The Steampunk Trilogy (20 page)

3

“THE SOUL SELECTS HER OWN SOCIETY”

T
HE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN
Despair and Fear, thought Emily, is like the One between the instant of a Wreck and when the Wreck has been.

Her brother’s uncanny words had indeed pushed her across the line separating those twinned emotions.

All her life, Death had loomed large in Emily’s mind, an insurmountable wall she could only hurl herself against, falling back time and again with bruised mind and spirit.

Hers was not entirely a doctrinal Christian concept of Death; just as she could not bring herself ostentatiously to pronounce her faith aloud as the rest of her family had done, neither could she wholeheartedly subscribe to any church’s tenets concerning the Great Clock-Stopper, although her philosophy partook of many schools.

Easer of cares, reward for a lifetime of pain and humiliation, cruel reiver of friends, coachman to Paradise, cheerful swain, whimsical thief—all these roles and more had that Inescapable Presence assumed in her fancies. Yet none, she knew, fully captured Death’s real import. She had become ruefully reconciled to the fact that, try as she might to snare Death in her webs of words, its ultimate nature must forever remain a mystery.

And now here was her own brother telling her that he was embarked on a project to fathom that very mystery, to penetrate somehow into Death’s Cold Kingdom—but in an insulting, materialistic fashion.

It was almost more than she could comprehend.

Sensing her bafflement, Austin spoke.

“What do you know of the Spiritualist Movement, Emily?”

Proud contempt swelling in her bosom, Emily replied, “I know only this, having read plainly what was often writ between the lines in the penny press: that some twelve years ago, two young flibbertigibbet sisters—by name of Fox and dwelling then in Rochester, New York—decided to pull a prank on their parents—a prank which quickly escalated into a farce beyond their wildest imaginings. By concealed rappings and other sleights, they insinuated that they were in contact with the so-called ‘spirit world,’ easily tricking their gullible mother and elder sibling, who quickly promoted herself to their manageress. From such an humble beginning, they’ve gone on to make their fortune by becoming regular stage charlatans, duping thousands of poor bereaved souls with simple tricks that were old when Cagliostro was born, and sparking the like ridiculous behavior in millions across the globe.”

Austin’s red-eyed face showed a somber mien. “You seem awfully sure of the Fox sisters’ falsity and avarice, Emily, and by implication, that of all other mediums. I had thought that you of all people would be sympathetic to the opening of such a dialogue between this world and the next. How can you be so certain there’s nothing to their claims?”

“How could I feel otherwise, based on the puerile and ultramundane messages such ‘mediums’ transmit? Their source is obviously the hoaxer’s own insipid imagination. Why, if I were to believe for one minute that the indescribable glory of the next world were to be found in such utterances as ‘Mother, do not weep for your little boy, ’tis all peppermint sticks and licorice whips here on t’other side,’ then I would have to—well, I do not know what I would have to do. Surely not kill myself, lest I wind up any sooner than necessary among these milk and water spirits!”

“I grant you, sister, that some of the, shall we say, less-inspired revelations of certain untalented individuals plainly betray a modicum of, ah, fabrication. But among the true mediums, invention is only employed when actual contact fades, mainly out of an honest desire not to disappoint the assembled seance-goers. In fact, the medium might not even be aware of the transition from genuine inspiration to unconscious generation of babble. But let us not quibble over the debatable duplicity of some hypothetical Chicago mountebank. Not only is the medium with whom I am involved authentic beyond reproach, but we also have the generous—nay, essential!—offices of a certain eminent scientist to put our whole expedition on an absolutely rigorous footing.”

Emily stood up, knowing full well that she was allowing a look of disgust to disfigure those plain features of hers that could ill stand such an additional burden. But so angered with her brother was she, that she didn’t care.

“It wouldn’t impress me if you and your mysterious friends had a whole academy of bearded and begowned savants behind whatever bizarre scheme you’re hatching! And you can chop whatever kind of specious logic you wish—I still maintain that any sort of Spiritualism is a load of bunkum!”

Austin permitted himself a small smile as he played his trump card.

“And what if I told you that your beloved poetess, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, was a firm believer in the spirits and in their earthly partners?”

