think Calla might be?
She doesn’t know about the apparition Calla saw in her mother’s room that first night, or about the premonitions she’s had in the past.
Maybe I should tell her , Calla thinks, not for the first time. Or maybe I should just forget about all of it, or I’ll start acting as crazy as Odelia .
She opts for the latter. At least for now.
“Evangeline, how about if you show Calla around this afternoon?” Odelia suggests briskly. “The rain is letting up, finally.”
“Sure. Do you want to look around, Calla?”
There’s nothing to do but smile at Evangeline and say politely, “Sure.”
Well, it’s either that or announce that she has no interest in sightseeing in this spooky little town, which isn’t exactly the case, anyway. She’s curious about Lily Dale, she’ll admit that. Because her mom grew up here, and because . . . well, she can’t help but be intrigued by the idea of a town filled with psychic mediums.
For some reason, though, she hasn’t wanted to ask her grandmother much about it. Maybe because she’s afraid of what she’ll say. Or ask in return.
“So, what do you think about Lily Dale?” Evangeline asks as she and Calla stroll away from Odelia’s beneath a gloomy sky.
“I haven’t even seen it. We’ve been inside the house since I got here the other day.”
“Well, this is Melrose Park.” They’re crossing a grassy, tree-shaded green, heading away from the murky waters of the lake. There are people strolling here and there. Most of them seem to be women of all ages, usually in pairs or groups. Some are clutching pamphlets and stopping to consult them, as if they’re looking for something.
“I’ll show you where the Assembly office is first,” Evange-line decides.
“What’s the Assembly?”
“The Lily Dale Assembly. For spiritualism. Hang on a second, I’ve got to tie my shoe.” Evangeline stops and stoops over her purple sneaker.
Calla seizes the opportunity to look around at the quaint, close-set nineteenth-century gingerbread cottages. They’re architecturally similar to Odelia’s, some well kept, others rundown. Most have equally chaotic flower beds, and never in her life has she seen so many outdoor ornaments. Wind chimes, birdbaths and birdhouses, flags and banners, garden gnomes . . .
She’s about to comment about that to Evangeline when something else catches her eye.
Signs. They’re old-fashioned shingles, really, just like the one that hangs from Odelia’s porch. And they’re nearly as abundant as the wind chimes, which, in a sudden gust off the lake, are tinkling to life.
P ATSY M ETCALF , R EGISTERED M EDIUM & S PIRITUAL C ONSULTANT
R EV . D ORIS H ENDERSON , C LAIRVOYANT
A NDY B RIGHTON , P SYCHIC M EDIUM
One house even has a pair of shingles, hanging one above the other:
W ALTER D ARWIN , R EGISTERED M EDIUM
P ETER C LIFFORD , H EALER
Wow. The whole place really is crawling with . . . freaks.
Evangeline, standing again, follows Calla’s gaze. “That’s where Jacy lives.” She gestures at the neat little house with double signs.
“Jacy?” Calla realizes he’s the guy she met just after she arrived.
“Yeah, he’s this guy . . . he’s pretty new here, too. He came from Jamestown, but before that he lived on a reservation down on the southern tier.”
“Reservation? You mean like—”
“He’s Native American,” Evangeline explains.
Oh. Not Cuban after all, Calla thinks. Native American. She knew he had to have exotic blood, with those unusual good looks.
Evangeline goes on, “I’m sure you’ll meet him soon.”
Calla opens her mouth to tell Evangeline that she already did, but Evangeline is the chatty type and rarely pauses for a breath. “I saw him heading toward Leolyn Woods before, when I was coming across the yard to your grandmother’s. Walt and Peter are his foster dads. You have to meet Jacy. He’s really cute.”
Now that it seems to be her turn to speak, Calla tries to think of
She doesn’t know about the apparition Calla saw in her mother’s room that first night, or about the premonitions she’s had in the past.
Maybe I should tell her , Calla thinks, not for the first time. Or maybe I should just forget about all of it, or I’ll start acting as crazy as Odelia .
She opts for the latter. At least for now.
“Evangeline, how about if you show Calla around this afternoon?” Odelia suggests briskly. “The rain is letting up, finally.”
“Sure. Do you want to look around, Calla?”
There’s nothing to do but smile at Evangeline and say politely, “Sure.”
Well, it’s either that or announce that she has no interest in sightseeing in this spooky little town, which isn’t exactly the case, anyway. She’s curious about Lily Dale, she’ll admit that. Because her mom grew up here, and because . . . well, she can’t help but be intrigued by the idea of a town filled with psychic mediums.
For some reason, though, she hasn’t wanted to ask her grandmother much about it. Maybe because she’s afraid of what she’ll say. Or ask in return.
“So, what do you think about Lily Dale?” Evangeline asks as she and Calla stroll away from Odelia’s beneath a gloomy sky.
“I haven’t even seen it. We’ve been inside the house since I got here the other day.”
“Well, this is Melrose Park.” They’re crossing a grassy, tree-shaded green, heading away from the murky waters of the lake. There are people strolling here and there. Most of them seem to be women of all ages, usually in pairs or groups. Some are clutching pamphlets and stopping to consult them, as if they’re looking for something.
“I’ll show you where the Assembly office is first,” Evange-line decides.
“What’s the Assembly?”
“The Lily Dale Assembly. For spiritualism. Hang on a second, I’ve got to tie my shoe.” Evangeline stops and stoops over her purple sneaker.
Calla seizes the opportunity to look around at the quaint, close-set nineteenth-century gingerbread cottages. They’re architecturally similar to Odelia’s, some well kept, others rundown. Most have equally chaotic flower beds, and never in her life has she seen so many outdoor ornaments. Wind chimes, birdbaths and birdhouses, flags and banners, garden gnomes . . .
She’s about to comment about that to Evangeline when something else catches her eye.
Signs. They’re old-fashioned shingles, really, just like the one that hangs from Odelia’s porch. And they’re nearly as abundant as the wind chimes, which, in a sudden gust off the lake, are tinkling to life.
P ATSY M ETCALF , R EGISTERED M EDIUM & S PIRITUAL C ONSULTANT
R EV . D ORIS H ENDERSON , C LAIRVOYANT
A NDY B RIGHTON , P SYCHIC M EDIUM
One house even has a pair of shingles, hanging one above the other:
W ALTER D ARWIN , R EGISTERED M EDIUM
P ETER C LIFFORD , H EALER
Wow. The whole place really is crawling with . . . freaks.
Evangeline, standing again, follows Calla’s gaze. “That’s where Jacy lives.” She gestures at the neat little house with double signs.
“Jacy?” Calla realizes he’s the guy she met just after she arrived.
“Yeah, he’s this guy . . . he’s pretty new here, too. He came from Jamestown, but before that he lived on a reservation down on the southern tier.”
“Reservation? You mean like—”
“He’s Native American,” Evangeline explains.
Oh. Not Cuban after all, Calla thinks. Native American. She knew he had to have exotic blood, with those unusual good looks.
Evangeline goes on, “I’m sure you’ll meet him soon.”
Calla opens her mouth to tell Evangeline that she already did, but Evangeline is the chatty type and rarely pauses for a breath. “I saw him heading toward Leolyn Woods before, when I was coming across the yard to your grandmother’s. Walt and Peter are his foster dads. You have to meet Jacy. He’s really cute.”
Now that it seems to be her turn to speak, Calla tries to think of
Similar Books
