Yesternight: A Novel

By Cat Winters

From the author of The Uninvited comes a haunting historical novel with a compelling mystery at its core.  A young child psychologist steps off a train, her destination a foggy seaside town. There, she begins a journey causing her to question everything she believes about life, death, memories, and reincarnation.

In 1925, Alice Lind steps off a train in the rain-soaked coastal hamlet of Gordon Bay, Oregon. There, she expects to do nothing more difficult than administer IQ tests to a group of rural schoolchildren. A trained psychologist, Alice believes mysteries of the mind can be unlocked scientifically, but now her views are about to be challenged by one curious child.

Seven-year-old Janie O’Daire is a mathematical genius, which is surprising. But what is disturbing are the stories she tells: that her name was once Violet, she grew up in Kansas decades earlier, and she drowned at age nineteen. Alice delves into these stories, at first believing they’re no more than the product of the girl’s vast imagination.  But, slowly, Alice comes to the realization that Janie might indeed be telling a strange truth.

Alice knows the investigation may endanger her already shaky professional reputation, and as a woman in a field dominated by men she has no room for mistakes. But she is unprepared for the ways it will illuminate terrifying mysteries within her own past, and in the process, irrevocably change her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Oct 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9780062440853

Cat Winters

Cat Winters's debut novel, In the Shadow of Blackbirds, was released to widespread critical acclaim. The novel has been named a finalist for the 2014 Morris Award, a School Library Journal Best Book of 2013, and a Booklist 2013 Top 10 Horror Fiction for Youth. Winters lives in Portland, Oregon, with her husband and two children.

Book preview

Part I

JANIE

CHAPTER 1

November 11, 1925

I disembarked a train at the little log depot at Gordon Bay, Oregon, and a sudden force—a charging bull—immediately slammed me to the ground. Rain pelted my cheeks, my hair, and my clothing, and for a moment I just lay there on the concrete in front of the passenger car, stunned, panting, drenched.

Once I gathered my wits enough to realize that gale force winds, and not a bull, were to blame, I rolled onto my hands and knees and pushed myself to my feet. Another blast of cold air smacked me in the face, and the burgundy wool cloche I bought when I first signed on with the Department of Education shot off my head. The poor hat sailed into the distance without ever touching the ground—a stain of red swallowed up by a palette of gray. My short hair slapped at my cheeks and stung my eyes.

The train whistle shrieked through the commotion of the storm, and the porter shut the door behind me. He may have asked if I was all right—he might have been the reason that my bags now sat three feet away from me on the platform—but the wind and the rain howled across the air and drowned all voices and sense. My only link to civilization on the other side of the mountains clacked away down the tracks to the south.

I grabbed the handles of my traveling bags and used the hundred pounds of dresses and toiletries packed inside to anchor myself against the winds. I then lifted the luggage, as well as my black leather briefcase, and staggered to the shelter of the depot’s overhang, but not without skidding to my left as the gales continued to bully me. The soles of my galoshes squeaked and slid against concrete. The town of Gordon Bay itself seemed to be fighting to spit me back out.

Somehow, I lumbered over to the safety of a wall and secured myself against the sturdy logs with my bags still in hand. Despite the woolen gloves shielding my hands, my fingers ached down to the marrow of my bones from the bitter cold and, even worse, from the dampness. Oh, my Lord, that infamous Oregon November dampness—three times worse on the coast than what I experienced in Portland. Rainwater streamed down my face, iced my cheeks, and smeared my lips with the briny taste of the nearby Pacific. I closed my eyes, buried my face against the wall, and endured the wind screaming past my ears.

I believe I may have cried a little. I know I swore, profusely, at all of the PhD students—mostly male, of course—who had gotten themselves accepted into toasty, cozy universities, while I was doomed to roam the far reaches of the earth with a briefcase full of intelligence tests. My renowned fearlessness in working with students categorized as delinquent or frightening failed to transfer into bravery against the elements.

Miss Lind? called a man’s voice from a distance that sounded to be the opposite end of a tunnel.

Another gust of wind whacked me in the back and pressed my chest against the logs. Rain blew sideways and soaked my shins through the cream-colored stockings that my coat didn’t quite cover.

Miss Lind? asked the voice again, this time a tad closer.

I raised my head and saw a man in his late twenties or so pushing his way toward me through the storm. He wore a midnight-black coat and a gray fedora, the latter of which sprang off his head and flew into the distance—the same fate as my cloche. His exposed hair, blond, trimmed short in the back with longer strands in the front, fluttered about like rippling blades of grass, but within a mere matter of seconds the rain slicked every lock flat against his scalp.

Are you Miss Lind? he called, pulling his coat farther around himself, bending forward to plow through the tempest.

I nodded. Yes.

Welcome to Gordon Bay, he said, and he smiled. His eyes—either blue or green—smiled, too, and a little dimple appeared above the right side of his mouth and made him look about ten years old, even though he stood close to six feet tall. Rain poured down his face and caused his lashes to stick together. Here . . . He offered his right hand. Let me help you with your bags.

Thank you, I shouted into the wind, but I think I might need to carry them to keep from blowing away. The storm already knocked me to the ground once.

That’s our friendly coastal weather for you.

He put a hand to my back and helped to coax me away from the log wall. I didn’t even realize I needed any coaxing until I took my first step and found my heart racing.

Come along, he said. I’ll help you.

I felt like a toddler learning how to walk again, my steps heavy and ungainly, my torso tipped forward while my backside stuck out behind me. I wore eye makeup and suddenly realized that ghoulish dark lines probably streaked my face.

A black car—enclosed, and with lovely rain-proof windows—sat at the nearby curb, but the task of plodding toward it through the winds felt like a ten-mile journey, underwater, while cloaked in chains.

I don’t think we’ve formally introduced ourselves, I said with an attempt at a lighthearted tone, although the storm whipped my words over my shoulder and carried them away as briskly as it had stolen our hats.

How’s that? asked the fellow, leaning his head toward mine.

We didn’t formally introduce ourselves.

He clasped me against his side as another arctic blast tried to shove us off our feet. I’m Michael O’Daire.

