In This Time And Place: Part 3b
Donald was right; his revelation about Miss Britten doesn’t stop other mediums from coming. The notoriety, the act…the money is too good. So they keep coming, three or four a year and Donald goes after every one of them. He earns a reputation as a skeptic and becomes a bit of a noteworthy subject throughout town. Someone to be talked and gossiped about at dinner parties, someone who makes it into the society section of the newspaper, especially after he gets done with the latest spiritualist to graces the city’s presence.
In the beginning uncovering a medium’s fraud is easy, they view him as simply another curious patron, willing to throw his money their way for a scare and a thrill. Donald attends lectures and gets invited to private séances, watching and learning at each event. He hires a secretary to help him with research and to serve as a witness and sometimes, a spy.
It’s surprising to learn that for all the bells and whistles of a séance, the methods of deception are relatively simple. Donald catches one medium using a false arm to hold hands with his neighbor, the real one needed to ring the bell used to indicate a spirit’s presence. He catches another using her toes to pull cords that control gas flow of the room’s lamps, flickering them with a twitch of her toe. And Donald has yet to attend a séance where the medium’s assistant was not hidden behind a false wall, providing the help needed to pull off a successful con whether it be through making noise or providing the folders full of research gotten through the bribing of servants.
But as his reputation grows things get more difficult. His reputation spreads, mediums know about him and prepare for him. They’ve grown smarter, trickier, and more aggressive. It becomes a game with some of them, a dare. One that Donald takes every time. He has no doubt that despite their improved methods he’ll out them eventually.
And so, two years after storming out of Miss Britten’s parlor Donald has a solid reputation and a list of successes he can be proud of. He’s part of a small network of fellow skeptics across the country all working to debunk the frauds within the Spiritualist movement. And while it’s nothing like what he imagined, Donald has somehow built a new life for himself. Even if it is cold and lonely, detached from anyone but his staff. He’s fine. Just fine.
***
The news that Stuart Wilson has taken a house sends the town’s social elite into an excited fit of gossip. While Stuart isn’t the most famous medium within the movement, he has a special reputation as one whose skill is unsurpassed. Even some within the skeptic community whisper that maybe, just maybe, Stuart is the real thing.
Donald does not share this belief and has every intention of following the same plan with Stuart that he has for every other medium that has crossed his path: attend the lecture, participate in one of the private séances and expose them. If Stuart is as good as the rumors say he is Donald’s willing to attend another event, perhaps even a second séance. But in the end the result will be the same - the revelation of a fraud and the prevention of his continuing to take advantage of people’s grief and willingness to be deceived.
On the night of Mr. Wilson’s first lecture Donald is hardly surprised to find that, like most mediums, Stuart is a natural showman. He’s comfortable on stage, putting on an excellent show and providing the audience with exactly what they paid for. He focuses on how, under the right circumstances, it is possible to breach the veil between this world and the next. That sometimes a soul is not ready to move on due to a violent death or fear of leaving their loved one alone. He mentions that sometimes, conversely, it is the one still alive that holds the spirit here, their grief making them unable to let go and move on with the healing process. It’s people who find themselves in this particular situation that Mr. Wilson claims to want to help the most.
The lecture is different from those Donald has heard before and while he doesn’t believe Mr. Wilson, he appreciates hearing something different; it prevents him from being bored. Donald leaves begrudgingly impressed and anxious to see what will happen next.
It’s during the séance that Donald realizes just how good Stuart is. The set up is the same - dark heavy curtains block out any external light, candles, crystals and a bible all sit on the table - with the only difference being that instead of an orb sitting in the middle of the table there is a simple wooden bowl filled with water. The presentation is the same as well - hand holding, contacting someone’s deceased loved one, parroting back information easily gotten from a willingly bribed servant - but none of the obvious tricks seem present, none of the optical illusions detectable.
Either Stuart has prepared for Donald or he’s created some new trick, found some new way to deceive those seeking their lost loved ones. Whatever it is, Donald is confident that he’ll figure it out. At least now he knows what he’s up against.
He decides to return the next day rather than wait for another séance. Stuart clearly knows about him and attending another party seems futile. And beyond that Donald has no desire to go through the social niceties that would be required of him were he to attend.
In the morning, despite his lack of invitation, Donald is met by the doorman and led into the drawing room. It’s the same room used the night before and in the light of day it’s warm and inviting, the curtains pulled open and sunlight pouring in. Stuart is sitting at the table he used for the séance, breakfast of toast and tea and poached egg in front of him. There’s a newspaper at his elbow and a book - something old from the looks of its dulled tattered cover and brown flakey pages - propped open behind his plate. All evidence from the séance is gone, except the bowl of water still sitting in the middle of the table.
Stuart rises to greet him, his tall lean body unfolding from the chair, rising to a height Donald finds almost indecent. The stress lines and look of concentration from last night are all absent this morning and Stuart looks healthy and content; his eyes are clear and bright, his unruly hair flopping across his forehead, his polite smile reveals dimples making him look much younger than his 34 years. “Mr. Wellstone. Good morning.”
Donald’s hand almost disappears when he shakes Stuart’s hand before taking the chair he had occupied last night. “Mr. Wilson. I apologize for calling so early.”
Donald has no desire to stay any longer than necessary but Stuart seems intent upon playing the perfect host, pouring him a cup of coffee with one sugar and a splash of cream. Just the way Donald likes it.
“No need to apologize. I had thought you would have stayed behind last night. Where the festivities not to your liking?”
Last night Stuart had called upon the spirit of Mrs. Thomas Snider’s late mother so that Mrs. Snider could inform her mother that she had a granddaughter named after her. And that she had been correct when she predicted that lace would soon fall out of fashion.
“Not at all, I found both your lecture and last night’s séance to be a wonderful act. You’re a consummate showman Mr. Wilson. Perhaps the best I’ve ever seen.”
For all that Donald has every intention of ruining Stuart Wilson’s reputation he means what he says. Stuart nods his head, accepting the compliment before Donald continues, unable to let Stuart think he’s going to make exceptions because of Stuart’s talent. “But everyone has a tell and I will discover yours.”
Stuart’s face changes from impassive to rueful, a slight smile gracing his lips. He nods his head as if Donald has said exactly what Stuart expected him to say. It’s a slight and Donald feels himself growing angry. “You don’t believe me.”
Last night was frustrating in its lack of real discovery and now this morning is proving to be equally frustrating. Stuart seems completely nonplused by Donald’s presence, his reputation or his threat. Instead he seems almost amused by Donald.
