mr. Burckhardt answered her: “I cannot tell you ladies how grateful I am — how much I appreciate the attempt —”
Judith spoke next. She sounded disapproving, as she so often did with Maud — for a brief moment, Maud experienced a wave of sympathy for the Weeping Walrus. “I hope the attempt will be a brief one, Mr. Burckhardt. You must remember that these attempts take a good deal out of my sister. Hyacinth is not strong. After the last séance, she was seriously unwell. We were forced to have the doctor three times that week.”
Mr. Burckhardt spoke again: “I cannot tell you how sorry I am to hear it. Believe me, I wish I need not put you to such trouble. . . . If there is anything I can do —” He seemed flustered. “At least let me be responsible for the expense of the doctor —”
“Always so generous!” It was Hyacinth’s voice, but she sounded fluttery and unsure of herself. “Please, Judith, don’t scold him! He must try — I feel it. You know I have an instinct for such things. I almost feel as if . . .” She paused. “You will think me silly, I’m sure, but I feel as if someone from the other side wants me to try.”
There was a brief silence. Then Victoria said reluctantly, “It’s true that you are sensitive to such things.”
“Miss Hawthorne is a true medium,” Mr. Burckhardt said reverently.
Maud heard the sound of chairs scraping against carpet. The participants of the séance were seating themselves around the table. Hyacinth said, “Oh no! My gift is a very small one! And it’s so hard for me — you cannot guess how difficult it is!” Maud put her fingers over her lips, cautioning herself not to giggle. “If you only knew, dear Horace, how I long to be able to help you — and yet I may fail!”
“Stop fussing,” Judith commanded. “Mr. Burckhardt, you must take my sister’s hand.”
Maud listened intently. She wished she could lift the tablecloth and take a peek.
“Shall we begin with a hymn?” asked Victoria.
They had come to the part of the program that had been rehearsed. Victoria began “In the Sweet Bye and Bye,” and the others joined in. Maud was surprised by how good they sounded. She knew that Victoria had a fine contralto voice, but the beauty of Burckhardt’s tenor surprised her. He sang harmony — Maud would have liked to listen, to understand the notes he chose, but she had work to do. After the second verse, Maud began to sing along: But no words, just “ah” — and softly, as Hyacinth had cautioned her. It will suggest the idea of a heavenly choir. If you hear Burckhardt stop singing, you stop, too — you don’t want him to ask himself where the voices are coming from.
Burckhardt did not stop to listen. The tune went to the end, and then Victoria began “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” As they began the final verse, Maud’s fingers unwound the two threads. She then began to pull gently, still singing her angelic “ah.”
For perhaps five seconds, no one noticed. Then Burckhardt gasped, “The chandelier!” and Maud heard the tinkling of the prisms.
“Be still!” commanded Judith. “Don’t move! Hyacinth has fallen into a trance — it is death to startle her now!”
“The spirits are here,” Burckhardt whispered hoarsely. “I heard them as
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