The Medium of Memory | ONC2020

4: The Women

A carriage ride from the city to the surrounding countryside is usually something to invigorate the spirit, particularly on a sunny spring day, with a capable and amiable driver.

So it began on this day, despite the fact that we were on our way to visit a reputedly haunted house.

Charlotte proved herself an excellent handler of both horse and carriage. She arrived at my home to collect me, wearing a pleated white and grey striped shirtwaist and simple grey skirt. She greeted me in a cheerful manner as I climbed up into the seat beside her.

Mrs. B waved from the front steps as we drove away. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself cautiously looking forward to this fresh adventure and the potential in a new acquaintance.

Not only might Charlotte help me understand my newly discovered psychic power (as I'd begun to think of it), but she might grow to be a friend. If I am being honest, I had for several years been quite solitary and reclusive, unwilling to get close to anyone my own age. I told myself that I preferred the company of my books, and Mrs. B's small circle of elderly, educated friends.

I had also given less thought to getting rid of my new power, and rather more thought to how I might control it and use it to my advantage. My ability to read people's memories had been instrumental in earning a living and becoming relatively independent. Perhaps this new gift could be used to gain further financial independence. I could not, after all, live on Mrs. B's generosity and the income derived from my seances indefinitely. One must use one's skills to one's advantage.

The grass was tall and the little yellow sorrel was in bloom alongside the road as we headed south out of the city, the lake glistening in the sun off to our left. We passed a farmer heading into town, his three young daughters riding in the wagon. They bobbed along past us, their hats trailing colorful ribbons. We waved gaily at them and the man tipped his hat to us.

"I'm pleased you decided to accept my job offer," Charlotte said.

I laughed a little. "Well, the pay is certainly more than agreeable." Out of modesty, I will refrain from stating the amount here, but let it be said that it was a considerable sum.

"Is it only for the money?" she asked, cocking her head at me.

I worried that I had offended her. "Also for the excellent company," I quickly added, trying to jest. She seemed satisfied and a bit amused by this answer.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I said, "Mrs. Barrowmore tells me you have come down from Syracuse or thereabouts."

"True enough," she answered. I watched her hands lightly holding the reins and the gentle rise and fall of the horse's back.

"And you have family here in town?"

Her hands tightened ever so slightly, and a less observant person than I would have certainly missed this gesture entirely. "I did long ago," she replied and said nothing further.

Again, I felt I had said something I ought not to, and resolved to avoid prying into her affairs.

I listened to the hypnotic hum of insects until she asked, "What about your family?"

"Mrs. B is my family." I decided I should be honest, if I wanted to initiate a friendship. "I grew up in an orphanage, you see."

A recollection of the girls in their light blue pinafores playing with hoop and stick in the yard came unbidden to my mind.

Charlotte must have read something in my face because her look became firmly resolved as she replied, "As you said before, why dwell on the past, eh? Let's speak of more current subjects."