“I have no doubt that you believe I’m a fraud and that you will expose me.” Stuart’s voice is soft and a bit lulling, annoying Donald even more in its innocence.
Donald recognizes his anger growing and so, having said what he needs to say Donald returns his cup to its saucer and goes to stand up, his hand dragging off the table when Stuart’s arm flies out, grabbing Donald’s hand in his own. Startled Donald looks up making eye contact with Stuart for the first time. His eyes are wide, locked onto Donald’s and are such a deep hazel-green Donald thinks he could get lost in them, sucked to the bottom of a deep murky lake. It’s startling and a bit unnerving; Donald’s not used to noticing such details about those he investigates.
It feels like Stuart is trying to look into his soul and it makes him feel uncomfortable, vulnerable, but try as he might Donald can’t look away, can’t pull his hand free from Stuart’s surprisingly strong grip.
“There’s so much pain and loneliness within you.” Donald knows it’s an act, knows that Stuart is trying to rattle him, using information that by now is common knowledge. But it doesn’t stop his heart from seizing in his chest as though Stuart is reaching deep inside and pulling something out of him. He forces himself to break Stuart’s gaze and uses his free hand to pull from Stuart’s grasp.
With the connection broken Stuart seems to return to the present, return from rummaging through Donald’s soul. He’s furious that Stuart would dare try such an act on him and he has every intention of telling Stuart just that except that the tears shining in Stuart’s eyes stop him. There’s so much sorrow written on his face, in his eyes that search Donald’s face.
“You should stay away from me. You should leave and never come back. There’s nothing for you here but pain.” Stuart’s voice is nothing more than a whisper and Donald can’t be sure he heard Stuart correctly.
He isn’t given a chance to ask because Stuart practically flees the room, leaving Donald stunned, confused and no closer to the discoveries he vowed to make.
***
Donald spends the rest of the day and well into the evening thinking about his meeting with Stuart Wilson. He progresses from confusion to anger, convinced in the end that Stuart was threatening him should Donald expose him for the fraud he is. Donald is not necessarily a brave man - he’s never so much as struck another man - but he’s no coward either and he will not be threatened by a lying conniving excuse for a human being.
By the end of the night Donald is resolved to return in the morning and confront Stuart about his threat and explain what Donald plans to do about it. He goes to bed feeling calm and relieved, the disconcerting feeling that’s been plaguing him all day finally settling to the point that Donald can ignore it.
The problem is that when Donald knocks on Stuart’s door the next morning no one answers. After nearly ten minutes of knocking the door still hasn’t been answer and Donald finally leaves for the day. It takes three days of knocking before the door is answered and Donald is led, rather reluctantly if the butler’s displeased face is any indication, into a spacious den.
A large fireplace dominates one wall and, with the exception of the room’s windows, the other three are covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves. They’re nearly overflowing with books that, upon closer inspection are old and brittle and some look like they might be written in languages Donald has never seen before. A large desk sits in front of a window; its curtains keeping out the morning sun. Papers and books, ink and pens are scattered across the desktop like someone has been working for days and couldn’t be bothered with keeping the desk organized. The entire room looks similarly well used and cluttered.
Stuart is sitting in one of the chairs near the fireplace and despite the lack of invitation Donald enters the room, standing next to the chair across from Stuart. It’s surprising but Stuart looks worse than he did when he ran out of the drawing room three days ago. He looks exhausted, hair lanky, eyes blood shot, skin pasty, almost gray. Donald is at a loss as to what could cause such a drastic transformation.
“You should not have come back.” Even Stuart’s voice sounds rough.
“I don’t take kindly to threats Mr. Wilson. You’re a liar and a fraud and I will expose you no matter what you threaten.” Having said what he came to say Donald has every intention of leaving but Stuart seems insistent on engaging him in debate.
“I’m sorry if you thought I was threatening you. I was only trying to warn you of the inevitable outcome of any association between us.”
“With due respect Sir, I have no intention of there being any kind of acquaintance between us once I have exposed you.”
Stuart seems to collapse back into his chair a bit, watching Donald, studying him before asking Donald with genuine curiosity “Is there any way you would believe? Anything that could make you reconsider your position?”
“No.”
“Because you allowed yourself to believe and were betrayed.” Stuart says it more to himself than to Donald, nodding his head in understanding before focusing on Donald again. “May I at least try?”
He’s taken aback that Stuart would make the offer, would give Donald the chance to expose him so readily, so easily. But he has and Donald is not about to refuse the offer. He nods and Stuart smiles faintly.
“Tomorrow. Come back tomorrow.”
This time it’s Donald who leaves the room first.
***
“Don’t you need…something?” Donald gestures to the table, trying to keep his sarcasm to a minimum. The table is empty - no bible, no crystals, no candles - free of the usual props used during a séance, free of the very props Stuart had used the other night.
“You know they’re just props used for the audience.” Stuart’s answers surprises Donald, he’s not used to honesty from mediums.
The mid morning sun spills into the drawing room giving everything a bright cheerful feel. Donald feels almost familiar with the room by this point, his third time inside it. They’re sitting at the same table Stuart used to perform his séance and where Donald first confronted him.
When Stuart asks he places both his hands in Stuart’s, lets Stuart stare into him. It makes him feel oddly small to have his hands cradled in Stuart’s strong, large hands; feel small under Stuart’s gaze that refuses to let him look away.
“You saw your first medium in order to reach your wife Cassandra. You wanted to apologize for what you believe is your role in her death. You want to tell her you’re sorry and that you miss her; that you love her.”
This is all common knowledge; nothing Stuart is saying is a secret. It’s all information he could have gotten from conversations with his various party guests, from the very article Stuart himself first wrote. It doesn’t prove anything and Donald will not let Cassandra be used in this manner. He tries to pull his hands free but Stuart refuses to let go, keeps talking in that soft soothing voice of his.
“The woman you went to was a fraud. But even if she had been a true seer she would not have been able to contact your wife. Cassandra died with a clear heart and a clear conscious. Even your love, strong as it was, would not have kept her here. Cassidy loved you but she moved on. And you need to move on as well.”
Donald is out of his chair and across the room before he realizes it. His chest is tight and he’s having trouble breathing. None of what Stuart said proves anything, it’s all a logical conclusion given the information he has. And yet Donald can’t breath. He can’t breath and he can’t stop this weird flipping feeling in his stomach.
