They got to Dr. Sher’s home early, and there was a note pinned to the front door from the doctor saying she would be a little late. So now, Louis, Joe, and Amy were waiting on her front porch.
Amy was sitting in a wicker chair, engrossed in a book. From his place sitting on the steps, Louis could see the cover. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Yesterday, it had been Gone with the Wind. Tomorrow, it would likely be Little Women. She read the same three books over and over, rotating them in no particular order. Joe had offered to buy her something new, but Amy had politely declined, saying the people in the books were her friends, and she didn’t want to lose them.
Francie, Ben Blake, Mammy, Aunt Sissy, Marmee, Big Sam, Cornelius… she could name them all.
Louis looked across the porch to where Joe sat, a hip propped on the porch railing. She was watching Amy, her expression one Louis could never remember seeing before, tenderness mixed with a sort of quiet terror. Was that the maternal instinct? An aching urge to protect even when you knew how impossible the job was?
Joe rose from the railing suddenly and went down to the yard, looking down the street for Dr. Sher’s Volkswagen. Louis knew why Joe was so edgy. Dr. Sher was going to hypnotize Amy again. But this time, it was with the intent to retrieve Amy’s memories of the black woman’s death. Joe had been against it, but Dr. Sher had convinced her that the old memory, even if it was a fabrication, was so powerful that it was blocking everything else. And until Amy came to terms with this imaginary past life, they would never access her memory of her mother’s death.
He still didn’t buy it, this regression stuff, not for a second. But if making Amy believe she could go back a hundred years could somehow lead them to how Jean Brandt died, then he’d play along with this idea of a past life.
He reached into his jeans for his wallet. The snapshot of Lily was tucked behind his driver’s license. He pulled it out and ran his finger over the surface.
“Who is that?”
Louis turned and looked up. He hadn’t heard Amy come up behind him. She sat down next to him on the step, cradling her book to her chest.
“That’s your daughter, isn’t it?” Amy said before he could answer.
Louis nodded, surprised. He hadn’t said anything to Amy about Lily. He was sure Joe hadn’t, either.
Amy glanced at Joe, then back at the snapshot. “Miss Joe isn’t her mother, is she?”
“No,” Louis said.
“But you and Miss Joe-”
“She’s here,” Joe said, coming up onto the porch.
Louis slipped the snapshot back into his wallet, glad that Joe had not heard Amy. He went down to the sidewalk as Dr. Sher got out of her car.
“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Sher said. “I had a meeting at the university and had no way to reach you.”
“We found your note,” Joe said.
“Good,” Dr. Sher said, smoothing her hair. “Come in, please.”
She led them into the living room, dropping her coat onto a chair, and turned to face them, giving Amy a smile.
“How are you feeling today, dear?”
“I’m okay, Dr. Sher,” Amy said softly.
Dr. Sher looked up at Joe.
“She didn’t sleep well last night,” Joe said. “She had another asthma attack.”
“The inhaler I prescribed isn’t helping?” Dr. Sher asked.
Joe shook her head.
“Are you sure you feel up to this today?” Dr. Sher asked Amy.
Amy nodded. “I want to do it. It’s the only way I can help my mother.”
Dr. Sher put her arm around Amy’s shoulders. “Then let’s get started.”
The drapes in the living room were closed against the bright sun. The room was quiet except for the ticking of an old alabaster clock on the mantel. Louis had removed his jacket twenty minutes ago in an effort to get comfortable in the too-warm room.
Amy was having trouble going under for some reason. From his vantage point sitting with Joe on the sofa, Louis could see the anxiety etched in Amy’s face. But Dr. Sher was persistent, gently taking Amy through a series of breathing exercises.
Finally, Dr. Sher began slowly to count backward from ten. Louis watched as the tension melted from Amy’s face and her breathing deepened.
“We’re going back now, Amy,” Dr. Sher said. “Back through your childhood, back to when you were a baby.”
Amy’s eyelids fluttered but remained closed. Dr. Sher tried to elicit memories from Amy’s days on the farm as a child, but Amy did not seem to want to stay in that place.
“All right, I want you to go back even farther,” Dr. Sher said. “Go back to as far back as you can remember.”
The room was quiet except for Amy’s breathing and the ticking of the clock.
“Amy, where are you?” Dr. Sher asked softly.
“I’m not sure,” Amy whispered.
“Look down at your feet. Can you tell me what you are wearing?”
“Boots… black boots. Laced up around my ankles. They have mud on them, and one of the laces is broken. I had to tie it together.”
“Can you see anything else?”
“My skirt. There is mud on the bottom of it, too.” She frowned slightly before she went on. “It’s spring. I see a big house and a barn. I am in a carriage. Someone is bringing me to the house. I feel… afraid.”
“Are you at the farm?” Dr. Sher asked.
Amy nodded slowly. “Yes. I can see the oak tree in the front. But it’s smaller. Everything else looks different. The house looks different, newer and pretty, with white trim. A man and a woman are standing in front of it. They are waiting for me.”
