He looked at Sara, his beautiful Sara, and wanted to weep and scream and beg her not to leave him, beg her to fight against the madness blossoming inside her.
He remembered handing her the Jupiter marble he’d just won from Lucius when they were children—how she’d been so beautifully radiant that he’d given it over without even thinking; he’d have given her anything then, same as he would now.
She was his great adventure; his love for her had taken him places he’d never dreamed of going.
“If you won’t help me, I’ll do it on my own,” Sara told him now, her body rigid, ready for a fight.
“All right,” he sighed, knowing he’d lost. It was over. “But we’re going to do it properly. I’m going to go into town to get Lucius. He should be here, don’t you think?”
Sara nodded. “The sheriff, too. Bring the sheriff.”
“Definitely,” he promised, standing to go get his coat and hat. “You just sit and wait. A job like this, it isn’t a thing any mother should have to do. We’ll take care of it when I get back. We’ll take care of everything.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. It felt hot, dry, and papery, not at all like skin—not at all familiar.
Visitors from the Other Side
The Secret Diary of Sara Harrison Shea
January 31, 1908
For the past three days, I have been a prisoner in my own home.
It was quite a scene when Martin and Lucius came back from town and found me waiting with the shovel over Gertie’s grave. The air was frigidly cold. My fingers and toes were numb from standing outside, waiting. Still, I kept firm hold of the shovel as the men climbed out of Lucius’s carriage and approached. I was standing right over the place we’d buried her, the wooden cross with Gertie’s name carved into it teasing, taunting.
“What are you doing, Sara?” Lucius asked, his voice low and soothing, as if he were talking to a small child.
I explained the situation to him as calmly as I was able. Told him about the note, the crucial clue in Gertie’s pocket. Surely he would see reason.
“Put the shovel down, Sara,” Lucius said, moving toward me.
“We need to dig her up,” I repeated.
“We’re not going to do that, Sara.” He was closer now. I knew he intended to stop me. So I did the only thing I could think of—I raised the shovel and I swung.
Lucius jumped back; the shovel just grazed his coat. Martin was on me, wrenching the tool from my hands.
It took both men to carry me inside.
“We need to see what’s in her pocket!” I cried. “Do you not care that our girl was murdered?”
Lucius ripped up a sheet and tied my arms and legs to the bedposts. Restrained me like a madwoman. And Martin allowed it, assisted him.
Lucius says I am suffering from acute melancholia. He explained that Gertie’s death was too much for me to bear and that it has caused me to lose touch with reality. He said that in this state I am a danger to myself and others. I bit my tongue until it bled, knowing that if I argued it would be a further sign of my supposed madness.
“And these ideas that Gertie is visiting, leaving notes for her?”
Martin asked, running his hands through his hair.
“Hallucinations. The sick part of her mind compelled her to write the notes almost as if to convince herself. What she needs is rest. Quiet. And she mustn’t get any encouragement that these fantasies are real. Frankly, Martin, I think the best place for her at this point would be the state hospital.”
Martin pulled Lucius into the hall, spoke in frantic tones. “Please,” I heard him say. “A little while longer. She may still come back to us. She may still get well.”
Lucius agreed, but only on the condition that I stay under his watchful eye. Now he comes often to check on me and to give me shots that make me want to sleep all day. Martin comes and spoon-feeds me soup and applesauce.
“You’ll get well, Sara. You’ve got to get well. You rest now.”
It’s all I can do to fight to stay awake. But I know I must. I know that if I sleep I might miss my Gertie if she chooses to return.
Today is the seventh day since her awakening. There are only hours left before she disappears forever. Please, please, I wish and beg, let her return to me!
“How are you feeling?” Lucius asks when he comes up to see me.
“Better,” I tell him. “Much better.” Then I close my eyes and drift away.
This afternoon, he untied me from the bed. “You be a good girl, now,” he said, “and we won’t have to put these back on.”
I am expected to stay confined to my room. I am not allowed to have company. Amelia has come visiting, but Martin won’t let her upstairs. Lucius says that it would be too much excitement. Martin warns that if I don’t show improvement, if I continue to insist that these visitations are real, I will be sent to the State Hospital for the Insane.
“There will be no more talk of messages from the dead. Or of Gertie having been murdered,” Martin says.