“That doesn’t…none of that is a secret. It doesn’t prove anything. It doesn’t mean anything.” He’s gasping a bit, curling in on himself, trying to breath, trying to stop feeling like this. He just needs to breathe, needs to get control of himself and breath. Needs to stop shaking and just…just breathe.
And then Stuart is there, his big hands closing over his shoulders forcing Donald to stand up straight, forcing him to look into Stuart’s soft hazel-green eyes. “You need to breathe Donald. Look at me. You need to calm down and breathe.”
He wants to look away, get away but Stuart won’t let me, forcing Donald to stay standing, to keep looking into his eyes and soon Donald finds himself matching Stuart’s steady in, out, in, out until he’s breathing normally again, until he’s regained his equilibrium.
He lets Stuart lead him back to the table and his abandoned chair, sinks into it gratefully and accepts the glass of water he’s offered. Once he’s settled Stuart sits across from him, just watching. When he’s finished the glass and is calm again he looks back at Stuart.
“There’s nothing I can do to prove myself to you, nothing I can say to change your mind if you’re determined not to believe. But I knew you would listen if I spoke of that night and, it might not be my place but it’s something you needed to hear. It’s far more important than reminding you that the scar on your right arm is the result of falling out of your Grandmother’s apple tree when you were seven.”
Donald knows it’s not really proof, that there are still one or two servants in the house who were around at the time of the accident. But it was just one scratch in the life of an energetic boy, one blended into many similar incidents, too many for it to really stand out and be retold.
“Not all of us are frauds.” After that Stuart is silent, letting Donald take it in, letting him try to reconcile what happened this morning with what he believes. They sit, Donald trying not to have the internal debate that’s growing inside him, and Stuart just watching. Finally Stuart gently suggests that Donald go home, get some rest.
He walks Donald to the door, offering his carriage, but Donald insists on walking. He hopes it will clear his head, help him sort things out. He feels Stuart’s eyes on him until he turns the corner and is out of sight.
***
As he has so often lately Donald spends the next 24 hours locked in an internal debate between what he’s believed for the last two years - that every medium is a liar and a thief and the entire movement is a scam - and what he’s feeling - that Stuart just might be real; that his abilities, his skills, his words are all real. He goes back and forth, fighting with himself until Donald finally gives up and falls into an exhausted sleep.
He wakes with the remnants of a dream clinging to his consciousness - Cassidy’s laugh and a pair of hazel-green eyes fading to yellow the only details he can grasp before the dream evaporates back into his subconscious.
He dresses slowly, takes his time at breakfast, enjoying his coffee and reading the paper from cover to cover before finally setting off once again to visit Stuart.
This time he finds Stuart in the den reading a book that looks so old it should be in tatters. Stuart doesn’t seem surprised to see Donald, simply motions for him to take the vacant chair in front of his desk. Donald waits for Stuart to close the book and put away his notes before asking the question he needs to ask, the question that he’s been obsessing over since yesterday.
“How do you do it?”
“I just…know. There’s no trick to it. It’s like seeing a series of images. Usually when a person comes to me the reason for it is clear, the first thing I see.”
“And if it’s not clear?” Donald has a feeling he’s not going to like the answer to this particular question.
“Than either they have no need of my services or I have to dig a little.” Donald nods a bit. It’s what he had assumed.
“You have no right to just riffle through people’s minds as if it were a newspaper.” While he appreciates Stuart’s honesty this is perhaps what Donald hates most about mediums - their arrogance. Their belief that they have a right to a person’s most cherished memories, their most private thoughts.
“People come to me for this. If I’m lucky I don’t have to invade their thoughts. Which is something I will only do if given permission. Privacy is sacred to me.”
Donald has a feeling that there’s an exception to Stuart’s privacy rule based on the way his eyes shift away from Donald’s but a knock on the door prevents him from pushing. Stuart’s housekeeper Elly enters carrying a tray of food and lays it on the table before leaving, returning Stuart’s friendly smile before she goes.
“Lunch?”
Donald knows a change in conversation when he hears it but he can’t help asking one more question while Stuart cleans the room’s table of its considerable clutter of books and papers. “Have you riffled through my mind?”
“No. Reading you has proven incredibly easy.”
It’s not the answer Donald wants to hear, not an answer he’s comfortable with. “Why?” Why would he be so easy to read?
Stuart pauses, refusing to meet Stuart’s eyes. “Some people are just easier to read than others.” Donald knows the answer is less than completely honest but he no longer feels comfortable pressing the issue with Stuart’s transition from professional to personal with the offer of lunch. It seems incredibly rude.
He stays through lunch and for a few hours after. They’ve reached some sort of truce, unsure exactly where they stand but neither willing to break the fragile peace they worked toward.
The conversation is easy and simple, nothing too personal and everything superficial but by the time he leaves Donald is surprised to realize that he enjoyed his time with Stuart. Which is why he accepts Stuart’s invitation to join the small dinner party he’s having the next night.
“It’s a small gathering and will include a reading. I thought you might like to join us considering the new information you’ve gathered.” Donald knows Stuart is referring to his evolving opinion on mediums, séances and Stuart in particular.
***
In what is becoming his new normal Donald spends the day alternating between burning curiosity and disbelief that he’s actually considering that Stuart really is a medium, that he really can read people’s minds, reach across the plains of existence and speak to those already gone. In Stuart’s presence with his earnest eyes and his perceived honesty, sincerity practically oozing off of him it’s easy to believe. But now, away from him Donald finds it more difficult to consider the possibility of Stuart’s authenticity.
In the end curiosity and propriety win out and he arrives at Stuart’s house at the appointed time. Stuart’s faithful butler (and friend) Jim recognizes Donald and greets him with the same wariness he did yesterday, ushering Donald into the parlor where the rest of the party is gathered. Stuart’s smile when he sees Donald is immediate, wide and open and Donald finds himself smiling back.
The evening progresses as these evenings generally do: sharing gossip and news, drinks and dinner all before adjourning to the sitting room. The table is set up as it was the first time Donald entered this room, all the props in their place. The Bible sits next to the bowl of water with a crystal resting on top, the heavy curtains are closed blocking all light and only candles light the room.
The reading that night is unique, different from any other Donald has attended. This time, without the obsessive focus of finding the mediums secret, discovering their tell, finding the tricks, Donald is able to truly watch. He sees, perhaps for the first time, the effort it takes Stuart to put on a show rather than just give out information, sees the skill it takes to enhance the experience, to mask his hard work. Donald sees the effect it has on the people gathered, how they seem truly taken, truly enrapt in Stuart, completely open to Stuart’s poking and prodding. Stuart is gentle, respectful of the private, emotional nature of the information he has and his audience reacts calmly because of it.
