rofessor Charles Ambrose Rowe awoke one day in strange and uncomfortable circumstance. His head hurt, and he was aware of being unshaven. His skin was sunburned, and he had the feeling of having been outside for quite a long time.
He was aware of these things before he was aware of his surroundings. These, too, were harsh and strange. He lay on cold cobblestone in an alley that had a distinctly unpleasant smell. When he felt about his person, he found that he had no wallet, no money, and no pocket watch.
The sky above him was dim and brown and the air was warm and humid.
When he picked himself up off of the hard stone, he had aches and pains throughout his body. He felt like an old man. His hand traveled to his head, and he felt the silken locks of his hair sullied with something sticky. He wore no hat. He had no cape. It began to rain.
He wandered out of the alley, to the main street, looking for something familiar. The street name was one he did not know. He attempted to hail a cab, but no cab would stop for him. As he stood at the edge of the street, the rain began to come down more heavily, until it was pouring and he stood, drenched and alone.
He began to walk.
I see this scene over and over in the mirror. I don’t know why. It seems to have little importance, but it resonates. Don’t you sometimes look around your life and wonder how you got to such a cold, hard place? When you do, isn’t your first instinct to just go home? The real tale of the prodigal son is just that: when you have taken the road less traveled and found yourself in a dark alley in the rain with no wallet, you can just give up and go home.
Charlotte and Miriam Rowe were sitting at breakfast. It had been three years since Charlotte’s spiritual talents had been uncovered, and the small family’s circumstances had greatly improved. Although she did not like to mention it, in the first years of her husband’s absence, Miriam had appealed to her father for assistance. This was, of course, no cause for shame. It was a family’s responsibility to care for their loved ones in times of need. However, as time went on, her father and mother began to press her to return to Chicago. This would have been quite a sensible move. It was not wholly fitting, Miriam felt, for a woman and child to live alone, and keeping a separate household was an unnecessary extra expense.
She was loath to leave the house, though.
Her discomfort grew over time, as she strove (and usually failed) to reduce her household expenses.
With the dramatic appearance of Charlotte’s spirit guide, prospects instantly improved. Instead of being the sitter, she was elevated to the status of—well, not precisely of a sensitive, since her powers manifested only in visions and revelations and never upon her command—but of the Earthly equivalent of a control. While Nanette managed the supernatural side of the séance, Miriam managed the Earthly side. Charlotte functioned as a conduit between the two, their connecting link, often retaining no memory of her mediumistic episodes.
Although the true purpose of these sittings was, clearly, for the furtherance of the Grace of God and for the peace and joy of those who came, it was also, undeniably, a rather good source of income for a wife and mother who was unhappily left alone through awkward circumstances.
Miriam spread jam thickly onto a piece of toast. It was good jam, and real butter too.
Charlotte said, “We should have a roast beef for dinner.”
Miriam looked up. “We have those good ducks sent over from the butcher.”
“Father’s favorite,” said Charlotte, “is roast beef.”
This was not an entirely unique suggestion. Charlotte would occasionally mention that her father was quite fond of chocolates, or particularly felt like peach ice cream that day. Whatever, in fact, Charlotte happened to crave, she could acquire simply by noting that it was a favorite of father’s. This had not happened in a while, though. Charlotte’s father, as a topic of conversation or thought, had dwindled into the background in recent months.
“Roast beef?” said Miriam. “I suppose that the ducks can be kept for another day. I should, perhaps, send Sheri down to the butcher’s.”
“That sounds good,” said Charlotte, toying with her spoon in her three-minute egg. “Father will be pleased.”
The doorbell rang, and Sheri bustled through the room on her way to the door. Miriam stopped her.
“Sheri, you will please go to the butcher’s and get a nice roast beef for tonight.”
“Ma’am?”
“You understood me. A roast beef.”
“But Angie has already begun preparing the ducks for tonight.”
“Well, the ducks will need to wait. We will have roast beef tonight.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Well? Are you going to answer that? Remember, we are at breakfast and unable to entertain a visitor.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sheri scooted off toward the door.
“Finish your egg, Charlotte,” said Miriam. “You need your strength.”
Sheri re-entered the room and stood by the table uncertainly.
“Yes, Sheri?” said Mrs. Rowe.
“There is a man at the door...”
“I thought I made it clear that we would not be disturbed at our breakfast.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Sheri, still uncertainly.
“Well, what is it then?”
“He is rather an impoverished-looking gentleman,” she said slowly.
“We do not have either work or subscriptions for unemployed men,” Mrs. Rowe said sternly.
“I know, but...”
“But what? Let it out, Sheri. Don’t just clamp your tongue on it.”
“Well, he says he is Professor Rowe.”
Miriam Rowe shot up from the table, knocking over a water glass. She rushed past Sheri and to the doorway.
Charlotte said, “If I were you, I would get off to the butcher’s.”
Sheri blinked at the girl.
Miriam Rowe reappeared at the doorway to the room, holding on her arm the tattered and distressed-looking man. She helped him to a chaise in the corner of the room, and kneeled at his side as he lay back. Miriam ran her hand gently over the man’s drenched forehead, and then spun around with vicious energy.
“Stupid girl,” she said to Sheri, “leaving him out in the rain like that. Don’t just stand there! Get a towel. And run a bath. You can get Angie to go to the butcher’s, and have the roast prepared as soon as possible. He will need good red meat!”
Sheri started and mumbled and ran out of the room. Miriam turned back to her bedraggled husband.
“Darling,” she said.
He passed out on the chaise.
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