Emily sank back into her seat, shocked.
Her
dear Elizabeth—that noble Foreign Lady who had captivated Emily’s soul in youth, whose poems had made the Dark feel beautiful and bred in her a Divine Insanity—the genius behind
Aurora Leigh
—the heroic Female Poet whose given name Emily proudly bore as her own middle appellation—Could it indeed be true that such a superb mind could give any credence to this simplistic new faith sweeping the world?

Seeing Emily’s doubt, Austin pressed forward with his case. “It’s quite true. Mrs. Browning’s involvement with the spirit world began some five years ago, when she met the famous Daniel Dunglas Home. When she felt the phantom hands he caused to materialize, when the ghostly concertina played, when the spirits placed a laurel wreath upon her brow—then she knew the truth of the matter! Just as all doubters shall be convinced when I and the others journey to Summerland and back!”

Emily knew not what to think. First she had been overwhelmed with the hidden familial discord between her brother and Sue. Then her dogmatic anti-Spiritualist stance had suffered a severe blow with the news that One so admired had been willingly ensnared in what Emily had heretofore taken to be the clearest kind of popular madness. Yet, she reminded herself, much Madness is divinest Sense to a discerning Eye, and much Sense the starkest Madness—’tis the Majority in this, as All, prevail.

Her gaze falling on her basket of wilting flowers at her feet, Emily reminded herself of her real reason for visiting her brother’s house. She was surely not advancing her hidden purposes by arguing with him, especially from a Foundation suddenly weakened. And as she did not intend to get involved with his grief-sired insanity, she could afford to let it slide.

“I’m sorry I made light of your new faith, Austin dearest. I realize now what drives you to embrace such a quest. Though I cannot bring myself to fully endorse such beliefs, I will reserve judgement on them, pending whatever new evidence you have for me.”

Austin grabbed his sister’s hands. “What a capital girl you are! I knew nothing could ever come between us!”

Picking up her basket, Emily said, “Perhaps you’d care to introduce me to these new friends of yours—?”

“Of course! We’re using the back parlor as a kind of headquarters to plan our assault on the hereafter. We should find most of the party there. Come!”

As they walked through the big house, Austin explained how he had chanced to meet his houseguests.

“When Sue and I were in Boston, I saw a poster advertising a Spiritualist lecture and demonstration to be given at Mechanics’ Hall. I attended, and the speech and exhibition so impressed me that I introduced myself afterwards to the lecturer and the medium who accompanied him. Learning of their audacious plans, and the imminent arrival of the scientist who was to assist them, I immediately enlisted as one of the party, offering all the help I could give.”

“Does Sue have any interest in all this?”

“Not at all. In fact, she tends to avoid our guests, and rather resents their presence.”

“I’m just as glad, for I do not know if I could bear to see her right now, so soon after learning of her sins.”

“No need to fear that. She’s been keeping mostly to her room.”

They stood now in front of the closed parlor door. Murmurs penetrated, two male voices and a female. Emily thought that neither of the masculine ones sounded like Whitman’s distinctive boom, and sought to learn more of him.

“You haven’t yet told me what brings a famous—even infamous—poet into your home.”

Austin smiled. “Ah, that was a curious accident. You see, Sue insisted that we pay a visit to Emerson, who was also in the city. I think she had some idea of getting him back to Amherst as her pet performing author again. When we were received by the old Sage at his hotel, we found Whitman with him. It turned out that Emerson was in something of a fix. He had volunteered to put Whitman up on his visit to Boston without first consulting his own wife, who, once she learned of it, absolutely refused to have such an ‘immoral beast’ in her home! Taking us aside, Emerson begged us to accommodate his friend at The Evergreens, and Sue readily consented, envisioning a social coup. Imagine her disgust, however, when the poet, learning of our Spiritual ambitions, cast his lot with us wholeheartedly!”

This last tidbit disturbed Emily, throwing doubt as it did on the poet’s faculties, but she withheld her censure.

“I understand,” continued Austin gleefully, “that you and Vinnie had a rather startling introduction to our unconventional Homer.”

Emily felt herself blush. “You understand aright.”

“With so many guests, there was a line for the bath this morning, and Whitman grew impatient. I told him he might avail himself of the facilities at The Homestead, but had no idea he would—”

At that moment the parlor door swung open.