And I’m Alice Lind. It’s nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you, too.

They told me I was to meet a Mr. O’Daire, I said, and I actually worried I wouldn’t be able to tell which fellow you were in the crowd of people at the depot.

He laughed with a sound that cracked across the air. "There’s never a crowd at this depot from September to June. Never."

We reached the car, and Mr. O’Daire leaned forward and used both of his gloved hands to pry open his passenger-side door for me. He succeeded in the endeavor, and rain showered against the front seat’s leather, forming a small puddle. I plopped myself down with a splash and sighed in relief when he shut the door against the commotion outside. He then opened a back door and tossed my bags onto the seat behind me.

Thank you, I called over my shoulder, but he closed that door and sprinted around to the driver’s side without hearing me.

I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered inside my red winter coat. An agonizing chill throbbed deep within my bones and numbed my ears and hands.

My companion jumped into the seat beside me, slammed his door shut, and yanked off his sopping-wet gloves. The wind rocked the vehicle back and forth, and the rain beat against the windshield in an unyielding rhythm. If the town of Gordon Bay rose up before us, I could not see it through the deluge.

A cylindrical object of some sort soared into view.

What’s that? I asked, and the object smacked the glass in front of me so hard, I jumped and screamed.

A bucket, said Mr. O’Daire, and we whipped our heads over our shoulders and watched the projectile blow away behind us.

Good Lord. I shifted back around in the seat. Is the weather always this temperamental on the coast in the fall?

This is a particularly devilish storm.

I hope it’s not a bad omen for my arrival.

He chuckled. I doubt it. But I think, if you don’t mind—he combed both of his hands through his hair, splattering water across his coat—I’ll wait a few minutes before driving through this mess. The worst might pass in a few minutes.

That’s fine with me. I hugged my arms around my middle and slouched down in the seat.

Here . . . He swiveled around and half-crawled into the backseat with his rear end jutting into the air beside me. It was a fine rear end—trim and well-shaped—but, still, I turned my face away.

I think I might have a blanket, he said, his voice a little muffled.

You don’t need to—

Already got it. He dropped back down in the seat with a thump. Please, warm yourself up. What a rotten way for a town to greet a lady.

He handed me a plaid blanket with fuzzy green fabric hairs sticking up all over the place. The thing reminded me of a mangy old mutt that my sisters and I once tried to convince our parents to take in when I was seven or eight.

Thank you. I tucked the blanket around my shoulders and arms. The fabric scratched at the bottom of my chin and smelled a little musty, but it, indeed, thawed the chill. Much better.

You’re welcome. He relaxed against the seat, and we both stared out at the rain that hammered away at the windshield as though fighting to break through the glass.

So—Mr. O’Daire drew in a long breath—you’re a psychiatrist?

Psychologist, I corrected him. School psychologist. It’s a relatively new position in the fields of both education and psychology.

"And you travel around, administering . . . tests?"

I met his eyes, unsure what his emphasis on that last word implied. Yes.

Hmm. He nodded in a noncommittal way and rubbed his lips together.

I cocked my head at him. Do you work for the schoolhouse here in Gordon Bay, Mr. O’Daire?

No, I’m the proprietor of a local hotel.

How, then, did you get this glamorous task of fetching me from the depot in a typhoon?

He smiled, but not with as much vigor as before. I volunteered. My daughter attends the school, and the schoolteacher is her aunt from her mother’s side.

Well, thank you for not leaving me to flounder about on my own. Your kindness is much appreciated. I wriggled my shoulders to keep the blanket from slipping. Did Miss Simpkin tell the parents I’d be coming?

It’s not a secret that you’re here, is it?

Not at all. I’m here to help the children. I’ll be using a measurement called the Stanford–Binet Scale.

An intelligence test?

Yes. I shivered again—from the cold, not the tests. If I find students who are unable to thrive in their current environment, then I’ll confer with Miss Simpkin and the Department of Education about the possibility of creating a special school—or at least a separate classroom—to meet the needs of the struggling children.

The feebleminded children, you mean?

Oh, I’m not fond of that particular term, but, yes, I’m here to identify children who are inclined to repeat the same grade levels, some of them doing so year after year. It’s a widespread problem that the state is striving to fix.

What about other types of children? Mr. O’Daire returned his gaze to the windshield and the rain. Others who are smart, but still . . . He ran his tongue along the inside of his right cheek.

I waited for him to continue, for I had learned not to feed people words. It tainted the thoughts they were attempting to decipher and articulate. I peeled my wet gloves off my hands while he excavated the right phrase himself.

He wiped water off his brow with the back of his right index finger. "Children who are different."

Ah, well, I’ll also be evaluating students for hearing, vision, and speech deficiencies, and a physician will be coming to Gordon Bay—

That’s not quite what I meant about different.

I shook out the discarded gloves and again waited for him to elaborate.

He grabbed hold of the steering wheel. Have you ever dealt with children who defy explanation, Miss Lind? Children who unsettle adults?

I tried to swallow, but my throat muscles tightened. I would not have been the troubled child expert sitting in that automobile in Gordon Bay—I would never have gone into the field of psychology to begin with—if I myself had not unsettled adults as a young girl. Naturally, I didn’t mention such a thing.

Actually, I said, I’ve become rather famous in Oregon for my ability to work with challenging pupils. In fact, I hope to devote the rest of my life to unlocking the mysteries of the minds of haunted children.

‘Haunted’—that’s certainly a way of putting it. Mr. O’Daire’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Have you ever examined a student whose problems seemed . . . illogical? Or, well, quite frankly . . . supernatural?

I have, indeed, I answered without hesitation. I’ve tackled a case of a supposed demon possession.

Really?

Yes. The poor child, as I discovered, had suffered from abuse, which led to that upsetting situation. I’ve also worked with several children who’ve claimed to have experienced ghosts and monsters, but most of them were coping with bereavement, or were influenced by superstitious families.

You don’t believe in ghosts or demons yourself, then?

