Boston Metaphysical Society Read online

  “I may think Jeanette Collins is a silly twit, but she be your only friend. Without her you’d be moping around here all day.” The lid to the stew pot clanged as Erin set it on top of the boiling liquid. “And that I could not bear.”

  Caitlin leaned over and stared into her stew, trying to hide the hurt her mother’s comment caused her, but it did not work. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw Erin standing over her.

  “Now ye be moping.” Erin shook her head.

  “Why do you say such things to me, Ma?” Caitlin refused to look up from her stew.

  Erin grabbed her by the chin and forced Caitlin’s head up. “I be preparing ye for the future. Your real future. Not the fantasy you and your da put on.” Her mother released her. “Now finish eatin’ and go to bed. You’ve work to do in the mornin’.”

  EVERY TIME HE HAD THE chance Matthew continued to read to Caitlin and Jeanette while they worked. If the girls had to split up, he always stayed with Caitlin much to Jeanette’s relief.

  “God help me if I ever have little ones,” Jeanette whispered as if someone were listening. “I can’t stand the smell or the sight of them.”

  “Then you best hope you don’t be getting married anytime soon,” Caitlin declared.

  “Aye. Maybe I’ll go be a teacher like you.”

  “Girls.” Mrs. Trask stomped in. “I need one of you to clean up the young master’s room. Sally has taken ill.”

  “I’ll do it, Mrs. Trask,” Caitlin volunteered.

  Jeanette heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Come along, then.” Mrs. Trask turned on the ball of her foot and marched out of the room.

  Caitlin mimicked Mrs. Trask’s stiff walk and severe upright posture before she followed her out. Jeanette could not help herself and had to bury her face in her skirt to muffle her laughter.

  Upstairs, Caitlin entered a room filled with a messy bed, toys, books, and boys’ clothing scattered around the room. The walls had dark wood paneling, and the floor was covered with fine wool rugs. Amber velvet curtains were tied back to reveal large bay windows that overlooked the park across the street. The young master’s bed had four cherrywood posts and an eggshell-colored canopy with matching linens. A matching cherrywood desk and chair sat near the window. It amazed her that this finery belonged to Middle District folk. She could not comprehend what life must be like on Beacon Hill. When she touched the sheets they were so soft she had to resist the urge to rub them against her cheek. It wasn’t that she’d never been in a Middle District house before, but she had never been inside a bedroom. General house cleaning girls were normally relegated to downstairs.

  “I presume you know how to tidy up a room. Make sure you strip the bedsheets. You can find clean linens in the hall closet.” Mrs. Trask exited without another word.

  “Stop your gawking and get to work,” Caitlin said to herself while pulling off the bedsheets.

  After a half hour of remaking the bed, picking up clothes, and putting toys away, Caitlin began the tedious job of dusting. She’d stepped over Matthew’s rocking horse to reach the window when she became aware of the humming sensation inside her body. The feeling of electricity running through her happened so fast she knew it meant one thing—a ghost was present. She whirled around, tripped, and crashed into the wall with a thud. Her head spinning, Caitlin turned to see the cause of the feeling.

  Unlike the translucent nature of Duncan, this ghost could have been mistaken for a real person. It was a young woman of approximately twenty years with dark auburn hair and gray eyes. She wore a dress of cobalt-blue wool with inserts of turquoise silk. Tiny brass buttons and filigree wound around its hem. Whoever this ghost was, she had evidently lived a privileged life when she was alive. Caitlin was struck by the feeling the ghost carried a mantle of grief about her like a well-worn shawl.

  Matthew stood in front of her grinning, from ear to ear. “This is Regina. She’s my friend.”

  “You be seeing her?” Caitlin asked.

  “Of course, silly.”

  Stunned, Caitlin realized that the odd feeling she’d had when she first met Matthew meant the boy was a Medium like herself.

  Caitlin closed her eyes to calm herself, took a deep breath and concentrated. When she opened them, the sound of a woman’s voice echoed around her until it settled into soft feminine quality so sure and true she could have been still alive.

  “Hello, Caitlin. My name is Regina Gill.”