A large buxom woman filled the doorframe. Draped with colorful shawls, a flowing gypsy kerchief tied around her head, gaudy earrings and bracelets aglitter at lobe and wrist, she struck a dramatic pose, one arm thrust forward, the other pressed against her brow. Although well into middle age and not conventionally beautiful (a distinct mustache graced her upper lip), she exuded the same kind of animal magnetism Emily had frequently sensed emanating from the most sought-after ballroom belles.

“Madame felt the radiance of souls beyond the barrier,” declaimed the medium, casting herself in the third person.

“Considering that we were speaking in normal conversational tones,” said Emily, “to drag our souls in were rather superfluous.”

The medium threw her arms down peevishly. “Faugh! Why do you bring such an unbeliever among us,
cher
Austin?”

“This is my sister, Emily. I wanted her to meet you. Emily, allow me to introduce Madame Hrose Selavy, Paris’s most distinguished Spiritualist.”

Madame Selavy’s attitude immediately grew effusive, though Emily thought to detect a steely glint of remnant hostility in her eyes. “Such an adorable little creature, possessed of a wit fully equal to her esteemed brother’s. Let me embrace you!”

Before Emily could protest, Madame Selavy clutched her in a smothering grip. She smelled of perspiration, wool and carnal musk.

Released, Emily reeled back. Before she could fully recover, Madame Selavy clutched her hand and dragged her into the parlor.

“Andrew! William! The much-spoken-of sister has arrived!”

Two men in their late youth—neither of whom was the ostrich herder Emily had seen—were seated at a table on which was spread an enormous chart, its upcurling corners weighted down with strange glass and metal contrivances looking like pronged vials sealed at both ends. A whale-oil lamp had been lit against the declining sun.

Jerking her hand out of the medium’s grip, Emily sought to regain her composure. Austin allowed her some time by performing introductions.

“Emily, this gentleman is the author of
The Principles of Nature
,
Her Divine Revelations
,
and
A Voice to Mankind
,
and the noted editor of a well-respected Spiritualist journal,
The Univercoelum
.
In addition, he is a clairvoyant in his own right. It was he who predicted the appearance of the Fox Sisters years before their debut. May I present Mister Andrew Jackson Davis.”

Davis wore a barbered beard and tiny wire-rimmed spectacles, behind which dwelt disconcertingly unfocused blue eyes. He seemed unused to or removed from common social habits, and merely made a nod in Emily’s direction.

“And this other open-minded gentleman, Emily, represents the scientific half of our balance. It’s he who shall give our enterprise the intellectual solidity lacking in so many other ill-conceived ventures. I’m honored to present not only the discoverer of thallium, but also a follower and friend of D. D. Home himself. Emily, meet one of England’s finest intellects, William Crookes!”

The opposite of Davis, Crookes stepped forward with panache, took Emily’s hand, bowed and kissed it. His long narrow face and high brow were not unhandsome. Speaking with a charming British accent, he said, “Your brother has slighted you, Miss Dickinson, for he failed to mention that your eyes were the color of the finest sherry.”

Emily was completely flustered, and found herself, for once, at a loss for words.

Luckily, Davis broke the awkward moment. “I don’t mean to cut such a delightful interlude short, but may I remind everyone that we have much work ahead of us yet to do, before we re even out of the planning stages?”

Crookes relinquished Emily’s hand with a wry smile. “Ah, yes. The spirit world, which has existed for coundess centuries, cannot wait a single minute for us. Well, back to the grindstone, I fear. I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Dickinson.”

Emily allowed Austin to escort her out of the parlor. As she brushed past Madame Selavy, she plainly heard the words “Little snip!” hissed in her ear, although Madame’s lips appeared to remain fixed.

Out in the hall, Austin said, “It only remains for you to meet queer old Walt. He probably out with Henry and the birds.”

Gathering her wits, Emily said, “Yes, I’d like that, if you please.”

As they headed toward the rear door of The Evergreens, Austin said, “I don’t think I mentioned Henry. He’s Walt’s traveling companion. Sutton, I believe. They used to work together on the
Brooklyn Eagle
.
Young Sutton was a printer’s devil while Walt was editor. Henry has been invaluable with the ostriches. He seems to have a knack for getting them to behave. Did I tell you about Andy’s plans for the ostriches? No matter, you’ll learn soon enough. Well, here we are!”