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“Stand here, sweetheart,” the engineer said, leading Evie to her spot. He sniffed, smelling the whiskey on her breath, and Evie wished she’d gobbled a peppermint candy. Everybody was here. And Mr. Phillips was watching. Beside Evie, Sarah was the picture of serenity. Evie sought out Theta at the back of the room. Theta nodded, and that calmed Evie some.
“Why, look who’s here! It’s none other than two of WGI’s greatest ladies of the airwaves, Miss Sarah Snow and Miss Evie O’Neill, the Divine—and the Diviner!”
The audience laughed good-naturedly. The reporters started in easily enough with lots of softball questions about how excited Evie and Sarah were to attend the exhibition (“Oh, very!”), their favorite nightclubs (Evie: “The Hotsy Totsy and the Twenty-one Club.” Sarah: “My nightclub is the church, and Jesus never charges a cover.”), and what they liked best about being on the radio (Evie: “My wonderful fans!” Sarah: “My faithful listeners.”).
The familiar killing gleam showed in Woody’s eyes. “Miss Snow, you’re a real supporter of Prohibition. What’ve you got against a good time?”
Evie suppressed a giggle. She could kiss Woody.
Sarah chuckled. “I believe you don’t need spirits if you’ve got the Holy Spirit, Mr. Woodhouse,” Sarah said in her comforting midwestern accent, her vowels as flat and familiar as prairie grass. No one had made her take elocution lessons, Evie noted.
“Didn’t Jesus turn water into wine?” Evie said. “Why, he was the original bootlegger!”
Some of the reporters chuckled, but at many of the tables, there
were pinched faces. Evie’s mouth went dry.
“What do you make of all these supposed ghost sightings in our city?” Harriet Henderson. The old snake.
The slightest crease appeared in Sarah’s normally serene brow. “I can’t help but wonder if these terrifying apparitions are signs from the Lord that we should return to old-fashioned values. And turn away from Diviners.”
Sarah pointedly ignored Evie and looked toward those tables of overly powdered rich women and the reporters furiously jotting down her words. “It’s all very entertaining to read secrets in a handkerchief or ring, I suppose. But dancing in nightclubs won’t fill the bowls of the hungry. Telling fortunes above a tea shop won’t help the man who’s out of work or worried about losing the family farm. There’s only one power I believe in, only one true Diviner, and that is Jesus Christ Almighty.”
“Sounds like you’re taking a page from Jake Marlowe, Miss Snow. He’s not including Diviners in his Future of America Exhibition. He says they’re un-American.” Harriet cast a furtive glance Evie’s way.
I’ve been set up, Evie realized.
“I’m afraid I must agree with Mr. Marlowe,” Sarah said with a gentle shake of her head. “These are frightening times. Americans are frightened of threats from without and within. I can’t help but wonder: What if any of these so-called Diviners were anarchists? What if their loyalties were not to America first? Why, with their special powers, they could be very dangerous, indeed.”
“Say, I hadn’t thought about that,” one reporter muttered, taking down notes.
Evie knew this jaded lot; most of them had a secret flask and a betting form in each pocket. They weren’t usually the sort to fall for this, but not one of the reporters pushed back.
Sarah beamed. “But here’s our Mr. Marlowe now! I’m sure you’d much rather hear his thoughts than mine. Jake, join us, won’t you?”
Sarah beckoned Marlowe, and the crowd erupted with cries of “Speech! Speech!” Evie could feel the night slipping away from her. The crowd sang “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” until an abashed Jake Marlowe took the stage. Sarah laid her hand on his arm and gazed up at him with adoration again, and Evie wondered if she practiced that expression in her mirror each night as she slathered on her cold cream.
“I didn’t know you went in for that old-time religion, Mr. Marlowe,” a reporter said.
“Well, I didn’t realize just how pretty some of God’s missionaries were,” Jake said, and Sarah pretended to be embarrassed, but Evie knew she loved it. The audience loved it, too.
“When’s the wedding?” someone shouted to much laughter. Sarah and Jake were giving them quite a show.
“Like Miss Snow, I care very much about this country,” Jake said, turning serious again.
“I care about our country, too!” Evie said feebly. She put extra polish on the silver-tongued vowels she’d been practicing an hour each day, but the whiskey was catching up to her. Her words weren’t as crisp as she’d like. “Diviners help all sorts of people. Why, just last week, a little girl came to me with the collar of her dog. Poor little thing was all brokenhearted. I got a read off the collar, and within the hour, she’d found little Fifi.”
“Our lady of lost pets,” a reporter joked just loud enough to be picked up by the microphone. This got a roar of laughter from everyone, and Evie’s cheeks burned. She also wished her head weren’t quite so fuzzy. Woody’s booze had been much stronger than her usual. She shouldn’t have drunk it so quickly on an empty stomach. It had hit her hard and fast.
“My brother died serving this country,” Evie blurted out, and immediately regretted it.
There was a glint in Marlowe’s eye.
“Say, weren’t you and Miss O’Neill’s uncle once best friends?” a reporter asked.
It was the first time that Jake Marlowe’s smile faltered. “Once,” Jake said meaningfully. “But we’re very different fellas. He has an obsession with our history, with our ghosts.” Jake Marlowe shook his head. “We’re a country of the future. We’re not haunted by anything.”
“But, Mr. Marlowe, they say that those who don’t heed the lessons of the past are doomed to repeat them.”