  Caitlin hesitated, not knowing what to say. No ghost had ever communicated to her through actual speech, not even Duncan. Her father had taught her how to hide her abilities and protect herself if a ghost pestered her, but he had never mentioned this could happen.

  “What do you be wanting here?” Caitlin demanded.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Regina smiled. “I’m lonely.” The visage of Regina placed a possessive hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And I’m drawn to Matthew. His presence makes me feel alive again.”

  Agitated, Caitlin paced across the room.

  “You are upset. Why?” the ghost asked, in a concerned tone.

  “None of this be right. You be haunting a child. A little boy. How long has she been here, Matthew?”

  Matthew pranced around. “A few months. I don’t mind her here. Really. Mother and Miss Simpson never let me go out. How else am I going to have any fun? Regina’s fun. Please don’t make her go away.”

  “I don’t be likin’ this.” Caitlin frowned.

  “Please,” Matthew begged.

  “I would never harm Matthew.” Regina’s voice echoed around the room. “I give you my word.”

  “Have you told anyone else about her?” Caitlin asked Matthew.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want them to take her away from me.”

  Caitlin knew that no one could, but the boy could be locked away for claiming he could see a ghost.

  “Good.” Caitlin turned her attention toward Regina. “You don’t remember your death? Or why you be here in this house?”

  Regina shook her head. “All I remember is being sad and hearing a woman crying. I don’t know who she is. I keep trying to remember, but I just can’t. And when I try, I—”

  “I still don’t—” Caitlin heard someone’s shoes clicking down the hall and the voices of two women arguing.

  She straightened up the bed blanket to make it look like she had been working. “Matthew, go sit there like a good boy.” She pointed to the chair by the small oak desk.

  Matthew obeyed without hesitation.

  Mrs. Trask and Miss Simpson walked in and stopped arguing at the sight of Caitlin.

  “What are you doing in here?” Miss Simpson growled at Caitlin. “Get out.”

  “Calm down, Miss Simpson. The girl was given instructions to clean the room.” Mrs. Trask’s dark eyes bored into Caitlin. “Isn’t that correct?”

  Caitlin bowed her head and did a swift curtsy. “Aye, Mrs. Trask.”

  Before Miss Simpson could retort, Mrs. Trask waved her back. “Isn’t it time for Matthew’s afternoon lessons?”

  Still angry, Miss Simpson gave the older woman a slight nod. “Yes, ma’am.” The nanny exited the room as if leaving were painful.

  With Miss Simpson’s not so dainty footsteps traipsed down the hall, Mrs. Trask surveyed the room as if she were looking for something. “I don’t want any mischief going on.”

  “The boy and I be keeping each other company, Mrs. Trask.” Caitlin nodded to a prim-looking Matthew, who sat up straight as a board except for his legs swinging back and forth under the chair. “No mischief here.”

  Mrs. Trask’s eye’s narrowed as her hand grasped the doorknob. “Come, Matthew. It’s time for your lessons.”

  The little boy sagged as he sighed and climbed off the chair. “Yes, Mrs. Trask.” He walked out of the room dragging his feet.

  As the older woman closed the door, she glanced back at Caitlin. “When you’re done here, you can go home.”

  Caitlin rushed thro
ugh the rest of the dusting with dozens of questions running through her head. Why was Regina here? How long had the boy known he was a Medium? Was he in any danger? She did not think so, but the only person who could answer that question for certain was her father.

  BY THE TIME CAITLIN ARRIVED home, darkness had turned the street into a place inhabited by those who had nowhere else to go. Small fires burned in an abandoned building where the homeless had found a brief respite. The building next to it, though inhabited by families, had chunks of mortar missing from between the bricks and trash overflowing the bins outside. Unlike on the clean and smooth streets of the Middle District, Caitlin often had to walk through filth and hop over cracked cobblestones. She skirted by a dirty decrepit old man who grabbed for her, only to run into a young woman whose blank face and crusty eyes and mouth made Caitlin shudder. The local parish helped those they could, and Caitlin had delivered food to the needy with her mother and a few neighbors. However, it was never enough, and the police found someone dead on the street every day.

