Page 35 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

Pearl felt Oliver’s hand loosen around hers and hoped it meant he was relaxing. As much as she understood Madame Genevieve’s display was full of bluster, there was a deep peacefulness in the moment of focus and stillness.

As the spiritualist asked them all to consider a moment of joy they experienced with someone who had passed on, Pearl worried.

Would thinking about a happy memory with Edgar somehow dishonor the sadness she felt now that her brother was gone?

Would her focus on a joyful time they’d shared cause her to release some of her grief?

Would such an act mean she missed him less?

She understood grief and mourning came about because of love.

If she was not grieving, did she no longer love Eddie?

A single glance at Maxwell’s face, eyes closed with an intensity that wrinkled his forehead, showed how firmly he was determined to follow Madame Genevieve’s instructions. He would do anything in his power if it meant he’d be able to remember the parents he’d never known.

If he was willing to give such mental exertion to the evening’s entertainment, Pearl could at least match his effort.

It had been years since she’d allowed herself to sit still and sink into a memory of her brother, that sweet, playful little boy who won her heart the first moment she saw his tiny, tight fists and those astounding baby toes.

The pain of losing him, the agony of being absent when he died, clawed Pearl’s heart and threatened to steal her breath.

It had been this way all the years since the passing of her family.

It was why she rarely let a memory of any of them linger in her mind.

But somehow, Eddie’s memory felt most tender—both most accessible and most dangerous to her peace.

Each thought of Eddie only made her more conscious of the need of careful observance of Maxwell. She could not allow Death to slink into Shadowbrook and steal Max away the way it had stolen Eddie.

Such comparisons hurt too badly to consider, so she simply never considered them. But now, watching Max work hard to remember people he’d never met, she knew she could spend a moment remembering someone she’d known as well as she knew herself.

She pictured Eddie’s face—not as she’d seen it last, but as it had appeared to her for so many days and years before.

The way his cheek dimpled when he laughed.

How his left eye squeezed almost closed in a wink when his crooked smile stretched across his face.

The dark locks that always tumbled over his forehead, no matter how often he slicked them back with water.

How his face changed when he lost a baby tooth, and then again when a large one grew in its place.

She felt his arms around her neck and could almost recapture the scent of his hair, warm from playing in the garden.

She welcomed these sensations, wishing she could hear him call her name. Wishing she’d been more encouraging as he tried to learn to play a simple song on the piano. Wishing she’d never left him alone.

An unexpected sense of calm flowed around Pearl and rested on her shoulders, a whisper of peace she’d never felt before.

Idea more than words, the whisper told her she had done well her work of loving her family.

She’d been a good sister, a good daughter.

The tragedy of illness was not her fault, and she need not feel guilty for her own survival.

She had permission to feel grateful and be glad for the life she was living and the strength she’d cultivated.

Only in a moment so still could she have received such a feeling.

On an ordinary day in her usual routine, Pearl would have neither the time nor the inclination to seek out such stillness.

In the constant chatter of teaching and playing, she would not have heard the sweet whisper to her heart.

If this was what Madame Genevieve meant by reaching beyond the earthly plane, Pearl was grateful for it.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek and knew it for a sign of growth and healing.

A few more quiet moments passed before Madame Genevieve called the members of the circle back to attention. She looked directly at Pearl when she said, “I do hope your sincere efforts were rewarded.”

Pearl couldn’t credit Madame Genevieve for any of the feelings she had, but the woman had arranged the setting in which she was able to feel them. She gave the spiritualist a small, heartfelt smile.

Their moment of unspoken communication was interrupted by the younger of the footmen, Steven.

“Well? When do you raise the ghosts?”

It may have been what many of them were thinking, but his question served to snap them all out of the reverie. Everyone shifted in their seats, dropping the hands they’d been holding. Even Oliver loosened his fingers from Pearl’s.

Pearl took in the expressions of the people in the circle.

Most of them appeared serene in the aftermath of the quiet exercise, but Steven looked impatient.

“I thought we’d see something flickering, or tiles would fall from the fireplace.

Maybe some of that moaning to shake the walls. That’s what you’re known for.”

Madame Genevieve shook her head. “This is not an entertainment provided for your amusement. We are making a connection .” She gave the word weight.

Steven muttered something Pearl couldn’t hear, but Madame Genevieve continued to speak as if following a script.

“We are not alone here. The room is full not only of voices but also of memories, and what is more eternal than that? Perhaps you received a message this evening. Perhaps you struggled to link yourself with the spirit of one who has passed. I will be available during visiting hours tomorrow and every day I stay here at Shadowbrook to discuss your experience. And now I will share mine.”