“Do you know how old you are?”
“I… I am seventeen. I am very tired from the long journey. I miss my mother. She got sick from fever and died, and that is why I am here, because I have nowhere to go.”
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Isabel. My name is Isabel.”
“Do you know the man and the woman who are waiting for you?”
“No. I just know I am supposed to work for them now. The man is very tall and wears glasses. They reflect the sun like mirrors. He is smiling at me. The woman… doesn’t smile.”
“Can you tell me what year it is?” Dr. Sher asked.
“I… it is 1842.”
Louis heard Joe’s sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t look at her.
“Amy,” Dr. Sher said, “I want you to move ahead now. Go ahead a couple of years. What do you see now?”
“Snow. I had never seen snow before I came here,” Amy said. “It is very cold outside, but I am warm, because I am in the kitchen near the stove. I am holding a baby.”
“Is it your baby?”
Amy slowly shook her head. “It is Miz Phoebe’s daughter, Lucinda. I take care of her because Miz Phoebe stays in her room so much now. She is a very good baby and never cries. I love Lucinda.”
Louis thought about the photograph he had found in the old tin. Had Joe shown it to Amy? Had Amy found the Brandt family Bible? Is that where she saw the name Lucinda? Or was she remembering all of this simply as part of Geneva’s handed-down family “stories”?
“Oh…” Amy was grimacing.
“What’s wrong?” Dr. Sher asked.
“I didn’t do it! Don’t beat me, don’t beat me!”
“Who’s beating you?”
“Miz Phoebe,” Amy whispered. “She hates me so much. But I didn’t take her comb! He gave it to me and said it was mine to keep! He told me to hide it, but Miz Phoebe found it. It’s mine! Mr. Amos gave it to me!”
“Amy, move ahead,” Dr. Sher said firmly. “Go to a time when you are happiest. Can you do that?”
Amy’s breathing deepened again, and her expression became calm. For a long time, the room was quiet. Then Amy slowly brought up her arms, as if she were cradling something. She began to hum softly.
“Don’t cry,” she murmured. “Mama’s here, Charles. We’re safe now, Charles, we’re safe in the corn.”
Louis felt a trickle of sweat make its way slowly down his back.
“Charles is your son, Amy?” Dr. Sher asked.
She nodded.
“Who is Charles’s father?” Dr. Sher prodded.
Amy took a long time to answer, and when she did, it was in the softest of whispers. “Amos.” Her face creased into a frown that made her look suddenly much older. “Miz Phoebe tried to kill Charles. She took him one night and went to the creek to drown him. Amos stopped her. We… Amos has built us a house out in the cornfield. He is good to me.”
The mantel clock chimed two times.
Dr. Sher’s face had a sheen of sweat on it. She drew a handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed at her face, and looked down at Amy.
“I want you to go to the time when your breathing problems first started, Amy,” she said.
Amy didn’t respond.
“Can you do that? Can you tell me about the first time you felt like you couldn’t breathe?”
“I don’t…”
“I’m here with you, Amy,” Dr. Sher said softly. “It will be all right, I promise.”
The room fell quiet again.
“It’s dark tonight, no drinking gourd to light the way,” she said. “But the preacher says there’s a parcel coming. So I light a candle and put it in the parlor window.”
For a moment, Amy said nothing more.
“I am afraid,” she whispered.
“Why are you afraid?” Dr. Sher asked.
“The wind blows from the south tonight,” Amy said.
A loud click made Louis jump. Dr. Sher waved a hand toward him, then pointed at the small tape recorder on the table near Amy’s head. She made a flipping motion with her hand. Louis realized she wanted him to turn over the tape. He did so, then returned to his place beside Joe.
Again, it was silent, except for the sound of Amy’s breathing.
“He’s here,” Amy said suddenly.
“Who?” Dr. Sher pressed.
“He calls himself John.” Amy whispered another word that, to Louis, sounded like “lapel.” Then she was quiet again.
“He is so thin, and he is coughing,” she said. “His clothes are ragged. I give him one of Amos’s old coats and take him to the hiding place. It is so cold there, and I feel bad about leaving him, but he will be safe here until the shepherd comes.”
A small smile came to Amy’s face.
“He tells me about his wife, Fanny, back in New Orleans.” The smile faded. “She was taken from him. His son, too. Leaves stripped from the trees…
“He misses them so much. He says someday, when he is a free man, he will go back and find them.” Amy’s eyes fluttered. “He shows me her locket.”
Louis stiffened. Another long silence. He felt Joe shift on the cushions beside him. She had moved forward, her eyes intent on Amy’s face.
Amy’s face…
It had grown tight and contorted, and Louis had the crazy thought that she looked like someone who was staring down the barrel of a gun. He had seen that look before, because he had been the one holding the gun, and he had never forgotten that look on the other person’s face. Like he had no skin, and every nerve was exposed.
“Amy? What’s happening, Amy?” Dr. Sher said.
