Free Louisa and the Crystal Gazer by Anna Maclean Page B

accounted for within the plot, and Agatha Percy’s character suggested to me a great betrayal. Women happy in their destiny do not turn to crystal gazing. And so I heard her say to me,
    I had one friend (or thought I had, may God forgive her the sin and misery she caused me) who possessed all that I lacked: youth, beauty, wealth, and those fresh charms that make a woman lovely in the eyes of men. I had not known her long, but loved and trusted her entirely, grateful that she turned from her gayer friends to sympathize with me. Philip admired her; and I was glad to see it, for thinking his heart all my own, I neither feared nor envied Clara’s beauty.
    Horror. A knowledge of premature death by another’s hand. That was what I had seen in Mrs. Percy’s painted face.
    The next morning, at breakfast, I had a letter from Father waiting beside my porridge bowl.
    Walpole, New Hampshire, December 8
    Dear Daughter,
    Make no more inquiries about Mr. Phineas Barnum. Your uncle Benjamin says he is on the verge of bankruptcy and no man of business will have dealings with him just now. For the custom of speaking without pay, I’ve no trouble finding engagements and seek no others just now, being busily occupied with other matters. I have exhausted my supply of writing paper for my diaries; if you might send me more from Mr. Dee’s shop. Your mother is well, and is knitting a new shawl for Lizzie for Christmas. We will send it to your rooms, with our love. Remember to control your temper and to read often from
Pilgrim’s Progress.
Know that I embrace you fondly and am your loving guide.
    Yrs. truly
    Father
    I put down my teacup and tapped my fingers on the table. Bankrupt? How could that be? Mr. Barnum had made a fortune with his Jenny Lind tour and he had made almost as much money again last year from the sales of his autobiography. I myself had purchased a copy of the book, so good was the promotion, managed by Mr. Barnum himself. The book itself had been…well, let’s say that it did not aim for high literary quality and it achieved that aim. Bankrupt? I put down the letter and sipped my tea.
    “More oatmeal, Miss Louisa?” asked Auntie Bond’s maid, Martha.
    “I’ll have more, please,” said Lizzie, who sat opposite me reading her own mail from Mother and Father. Undoubtedly Father had reported to her what I was to receive for Christmas, and now Lizzie and I would have even more secrets from each other. I hummed, thinking about that red leather portfolio in Mr. Crowell’s window, and also wished Father had thought to mention the color of Lizzie’s new shawl. I could have trimmed a new hat to match from Auntie Bond’s scrap bag. But men do not generally think of such things as colors of shawls, and whether that red will clash with that violet.
    “Good to see a young woman with appetite,” said Martha, scooping a second helping into Lizzie’s bowl. “The cold weather is good for digestion, I always say.”
    “It is not too cold,” said Lizzie, looking at me. “Shall we skate today, Louy, and have a holiday? There’s ice on Boston Pond.”
    The thought of a holiday was tempting. I could be out in the air with sweet Lizzie, racing over Boston Pond and enjoying a fine winter day, or sitting indoors and stitching the reverend’s shirts by dim candlelight. The choice was obvious; I also hoped a day in the fresh air would help Lizzie recover from yesterday’s shock. It is not often, fortunately, that a young girl is turned away from a séance circle only to discover the medium has died of a weak heart that very afternoon.
    “Give me two hours,” I said. “Then meet me at the pond.” While Lizzie finished her second helping of oatmeal, I dressedquickly, brushed my hair to a sheen, and then twisted it into a snood, put on hat and coat, and was out the door.
    Boston Public Library, in those days, was still in the old school building on Mason Street, its collections shelved between rows of schoolrooms, so that to