No. I smiled. "I don’t. In my experience, supernatural entities say more about the people believing in them than they do about the mysteries of the afterlife. Haunted people are far more predominant—more interesting—than genuine haunted houses, despite what the recent fashion for séances might suggest."

Mr. O’Daire drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel’s leather and clenched his jaw. The rain softened, as though sitting back to allow him to speak—to turn those fidgety movements into words.

And yet his tongue remained silent.

As a parent, I said, do you have a concern about one of the children here in Gordon Bay?

He peeked at me from the corner of his eye. How old are you, Miss Lind?

Old enough to hold a master’s degree from the University of Oregon, Mr. O’Daire.

He smiled and nodded, as though appreciating the straightforward zing of my retort. He couldn’t have known how much that question grated; how many fellow graduate students had called me girly and kiddo, making me feel like a child who only pretended to understand psychology.

Another violent gust shook the car, and for a moment I worried we had drifted out to sea. I squinted through the window to my right and saw the blurred outline of the log depot. Beyond it roiled gray ocean waves. Liquid steel.

I don’t want to say what I think is happening with my Janie, said Mr. O’Daire with a conviction that startled me.

I turned his way again. It’s your daughter who concerns you?

He pursed his lips and pleaded for help with his eyes—eyes now seemingly more blue than green, a sharp contrast to the ebony of his coat. I would like you to listen to her yourself. Tell me what you think of her without me affecting your opinion.

How old is she?

She turned seven in July.

I nodded. Do you think your concerns about her will show up in an intelligence test?

No. She’s . . . He cracked a grin that caused a second dimple to pucker the skin above his lip. Janie’s smart as a whip. No, that’s not the way . . . He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it against his scalp, although it popped straight back up again in the front. Please ask her about her earliest memories.

I nodded. Yes, of course. Early memories are typically a crucial component in unlocking enigmatic behavior.

He kept taming down his hair, patting and combing and fussing. I’m not going to say anything more about her right now.

You don’t have to. I folded the top half of the blanket down to my lap. Thank you for your deep concern as a father. Involved parents such as yourself and your wife—

Oh, Janie’s mother and I aren’t married anymore, he said, and he pulled back on the parking brake, as though checking to make sure he’d set it all the way.

Oh. I’m sorry.

We disagreed about what’s happening with Janie. It killed our marriage. It killed me.

Before I could say a word in response, he popped his door open and dashed around to the front of the car, where he turned the crank with the rain beating down on the back of his head. I watched him, my eyebrows knitted, wondering what early memory from Janie’s past—what seemingly supernatural behavior that resulted because of it—could have broken up a marriage and caused a father to drive through hurricane winds to speak to a woman who might save the girl.

The engine sparked to life beneath the hood of the car, and the floor vibrated against the rubber soles of my galoshes. Mr. O’Daire ran back toward his side of the automobile, his wet hair hanging in his eyes. With a sigh, he dropped down in the seat beside me and slammed the door shut.

Off we go! He threw the clutch lever forward, and off we indeed went, puttering into gray and waterlogged Gordon Bay.

I peered out the rain-streaked windows at souvenir shops and restaurants, most of which sat dark and empty. I don’t know if anyone told you, but I’m to stay in the boardinghouse.

The boardinghouse is a dump. You’re not staying there.

But—

Gordon Bay blooms in the summer and dies a lonely, miserable death every fall, so I have plenty of rooms available in my hotel. I’ll let you stay for free.

Oh, I couldn’t . . .

Miss Lind . . . He looked my way, water streaming down his cheeks from his hair. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for someone with a background like yours to show up out here.

Are you certain? I am here to examine all of the children, not just Janie.

He ignored my words and drove us past the last buildings of that hiccup of a town. Open grasslands lay before us, between the sea and foothills coated in Douglas firs and mist.

I folded my hands beneath the blanket and endured the tips of my fingers tingling back to life. Mr. O’Daire, did you hear what I said?

If you’re being forced to travel out to this godforsaken region of the world in the middle of storm season just to help our kids, then the least I can do is give you a comfortable room with a fireplace.

He steered the car around a bend, and a three-story structure—a Swiss chalet-style beauty—rose into view on the edge of a cliff above the churning sea. Fog devoured the top halves of a dozen or so chimneys; gables and exposed beams lent the place a dashing European air. The moody sky hovered impossibly close to the ground, and the building seemed to have slipped straight out of the clouds.

Is that your hotel? I asked.

Do you like it?

And how! Did you build it?

My father did, as soon as the railroad linked us to Portland thirteen years ago. Before that he constructed houses.

I leaned back against the seat and marveled at the architectural masterpiece. My skin longed for the heat of the fireplaces attached to all of those half-hidden chimneys. Honestly, I’m used to simple boardinghouses, even ones considered ‘dumps.’

It’s no trouble at all. I swear. He drove us around another bend, and the hotel disappeared from sight behind a thicket of pines. Not that a person who doesn’t believe in ghosts would care, he added, but the place isn’t known to be haunted, nor does it have any tragic tales of murder attached to it.

Why did you expect me to ask about that?

I didn’t, but one of our competitors brags that his inn is inhabited by the ghost of a sea captain’s widow, so everyone expects the same of us.

I sighed and shook my head. I blame the séance frenzy I was just talking about. That and our culture’s bizarre fascination with sideshows and amusement parks. Over the summer, my oldest sister dragged me to the Winchester house down in San Jose, California. Have you heard of it?

No, I haven’t.

Sarah Winchester, heiress to the Winchester Rifle fortune, lost her life no more than three years ago, and people have already turned her mansion into a tourist attraction, complete with a guide who tells stories about spirits driving the woman mad. My sister adored the theatrics. I, however, spent the entire time rolling my eyes.

I bit my lip, for I realized Mr. O’Daire displayed no discernible reactions to my views on Mrs. Winchester’s house, despite his talk about ghosts. He stared ahead at the road, his expression now contemplative, his lips pressed shut. I also realized what a boring bluenose I sounded.

However . . . the fellow did need to know that I in no way intended to diagnose any of the Gordon Bay schoolchildren as suffering from paranormal phenomena, despite whatever he believed about his daughter.