  Caitlin suspected that Beacon Hill and the Middle District wanted to keep the majority of the population of the South Side somewhat healthy in order to keep them working. A few South Siders saved up enough to move up into the Middle District, but the result served to give the rest of the Irish a vague hope of a better life. With her father’s new job, he was saving enough money to move out in a few years, but her mother was dead set against it for reasons Caitlin did not understand.

  Caitlin suspected that was what they were arguing about when she arrived home. She couldn’t hear them well as she stood outside her front door, but Caitlin thought her name came up once or twice as well as the words “Middle District.” When she gathered up enough courage to walk in, they stopped talking.

  Erin stood in front of Andrew red-faced and with her fists clenched as he threw a small duffel over his shoulder. Her father looked angry and apologetic at the same time.

  “Caitlin, luv.” He rubbed his hand over his face as if he could wipe away his anger. “I be going up north with Mr. Hunter for a few days. So I need you to take care of ye ma while I’m away.”

  Erin stomped back over to the stove in and shoved more coal in the burner.

  “But da, I need to talk to you.” Caitlin’s looked at him, silently pleading with her eyes.

  Andrew shook his head. “I’m sorry, luv. When I get back we’ll have a ‘nice conversation,’ as the Middle District folk would say. Now I best be off. Mr. Hunter be waiting.”

  Caitlin grabbed his arm as he headed toward the door. “Da, this be important,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.

  “I trust ye, girl.” He patted her hand. “I know whatever it is, you’ll be doing the right thing.” With that, he left.

  Erin shoved a loaf of bread in the oven, making as much noise as possible to show her displeasure.

  Caitlin wanted to run after her father, but she could not bear to burden him any more than he already was. Instead, she decided the next best thing was to placate her mother.

  “Ma, is there something that needs doing?”

  With her back toward Caitlin, Erin slammed the coal bin shut. “What’s done is done. Go tend to your studies.”

  “Aye.” As Caitlin turned, she saw a few tears running down her mother’s cheek. Confused and bewildered at the unexpected sight, she fled into the workshop hoping Duncan would have some answers.

  “DUNCAN,” SHE WHISPERED. “DUNCAN, ARE you here?” The question seemed absurd since she knew he never left. The concept of “leaving” was reserved for those who left this plane of existence forever. But she asked anyway just to be polite. “Duncan,” Caitlin said, a little louder.

  Impatient, she picked up one of her father’s box cameras. The weight of it in her hands made her feel secure as if a part of her father was trapped inside. “Duncan, I know you’re here.”

  Caitlin wondered how Duncan retained his sanity. Many of the ghosts she had run across growing up were deranged. Her father had taught her how to block them out by focusing on the humming in her head and not their ranting. Caitlin liked to think she and her father kept Duncan sane.

  A breeze swirled from the top of her head down to the floor, tickling her feet inside her old leather shoes. Caitlin put her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggle.

  She first saw the top of Duncan’s head form as a dust-filled mini-tornado filled the middle of the room. Soon his entire form took shape. After Regina’s more substantial image, Duncan seemed diminished.

  “I saw another ghost, but this one be different,” Caitlin said, keeping her voice low. “She be almost like a real person that you can touch. And she can talk. Just like da and I. Have you heard of such a thing?”

  Duncan shook his head. He etched the words No see others like me in the dust.

  Caitlin frowned but refused to give up. “Did da ever talk about a ghost such as her?”

  Again Duncan shook his head, while his body slouched as if disappointing Caitlin made him sad.

  “Don’t you be worrying about it. I think da never bothered to mention it,” she tried to reassure him. “I’ll be askin’ him as soon as I get a chance.”

  Caitlin walked to the door, but a flurry of dust particles blocked her way. She turned to where Duncan drifted over the wood flooring. Beneath his feet were the words Don’t go. I miss you.

  “I’m sorry. I have to or ma will be… well, you know.”

  The ghost gave her a small nod then dissipated as though he was never there.

  WHEN CAITLIN AND JEANETTE ARRIVED at the Kage House the following afternoon the ever mischievous Matthew waved at them from his bedroom window on the second floor. He had a wicked grin on his face.

