Thursday October 24, 2024

Uneasy Spirits: Chapter Three

Welcome, I’m Mary Louisa Locke, the author of the USA Today best-selling Victorian San Francisco Mystery series and the Caelestis Science Fiction series. In this daily newsletter, I reflect on my life as an indie author trying to age gracefully, including my struggles to maintain a balanced life, what I listen to, read, and watch for entertainment, and occasional bits of information I’ve gleaned from doing the research for my novels.

In addition, now and again I will provide some of my fiction to read, for free, on this newsletter. Everything is available to anyone who subscribes, but I am always pleased when someone shows their appreciation for the newsletter by upgrading to paid.

Daily Diary, Day 1513:

As promised, I am posting the first chapters of my rather spooky, second book in the Victorian San Francisco mystery series. The title, Uneasy Spirits, refers to the fact that my protagonist, Annie, who makes a living as the pretend clairvoyant, Madam Sibyl, is asked to investigate a fraudulent trance medium. To add to the general atmosphere, the book is set in the weeks around October 31 and Halloween. Enjoy!

Uneasy Spirits
By M. Louisa Locke
Copyright 2011

Chapter Three
Sunday, late afternoon, October 12, 1879

“The last section of the Sutter Street Road, terminating at Central avenue…has been completed and is in running order.”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879

Sunlight fled before the shadows sliding up the hill to where Annie Fuller stared down at the avenue of graves. The wind, fresh from the Pacific, freed a strand of her hair and wove it through the three small feathers that jutted from her navy straw hat.

“Why, Mrs. Fuller, whatever are you doing here?”

Annie started, turned, and for a moment couldn’t place the tall, neatly dressed, middle-aged brunette standing on the path beside her.

“Excuse me, I’m afraid… Oh, my word, Miss Pinehurst! I didn’t…I mean, how nice to see you!” Annie gathered her scattered wits and smiled, embarrassed that she hadn’t immediately recognized a woman who lived in the room next to her.

Although Miss Lucy Pinehurst had moved into Annie’s boarding house over a year ago, she remained a bit of a mystery. She had moved into the O’Farrell Street house because it was so close to Market Street and the restaurant where she worked. Nevertheless, her job as head cashier and bookkeeper for Montaigne’s Steak House, which billed itself the “Delmonico’s of the Pacific Coast,” meant Miss Pinehurst left the house a little before noon, when Annie was usually busy at work as Madam Sibyl, often returning well after midnight, when Annie had already retired for the night. Consequently, there were few opportunities for Annie to converse with her. In their brief encounters in the hallways, Miss Pinehurst had been polite, but Annie always imagined she left a faint chill of disapproval in her wake. She was surprised her boarder had decided to approach her this afternoon at Laurel Hill Cemetery. Miss Pinehurst appeared to be almost as surprised as Annie by her behavior.

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Fuller, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. It’s just I didn’t expect to see you here. I suppose you must have family, I just … I mean, I often come here on Sundays, and I never encountered …” Miss Pinehurst stopped short and began to back away. “Please excuse me, Mrs. Fuller, I didn’t mean to intrude. I will just be on my way.”

“Oh, no, there is no need to apologize,” Annie said. “My aunt and uncle are buried over at the Masonic Cemetery, so I don’t come to Laurel Hill very often. Today I came to visit an old friend.” As she pointed down the hill, Annie realized she was still holding the small bouquet of chrysanthemums she had brought with her to put on Matthew’s grave. “But, before it grows too late, I need to finish paying my respects.” As if to punctuate this comment, the light suddenly dimmed, the sun sinking behind the bank of clouds piling up over the western horizon.

Miss Pinehurst nodded, then thrust out her hand as if to stop Annie, saying, “Mrs. Fuller, I don’t mean to keep you, but I was wondering, when you were done, if you would take a walk with me. I have something I would particularly like to speak to you about.”