The hotel reemerged, and Mr. O’Daire steered the car onto a driveway that wound around to the front entrance in the shape of an elongated S. Through the dance of the squeaking windshield wipers, I spotted the words GORDON BAY HOTEL spanning a wrought-iron archway. The car dipped through a pothole and knocked my elbow against the door. I braced my hands against the seat.

The weather is hard on the property, said Mr. O’Daire with a tone of apology. Half my job is maintenance.

I returned my hands to my lap. Well, the hotel is awfully beautiful, I will say that. And it looks far dryer than that overhang under which you found me huddled.

"Good Lord, I hope your stay here doesn’t compare to that."

We both chuckled, and he brought the car to a rattling stop beside a cement sidewalk, just a few short yards from the hotel’s front door.

I’ll help you out—he set the brake—and get you settled inside before fetching your bags.

Thank you.

More dashing about in the wind and the rain ensued, although this time the gusts refrained from knocking me to the ground, and the distance was so short, it took just a few swift sprints before I found myself standing inside a bright yellow lobby radiant with heat from a fire that crackled in the hearth. Stained-glass chandeliers flooded the room in electric light, and a rust-colored sofa and armchairs, devoid of any guests, occupied the center of a space large enough to hold a party of at least forty people.

A broad-hipped woman with a silver serving tray in hand traipsed down a staircase located behind the front desk. Her hair—waved in front, pinned in back with the help of a tortoise-shell comb—matched Mr. O’Daire’s coloring, only with streaks of white threaded through the gold.

Good afternoon, she said, her voice rich and earthy, as though deepened from smoke or drink. She sized me up with eyes like Mr. O’Daire’s—large, luminescent eyes that also couldn’t decide if they preferred to be blue or green. I was a little worried when you didn’t come straight back, Michael.

The storm was hell. I took my time driving back. He groomed his hair with his hands again. Miss Lind, this is my mother, Mrs. O’Daire. She helps run the place from time to time.

So nice to meet you. I walked over to my hostess with the thick heels of my brown oxfords echoing across the walls. I’m Alice Lind, a school psychologist who’s come to evaluate the children of Gordon Bay.

Yes, so I’ve heard. She accepted my hand with a firm shake, and I smelled a tea rose perfume that reminded me of my own mother’s. I’ve already got a fire started in your room, and I just delivered a pot of tea.

Oh? I looked back to Mr. O’Daire. Then you both decided I was coming here before I even knew I was to be staying.

Someone wanted to stick her in the boardinghouse, said Mr. O’Daire with a snort.

Oh no, that won’t do at all. His mother placed a hand upon my shoulder. Would you like me to draw you a bath?

No . . . no, thank you. I was hoping to quickly change and go straight to the schoolhouse to introduce myself to Miss Simpkin.

I’m driving over to fetch Janie and some of her friends in fifteen minutes, said Mr. O’Daire with a gesture of his thumb toward the door. Let me go grab your bags. You can change and warm up for a moment, and then we’ll head over. You can meet Janie.

Before I had time to agree—or to contemplate if the best time to meet his daughter was right then and there—he threw open the door and jogged back out into the rain.

Come along, then. Mrs. O’Daire steered me around by my shoulders and lured my wet coat off my arms. Let’s get you dried and warmed before you catch your death of cold. I’ve put you on the second floor, where you’ll have a fine view of our lovely, restless Pacific.

I opened my mouth, half-tempted to bring up Janie with the woman—she was the girl’s grandmother, after all. I thought better of it, however, and sealed my lips shut.

Before I knew it, the O’Daires had tucked my belongings and me inside a charming room with a white double bed, white-paneled walls, and white ruffled curtains. A fireplace warmed the space, particularly the left side, and a blue and gold rug gave the room its one jolt of color. I blinked at the stark brightness of the quarters after drowning in the murk of the storm.

Once left to my own devices, I kicked off my shoes and poured myself a cup of much-needed tea. A stray drop scalded my wrist, warning that the beverage required cooling. While I waited, I grabbed a towel from a stack of linens on the bed and dried my hair in front of the dressing table’s oblong mirror.

Good heavens! I said in response to my drowned-rat appearance, brought on by five and a half hours spent on a train, in addition to the damage from the storm. A bob, I discovered, was not attractive at all when it dripped rainwater onto one’s sweater and hung to one’s chin like limp brown shoestrings. My eye makeup stained my face, as I’d worried. My bangs stuck to my forehead. My neck, roughly the same width as my head, appeared even more mannish than usual with my hair too short to hide it and water glistening across it.

But this is all for the children, I reminded myself, rubbing my hair dry with the towel. The Department of Education specifically requested that you be the one to administer the Gordon Bay examinations—you, Alice Lind. Not a man. Not someone with more experience. Just remember how much you wanted a person like yourself to appear out of the blue and help you when you were young. Just remember . . .

My eyes shut. In my head, I heard a sound that often followed me around whenever my confidence faltered—a cruel skipping rope rhyme, chanted in the voices of neighborhood children.

Alice Lind,

Alice Lind,

Took a stick and beat her friend.

Should she die?

Should she live?

How many beatings did she give?

Something rustled near the hotel room’s door. I spun around, and my eyes darted about, on the hunt for tiny movements—not from spiders or mice, but from eyelids, blinking as someone, perhaps, spied on me through a hole in the wood.

Of all the fears I carried with me—a terror of gunshots, a wariness of the dark—the paranoia that people were watching me in rooms where I undressed and slept perplexed me the most. My heartrate tripled, and my hands went clammy and cold, even though I had never once, in my conscious memory, experienced an actual Peeping Tom.

Is . . . is someone there? I asked.

No one responded.

I half-wondered if Mr. O’Daire stood outside the door, a new hat in hand, waiting to take me to see his Janie. I imagined him bending down on one knee and peering through the keyhole with one of his captivating eyes, his breath fluttering against the wood.

Is someone—? I shut my mouth, chiding myself for giving into that old stab of anxiety. It had manifested two years earlier,

Reviews for Yesternight

[stephanie_m-868484 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A very solid, and well done novel. Xe sands is the narrator.

