Quest Biographies Bundle — Books 11–15. Gary EvansЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Laurier House

      February 24, 1932

      The third floor was totally silent. As instructed, the servants and secretaries left their employer and his two female guests to themselves. Pat lay outside the door of the book room and growled when anyone came near.

      The room, an oversized closet where books and government papers were stored, was darkened with quilts until it was almost black. King, Joan Patteson, a friend named Mrs. Fulford, and the spiritualist Mrs. Etta Wriedt sat on chairs with a silver-coloured trumpet placed on the floor between them.

      The small, white-haired medium in a grey silk dress requested sweetly, “Let us speak the Lord’s Prayer.”

      After the four prayed devoutly, Wriedt closed her eyes and slipped into a trancelike state.

      King had been very excited a few days before when he had experienced his first seance with Wriedt. Mrs. Fulford, Senator Fulford’s widow, had invited him to her Brockville home to see the Detroit medium. King had been astounded at the parade of spirits who had communicated with him through Wriedt’s tin trumpet. Grandfather, Sir Wilfrid, Bert, Father, and Mother had spoken to him and answered his questions, there was no mistaking. Just as Lady Byng, Mrs. Fulford and many others had assured him, now he had proof that he could communicate directly with those in heaven!

      King had immediately invited Wriedt to come to Ottawa. Rex very badly wanted his friend, Joan, to experience the marvels he had witnessed. He was sure that there were spirits waiting to speak to her, too.

      A noise from the flared end of the trumpet made the two seekers almost stop breathing. To Joan it seemed like a strange gasping sound, but very feeble. It’s as if a person is emerging from ether, Joan thought, or perhaps like a radio before it becomes quite “heated up.” Joan was too frightened to make any observations out loud.

      Miraculously, a woman’s voice began to speak. It was indistinguishable at first, and then came more clearly.

      This is Isabel. Both Willie and Joan felt their breath coming more quickly. Is Joan Patteson here?

      “Yes, Mrs. King,” Joan squeaked, astonished.

      I am happy to meet you, at last, the voice went on strongly. You have done so much for my beloved son. I have long wanted to meet you and thank you. Also, I have good news for you.

      “For me?” Joan asked incredulously.

      Your daughter is here. She has grown up and is a beautiful girl. She will speak to you in a minute.

      “Oh my!” Joan could hardly bear the elation at hearing the voice of one who had never spoken on Earth. The daughter she missed so much. Then a worried question came to her. “Who looks after her in Heaven?”

      Oh, my dear, there is a kindergarten here for little children, Isabel’s voice informed. They are well cared for. We teach them all kinds of wonderful things – and even all about the parents they left behind and who love them on earth.

      Joan felt enraptured. She had always sensed that her lost child was safe and cared for, but it was so wonderful to be certain.

      She’s named after you, isn’t she? Isabel asked.

      Joan stiffened. This was incorrect. The child’s name was Alison Rose, but the family had called her…

      But we call her Nancy, the voice quickly continued.

      Joy flooded back through Joan’s body. It was her daughter!

      Your father and mother will speak to you also. But my time is short. I wish to speak now to my son.

      The trumpet rolled across the floor. It stopped, rapping King on the shins. He picked it up.

      My dear, most devoted son. You have been so kind to me. I have felt your love, even here.

      “Mother?” King asked.

      Yes, Billy, it is your mother. Father is here too and Grandfather. They are very proud of you. We are all here watching you. Now here is Grandfather.

      King exhaled. A shudder of relief coursed through him.

      I am William Lyon Mackenzie. Mrs. Patteson, I am pleased to meet you. A man s voice with a thick Scottish accent came through the trumpet.

      “I am pleased to meet you too, sir. I have studied about you in school.”

      I am honoured! the voice said with surprise. I lost much in the Rebellion. As my grandson knows, one makes great sacrifices in public life. He works so hard. I worked so hard. But it was different work. These are different times. Time, the voice reflected, does not exist over here. I want my grandson to know that I love him and I will always be with him.

      After the séance King took a moment to write up the events of the day. It was so marvellous, he felt, to have such contact, now, during his upsetting period. The Liberal party had been horribly affected by a terrible scandal, one that had sullied King’s personal reputation. Funds had been given to the Liberal campaign from people who had benefitted from contracts related to proposed plans to build the St. Lawrence Seaway. It was made to look as if an interested party, the Beauharnois Syndicate, had paid for King’s hotel bill during a holiday in Bermuda. Although King was eventually proven innocent, some other Liberals appeared less so. “We are in the Valley of Humiliation,” the party leader confessed before the House of Commons. He had promised that all would be set right. Then he took measures to ensure such a charge could never be brought against a Liberal candidate again. He saw that a National Liberal Foundation and office was organized to handle campaign funds and to strengthen the party unity through improved communication. Nonetheless, the taste of disgrace remained bitterly with King.