Startled by the intensity in her boarder’s voice, Annie paused and then said, “Certainly, Miss Pinehurst, I won’t be but a moment. If you would wait for me here.”

Taking the other woman’s slight nod as a sign of acquiescence, Annie gathered up her skirts and walked quickly down the hill to stand in front of a grave’s white marble headstone, whose crisply chiseled message showed little passage of time.

Matthew Voss 1811-1879
Beloved husband, father, brother
“And He has filled him with the spirit of God,
in wisdom, in understanding and in knowledge
and in all manner of workmanship”—Exodus 35:31

For a moment she was swept up in memories of the past summer, when her attempts to find out the truth behind the death of the man buried here had catapulted her into a few hectic weeks of intrigue that had almost cost Annie her own life. As she leaned over to place the bouquet on the grave, she whispered, “Oh, Matthew, I miss you so.”

She smiled, remembering the picture Matthew’s sister had displayed in her room. Matthew Voss proudly holding the woodworking tools he had used to build a successful furniture business; Miss Nancy holding the large account ledgers that represented her contribution to the company as its bookkeeper.

A bookkeeper, just like Miss Pinehurst, who was probably waiting impatiently for her up at the top of the hill. She gathered her wool shawl more tightly around her shoulders and made her way up the path, surprised again at how little she knew about her boarder, beyond where she worked and that she had a sister and brother-in-law living in town with whom she usually spent Sundays. This was another reason she hadn’t gotten to know Miss Pinehurst, since Sunday dinner was the one meal Annie usually ate with all of her boarders. This would be a good chance to further her acquaintance with Miss Pinehurst, and she wondered what her boarder could possibly wish to speak to her about.

When she regained the top of the hill, she smiled and said, “Miss Pinehurst, thank you for waiting. It has been such a lovely afternoon, and I do believe we have at least another hour of daylight.”

Having apparently regained her composure, Miss Pinehurst replied, “I should think we have sufficient time. Perhaps we shall miss the press of people who will be trying to catch the five o’clock car to town. I have never seen Laurel Hill quite as crowded as it was today.” She then turned and began to walk briskly down a path that led away from the entrance, deeper into the cemetery.

As Annie caught up with her companion, she remarked, “You are quite right. I was obviously not the only person who read in yesterday’s Evening Bulletin that the Sutter Street line had finished its cable all the way west to Central. I don’t know that the investors will be happy with the paper calling it the ‘cemetery run,’ but it certainly does make it easier to visit Laurel Hill, and the other Lone Mountain cemeteries as well.”

As they came out from the trees and looked down at a little clearing, Annie paused to observe the view. She could still make out the bulk of Mt. Tamalpais across the Golden Gate and could see the tip of Angel Island across the entrance to the San Francisco Bay. A faint tang of salt water teased the air. At this height, the wind from the Pacific tossed the tops of the oaks on either side of them, causing small reddish oval acorns to plummet downward, some rolling to land at their feet. Annie leaned over and picked one up, saying, “You mentioned you come to Laurel Hill often. Are your parents buried here?”

“Yes, Mrs. Fuller, both of my parents,” Miss Pinehurst replied. “My family came to San Francisco overland in ’57, and my mother died just three years later. She had a hard time on the crossing, never really recovered. My father died in 1865. That left my little sister, Sukie, and myself. Sukie was only seven when mother died, so you could say I raised her.”

Even younger than I was when Mother died, Annie thought. Why have I never even considered going back down to Los Angeles to visit Mother’s grave since I’ve been back? She didn’t know if she could even find her mother’s grave. And then there was her father, dying up in that small Maine town while on business and John burying him there without her permission. Would it have brought her any peace of mind to see his resting place? Made his death any more real? She realized she just didn’t feel any connection to where their bodies were buried. Yet being able to visit Matthew’s grave today had been comforting.

Miss Pinehurst interrupted her reverie, saying, “You mentioned you were visiting a friend. I am sorry if this is a recent loss.”