  “That boy is going to get us into trouble,” Jeanette remarked as the girls waved back.

  “He’s a good boy and you know it,” Caitlin chided her.

  “Mark my words, something be going on.”

  Jeanette was right.

  Matthew had insisted that Caitlin be allowed to read to him since Sally could not and Miss Simpson, according to the boy, ruined everything. When Mrs. Trask refused to submit to the child’s whims, his tantrum was so violent and alarming that his face turned purple and his shrieks echoed across the street. The head housekeeper then gave in, knowing that if his parents returned with the house in such a state that she, and most of the staff, would most likely be dismissed.

  Grabbed by the arm and almost dragged upstairs then shoved into the room by Mrs. Trask, Caitlin stumbled over Matthew who was prancing around the room.

  “Matthew Q. Kage! Stop running around like a drunken Irishman,” Mrs. Trask snapped at him. “It’s not gentlemanly.”

  Caitlin tried to hide her annoyance at the comment, but was unsuccessful as the older woman shot her a look that sent shivers down her spine.

  Mrs. Trask closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead. “This noise in my head. It will not stop.” She opened her eyes and glared at Caitlin. “You girl, will read to him for one hour then return to your duties downstairs. You can read, can’t you?”

  “Aye, Mrs. Trask.” Caitlin bobbed her head.

  “What a relief. Get on with it then.” Mrs. Trask swept out of the room slamming the door behind her.

  Matthew stopped spinning and jumped on top of the bed. “Regina! Regina, where are you?” When the ghost did not appear on command, the boy pouted. “Why isn’t she here?”

  “There be one thing I learned about ghosts, young sir. They do as they please.”

  “I’m here, Matthew.” A soft feminine voice echoed throughout the room. “I’m always here in some fashion.”

  Caitlin and Matthew turned and faced one of the inner walls to see Regina emerge. The ghost radiated joy at Matthew as she drifted over to him. She caressed his face with a hand as the boy beamed at her.

  “Don’t you think I should be readin’ just in case Miss Simpson or one of the servants happen by?” Caitlin asked. “Wouldn’t want them to be thinkin
’ strange things be going on in here.”

  Regina blinked a couple of times, then laughed. The sound reminded Caitlin of gentle rain on a window. “You mean talking to a ghost?”

  Matthew giggled, hopped off the bed, and ran around the room. “I don’t care. This is fun,” he chanted.

  Caitlin put her finger to her lips. “Shush. You want to get me dismissed? Ma would never let me hear the end of it.”

  “Quiet, Matthew. And do sit,” Regina said. “We do not want to cause Miss O’Sullivan any trouble, do we?”

  He stopped running. “No, Regina. I like Caitlin.” Matthew slid his hand underneath his mattress and pulled out a dog-eared copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He shoved it at Caitlin. “Read this.”

  Caitlin gasped and backed away. “I can’t. It be bad enough that I be reading you one forbidden book, but two?”

  “Where are your manners, young man?” Regina reprimanded him without a hint of terseness.

  “Please?” Matthew gave Caitlin a pouty that was so cute, she had to smile.

  “Where did you get them? Not your parents, I be thinkin’.”

  “I knew where they were,” Regina answered before Matthew replied. “I don’t know how I knew, I just knew.”

  “Maybe they be yours?” Caitlin asked.

  “Perhaps.” Regina looked lost in thought. “If they are mine, wouldn’t that mean I used to live here? And if I did, then why wouldn’t Matthew remember me or I remember him?”

  “He’s young. You most probably died before he was born. I know Duncan died long before me ma and da ever moved into our apartment.” Caitlin shrugged. “It not be too unusual.”

  “I wish I remembered what happened to me. I try, but if I think about it too hard I… ” Regina’s image faded in and out, then flickered. She cried out as if in pain.

  “Stop it.” Matthew whimpered. “Don’t do that. You’re scaring me.”

  “Quiet, Matthew.” Caitlin grabbed the boy and hugged him to her. “What will Mrs. Trask think if she hears?”

  Regina settled back into her more substantial form. “I’m so sorry, Matthew. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Please forgive me. Both of you.”