[susangeiss · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Loved this take on reincarnation! A fun read for anyone into the metaphysical.

[roses7184_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The items that drew me towards this book were two-fold. First off, I have a deep fascination with stories that center around children who glimpse things that adults don't. The possibilty that there are things I'm not privy to, hidden in the world I walk through every day, is intriguing. Cat Winters also wrapped the concept of reincarnation into this story, which fully sealed my need to read it. I sincerely hoped for something with gothic tones, and a deep simmering sense of tension.

Which is actually what I was given a fair amount of throughout the first half of this book. Alice's arrival, heralded by a storm of massive proportions, started things out excellently. As she began to navigate the small town of Gordon Bay, and meet the rather interesting inhabitants, I was enraptured. Small towns tend to hold interesting secrets, and when Alice met Janie I felt sure that I was correct in assuming that was coming around the bend. With characters that were generally not at all agreeable, I felt sure there was something hiding beneath it all.

Then, the second half of the book began. Let me just say, I spend the first two chapters of this part flipping back and forth with confusion. It was as if this was a whole new book, although I knew it wasn't because Alice was still present. In fact, Alice is the main focus of this portion of the book and, quite honestly, the reason things started to unravel. Suddenly I was reading a story focused on rage, and an uncomfortable discussion of sexual agression. I missed Janie's story, and wanted to go back to it.

From that point on, things just got weirder and weirder. Alice's story felt cobbled together, and spiraled toward an ending that had me shaking my head in disbelief. I'm definitely not one to turn away from a surprise twist, or unexpected ending. In this case, it felt more misplaced than anything. It's not that I expected a happy ending, not at all! It's more that I couldn't comprehend the reasoning behind the particular ending that Yesternight offered up to me.

I'm on the fence, regarding this book. Yesternight showed me a lot of the parts of Cat Winters' writing that I love, but it just didn't live up to what I hoped for. I think if the second half of the story had felt as polished as the first portion, I would have been head over heels in love. Winters has made me crave more about Janie, and her past lives. That, in itself, is impressive! So I'll offer up three stars for this book, and a warning that the ending might not be quite what you expect it to be.

[kmajort · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Got 2/3 way through.... and just set it aside. No longer cared. But actually recommended it to a friend that in more into this genre.
Maybe I'll go back & finish some day.

[sarah_gruwell · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

3.5 StarsCat Winter has impressed me before by her incredible writing. She incorporates dark material, eerie Gothic tones, and unique story to great effect. This new title does follow suit in those areas. Once I got reading, I finished pretty quickly, given my slowed down reading habits lately. However, this book had some issues in the characterization department that kept it from true stardom.Spooky cliff dwelling towns, remote hotels on bleak prairies, and dark dreams all stand out as a fantastic, ghostly back drop for Winter’s story. She’s got a gift for setting an atmosphere straight out of a Gothic tale or Edgar Allan Poe poem.I’ve always been intrigued by reincarnation. The whole concept fascinates me so I love that winter incorporated it in multiple stages of the story. The story revolves around this concept, how it impacts families in a society where it’s seen as anathema to the logical world, and the individuals who experience reincarnation and their surroundings. She interweave this concept into a suspenseful story of unknowns.Her characters, though, are where this title falls a bit. Our leads, Michael and Alice, are relatable enough to draw you in. In fact, I had no problem with Michael at all until the start of his story’s climax; after that point, he turns into Mr. Douchebag. That was a sudden turn!Alice, I felt, couldn’t decide who she wanted to be and how she wanted to approach the world. I love her background of guts and determination; she wanted to get an education and not just be content with home and children. Yet, she constantly waffled between being logical and believing full bore in the whole reincarnation concept. She was either totally for one or the other, never interweaving both into one world outlook. I’ve got to say her taste in men is also atrocious! She trusts too easily and quickly. I do have to say I love Winter’s ending, though. What a twist! She left me with a shiver down my spine, as if someone had walked on my grave. My guess would be this was her intention. The way everything worked out falls so perfectly into the overall atmosphere the author build up that I felt great pay off after finishing the title, in this department.Despite some serious flaws in our main heroine’s personality and the hero’s mind-boggling turnabout, I feel I can recommend this title to anyone looking for a spooky, unique tale of reincarnation and dark turns. The author excels at telling an exceptional yarn that keeps the reader engaged, sucked into her spooky atmosphere and mind bending plot twists. Check the title out if you get the chance!

[carol420 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What's It About?A young child psychologist steps off a train, her destination a foggy seaside town. There, she begins a journey causing her to question everything she believes about life, death, memories, and reincarnation.In 1925, Alice Lind steps off a train in the rain-soaked coastal hamlet of Gordon Bay, Oregon. There, she expects to do nothing more difficult than administer IQ tests to a group of rural schoolchildren. A trained psychologist, Alice believes mysteries of the mind can be unlocked scientifically, but now her views are about to be challenged by one curious child.Seven-year-old Janie O’Daire is a mathematical genius, which is surprising. But what is disturbing are the stories she tells: that her name was once Violet, she grew up in Kansas decades earlier, and she drowned at age nineteen. Alice delves into these stories, at first believing they’re no more than the product of the girl’s vast imagination. But, slowly, Alice comes to the realization that Janie might indeed be telling a strange truth.Alice knows the investigation may endanger her already shaky professional reputation, and as a woman in a field dominated by men she has no room for mistakes. But she is unprepared for the ways it will illuminate terrifying mysteries within her own past, and in the process, irrevocably change her life.What Did I Think?It was a book that you just couldn't put down. Cat Winters weaves this story of a family with a seven year old daughter that is at times old beyond her years, and a school physiologist that struggles to believe that what she suspects isn't happening. Alice Lind tells herself that what she is doing is to help Janie O'Daire and her estranged mother and father but the deeper she digs the more her own troubled past seems to be catching up to her. You hoped that everything would turn out okay but you knew that at some point their world was going to collapse around their ears. Even though there is a supernatural flavor throughout the story line it is also a story of how society viewed the roles of males and females during the flapper era and how thankful we should be that those times are past...but it seems that nothing may really remain in the past. Historical and paranormal fans will love the book.