The woman shifted and resettled herself on the couch, her plumage and her bluster making Mr. Ravenscroft seem to fade into the furniture. “The clear message I received tonight is that Shadowbrook House requests a party. Not just any party, but a formal Christmas dinner.”

Pearl looked around the circle. If Madame Genevieve was expecting her suggestion to be met with excitement, she would be disappointed. All the adults in the room looked some shade of dismayed, and none more so than Mr. Ravenscroft.

The response to her announcement didn’t deter Madame Genevieve. “The house communicated to me how long it’s been without such a celebration. We shall commence preparations immediately.”

Pearl, no longer shocked by Madame Genevieve at this point, was still surprised at the command the woman took in a situation that was not hers to lead.

All eyes turned to Mr. Ravenscroft, and the old man lowered his chin to his chest. Was it a nod of assent? Was he slumped in defeat? It was impossible to tell.

The silence carried into another uncomfortable minute.

When the tension grew to an almost unbearable degree, Maxwell burrowed himself into his grandfather’s side. “I’ve never been to a Christmas party.”

The boy’s simple words sealed the arrangement. All else was detail.

Madame Genevieve stood, sweeping her arms in one of her characteristic dramatic gestures. “Young Maxwell, I am confident everyone present will work together to give you the most enchanting Christmas party that has ever been.”

Those words seemed as much a dismissal as they were likely to get, so everyone stood. The maids and footmen hurried from the room, and Jenkinson took his place at the door.

Oliver leaned close to Pearl. “Would you excuse me? I believe I might need a moment for myself on the porch.”

Pearl looked into his eyes, surprised at the churning feeling she saw in their depths. Had he experienced something as peaceful and as profound as she had? If so, she could not begrudge him a moment alone to process it.

“Of course,” she said, smiling at him. “Take all the time you need.” She glanced at the rain pattering against the windows. “Don’t stray too far from the porch, though.”

He followed her gaze, then returned her smile with one of his own.

She watched him slip from the room even as Maxwell slipped his hot little hand into hers.

“A Christmas party, Pearl,” he breathed in awe. “Just like in a story. Won’t it be wonderful?”

They left the parlor and made their way through the maze of hallways until they arrived at the main staircase, Maxwell chattering the whole time.

“Did you hear voices as we sat in the quiet? I did. Someone spoke to me about making a new set of memories in the house. Someone else told me to keep to my bed until I’ve grown stronger.

A voice told me there was enough to sustain us in the house for as long as we wish to stay here.

” He sounded rather breathless with excitement, and Pearl was sure it would take some time for him to calm enough to fall asleep.

She was more than happy to listen to his sweet prattle with one ear.

Her mind was full of thoughts of her own.

At the bottom of the stairs, Maxwell tugged her hand.

She tugged back in the game they often played, the back and forth of swinging arms and shared jokes.

But then, instead of telling her what he’d thought of Madame Genevieve’s gathering or mentioning an interesting thing he’d thought of, Max pulled on her arm hard.

His sudden wheeze was a wounded sound, the gasp of a frightened animal.

In a matter of seconds, Maxwell had folded his arms over his chest and curled around himself, lowering into a crouch and tucking his head.

He coughed with a frail, weak sound. Barely a puff of air for all the force he was fighting.

He looked as though he was being crumpled by a giant hand, and his gasp for air sounded fruitless and terrifying.

Maxwell rolled to his side, fighting for air.

Time seemed to slow, allowing every horrible thought to enter Pearl’s mind and take root there. She somehow knew both what was happening to Maxwell and what would happen in the coming hours. She knew she’d spend days, weeks, maybe longer reliving this moment in sleep and while awake.

Far later than she would have wished, Pearl forced herself into action. She dropped to her knees beside him, clasping her hands together behind his back. She felt his muscles spasm as his chest continued to constrict, Maxwell growing smaller within the circle of her arms.

Would no one come help them? Could the others not hear the wretched struggle for every breath that overtook the boy? Could they not feel the change in the air around them?

No one passed by them. None of the household staff came near the staircase. Pearl and Maxwell might have been the only living souls in the house.

No one noticed Maxwell’s suffering except for her. There was no one else to bear witness to his wracking pain. No one who knew as well as she how much his illness cost him. She lifted his body, strangely heavy with the clenching of his muscles, into her arms.

She forced her feet to carry them up the stairs, each step a struggle. It was several long, frightening moments before she realized she was speaking aloud, chanting.

“I’m so sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to let it happen. This is all my fault. I took my mind off you and became distracted. I didn’t mean to let you become ill. Please forgive me. I will never, never allow it to happen again.”

She knew her words were desperate and foolish; she couldn’t prevent an attack any more than she could have kept Eddie and her parents from dying of influenza.

She spoke the words anyway, and prayed she could make them true.