There are no overly dramatic scenes like at many of the séances Donald has attended. When Stuart reconciles a widow with her dead husband her reaction is relieved tears instead of hysterics. He allows a man dignity in his grief at reconciling with his long lost brother and, when he helps a mother lay to rest her guilt over the miscarriage of her child the woman’s tears of thanks are as restrained as her growing relief.
It’s humbling in a way that surprises Donald. Taken with the information he received yesterday afternoon there seems only one outcome for the considered acceptance growing in him. Though Donald isn’t quite ready to admit to himself what his subconscious seems to have already decided: that Stuart is real.
***
It’s a long evening and Stuart is clearly relieved when his guests have left. He hands Donald a glass of whiskey before settling onto the settee. They don’t speak, each lost in thought, comfortable in each other’s silence. It’s Donald who eventually ends the silence, voice soft, not wanting to break the mood.
“Does it bother you; the frauds masquerading, lying to people, and taking their money?”
“Perhaps, a little. But they make it easier for me to do my work. I can’t judge them too harshly.”
“The secretary of the first medium I went to, the one who convinced me that all mediums were frauds, she asked me if it mattered whether the woman was real or not when the comfort she gave was real. I said it did and I still believe that.”
“You have to remember that the people who come to them are willing participants, willing blind to the fraud. Human beings have an amazing capacity to believe what they want to believe. They convince themselves that the world is as they see it and not as it really is.”
“And what is the world, really?”
Stuart looks at him, face wistful. “The world is…complicated. Much more complicated than people realize.”
They lapse back into silence. It’s nice, comforting and Donald finds himself relaxing in a way he hasn’t in a very long time.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Stuart’s voice is soft; as if he isn’t sure he wants Donald to hear him. The announcement surprises him, makes his heart jump in his chest and an odd feeling flare up in his stomach.
“Leaving?”
“I have an engagement upstate.” He knew Stuart’s visit was temporary, a limited engagement like all mediums.
“Will you be back?”
When Stuart doesn’t answer for a long time, just sits there, swirling his whiskey, staring down at the amber liquid, Donald thinks he knows Stuart’s answer. He’s surprised to find that the thought of Stuart not returning is disappointing. It’s why when Stuart finally does reply the answer is a bit of a relief.
“I don’t know.”
***
Stuart is gone a total of eight days and in that time Donald goes about his business: attending the necessary functions required of someone within his social circle, researching a new medium rumored to be coming to town in a few weeks, running errands about town…and through it all he can’t quite banish Stuart from his mind.
It’s not intentional, it’s not something he consciously thinks about but Stuart pops into his thoughts at the most random of times: listening to Mrs. Reed gossip about Mrs. Burroughs’s shocking uses of satin; discussing the town’s modernization with the Mayor; debating politics with Richard; reading the morning paper…It doesn’t hit him till the day before Stuart returns that Donald is hoping Stuart will return. And soon. He can’t help it, he’s curious, intrigued by this man who got him to reconsider two years of bedrock thinking.
When Stuart turns up on his doorstep nine days after he last saw him Donald is surprisingly happy. Stuart seems a bit subdue, tired, but truly pleased to see him. They settle comfortably in Donald’s office and Stuart regales him with stories from his trip that have Donald chuckling. It eases the small knot in Donald’s chest that’s been there since he last saw Stuart.
“I almost didn’t come back.”
“Why did you?”
“I’ve decided that any acquaintance, any friendship between us will more than outweigh any consequences.”
“You said something similar before. What possible consequences could there be from our acquaintance?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Stuart’s smile is reserved but genuine and Donald finds himself smoothly changing the subject. He’s had enough brooding and if Stuart doesn’t want to talk about it that’s fine with Donald. He’d much rather just enjoy Stuart’s company.
***
For the first time in a long time, since before Cassidy, Donald has a friend. A true friend, someone whose company he enjoys, someone he likes talking to, someone he can rely on and confide in. He revels in it. Looks forward to seeing Stuart, doesn’t mind going to social events knowing that Stuart will be there, deals with work quicker in order to join Stuart for a drink at the end of the day. He’s surprised at how quickly and easily he settles into the friendship though it probably has more to do with Stuart than him. Stuart is a remarkably easy person to be around, someone so completely comfortable in his own skin it puts everyone else at ease. Someone who is always available for a chat or to just sit with when there’s nothing to say.
That’s not to say that things are perfect. There are topics on which they disagree, situations where their differences show and Donald still holds a bit of himself back, saves it for himself. And while Stuart talks freely about his past, answers questions readily and shares without hesitation, Donald knows there are big pieces of Stuart that he doesn’t know, bits of Stuart he’s not getting, some part of him that’s closed off, protected.
It’s not so obvious that Donald notices it on a regular basis, and not so blatant that he would ever be offended by it. But every now and then Donald knows that Stuart is holding back, not telling him the whole truth, retaining information or simply changing the subject.
There are also the headaches, terrible, horrible headaches that result in Stuart not leaving his room for a day or two at a time.
And there are the men - strange, grungy men who come to the house at all hours of the day, indifferent to social niceties or propriety - who Stuart always welcomes into his home and always meets with. Every single time, regardless of guest or time or Donald, Stuart meets with them. Donald walked in on such a meeting once, interrupting Stuart handing over one of his precious books to a dirty, travel worn, uncouth man. He’d felt awkward and intrusive and Stuart looked caught and slightly guilty. The man paid him no mind, thanked Stuart for the book and swore its return before sauntering out of the room leaving Stuart to deflect Donald’s questions.
He starts trying to hide these meetings but Donald knows and one day insists Stuart stop avoiding his questions, stop lying to him and just tell him who these men are and why Stuart constantly invites them into his home, sees them whenever they want, give them books and information from his beloved library.
Stuart deflates, he’s just met one of those strange men, slipping out into the backyard to hand off a book and he looks tired, slightly devastated when Donald confronts him for an explanation. He seems to deflate, his tall strong frame shrinking back against the fireplace, leaning against it as if the mantle is the only thing holding him up. It’s the first time Donald has seen his friend as anything but strong, confident, animated.
“Please. Please don’t ask.”
“Stuart…” He’s willing to push this time, get some kind of answer but then Stuart takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, determination settling on his face.