[waclements7 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

** spoiler alert ** It has taken me awhile thinking about this before writing a review. Usually I can just write one when I finish. There's a lot to think about. It's 1925. Alice Lind is a school psychologist who goes from school to school testing students. In Gordon Bay, Oregon, she meets Janie, a seven-year-old girl who has been claiming since she was two that she is Violet Sunday, from Friendly, Kansas, and she died at the age of nineteen by drowning. She is also a math prodigy. Janie's father Michael says he believes that Janie has been reincarnated.This flies in the face of everything that Alice has been taught as a psychologist--trauma or abuse causes flights of fantasy like this; there is no such thing as reincarnation. Janie's parents are divorced, and that complicated situation leads to Alice getting stuck in the middle of what each parent thinks is best for Janie as Alice begins to believe, eventually, that maybe Janie really is the reincarnation of Violet Sunday.Alice identifies and can work with the "difficult" children because she was a "difficult" child herself. There was an incident in her childhood when she suddenly attacked a group of children with a branch, violently beating them, something she can't explain. With Janie's story of reincarnation, Alice begins to wonder if maybe she herself was reincarnated from someone who was a murderer. When she presents Janie with a list of towns from around Kansas, including one she made up, 'Yesternight," Janie identifies Kansas City and Yesternight.Alice writes to the postmaster of Friendly, and receives a letter back from Eleanor Sunday Rook, confirming that she had a sister Violet Sunday who drowned. In a rare situation of camaraderie, Rebecca, Janie's mother, Janie's Aunt, Michael, and Alice go to Friendly and meet Eleanor and her husband, and it's confirmed that Janie really is Violet Sunday reincarnated. All the dots are connected.Alice also learns of the Hotel Yesternight, where the owner was a woman who murdered numerous guests, and is convinced that she is the reincarnation of the owner. Rebecca tells Michael she is divorcing him and leaving him to take Janie where she can receive a real education for her mathematical abilities.This is the one part of the story that started to break down a little for me. Michael goes with Alice to the Hotel Yesternight. The husband and wife caretakers of the Hotel Yesternight are very accommodating; the husband is truly into his role of "spooky hotel man." Alice doesn't recognize the hotel. But she does recognize the picture of Cornelia, the woman who murdered hotel guests. I'm not sure why she decides to tell them that she thinks she is the reincarnation of Cornelia. They show her a trunk of Cornelia's belongings, and she thinks she recognizes them.A quick backtrack here. It is 1925, and there are no real methods of birth control available to women. Alice had a terrible experience with the last man she went to bed with--he said he would pull out and didn't, and she got pregnant. That's a very big deal in the story, but I won't go into it in detail, it's important, though, because that's what has kept her, from sleeping with anyone else--that betrayal. Michael convinces her to sleep with him, and promises her the same thing. The same thing happens. This puzzled me a little. It didn't seem in character for Michael, because he is generally a caring character, BUT his wife has just left him and taken their daughter away. I don't know if it's a subconscious way of getting back at Rebecca by failing on his promise, if he genuinely forgot, or what happened, but it just seemed like an odd thing for him to do after Alice has really gone over it with him, and it's basically the only reason while she'll go to bed with him. I don't want to say he's just a guy and doesn't care, but that's almost what it seemed like. Alice, understandably, is very angry and attacks him with her shoe (this is 1925, when shoes were actually solid and well made). He throws a glass vase at her, hits her, and then breaks a window and disappears into the blizzard outside. They find him frozen to death later.The wife of the couple running the hotel remembers to give Alice a telegram that had arrived for her before she had even decided to go to the hotel. It's from her sister Bea, telling her that the reason she remembers the Yesternight is because Bea read to her from a book about the hotel when Alice was little--too young for her to have been read such things. It's not a case of reincarnation for her, just memories from when she was little.Flash forward five years. Alice is living with her sister Bea and her lover Pearl in Portland with Alice's five year-old son John. John is eating breakfast and tells Alice that he froze to death...and that his name is Michael...I received an ARC of this book from the publisher.

[tara35 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Yesternight begins as the story of Alice, a young accomplished woman who travels to small towns in the 1920s and tests children. Alice is specifically assessing a young girl whose father believes has had a past life. For a while this seems a plausible plot, with Alice meeting with the girl and people who know her. However, here and there are some odd situations having to do with sexual promiscuity and violence. The novel takes a turn when the family travels to meet the family their daughter claims to be a part of. Here is plot dissolves into one absurdity after another as Alice decides she also has a past life and she was a serial killer. The many bizzare plot twists include a creepy old house, a blizzard, sex addiction, murder and more reincarnation. The book never stayed true to its time period in its dialogue or subject matter. Overall this was not a particularly well written book with a very odd plot. I received this book for review from LibraryThing.

[lvmygrdn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received this book from LibraryThing.com in exchange for a review. This story takes place in the 1920's. The main character Alice Lind, a female psychologist (unusual at that time) travels the country giving IQ tests to children. Her views are challenged in Gordon Bay, Oregon where she meets Janie O'Daire, a seven-year-old mathematical genius that believes her name was once Violet Sunday, grew up in Kansas, and drowned. In investigating Janie's stories, Alice starts to question her own past. I give it 4 stars.

[vnesting-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Historical fiction with a paranormal twist. Alice Lind is a psychologist administering tests to students in 1925 when she meets Janie O'Daire, a seven-year-old who remembers being a nineteen-year-old woman named Violet Sunday who died more than 50 years before. How could this be possible? A fast-paced and increasingly creepy tale set on the Oregon coast and in the Midwest.

[debristow · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I received this book as part of the Early Reviewers program. This is the story of Alice Lind- child psychologist- who encounters a seven year old child mathematical genius. As she is drawn into Janie's life, she discovers some eerie coincidences similar to her own life.This is one of those books that has such a well developed storyline. Winters does an amazing job developing the characters and drawing you in to their story. I absolutely devoured the last 100 pages at a breathtaking speed and the last chapter will haunt you for days to come. I like be when an amazing story has an absolutely unforgettable ending and Winters totally delivers. 5 plus star rating!