“Horses,” she whispered. “I hear horses and now dogs. The soul catchers are coming.”
“Who?” Dr. Sher pressed.
“I have to get back to the cellar. I see the horses by the barn and the men. The horses make clouds in the air.”
“Amy, who is there with you?”
“I can’t let them find John.”
“Amy, where are you?”
“No, not the cellar. John is there. The corn… I have to get to the corn.”
“Amy-”
“Run to the corn, make them chase me, so they won’t find John.” She began to pant, like she was out of breath. “Oh… oh! Oh, God!”
“What’s happening?”
“They caught me… they are dragging me into the barn. Amos! Where are you? Amos, help me!”
“What is-?”
“They’ve tied me to the hook and are pulling me up. My blouse, they ripped off my clothes… oh, it’s so cold. The horses are screaming.”
“Amy-”
“They’re whipping me… but I won’t tell them. I won’t tell them where John is. They want to find him and take him back. I won’t tell, I won’t tell…”
Suddenly, Amy began to cry. Dr. Sher leaned forward and put her hand over Amy’s.
“What is it, dear? Tell me.”
“Amos,” she whispered. “He is here. I can see him. I loved him, and he did this to me.”
Amy’s hands came up to cover her face as she cried. Dr. Sher pulled back, her face pale.
Amy began to gag. Louis felt Joe tense, and he looked at her. She was holding a hand over her mouth, her eyes brimming.
“What’s happening, Amy?” Dr. Sher said.
“I… can’t… breathe.”
Dr. Sher leaned forward. “Why? What’s happening to you?”
Amy hands came up, as if she were warding off a blow. “They are burying me. But I am not dead yet.” She gagged and drew in a hard breath. “Charles!”
Amy went limp. It was quiet.
Dr. Sher picked up Amy’s wrist to feel her pulse. She looked to Louis and Joe and nodded, mouthing, “She’s okay.”
“Amy?” Dr. Sher said softly after a few seconds.
It took a long time, but finally, a whisper. “Yes?”
“Where are you now?”
“Floating. They want me to rest now.”
“They?”
Amy didn’t answer.
The clock chimed again. Louis looked to the mantel. It was two-thirty. A soft sound made him look back at Amy. She was humming. Hugging herself, rocking gently back and forth as she lay on the settee. The humming became words.
…we poor souls will have our peace,
there’s a better day a-comin’ —
Will you go along with me?
There’s a better day a-comin’,
Go sound the jubilee…
Louis listened, not moving a muscle. He didn’t know the words, yet something about the song was familiar. Then he realized where he had heard it, or a song very much like it, once before. At his mother’s funeral back in Mississippi, the “going home,” as they had called it. A cluster of women in black softly singing his mother home as he stood apart, listening.
It was time to bring Amy out of her trance. Louis watched as Dr. Sher began to count backward from ten. “You will remember all this when you wake up, Amy, but you won’t be afraid,” Dr. Sher said.
And with that, Amy opened her eyes. She sat up, self-consciously pulling the top of her blouse closed. Her cheeks were dotted with color. Louis thought she looked like someone who had just emerged from a nap.
But Dr. Sher? She was pale, her red bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat. And Joe? She was standing over by the piano, her back to them. When had she gotten up off the sofa? Louis hadn’t even felt it.
“How do you feel, dear?” Dr. Sher asked.
It took a second or two for the doctor’s question to register. “I’m fine,” Amy said.
“Do you remember what just happened?”
Amy nodded. “I didn’t help things, did I?”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Sher asked.
“I couldn’t remember anything about Momma,” Amy said.
Dr. Sher took Amy’s hand. “That will come.”
Amy shook her head. “But I need to help. Can we try again?”
“No, dear,” Dr. Sher said. “You’ve done enough for today.”
Louis looked to Joe. She was staring at Amy. Suddenly, Amy got up and went to her. She wrapped her arms around Joe’s waist and rested her head on Joe’s chest.
Joe hesitated, then put her arms around Amy.
For a moment, Louis couldn’t decipher what he was seeing in Joe’s face. Then, suddenly, he knew what it was. He had seen the look before, on the face of his foster mother, Frances, when she found out her husband had been in love with another woman for the last thirty years. Frances’s world had shifted, because that one thing had forced her to question everything she believed to be real and solid.
Louis rose and went outside to the porch. He blinked in the bright sunlight and pulled in a breath of the crisp air. A breeze kicked up, sending the chimes tinkling. Louis focused on the spinning whirligig bird out on the lawn, thinking about Amy’s story.
As moving as it was, he knew it wasn’t real. Amy believed it was. And if he had read the look on Joe’s face correctly, so did she.
He could almost understand that her growing attachment to Amy was clouding her judgment. He had warned Shockey that his obsession with Jean had made him useless as a cop. And now Joe’s willingness to accept this past-life thing was becoming just as dangerous.
Louis turned to look in through the window. He could see Joe and Amy talking quietly. He had to find a way to prove to Joe that she was wrong.