“Donald, please, trust me.”
Stuart’s soft hazel eyes plead with Donald to believe him, to trust him and Donald realizes he has no real choice. He never asks about it again.
***
Part 3c
In the beginning uncovering a medium’s fraud is easy, they view him as simply another curious patron, willing to throw his money their way for a scare and a thrill. Donald attends lectures and gets invited to private séances, watching and learning at each event. He hires a secretary to help him with research and to serve as a witness and sometimes, a spy.
It’s surprising to learn that for all the bells and whistles of a séance, the methods of deception are relatively simple. Donald catches one medium using a false arm to hold hands with his neighbor, the real one needed to ring the bell used to indicate a spirit’s presence. He catches another using her toes to pull cords that control gas flow of the room’s lamps, flickering them with a twitch of her toe. And Donald has yet to attend a séance where the medium’s assistant was not hidden behind a false wall, providing the help needed to pull off a successful con whether it be through making noise or providing the folders full of research gotten through the bribing of servants.
But as his reputation grows things get more difficult. His reputation spreads, mediums know about him and prepare for him. They’ve grown smarter, trickier, and more aggressive. It becomes a game with some of them, a dare. One that Donald takes every time. He has no doubt that despite their improved methods he’ll out them eventually.
And so, two years after storming out of Miss Britten’s parlor Donald has a solid reputation and a list of successes he can be proud of. He’s part of a small network of fellow skeptics across the country all working to debunk the frauds within the Spiritualist movement. And while it’s nothing like what he imagined, Donald has somehow built a new life for himself. Even if it is cold and lonely, detached from anyone but his staff. He’s fine. Just fine.
***
The news that Stuart Wilson has taken a house sends the town’s social elite into an excited fit of gossip. While Stuart isn’t the most famous medium within the movement, he has a special reputation as one whose skill is unsurpassed. Even some within the skeptic community whisper that maybe, just maybe, Stuart is the real thing.
Donald does not share this belief and has every intention of following the same plan with Stuart that he has for every other medium that has crossed his path: attend the lecture, participate in one of the private séances and expose them. If Stuart is as good as the rumors say he is Donald’s willing to attend another event, perhaps even a second séance. But in the end the result will be the same - the revelation of a fraud and the prevention of his continuing to take advantage of people’s grief and willingness to be deceived.
On the night of Mr. Wilson’s first lecture Donald is hardly surprised to find that, like most mediums, Stuart is a natural showman. He’s comfortable on stage, putting on an excellent show and providing the audience with exactly what they paid for. He focuses on how, under the right circumstances, it is possible to breach the veil between this world and the next. That sometimes a soul is not ready to move on due to a violent death or fear of leaving their loved one alone. He mentions that sometimes, conversely, it is the one still alive that holds the spirit here, their grief making them unable to let go and move on with the healing process. It’s people who find themselves in this particular situation that Mr. Wilson claims to want to help the most.
The lecture is different from those Donald has heard before and while he doesn’t believe Mr. Wilson, he appreciates hearing something different; it prevents him from being bored. Donald leaves begrudgingly impressed and anxious to see what will happen next.
It’s during the séance that Donald realizes just how good Stuart is. The set up is the same - dark heavy curtains block out any external light, candles, crystals and a bible all sit on the table - with the only difference being that instead of an orb sitting in the middle of the table there is a simple wooden bowl filled with water. The presentation is the same as well - hand holding, contacting someone’s deceased loved one, parroting back information easily gotten from a willingly bribed servant - but none of the obvious tricks seem present, none of the optical illusions detectable.
Either Stuart has prepared for Donald or he’s created some new trick, found some new way to deceive those seeking their lost loved ones. Whatever it is, Donald is confident that he’ll figure it out. At least now he knows what he’s up against.
He decides to return the next day rather than wait for another séance. Stuart clearly knows about him and attending another party seems futile. And beyond that Donald has no desire to go through the social niceties that would be required of him were he to attend.
In the morning, despite his lack of invitation, Donald is met by the doorman and led into the drawing room. It’s the same room used the night before and in the light of day it’s warm and inviting, the curtains pulled open and sunlight pouring in. Stuart is sitting at the table he used for the séance, breakfast of toast and tea and poached egg in front of him. There’s a newspaper at his elbow and a book - something old from the looks of its dulled tattered cover and brown flakey pages - propped open behind his plate. All evidence from the séance is gone, except the bowl of water still sitting in the middle of the table.
Stuart rises to greet him, his tall lean body unfolding from the chair, rising to a height Donald finds almost indecent. The stress lines and look of concentration from last night are all absent this morning and Stuart looks healthy and content; his eyes are clear and bright, his unruly hair flopping across his forehead, his polite smile reveals dimples making him look much younger than his 34 years. “Mr. Wellstone. Good morning.”
Donald’s hand almost disappears when he shakes Stuart’s hand before taking the chair he had occupied last night. “Mr. Wilson. I apologize for calling so early.”
Donald has no desire to stay any longer than necessary but Stuart seems intent upon playing the perfect host, pouring him a cup of coffee with one sugar and a splash of cream. Just the way Donald likes it.
“No need to apologize. I had thought you would have stayed behind last night. Where the festivities not to your liking?”
Last night Stuart had called upon the spirit of Mrs. Thomas Snider’s late mother so that Mrs. Snider could inform her mother that she had a granddaughter named after her. And that she had been correct when she predicted that lace would soon fall out of fashion.
“Not at all, I found both your lecture and last night’s séance to be a wonderful act. You’re a consummate showman Mr. Wilson. Perhaps the best I’ve ever seen.”
For all that Donald has every intention of ruining Stuart Wilson’s reputation he means what he says. Stuart nods his head, accepting the compliment before Donald continues, unable to let Stuart think he’s going to make exceptions because of Stuart’s talent. “But everyone has a tell and I will discover yours.”
Stuart’s face changes from impassive to rueful, a slight smile gracing his lips. He nods his head as if Donald has said exactly what Stuart expected him to say. It’s a slight and Donald feels himself growing angry. “You don’t believe me.”
Last night was frustrating in its lack of real discovery and now this morning is proving to be equally frustrating. Stuart seems completely nonplused by Donald’s presence, his reputation or his threat. Instead he seems almost amused by Donald.
“I have no doubt that you believe I’m a fraud and that you will expose me.” Stuart’s voice is soft and a bit lulling, annoying Donald even more in its innocence.