[weeziesbooks · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Yesternight by Cat Winters was a simple and fast read that I feel could be classified as a YA novel. The supernatural and psychological twists of the story line kept my interest, but I did not connect to any of the characters in any meaningful way. The story takes place in the early 1900's when Alice Lind is hired to administer tests to rural school children in order to determine if they have special needs that are not being served by their current public educationAlice is unmotivated and under employed, at least by her family's standards, but she quickly becomes involved with one particular student Janie O'Daire. She has to be careful of he work and her theories as she is a young woman working in a make dominated field and hopes to obtain advancement in her chosen field which is very conservative. As the novel develops and you are introduced to Janie's family, the plot changes and a bit of intrigue emerges and relationships develop. Although the characters are fairly well developed and the tension between them expands, I was left without a feeling of connection or interest. I would recommend this book as a light read and give it a 3.5 stars. Thank you to Librarything and Morrow Publishing for the complementary review copy.

[bookscookslooks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

First – isn’t that cover just gorgeous? It’s one of those covers that would stop your forward progress in a book store and make you pick up the book to read the synopsis. I will note it has absolutely nothing to do with the book other than it rains a lot in the locale but there is no particular mention of an umbrella. Or a beautiful burgundy dress. But who cares when it’s so pretty?Alice Lind is a psychologist who specializes in children with difficulties so she travels from school to school in the Pacific Northwest. As the book opens it’s 1925 and she has been sent to a very small town on the coast of Oregon. There she is to ostensibly test the children to see if their needs are being met but in reality she is there to meet one girl named Janie who has been telling stories of about someone named Violet since she was 2 years old. She also happens to be a math prodigy. There are no plausible explanations for Janie’s behaviours so her father is anxious for answers. Her mother is less inclined to want help.Janie’s parents are divorced and differ widely on how Janie should be handled. Her mother just wants to ignore the problem and her father, Michael wants to pursue whatever clues they have to a conclusion. Miss Lind does not believe in the reincarnation theory being put forward but when everything she has been taught fails to bring an answer she starts an investigation that leads her to the possibility of proving its existence.Miss Lind has her own reasons for questioning reincarnation as she gets deeper into Janie’s life for she has some unexplained events from her own childhood. She wonders if she and Janie are somehow connected. As she finds the answers that Janie’s family seeks will it lead to her own?This book was so much more than I was expecting. It was a page turner that I really didn’t want to put down and in fact, I really didn’t. I read it on one rainy afternoon. The mood set by Ms. Winters was pretty much mirrored in my real world as the rain and wind battered the windows of the yurt. I suspect it helped make the reading experience all the more real as I heard the rain as I read about the weather. The author really knows how to set a gothic mood – that mildly creepy undertone bubbling through in unexpected places. I was disappointed in that with all of the focus on Janie and her tale that when the denouement finally came and most of the questions were answered Janie pretty much gave way to Alice and her search. But there were still things I wanted to know about Janie!The section on Alice – and I can’t say much without giving things away – was the weakest part of the book. Fortunately it was not a large part of the tale. I understand the need for part of it as it set up the totally “what the heck” ending that made me go back and read the last couple of pages again. Alice Lind is truly a complex character – a woman in a man’s world with a woman’s needs yet not seeking a husband. This was not accepted at this time in history. I found her fascinating, yet challenging. This is certainly a book you don’t want to read before going to bed.

[mzonderm · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was a good story, but told with the wrong characters. This story desperately needed characters who didn't over-react to absolutely everything. Examples abound in the book, altercations on train platforms and people jumping out windows, to name just two. Perhaps Winters thought having her characters react in this way added atmosphere, but not only did it become eye-rollingly annoying in short order, but she was wrong: the story would have been much more compelling if told with characters who could just stay calm and REact, or possibly just ACT, rather than OVERreact.

[krau0098 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I have read all of Winter’s previous books (I think my favorite was A Steep and Thorny Way) so I was excited to see she had a new book coming out. I think this is hands down the worst book I have read by Cat Winters. It’s fairly boring and a couple of twists that happen at the end of the story are eye-rollingly ridiculous.This is going to be a hard one to review without spoilers, so I will put a spoilers section down below to discuss my issues with the end of the book. I enjoyed the fact that Alice was a woman psychologist who was making her way in a male dominated field and trying to start up educational programs to help children with special needs. Her work takes her to a small town where a young girl named Janie claims to have had a past life as a girl named Violet. Alice is at first determined to prove that Janie’s claims are from some sort of trauma and not the crazy notion of reincarnation, but as she continues to investigate Janie’s claims her viewpoint is swayed.Added to the above is the fact that Janie’s family is a mess. Her mom and dad have divorced and her dad has offered Alice free room and board at his hotel (which is also a speakeasy). Alice is trying to navigate all these family politics and still do her job.The first part of the book moves very slowly and is just boring. I almost stopped reading it a few times and really struggled to stay engaged with the story. As the story continues the book ends up all over the place. We keep gettings hints that Alice has some dark secrets in her past and then Winters starts emphasizing how much Alice loves to have sex (this became an awkward and main theme to the second half of the story).In the end there are just too many themes thrown at the reader and is muddles the story. We have the issue of reincarnation, Alice’s work as a woman psychologist, Alice’s quest for sexual freedom, Alice’s sister’s desire to be a man, a serial killer mystery, and Alice’s quest to help children through special schools. It’s just too much to keep a good focused story going on.SPOILERS START--------------------------------------------The end of this book really dropped the whole thing down another notch in my opinion. Not only does Alice believe that Janie really is Violet reincarnated she decides that violent issues in her past can be explained by the fact that Alice is a reincarnated serial killer. When her lover (Janie’s dad) has sex and promises to withdraw but doesn’t; Alice flies off the handle at the thought of being pregnant and murders him. Then the story skips ahead and Alice has a young child (supposedly Janie’s dad’s child from the sex/murder scene). Then Alice’s young boy starts insisting that Alice call him by the name of his dead father...all of this pointing to the fact that the man Alice murdered has been reincarnated into the body of her young son. The whole thing was so twisted and contrived and didn’t match at all with the tone of the rest of the story. It was like someone else wrote the last couple chapters of this book. The idea that the lover that she murdered is inhabiting the body of her son if a very yucky feeling idea and just wrong on so many levels. Not to mention the coincidence involved is ridiculous. Additionally the idea of a murderous sex-seeking woman becoming a proponent for children getting educational help is just creepy and a bit nauseating...personally I wouldn’t want Alice anywhere near children.SPOILERS END-----------------------------------------------------Overall this was a bad book. It was poorly paced and just plain boring in the beginning. The end was contrived and didn’t match the tone of the rest of the book; it was just soooo ridiculous. This is hands down the worst book that Winters has written to date; I hope that she doesn’t continue in this vein in the future. Not recommended.

