A Drowned Maiden's Hair by Laura Amy Schlitz Page A

we sang. They are close at hand — they are in the room!”
    Gleefully, Maud continued to manipulate the strings. The tinkling was louder now. It was a pity she couldn’t watch.
    “Look!” Victoria’s voice was hushed. “One of the candles has gone out. And there’s another!”
    This, too, was no surprise. Judith had doctored the candles, cutting the wicks short and digging out the wax around them. As the candles swung back and forth, the molten wax doused the flames.
    “Agnes?” queried Burckhardt. Hyacinth had mimicked his intonation with deadly accuracy, but she had failed to convey the anguish in his tones. “Agnes, is it you?”
    Maud let go of one thread. Steadily, noiselessly, she wound it around her hand. The tinkling of the prisms was subdued.
    “Is there a spirit present?” intoned Judith.
    Rap!
    Maud felt her skin creep. She had not expected this. She had no idea what was making the rapping noise.
    “If there is a spirit present,” Judith said doggedly, “rap once for yes and twice for no. ”
    Rap!
    “Agnes!” cried Burckhardt. His voice shook with emotion. “Agnes, is it you?”
    There was no response. Maud heard the sound of chairs shifting. Then she heard a voice, low and sweet — Hyacinth’s voice, though it had undergone a change. It was breathy and faraway, as if it came from the ends of the earth. “Horace —?”
    “Agnes!” bellowed Burckhardt, like a bull in agony. Once again, Maud covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Agnes, my angel! My only love!”
    “Dear Horace!” There was the faintest hint of laughter in the ghostly voice. “Am I truly your only love? Now?”
    There was a pregnant pause; then Maud heard a creak from the table. She wondered if Burckhardt had collapsed. “Oh, Agnes! Do not torment me! In my heart, I have always been true!”
    “Dear Horace!” Only Hyacinth’s voice could be so bell-like. “I am not angry. I know you have always been faithful.”
    “The bride of my youth,” gasped Mr. Burckhardt. He was sobbing. Maud had never heard a man sob before. Something about the sound made her throat ache. She remembered Hyacinth saying, “People shouldn’t carry on like that unless they’re good-looking.” She swallowed.
    “I have never forgotten you, my beloved Agnes! The way you looked on our wedding day — like a white lily, a lily of the valley —”
    “Horace —” Though the voice was still sweet, Mr. Burckhardt’s sentiments had been cut off, almost as if Agnes didn’t want to hear any more love talk. “Horace, my darling, I must be quick! The medium’s power is waning! I have only a few moments left —”
    “Speak to me, my love!”
    Maud’s flash of sympathy flickered and died. She bit her hand to keep from snickering.
    “Horace, I am your bride for all time. When you join me in the great beyond, I will be yours eternally. But now — in the world of the living — you have claimed another love. There is another who will be your bride.”
    Burckhardt gulped. “It is true. Forgive me, my angel! I have been so lonely — but I will cast her aside if you wish it, Agnes! I will love only you!”
    “You do not understand,” the silvery voice chided. “My darling Horace, you have been faithful too long! The time has come for you to love again! It is your earthly duty!”
    There was a pause. Burckhardt was adjusting to his amazement. “Agnes!” he sobbed.
    Good heavens, thought Maud.
    “God has chosen this woman for you! Love her as best you can!” commanded Agnes/Hyacinth. “Shelter and protect her! When you come to the land of light, we shall both be thine! And now, farewell!” Hyacinth’s voice was dying away. “Farewell, my darling, my only love! Horace, farewell!”
    Maud picked up the ear trumpet and fumbled for the open seam, inserting the mouth of the instrument through the slit. After three farewells, Hyacinth had cautioned her. Wait for your cue.
    “Agnes, do not leave me!” begged Mr. Burckhardt. “Stay a little