teary-eyed endorsement -- it made her an instant celebrity, revered among the other mediums and sought after by many clients seeking contact with lost loved ones.
Mother's approach was what she called "scientific and mystical" -- modern yet rooted in traditional spiritualism. Everything vibrates.
It became Mother's motto. The phrase was mysteriously enigmatic, yet sounded so knowing and wise she was almost never questioned further. It seemed to explain so much even when no one really knew what she meant.
Her delivery was artful. Eyes narrowed with a distant gaze, she would nod a little as she conveyed her message in a voice thick with portentous meaning: "Everything vibrates." Then she would incline her head forward in a gesture that asked, "Now do you understand?" She didn't wait for a reply because it was to be tacitly understood that one did understand.
***
My sister Blythe was born at the end of 1898, right there in Spirit Vale. Mother was aided by a medicine woman midwife from the Oneida tribe, Princess Running Deer, who doubled as a baby channel, a medium specializing in contacting children who had passed on as babies. "I think I'll name her Blythe Oneida Taylor," Mother considered one day while rocking on the porch with baby Blythe in her arms.
"Tesla is also a nice name," I suggested. "Blythe Tesla Taylor."
"Tesla? The scientist we met?" I nodded.
"What has he to do with us?"
"You say his words -- everything vibrates."
She nodded, seeming to consider the idea for a moment, and then shook it off. "Oneida is more fitting. I think all our middle names shall be Oneida from now on. It will befit our new life here."
And so my mother put a wooden sign on the porch of our white cottage, like so many other plaques around town, advertising maude oneida taylor -- medium, channeler.
Mimi, Emma, Amelie, little Blythe, and I became known as the Oneida Taylor sisters. Mimi said she didn't like it. And if Mimi didn't like the new name, then neither did I. Blythe was too young to care. And Emma claimed it was all right by her.
Amelie said nothing.
She never did.
From the day of the séance at the Tredwell home, I never heard Amelie speak another word. She made sounds -- laughed, cried, even hummed. But never a word would she speak.
As soon as we were settled in Spirit Vale, Mother took Amelie to a specialist in Ontario, Canada. As far as he could tell, Amelie could talk. She understood what words were and what they meant. She just chose not to say anything.
After that, the five of us went to Syracuse so Mother could talk to a psychologist about Amelie. He suggested that a severe trauma might be at the root of her refusal to speak. It had been known to happen. Could we think of any such trauma?
"I can," I volunteered, and told all about the séance and how baby Amelie seemed to be seeing something that none of us could and from that day on never spoke again.
"You are telling me that your sister was frightened by a ghost?" the psychologist inquired skeptically.
"No, that's not when it happened," Mother said. "It was the earthquake. The vibrations must have shaken her vocal cords loose."
"You were in an earthquake? In New York City?" Again, the psychologist seemed very doubtful, as I would have been myself, had I not been there.
"Yes, indeed. You are correct. It was highly unusual," Mother said, disarming him with her most charming smile.
"I don't believe her vocal cords were shaken," the psychologist ventured. "More likely, she was traumatized by the tremendous fear she felt during the quake."
So that became our official story on Amelie. She had been rendered mute by the ordeal of the quake. Mother preferred that story, I think, because it absolved her of all blame. If she had conjured something from the spirit world that had so affected her baby, her guilt would have been too enormous to bear.
***
As I grew older, I took to watching Mother carefully, trying with all my powers of observation to discern if she
Mother's approach was what she called "scientific and mystical" -- modern yet rooted in traditional spiritualism. Everything vibrates.
It became Mother's motto. The phrase was mysteriously enigmatic, yet sounded so knowing and wise she was almost never questioned further. It seemed to explain so much even when no one really knew what she meant.
Her delivery was artful. Eyes narrowed with a distant gaze, she would nod a little as she conveyed her message in a voice thick with portentous meaning: "Everything vibrates." Then she would incline her head forward in a gesture that asked, "Now do you understand?" She didn't wait for a reply because it was to be tacitly understood that one did understand.
***
My sister Blythe was born at the end of 1898, right there in Spirit Vale. Mother was aided by a medicine woman midwife from the Oneida tribe, Princess Running Deer, who doubled as a baby channel, a medium specializing in contacting children who had passed on as babies. "I think I'll name her Blythe Oneida Taylor," Mother considered one day while rocking on the porch with baby Blythe in her arms.
"Tesla is also a nice name," I suggested. "Blythe Tesla Taylor."
"Tesla? The scientist we met?" I nodded.
"What has he to do with us?"
"You say his words -- everything vibrates."
She nodded, seeming to consider the idea for a moment, and then shook it off. "Oneida is more fitting. I think all our middle names shall be Oneida from now on. It will befit our new life here."
And so my mother put a wooden sign on the porch of our white cottage, like so many other plaques around town, advertising maude oneida taylor -- medium, channeler.
Mimi, Emma, Amelie, little Blythe, and I became known as the Oneida Taylor sisters. Mimi said she didn't like it. And if Mimi didn't like the new name, then neither did I. Blythe was too young to care. And Emma claimed it was all right by her.
Amelie said nothing.
She never did.
From the day of the séance at the Tredwell home, I never heard Amelie speak another word. She made sounds -- laughed, cried, even hummed. But never a word would she speak.
As soon as we were settled in Spirit Vale, Mother took Amelie to a specialist in Ontario, Canada. As far as he could tell, Amelie could talk. She understood what words were and what they meant. She just chose not to say anything.
After that, the five of us went to Syracuse so Mother could talk to a psychologist about Amelie. He suggested that a severe trauma might be at the root of her refusal to speak. It had been known to happen. Could we think of any such trauma?
"I can," I volunteered, and told all about the séance and how baby Amelie seemed to be seeing something that none of us could and from that day on never spoke again.
"You are telling me that your sister was frightened by a ghost?" the psychologist inquired skeptically.
"No, that's not when it happened," Mother said. "It was the earthquake. The vibrations must have shaken her vocal cords loose."
"You were in an earthquake? In New York City?" Again, the psychologist seemed very doubtful, as I would have been myself, had I not been there.
"Yes, indeed. You are correct. It was highly unusual," Mother said, disarming him with her most charming smile.
"I don't believe her vocal cords were shaken," the psychologist ventured. "More likely, she was traumatized by the tremendous fear she felt during the quake."
So that became our official story on Amelie. She had been rendered mute by the ordeal of the quake. Mother preferred that story, I think, because it absolved her of all blame. If she had conjured something from the spirit world that had so affected her baby, her guilt would have been too enormous to bear.
***
As I grew older, I took to watching Mother carefully, trying with all my powers of observation to discern if she
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