[lewislibrary · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Alice Lind is a trained psychologist who is hired to administer IQ tests to students. The very first school she goes to, she meets Janie O'Daire... a 7 year old mathematical genius. Something else is different about Janie. She talks of a life in Friendly, Kansas as someone named Violet. Alice has to put aside her prejudices against reincarnation and evaluate the child without bias. I could not put this book down.... I thoroughly enjoyed it. The storyline is refreshingly different, the characters are believable, and you feel immersed in the story. I hope to read many more by this author.

[written-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Wow I really enjoyed this book and that kind of surprised me because I didn't really care for her other book The Uninvited. This story takes place in the early 1900's. The story of a young woman trying to make it in a "man's" world/field. She has her degree in Psychology but couldn't find a school to accept her in order to earn her PhD in this field. So she works for the state of Oregon going from school to school giving intelligence tests to the students. In doing so she has encountered students who seem to have lived past lives or have they? Alice, the psychologist, seems to have a few quirks of her own...scary. The story finds her in a small town testing a young girl who from the age of 2 has talked about things and people she couldn't possible know. Also the girl is a math genius. How does she know these things? So now we start investigating past lives and the story really took off for me. Alice's story as well as Janie's and their families. The ending really freaked me out! I also received my copy from LibraryThing Early Reviewers program and waited several months before the book arrived.

[lostinthebb · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I received "Yesternight" as part of the Librarything Early Reviewers program, and was previously unfamiliar with Cat Winters. The idea of 1920's child psychologist Alice Lind checking for evidence of a troubled child's claims of having lived a past life seemed fascinating. Within the first few pages some phrases jarred me out of the narrative briefly, and that occurred occasionally throughout the novel. I found Alice admirable for her desire to earn a PhD in a time when it so difficult for women to have educational opportunities and her desire to help children. As the plot unfolded, I grew more interested in the story of the child, Janie O’Daire, a mathematical prodigy, and less so in Alice. It might have been better had it ended with Alice’s story“Yesternight” is well-researched. It takes place during one of my favorite decades in fiction –one when women were becoming less restricted by society–and a fascinating premise. Unfortunately both the prose and the last five chapters seem overwrought to me.

[ghneumann · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

At the beginning of Cat Winters' Yesternight, Alice Lind doesn't believe in the irrational. A female psychologist in the 1920s, she's been shoved into the pink ghetto of school (and by extension, child) psychology rather than the doctoral research she desperately wants to conduct. She mostly administers intelligence tests, but has dealt with a few significantly disturbed children who were thought to be supernaturally influenced and revealed them to be their troubles to be the product of entirely mundane phenomena. Her own childhood had a mysterious event of its own: at age four, she violently assaulted a group of neighborhood children. Her family refuses to provide her with more information regarding the incident, and it would seem it precipitated her interest "solving" the mystery behind the troubled children she encounters. When she steps off the train in Gordon Bay, Oregon, though, she soon finds herself confronted with her most perplexing case ever.The seven year-old niece of the local school teacher, Janie O'Daire is a math prodigy, able to perform complex calculations in her head and working on college-level proofs. More than that, though, she's said since the time she could talk to be a young woman from Kansas named Violet who drowned. With a set of acrimoniously divorced parents (which would have been very rare in that time period), it would seem she is ripe for the kind of emotional issues that might provide a prosaic explanation for her claims. But as Alice digs deeper, it becomes more and more probable that this might, in fact, be a genuine case of reincarnation. As she becomes convinced that Janie is telling the truth about her past life, Alice finds herself wondering if her violent outbursts might be the product of her own previous existence as a notorious murderess. So my policy with regard to spoilers has been to avoid them as much as possible without compromising my ability to fully discuss a book, which usually means no or minimal spoilers. While they don't ruin a book for me personally, I know other people feel differently and I do my best to respect that. However, the ending of this book had a substantial impact on how I ended up feeling about it, so if spoilers bother you, please close don't read below.It turns out that Janie is in fact a reincarnated spirit, and a visit to Kansas to see Violet's sister proves it. Alice has convinced herself that her childhood outburst, as well as an experience in college when she attacked a classmate who impregnated and then dismissed her, is the result of her own past life as the homicidal owner of an old hotel not too far away. No sooner has she convinced herself (and her new lover, Janie's father) that it's true, then Alice's sister reveals that the details Alice recalls about the murderess in question were actually told to her by that sister when she was very young. She's not expressing the violence of a vengeful presence inside her, she just has anger issues. Soon thereafter, Alice and her lover have a fight that becomes physical and he ends up dead. We're treated to an epilogue in which Alice is now raising her young son, the product of that relationship, and he's revealed to be...the reincarnation of his own father. Which, no. That's stupid and terrible. Until the end, the book hums along pretty well. It's nothing particularly special, but the plot moves quickly and it's entertaining to read (I'd have rated it at a 6). The end, though, just completely ruins it. It's awful. I'd had some quibbles with the book previously (Alice doesn't make much of an effort besides taking people at their word to determine whether Janie has ever experienced any abuse and the unlikelihood of an actual divorce at that point in history...it would have been much more realistic to have Janie's parents estranged than divorced) that were enough to keep me from finding it anything more than slightly above average, but that ending just torpedoed it. I would not recommend this book to anyone.