Donald recognizes his anger growing and so, having said what he needs to say Donald returns his cup to its saucer and goes to stand up, his hand dragging off the table when Stuart’s arm flies out, grabbing Donald’s hand in his own. Startled Donald looks up making eye contact with Stuart for the first time. His eyes are wide, locked onto Donald’s and are such a deep hazel-green Donald thinks he could get lost in them, sucked to the bottom of a deep murky lake. It’s startling and a bit unnerving; Donald’s not used to noticing such details about those he investigates.
It feels like Stuart is trying to look into his soul and it makes him feel uncomfortable, vulnerable, but try as he might Donald can’t look away, can’t pull his hand free from Stuart’s surprisingly strong grip.
“There’s so much pain and loneliness within you.” Donald knows it’s an act, knows that Stuart is trying to rattle him, using information that by now is common knowledge. But it doesn’t stop his heart from seizing in his chest as though Stuart is reaching deep inside and pulling something out of him. He forces himself to break Stuart’s gaze and uses his free hand to pull from Stuart’s grasp.
With the connection broken Stuart seems to return to the present, return from rummaging through Donald’s soul. He’s furious that Stuart would dare try such an act on him and he has every intention of telling Stuart just that except that the tears shining in Stuart’s eyes stop him. There’s so much sorrow written on his face, in his eyes that search Donald’s face.
“You should stay away from me. You should leave and never come back. There’s nothing for you here but pain.” Stuart’s voice is nothing more than a whisper and Donald can’t be sure he heard Stuart correctly.
He isn’t given a chance to ask because Stuart practically flees the room, leaving Donald stunned, confused and no closer to the discoveries he vowed to make.
***
Donald spends the rest of the day and well into the evening thinking about his meeting with Stuart Wilson. He progresses from confusion to anger, convinced in the end that Stuart was threatening him should Donald expose him for the fraud he is. Donald is not necessarily a brave man - he’s never so much as struck another man - but he’s no coward either and he will not be threatened by a lying conniving excuse for a human being.
By the end of the night Donald is resolved to return in the morning and confront Stuart about his threat and explain what Donald plans to do about it. He goes to bed feeling calm and relieved, the disconcerting feeling that’s been plaguing him all day finally settling to the point that Donald can ignore it.
The problem is that when Donald knocks on Stuart’s door the next morning no one answers. After nearly ten minutes of knocking the door still hasn’t been answer and Donald finally leaves for the day. It takes three days of knocking before the door is answered and Donald is led, rather reluctantly if the butler’s displeased face is any indication, into a spacious den.
A large fireplace dominates one wall and, with the exception of the room’s windows, the other three are covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves. They’re nearly overflowing with books that, upon closer inspection are old and brittle and some look like they might be written in languages Donald has never seen before. A large desk sits in front of a window; its curtains keeping out the morning sun. Papers and books, ink and pens are scattered across the desktop like someone has been working for days and couldn’t be bothered with keeping the desk organized. The entire room looks similarly well used and cluttered.
Stuart is sitting in one of the chairs near the fireplace and despite the lack of invitation Donald enters the room, standing next to the chair across from Stuart. It’s surprising but Stuart looks worse than he did when he ran out of the drawing room three days ago. He looks exhausted, hair lanky, eyes blood shot, skin pasty, almost gray. Donald is at a loss as to what could cause such a drastic transformation.
“You should not have come back.” Even Stuart’s voice sounds rough.
“I don’t take kindly to threats Mr. Wilson. You’re a liar and a fraud and I will expose you no matter what you threaten.” Having said what he came to say Donald has every intention of leaving but Stuart seems insistent on engaging him in debate.
“I’m sorry if you thought I was threatening you. I was only trying to warn you of the inevitable outcome of any association between us.”
“With due respect Sir, I have no intention of there being any kind of acquaintance between us once I have exposed you.”
Stuart seems to collapse back into his chair a bit, watching Donald, studying him before asking Donald with genuine curiosity “Is there any way you would believe? Anything that could make you reconsider your position?”
“No.”
“Because you allowed yourself to believe and were betrayed.” Stuart says it more to himself than to Donald, nodding his head in understanding before focusing on Donald again. “May I at least try?”
He’s taken aback that Stuart would make the offer, would give Donald the chance to expose him so readily, so easily. But he has and Donald is not about to refuse the offer. He nods and Stuart smiles faintly.
“Tomorrow. Come back tomorrow.”
This time it’s Donald who leaves the room first.
***
“Don’t you need…something?” Donald gestures to the table, trying to keep his sarcasm to a minimum. The table is empty - no bible, no crystals, no candles - free of the usual props used during a séance, free of the very props Stuart had used the other night.
“You know they’re just props used for the audience.” Stuart’s answers surprises Donald, he’s not used to honesty from mediums.
The mid morning sun spills into the drawing room giving everything a bright cheerful feel. Donald feels almost familiar with the room by this point, his third time inside it. They’re sitting at the same table Stuart used to perform his séance and where Donald first confronted him.
When Stuart asks he places both his hands in Stuart’s, lets Stuart stare into him. It makes him feel oddly small to have his hands cradled in Stuart’s strong, large hands; feel small under Stuart’s gaze that refuses to let him look away.
“You saw your first medium in order to reach your wife Cassandra. You wanted to apologize for what you believe is your role in her death. You want to tell her you’re sorry and that you miss her; that you love her.”
This is all common knowledge; nothing Stuart is saying is a secret. It’s all information he could have gotten from conversations with his various party guests, from the very article Stuart himself first wrote. It doesn’t prove anything and Donald will not let Cassandra be used in this manner. He tries to pull his hands free but Stuart refuses to let go, keeps talking in that soft soothing voice of his.
“The woman you went to was a fraud. But even if she had been a true seer she would not have been able to contact your wife. Cassandra died with a clear heart and a clear conscious. Even your love, strong as it was, would not have kept her here. Cassidy loved you but she moved on. And you need to move on as well.”
Donald is out of his chair and across the room before he realizes it. His chest is tight and he’s having trouble breathing. None of what Stuart said proves anything, it’s all a logical conclusion given the information he has. And yet Donald can’t breath. He can’t breath and he can’t stop this weird flipping feeling in his stomach.
“That doesn’t…none of that is a secret. It doesn’t prove anything. It doesn’t mean anything.” He’s gasping a bit, curling in on himself, trying to breath, trying to stop feeling like this. He just needs to breathe, needs to get control of himself and breath. Needs to stop shaking and just…just breathe.
