people think everyone in this town is crazier than a loon," she continued. "And they're probably right! That doesn't seem to bother you."
"Crazy ... why ... craz --" Mother cried, sputtering incredulously. "No one thinks that. People flock here for guidance!"
"Crazy people," Blythe insisted.
For being so insolent, Mother banished Blythe to her room, punishing her for the first time any of us could recall. She then confined me to my room, simply because I had brought all this on in the first place.
This blame did not relent, making that autumn of 1911 one I did not particularly enjoy. But, like waves, events roll in with a crash-bang, then recede, leaving the waters calm -- at least until the next wave comes along. That's what I discovered in the weeks of being constantly confined to my room, a confinement during which I worked on my article about Tesla while thinking about Thad unceasingly. After a while, Mother stopped crying and quit noticing whether Blythe and I were in our rooms. The townspeople gave up looking at me with condemning glances.
Late that November, teams of workers descended on Spirit Vale in flatbed trucks loaded with timber. It seemed that nearly the entire town came out each day to watch them work as, in a remarkably short time, giant poles were erected along Main Street. The workers then scrambled up the poles and strung great lengths of telephone cable between them.
Once again, as with the electric lighting, the Spirit was the center of our first experience of the telephone. The first words spoken over the telephone cable in Spirit Vale were voiced by Aunty Lily. She was proud to be the one to speak them in front of a fascinated crowd that included Mother, Blythe, Emma, Amelie, and me, as well as many of the other resident mediums. "Hello," she said. "Is this the Buffalo police station? It is? Well, we are pleased to report that all is calm here in Spirit Vale. Thank you."
When Aunty Lily hung up, Madam Anushka lifted the tall, black metal phone, turning the speaker piece in her hand. "I vonder eef de spirit vorld can be contacted in dis way?" she pondered aloud.
"It is a mite like talking to a spirit," Aunty Lily remarked. "There's this voice talking at you, but no body."
"What if Hiram called you up one night?" Blythe suggested with a touch of mischief.
"Now why would he do that when he's right here?" Aunty Lily asked. "He is still here, isn't he, Maude?" she checked with Mother.
"Yes, and he says you were very intelligent to have this phone installed," Mother reported.
Aunty Lily beamed proudly.
By December I had stopped checking the mailbox, continually hoping for a letter from either Mimi or Thad. It had never been easy to secretly check the mail at the box out by the white picket fence. When Mother wasn't busy with clients or helping Aunty Lily with her hotel accounts, she was nearly camped there. She and W. T. Stead had begun a lively correspondence. To receive a new letter from him was the greatest pleasure of her life.
I think it was safe to presume that Mother had developed a crush on the noted journalist. He told her of Julia's Bureau, an institution he'd established in 1909 where inquirers could obtain information regarding the spirit world from his spirit guide, Julia. He had on staff a group of mediums who could contact her.
He also sent Mother small gifts: a pack of tarot cards, a crystal ball made of real crystal, clusters of amethyst stone for channeling and focusing energy. Another gift that arrived in early December was a Ouija board, which Mother immediately set about mastering and using with her clients. The plaque in our front yard soon read: MAUDE ONEIDA TAYLOR -- MEDIUM, CHANNELER, VIBRATIONAL PATTERNS INTERPRETED, TAROT READ, CRYSTAL ENERGY FOCUSED, EXPERT PRACTITIONER OF OUIJA BOARD CONTACT.
On Christmas Eve that year, my sisters and I each played a role in Spirit Vale's yearly production of A Christmas Carol, held in the town center. As one might imagine, in a
"Crazy ... why ... craz --" Mother cried, sputtering incredulously. "No one thinks that. People flock here for guidance!"
"Crazy people," Blythe insisted.
For being so insolent, Mother banished Blythe to her room, punishing her for the first time any of us could recall. She then confined me to my room, simply because I had brought all this on in the first place.
This blame did not relent, making that autumn of 1911 one I did not particularly enjoy. But, like waves, events roll in with a crash-bang, then recede, leaving the waters calm -- at least until the next wave comes along. That's what I discovered in the weeks of being constantly confined to my room, a confinement during which I worked on my article about Tesla while thinking about Thad unceasingly. After a while, Mother stopped crying and quit noticing whether Blythe and I were in our rooms. The townspeople gave up looking at me with condemning glances.
Late that November, teams of workers descended on Spirit Vale in flatbed trucks loaded with timber. It seemed that nearly the entire town came out each day to watch them work as, in a remarkably short time, giant poles were erected along Main Street. The workers then scrambled up the poles and strung great lengths of telephone cable between them.
Once again, as with the electric lighting, the Spirit was the center of our first experience of the telephone. The first words spoken over the telephone cable in Spirit Vale were voiced by Aunty Lily. She was proud to be the one to speak them in front of a fascinated crowd that included Mother, Blythe, Emma, Amelie, and me, as well as many of the other resident mediums. "Hello," she said. "Is this the Buffalo police station? It is? Well, we are pleased to report that all is calm here in Spirit Vale. Thank you."
When Aunty Lily hung up, Madam Anushka lifted the tall, black metal phone, turning the speaker piece in her hand. "I vonder eef de spirit vorld can be contacted in dis way?" she pondered aloud.
"It is a mite like talking to a spirit," Aunty Lily remarked. "There's this voice talking at you, but no body."
"What if Hiram called you up one night?" Blythe suggested with a touch of mischief.
"Now why would he do that when he's right here?" Aunty Lily asked. "He is still here, isn't he, Maude?" she checked with Mother.
"Yes, and he says you were very intelligent to have this phone installed," Mother reported.
Aunty Lily beamed proudly.
By December I had stopped checking the mailbox, continually hoping for a letter from either Mimi or Thad. It had never been easy to secretly check the mail at the box out by the white picket fence. When Mother wasn't busy with clients or helping Aunty Lily with her hotel accounts, she was nearly camped there. She and W. T. Stead had begun a lively correspondence. To receive a new letter from him was the greatest pleasure of her life.
I think it was safe to presume that Mother had developed a crush on the noted journalist. He told her of Julia's Bureau, an institution he'd established in 1909 where inquirers could obtain information regarding the spirit world from his spirit guide, Julia. He had on staff a group of mediums who could contact her.
He also sent Mother small gifts: a pack of tarot cards, a crystal ball made of real crystal, clusters of amethyst stone for channeling and focusing energy. Another gift that arrived in early December was a Ouija board, which Mother immediately set about mastering and using with her clients. The plaque in our front yard soon read: MAUDE ONEIDA TAYLOR -- MEDIUM, CHANNELER, VIBRATIONAL PATTERNS INTERPRETED, TAROT READ, CRYSTAL ENERGY FOCUSED, EXPERT PRACTITIONER OF OUIJA BOARD CONTACT.
On Christmas Eve that year, my sisters and I each played a role in Spirit Vale's yearly production of A Christmas Carol, held in the town center. As one might imagine, in a
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