“Why, thank you, yes, very recent. I don’t know if you heard, but one of my clients, well, one of Madam Sibyl’s clients, Mr. Matthew Voss, died this summer. He was a dear friend.”

At her mention of Madam Sibyl, Annie felt rather than saw Miss Pinehurst stiffen. She had explained to her, as she felt she had to do with everyone who chose to live in her boarding house, that the small downstairs parlor was devoted to the business of Madam Sibyl. She had also explained that she, Mrs. John Fuller, was Madam Sibyl, and this was a kind of business alias she used to keep her professional and personal lives separate. She assured her potential boarders that her work was respectable and very discreet. Some of the residents, like the two elderly seamstresses, Minnie and Millie Moffet, really didn’t seem to grasp what she was saying but also didn’t seem to care. Others, like Mr. Chapman, one of the two clerks who shared the small room at the back of the second floor, seemed to think it was a good joke.

Miss Pinehurst, on the other hand, had made it crystal clear that she found the whole idea distasteful and that only the strong recommendations from the wealthy and socially prominent Mr. and Mrs. Stein had convinced her that residing in Annie’s boarding house wouldn’t ruin her reputation. Herman and Esther Stein occupied the two-room suite across from Annie, and it had actually been Mr. Stein’s suggestion that Annie start her clairvoyant business as Madam Sibyl.

Annie, squashing her inclination to say something in defense of her occupation, returned to the apparently safe subject of families and said, “You mentioned raising your sister; I believe I heard her husband is a clerk in a bank, such a promising occupation. And that she has a little . . .”

Annie gasped as she realized the enormous mistake she had just made. “Oh, Miss Pinehurst, I am so sorry, your little nephew, I had forgotten. Mrs. Stein told me he died suddenly this summer. Such a tragedy. I would not have distressed you for the world.”

The older woman gave the tiniest of shrugs and stared down at the graves below. In the waning daylight, her normally pale skin looked ghostly white, and Annie could see that she clenched her hands to her breast as if she was in pain.

Heavens above, how could I have forgotten? Annie thought. And from what Esther said, she simply doted on the boy. Of course that’s why she is here, to visit the boy’s grave.

Miss Pinehurst turned abruptly towards her and said, “Mrs. Fuller, do you believe in spirits? I have looked at the advertisement you have in the Chronicle, and it doesn’t say anything about Spiritualism or mediums, like most of them. I wondered . . .” She stopped speaking, as if she didn’t know what to say next.

After a long pause, Annie replied stiffly, “You are correct that as Madam Sibyl I don’t claim any ability to communicate with the spirit world. What I offer people is advice. This advice is actually based on my experience and skills in the world of business and finance, as well as a modest understanding of the human condition. Unfortunately, I found I was taken more seriously if I said I was aided in obtaining that advice from palmistry or astrology. May I ask why you want to know if I believe in spirits?”

Miss Pinehurst reached out to Annie, grabbing her arm. “My sister does. Sukie believes she talks to the spirit of our dear Charlie, as if he would come to her while she sits in a dark room with a group of complete strangers. I went with her once. It made me ill. If she is conversing with anyone, it is the devil himself. Mrs. Fuller, do you think you could help me? I am at my wit’s end. I fear so for her sanity, for her very soul.”

To be continued…

This year I have discounted the audiobook edition to $2.99 on Chirp, Apple, Nook, Spotify. (The ebook version is only $5.99 on all retailers.)

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Brief check-in: Another good day of editing, and giving my foot a rest. Pretty much the same drill this morning, cleaning, editing, a round of pilates. Then my usual noon-time zoom meeting, but no scheduled phone meeting afterwards. So, an afternoon devoted to editing again. I did complete going through the first part of the manuscript yesterday (18 chapters out of 36). I am hoping to make this kind of progress on the second half. A lovely sunset from a walk earlier this week.

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