And then Stuart is there, his big hands closing over his shoulders forcing Donald to stand up straight, forcing him to look into Stuart’s soft hazel-green eyes. “You need to breathe Donald. Look at me. You need to calm down and breathe.”
He wants to look away, get away but Stuart won’t let me, forcing Donald to stay standing, to keep looking into his eyes and soon Donald finds himself matching Stuart’s steady in, out, in, out until he’s breathing normally again, until he’s regained his equilibrium.
He lets Stuart lead him back to the table and his abandoned chair, sinks into it gratefully and accepts the glass of water he’s offered. Once he’s settled Stuart sits across from him, just watching. When he’s finished the glass and is calm again he looks back at Stuart.
“There’s nothing I can do to prove myself to you, nothing I can say to change your mind if you’re determined not to believe. But I knew you would listen if I spoke of that night and, it might not be my place but it’s something you needed to hear. It’s far more important than reminding you that the scar on your right arm is the result of falling out of your Grandmother’s apple tree when you were seven.”
Donald knows it’s not really proof, that there are still one or two servants in the house who were around at the time of the accident. But it was just one scratch in the life of an energetic boy, one blended into many similar incidents, too many for it to really stand out and be retold.
“Not all of us are frauds.” After that Stuart is silent, letting Donald take it in, letting him try to reconcile what happened this morning with what he believes. They sit, Donald trying not to have the internal debate that’s growing inside him, and Stuart just watching. Finally Stuart gently suggests that Donald go home, get some rest.
He walks Donald to the door, offering his carriage, but Donald insists on walking. He hopes it will clear his head, help him sort things out. He feels Stuart’s eyes on him until he turns the corner and is out of sight.
***
As he has so often lately Donald spends the next 24 hours locked in an internal debate between what he’s believed for the last two years - that every medium is a liar and a thief and the entire movement is a scam - and what he’s feeling - that Stuart just might be real; that his abilities, his skills, his words are all real. He goes back and forth, fighting with himself until Donald finally gives up and falls into an exhausted sleep.
He wakes with the remnants of a dream clinging to his consciousness - Cassidy’s laugh and a pair of hazel-green eyes fading to yellow the only details he can grasp before the dream evaporates back into his subconscious.
He dresses slowly, takes his time at breakfast, enjoying his coffee and reading the paper from cover to cover before finally setting off once again to visit Stuart.
This time he finds Stuart in the den reading a book that looks so old it should be in tatters. Stuart doesn’t seem surprised to see Donald, simply motions for him to take the vacant chair in front of his desk. Donald waits for Stuart to close the book and put away his notes before asking the question he needs to ask, the question that he’s been obsessing over since yesterday.
“How do you do it?”
“I just…know. There’s no trick to it. It’s like seeing a series of images. Usually when a person comes to me the reason for it is clear, the first thing I see.”
“And if it’s not clear?” Donald has a feeling he’s not going to like the answer to this particular question.
“Than either they have no need of my services or I have to dig a little.” Donald nods a bit. It’s what he had assumed.
“You have no right to just riffle through people’s minds as if it were a newspaper.” While he appreciates Stuart’s honesty this is perhaps what Donald hates most about mediums - their arrogance. Their belief that they have a right to a person’s most cherished memories, their most private thoughts.
“People come to me for this. If I’m lucky I don’t have to invade their thoughts. Which is something I will only do if given permission. Privacy is sacred to me.”
Donald has a feeling that there’s an exception to Stuart’s privacy rule based on the way his eyes shift away from Donald’s but a knock on the door prevents him from pushing. Stuart’s housekeeper Elly enters carrying a tray of food and lays it on the table before leaving, returning Stuart’s friendly smile before she goes.
“Lunch?”
Donald knows a change in conversation when he hears it but he can’t help asking one more question while Stuart cleans the room’s table of its considerable clutter of books and papers. “Have you riffled through my mind?”
“No. Reading you has proven incredibly easy.”
It’s not the answer Donald wants to hear, not an answer he’s comfortable with. “Why?” Why would he be so easy to read?
Stuart pauses, refusing to meet Stuart’s eyes. “Some people are just easier to read than others.” Donald knows the answer is less than completely honest but he no longer feels comfortable pressing the issue with Stuart’s transition from professional to personal with the offer of lunch. It seems incredibly rude.
He stays through lunch and for a few hours after. They’ve reached some sort of truce, unsure exactly where they stand but neither willing to break the fragile peace they worked toward.
The conversation is easy and simple, nothing too personal and everything superficial but by the time he leaves Donald is surprised to realize that he enjoyed his time with Stuart. Which is why he accepts Stuart’s invitation to join the small dinner party he’s having the next night.
“It’s a small gathering and will include a reading. I thought you might like to join us considering the new information you’ve gathered.” Donald knows Stuart is referring to his evolving opinion on mediums, séances and Stuart in particular.
***
In what is becoming his new normal Donald spends the day alternating between burning curiosity and disbelief that he’s actually considering that Stuart really is a medium, that he really can read people’s minds, reach across the plains of existence and speak to those already gone. In Stuart’s presence with his earnest eyes and his perceived honesty, sincerity practically oozing off of him it’s easy to believe. But now, away from him Donald finds it more difficult to consider the possibility of Stuart’s authenticity.
In the end curiosity and propriety win out and he arrives at Stuart’s house at the appointed time. Stuart’s faithful butler (and friend) Jim recognizes Donald and greets him with the same wariness he did yesterday, ushering Donald into the parlor where the rest of the party is gathered. Stuart’s smile when he sees Donald is immediate, wide and open and Donald finds himself smiling back.
The evening progresses as these evenings generally do: sharing gossip and news, drinks and dinner all before adjourning to the sitting room. The table is set up as it was the first time Donald entered this room, all the props in their place. The Bible sits next to the bowl of water with a crystal resting on top, the heavy curtains are closed blocking all light and only candles light the room.
The reading that night is unique, different from any other Donald has attended. This time, without the obsessive focus of finding the mediums secret, discovering their tell, finding the tricks, Donald is able to truly watch. He sees, perhaps for the first time, the effort it takes Stuart to put on a show rather than just give out information, sees the skill it takes to enhance the experience, to mask his hard work. Donald sees the effect it has on the people gathered, how they seem truly taken, truly enrapt in Stuart, completely open to Stuart’s poking and prodding. Stuart is gentle, respectful of the private, emotional nature of the information he has and his audience reacts calmly because of it.
