Astor Place Vintage: A Novel by Stephanie Lehmann Read Free Book Online Page B

lovely, serene face.
    “You may be skeptical of my powers,” she said, as though reading my mind, except that most likely was what everyone was thinking. “I would be, too, if I didn’t know them to be real and genuine.”
    “I ask everyone to send out your best thoughts,” her father said. “You must keep your mind open so her guides will be willing to communicate.”
    The boy came onstage and held out the cigar box. Lola reached inside for one of the envelopes. With posture as straight as the long braid that hung down her back, she held it up to her forehead with her eyes closed. “I’m getting the name Horace,” she said. Then she peered into the audience. “Is a man named Horace in the room?”
    A heavy gentleman in the fifth row stood up. “That’s me.”
    “You ask if your fiancée truly loves you,” Lola said. “Indeed she does, but you must marry her soon. She won’t wait much longer.”
    Lola’s father asked the man if his question had been answered.
    “I suppose you’d have to ask my fiancée,” he said with a chuckle, “since she’s sitting right next to me.”
    The audience murmured, utterly ready to be taken in.
    “I always said I’d be married by the time I turned twenty,” she said, patting her tinted yellow hair. “Well, I’m turning thirty next week.”
    The audience laughed.
    “Well then,” the man said, “why don’t we get married on your birthday?”
    “Sounds jolly good to me!” she said.
    The audience applauded with delight. My own mental powers told me these subjects were actors planted in the audience.
    After Lola answered a few more questions from the envelopes, her father tied a black blindfold around her head. “Lola will now demonstrate her powers of magnetism. Her guides will draw her attention toward those among you who have departed loved ones sending strong messages.”
    A few moments of silence passed before Lola asked, “Will a young woman wearing a navy blue dress please stand?”
    Certainly not me. I waited to see who would rise.
    “She’s wearing a gold locket around her neck,” Lola said. “Heart-shaped. And I believe there’s a star?”
    My face turned red. I looked down at my locket. Gold, heart-shaped, with a star engraved on the front. The woman sitting next to me stared with such urgency that she practically levitated me with her gaze. I rose and held up my locket for all to see. The audience applauded.
    Lola wasn’t done. “Inside the locket is a photograph.”
    “Is this true?” the father asked.
    “Yes,” I admitted.
    “Someone who looks very much like you,” she said.
    My heart was beating fast, but I refused to be taken in or give anything away.
    “Your mother?” she asked.
    Still I said nothing, though my cheeks burned.
    “Her spirit is here with us,” Lola continued. “She wants you to know . . . you must not feel guilty. She forgives you.”
    I couldn’t resist asking. “For what?”
    “She says . . . she says she loves you more than life itself.”
    I fought to swallow, despite a huge lump that had formed in my throat. Was she saying I shouldn’t feel guilty for my mother’s death? No one would blame an innocent baby, but it couldn’t be denied that I’d been instrumental to ending her life. I couldn’t possibly pose the question aloud—couldn’t believe she’d fooled me into caring.
    Lola Cotton moved on to her next victim. After a few moments, I opened the locket and looked at the photograph of my mother. Her straight hair was pulled up in a tight bun. Short sausage bangs fringed her forehead. Dark eyes stared straight ahead. I always thought she looked terribly sad, as if she’d known her life would be cut short. My aunt said we had the same chestnut hair, fair skin, and deep brown eyes. But I knew she was prettier, petite and delicate, whereas I had my father’s tall frame and long limbs.
    The rain had stopped. As I walked down the block, everything seemed somehow different, as though all the stores