Uncertain Glory by Lea Wait Page B

angles.
    All I could think was that if we wrote a story saying Nell was a fraud, then how could she support herself?
    What would happen to her then? How would she feel if we wrote that she
didn’t
hear the spirits she’d told me were a part of her life?
    And how would she support herself if no one believed her?
    Perhaps most important, what would her uncle do?

Chapter 13
    Saturday, April 13, 7:00 p.m.
    Charlie sat on the side of the ballroom, near the back. I sat in the third row.
    I knew most of the people who’d gathered, although a few, like the heavy, bearded man sitting in the first row, were strangers. The townspeople looked at each other self-consciously as they came in and found seats. Death was a mystery, and they were here to find out whether Nell was able to communicate with those behind its curtain.
    I pulled out my paper and pen in case I wanted to take notes.
    Charlie might be right about Nell’s being a fraud, or he might be wrong, but I was sure Nell’s uncle was controlling her. Maybe even making her ill. I’d printed an antislavery lecture for Reverend Merrill in January which said no man should have power over another. Nell wasn’t being allowed to make decisions about her own life.
    But could a twelve-year-old girl know what was right for her? Wasn’t that the responsibility of the adults in her family—especially the adult men? On the other hand, would a responsible uncle make Nell support him?
    I was trying to figger it out when Nell’s uncle entered the room and placed a basket on the front table. He introduced himself to those of us who were already seated, shaking the hands of the men and nodding politely at the ladies. As he spoke with each person in the audience, he handed them a sheet of paper.
    When the room was full Mr. Allen raised his hands for attention. “Good evening! Miss Gramercy and my wife and I have been enjoying our stay in your fine village, and have been honored to meet so many of you during the past week.”
    People in the audience nodded and smiled or looked at each other as if to say
Yes, that’s us he’s talking about. We’ve met Nell and Mr. Allen.
How many spirit sessions had Nell held in the past week? She might well have seen most of these people in separate or small group sessions already. That would mean she already knew their interests and concerns and what their questions might be. Or had Mr. Allen met these people at the tavern—or at least heard some local gossip there?
    â€œThis evening’s session is one for questions and answers. Miss Gramercy will be unable to spend a great deal of time on any one question, but she’s prepared to continue as long as her strength holds up. These sessions, as many of you already know, are very exhausting for Nell. She’s only twelve years old, and of the weaker sex. Communicating with those in another world drains her energy.”
    Mr. Allen picked up the basket from Nell’s table. “If you have questions you would like her to answer, she asks that you write them down, fold your sheet of paper twice, and place it in this basket as I walk among you. When I’ve gathered all your questions, she will join us.”
    Everyone set to writing. I hesitated, and then wrote,
Nell, why does your uncle control your life?
on my sheet and placed it in the basket as Mr. Allen passed. As the last questions were collected, Nell entered the room, dressed, as always, in white.
    She was pale. How much did her head ache? I hoped the medicine her aunt had given her had helped.
    â€œGood evening.” She smiled and sat in her chair at the front of the room. “I’m pleased to see among you many I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with more intimately in the past week.” Her eyes went from one person in the audience to another. It seemed like she smiled particularly at me, but she might have been smiling at everyone. Or just being “charming,”