There are no overly dramatic scenes like at many of the séances Donald has attended. When Stuart reconciles a widow with her dead husband her reaction is relieved tears instead of hysterics. He allows a man dignity in his grief at reconciling with his long lost brother and, when he helps a mother lay to rest her guilt over the miscarriage of her child the woman’s tears of thanks are as restrained as her growing relief.
It’s humbling in a way that surprises Donald. Taken with the information he received yesterday afternoon there seems only one outcome for the considered acceptance growing in him. Though Donald isn’t quite ready to admit to himself what his subconscious seems to have already decided: that Stuart is real.
***
It’s a long evening and Stuart is clearly relieved when his guests have left. He hands Donald a glass of whiskey before settling onto the settee. They don’t speak, each lost in thought, comfortable in each other’s silence. It’s Donald who eventually ends the silence, voice soft, not wanting to break the mood.
“Does it bother you; the frauds masquerading, lying to people, and taking their money?”
“Perhaps, a little. But they make it easier for me to do my work. I can’t judge them too harshly.”
“The secretary of the first medium I went to, the one who convinced me that all mediums were frauds, she asked me if it mattered whether the woman was real or not when the comfort she gave was real. I said it did and I still believe that.”
“You have to remember that the people who come to them are willing participants, willing blind to the fraud. Human beings have an amazing capacity to believe what they want to believe. They convince themselves that the world is as they see it and not as it really is.”
“And what is the world, really?”
Stuart looks at him, face wistful. “The world is…complicated. Much more complicated than people realize.”
They lapse back into silence. It’s nice, comforting and Donald finds himself relaxing in a way he hasn’t in a very long time.
“I’m leaving tomorrow.” Stuart’s voice is soft; as if he isn’t sure he wants Donald to hear him. The announcement surprises him, makes his heart jump in his chest and an odd feeling flare up in his stomach.
“Leaving?”
“I have an engagement upstate.” He knew Stuart’s visit was temporary, a limited engagement like all mediums.
“Will you be back?”
When Stuart doesn’t answer for a long time, just sits there, swirling his whiskey, staring down at the amber liquid, Donald thinks he knows Stuart’s answer. He’s surprised to find that the thought of Stuart not returning is disappointing. It’s why when Stuart finally does reply the answer is a bit of a relief.
“I don’t know.”
***
Stuart is gone a total of eight days and in that time Donald goes about his business: attending the necessary functions required of someone within his social circle, researching a new medium rumored to be coming to town in a few weeks, running errands about town…and through it all he can’t quite banish Stuart from his mind.
It’s not intentional, it’s not something he consciously thinks about but Stuart pops into his thoughts at the most random of times: listening to Mrs. Reed gossip about Mrs. Burroughs’s shocking uses of satin; discussing the town’s modernization with the Mayor; debating politics with Richard; reading the morning paper…It doesn’t hit him till the day before Stuart returns that Donald is hoping Stuart will return. And soon. He can’t help it, he’s curious, intrigued by this man who got him to reconsider two years of bedrock thinking.
When Stuart turns up on his doorstep nine days after he last saw him Donald is surprisingly happy. Stuart seems a bit subdue, tired, but truly pleased to see him. They settle comfortably in Donald’s office and Stuart regales him with stories from his trip that have Donald chuckling. It eases the small knot in Donald’s chest that’s been there since he last saw Stuart.
“I almost didn’t come back.”
“Why did you?”
“I’ve decided that any acquaintance, any friendship between us will more than outweigh any consequences.”
“You said something similar before. What possible consequences could there be from our acquaintance?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Stuart’s smile is reserved but genuine and Donald finds himself smoothly changing the subject. He’s had enough brooding and if Stuart doesn’t want to talk about it that’s fine with Donald. He’d much rather just enjoy Stuart’s company.
***
For the first time in a long time, since before Cassidy, Donald has a friend. A true friend, someone whose company he enjoys, someone he likes talking to, someone he can rely on and confide in. He revels in it. Looks forward to seeing Stuart, doesn’t mind going to social events knowing that Stuart will be there, deals with work quicker in order to join Stuart for a drink at the end of the day. He’s surprised at how quickly and easily he settles into the friendship though it probably has more to do with Stuart than him. Stuart is a remarkably easy person to be around, someone so completely comfortable in his own skin it puts everyone else at ease. Someone who is always available for a chat or to just sit with when there’s nothing to say.
That’s not to say that things are perfect. There are topics on which they disagree, situations where their differences show and Donald still holds a bit of himself back, saves it for himself. And while Stuart talks freely about his past, answers questions readily and shares without hesitation, Donald knows there are big pieces of Stuart that he doesn’t know, bits of Stuart he’s not getting, some part of him that’s closed off, protected.
It’s not so obvious that Donald notices it on a regular basis, and not so blatant that he would ever be offended by it. But every now and then Donald knows that Stuart is holding back, not telling him the whole truth, retaining information or simply changing the subject.
There are also the headaches, terrible, horrible headaches that result in Stuart not leaving his room for a day or two at a time.
And there are the men - strange, grungy men who come to the house at all hours of the day, indifferent to social niceties or propriety - who Stuart always welcomes into his home and always meets with. Every single time, regardless of guest or time or Donald, Stuart meets with them. Donald walked in on such a meeting once, interrupting Stuart handing over one of his precious books to a dirty, travel worn, uncouth man. He’d felt awkward and intrusive and Stuart looked caught and slightly guilty. The man paid him no mind, thanked Stuart for the book and swore its return before sauntering out of the room leaving Stuart to deflect Donald’s questions.
He starts trying to hide these meetings but Donald knows and one day insists Stuart stop avoiding his questions, stop lying to him and just tell him who these men are and why Stuart constantly invites them into his home, sees them whenever they want, give them books and information from his beloved library.
Stuart deflates, he’s just met one of those strange men, slipping out into the backyard to hand off a book and he looks tired, slightly devastated when Donald confronts him for an explanation. He seems to deflate, his tall strong frame shrinking back against the fireplace, leaning against it as if the mantle is the only thing holding him up. It’s the first time Donald has seen his friend as anything but strong, confident, animated.
“Please. Please don’t ask.”
“Stuart…” He’s willing to push this time, get some kind of answer but then Stuart takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, determination settling on his face.
“Donald, please, trust me.”
Stuart’s soft hazel eyes plead with Donald to believe him, to trust him and Donald realizes he has no real choice. He never asks about it again.
***
Part 3c