The Guidance - By Marley Gibson Page 0,12

she says. "But you need something with some metal in it to help you pick up on Evelyn's energy—like jewelry or keys."

"Oh! You're right. What was I thinking?"

"Here, dear," the woman says. "Try this."

She hands over a heavy knob of various keys that jingle and swing from a double-C Chanel chain.

"That's more like it," Loreen says. "Keep going."

I start my breathing and concentration again. Immediately, I pick up on the vibrations of energy from Evelyn Crawford. In my mind's eye, I see it all so clearly. "I'm traveling down a long path, lined with tall cedars on either side. A large white house sits at the end of the drive. There are—one, two, three—four large columns on the outside, and the shutters are painted black."

I hear a sharp intake of breath. Evelyn's, I assume. "That's my house. On Crow Lane."

"Oh, right, near Mrs. Lockhart's."

The woman nods. "Mother and Daddy live in the carriage house on the south end of the property. Well, I suppose it's just Mother now," she says with a sniff.

Loreen pats Miss Evelyn's hand and signals for me to continue.

I mentally wipe away the fog and cobwebs of the image to try to describe further what I'm seeing. "There's a woman on the porch in an old-timey dress."

"How old-timey?" Loreen asks. "Be more specific about the style, Kendall."

"Right," I say. "She looks like an extra from Gone With the Wind, with, like, an apron and petticoats and a parasol. She's a babe, too," I tack on with a laugh. "She's got this chestnut brown hair that's piled on her head in all of these crazy curls and twists and stuff. Man, that must have taken hours!"

"Kendall...," Loreen fusses.

I peek with my left eye. "Well, it's true."

Suddenly, it's like I'm leafing through a family-history book. Information flies at me. Words scroll by, telling their story. Conversations dotted with laughter and arguments, colored with tears. There is much passion in the house surrounding this beautiful antebellum-times woman. I'm absorbing it as quickly as possible, hoping to remember every tiny detail in order to share. After a moment, I force the sequence to stop so I can relay what I've seen.

Opening my eyes, I look at Miss Evelyn. "This woman on the porch. She's related to you?"

"Possibly," she says.

"I'm hearing the name Larry. No ... Harry. No ... Airy?" I shake my head, tossing my hair about with frustration. "Why can't I get this?"

"There's a p sound that I'm getting," Loreen chimes in.

I nod my head. "P-P-P..."

"Could it be Parry?" Evelyn asks.

"Yes! That's it. Not Larry or Harry. Parry. Is that a name in your family?"

Evelyn's smile brightens. "It is indeed. My great-great-grandmother. She was—"

My hand lifts to stop her. "Please. Don't tell me anything. Let me see what I can get." I concentrate again, squeezing the keys even tighter in my fist. "I'm getting an A name and I'm getting"—I listen for it, waiting for the sound to come to me—"Ada? The name is Ada," I say with much confidence.

"Amazing," Evelyn shouts out. "How did you know that?"

It's sort of hard to explain. I could see Adam Bostwick from my calculus class up at the chalkboard. He'd written "No m" over and over and over again for me to see—which leaves Ada. Not that Adam ever did that in class, just in my vision. I can't really tell Evelyn how I came to learn the names. "I just knew" seems the easiest explanation.

Following several more minutes of deep breathing and concentrating, I see this Ada Parry standing on the front porch, speaking to many people. "Ada was important in Radisson. A lot of folks really liked her and thought she was smart and pretty and the kindest person ever. Took good care of her sick father ... and her little ... sister?"

"All true," Miss Evelyn says.

Then the vision morphs. "I see she's very sad, though, while she's talking to a Union soldier. He's powerful, 'cause he's got a lot of bling on his shoulders."

Loreen snickers. "They didn't call it bling back then."

I scrunch up my nose. "I don't really know rank and stuff, but he's got to be one of the guys in charge. He's not General Sherman, is he?" I ask Loreen.

"I can't see what you're seeing, sweetie," Loreen tells me.

Evelyn points a finger in front of her. "Ada was around when General Sherman and his troops were here. She and several of the ladies in town did all they could not to fight the Yankees; actually, they