Here and Again (11 page)

Ginger looked over at Osbee, who met her eyes. She gazed back to the Martins, wearing black like crows waiting to swoop down and steal the last of the provender from the starving.

“Ginny Moon.” Ginger’s father was at her side on the left. Crushing pain seized her body at the sound of his voice.

“We have to let him go now,” he said. “We have to go now.”

Ginger nodded. Gazing down, she found her father’s hand out and in it were two small abalone shells.

“Great men are remembered,” her father said, walking over to Henry and Bea. “Next time you come to Seattle, we’ll take you to a great Native American chief’s grave. A great leader. His name is Chief Sealth or, as the white people call him, Chief Seattle.”

“Like the city?” Henry asked.

“They named the city after him. I brought this picture of his grave. Look.”

Ginger gazed down at the picture that her father held out to Henry and Bea. A medium-sized white stone obelisk stood in the middle of a cemetery next to a small white church. It was an unassuming headstone and could be missed. It could have been anyone’s grave but for the huge wooden catamaran suspended over it. Colorful paintings adorned its sides and all about the headstone were seashells and candles and other mementos left by various pilgrims. Ginger shut her eyes, remembering the peaceful quiet of Seattle’s grave and the misty Puget Sound all around. Where she stood now, she could hear traffic and planes. She could hear the Martins talking. There was no lapping water. There was no peaceful silence.

“What are those?” Henry asked.

“Those are canoes his people put over him. It was how his people marked where he was buried. Maybe where Seattle is, he needs the canoes.”

“He needs canoes in heaven?” Henry asked.

“Never know. See all those seashells?”

Ginger felt her mother’s arm wrapping around her waist. She opened her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“People leave those for him. They put things inside for him. See. I’ve brought some so we can leave these for your daddy.”

“I don’t have anything to put in it,” Henry said, his voice tight with sudden worry. Bea hadn’t moved. She didn’t say a word.

“It’s okay. I brought water from the place where Chief Seattle is buried. From right there.” Her father pointed to the picture.

“We’ll put this water in the shells for your daddy, okay? So he can know we remember him as a great man.”

Henry nodded and took a shell. Her father offered a shell to Bea but she didn’t take it. She didn’t move. Glancing over, Ginger found her dad was offering her the shell. She took it from her father as she handed her mother the flag and stepped to Jesse’s grave. She started to cry,
tilting her head on Oliver’s little back as she bent down. Together, she and Henry knelt on the grass, setting the shells next to the place where Jesse’s headstone would be. Her father came over, opened a small glass bottle, and handed it to Henry.

“Just half, so your mother can fill the other shell for Bea.”

Ginger felt as if she could die. Just lie down right there next to him and die. There was nothing left inside and nothing hurt so entirely. She knelt, watching her son pour water into the seashell.

Lie right here. She touched the edge of the dirt her husband was buried under and as she reached for the glass bottle from Henry she felt a tap on her shoulder. Holding her breath, Ginger looked up and found Bea standing next to her, just as she hoped she would be.

“That’s my shell,” Bea said. Ginger nodded and scooted over as she offered the bottle of water to Bea. Her daughter didn’t take it.

“Daddy might mistake that for Lethe river water.”

Cocking her head, Ginger glanced up at her daughter.

“What’s that mean, Bea?” Ginger’s mother asked.

Bea didn’t answer. Instead, she knelt down and looked into the empty shell. “Looks like rainbows in there,” Bea said.

“It does,” Ginger’s father replied.

Ginger said nothing. She wept softly.

Bea looked up at her mother and back to the shell. Then she reached up with her index finger, took a tear from Ginger’s cheek, and dropped it in the shell.

“That belongs to Daddy,” she whispered.

•••

“
G
inny Moon, where did you go?” her father called.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m here.”

“Not to worry,” her mother said. “I’m glad the kids are remembering their father. What a thing to have Shakespeare given to you for memory.”

“Yes,” Ginger agreed. She watched Oliver standing with his hand raised to heaven and smiled.

“How’s inventory going?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Good, we think. We’ll be done soon anyway. Then it’s just balancing it against the books.”

“Wish I was there to help. I love inventory.” She did, too. Inventory meant finding all the little things hidden, buried, and forgotten in the crevices of the shop.

“You always did. Maybe next year you’ll be here and the kids can help.”

Ginger rubbed the knot on her head, feeling happy at the thought of having Henry, Oliver, and Bea help take inventory and then incredibly sad at not having Osbee around.

“Maybe,” she said. “Better let you get back to it.”

“Okay,” her mother said. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m good.”

“Okay, then,” her mother said.

“And, Ginny Moon?”

“Yeah, Pop?”

“‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

“Thanks for that, Father.” She shook her head as her father laughed his quiet laugh.

“Tell the ghost to step into the light.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I think our daughter is done with us again, Monica, baby. I love you, Ginny Moon.”

“Love you guys, too.”

“You will always be our Ginger Moon,” her mother said.

“Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, honey.”

Ginger hung up and looked at the phone. “Step into the light,” she said. “Pu-
lease
.”

She chuckled at the statement. What was she living—a B-rated movie?

Movement outside her window caught the edge of her eye and when she turned to look at it a horrendous tingle seized her spine and shook her bones loose. Samuel stood on this side of the covered bridge, gazing about from left to right, from front to back, as if he had lost something. Then he stopped and lifted his head. He looked straight at her.

“Shit.”

November 21, 1861

Shenandoah

Dear Juliette,

Jackson is now in command of the Shenandoah Valley and we have been marching for months. Several of us have decided the Union Army is composed not of men but of inanimate objects. We seem, as a unit, to be preoccupied with them. Or shall I say, Jackson is preoccupied with them. His aim is our aim.

In October, we headed out of Winchester to Canal Number 5 on the Potomac. Our aim was to destroy it or at least cause a bit of havoc in the area. Our purpose is not clear exactly, but it seems we are to endeavor to disrupt transportation lines and thus supply lines. So we waged war on Canal Number 5 of the C&O. It had been very warm for October, but the water was beyond cold and as the Union regiment on the other side of the river shot haphazardly at us, we worked on dismantling the dam. Only one of us was hit the first day. The second day brought another Union detail to the opposite bank. They had better aim and so we returned to Winchester, having achieved what we had set out to do.

As we marched, I saw farm after farm with none but women and children bringing in the harvest. The large plantations away to the east have slaves. Their masters are yet at home. No slaves have the small farms here in the west and the men are on the march with us or in other divisions. If the field was being worked close to the road, I would help set a shock of corn or toss a bale of hay into a cart as I passed. I
sincerely feel winter will take not a few from these poor farmers’ wives. When her man returns, he will find less waiting for him in children as well as crop.

Now I sit here, the chill on my spine not of excitement at movement, but rather at the cold of November creeping through my coat. There is little wind and a clear sky and the fire in front of me is bright though its warmth seems far away. I have not written you, for which I humbly beg your pardon. Since Manassas, I have had little clarity on what to write. I no longer wish to give to you so I may be empty. Your letters are sweet and I know you wish me to share, as a burden shared is less weight. So you have said. But, Juliette, I am hesitant to lean on you; it seems unjust. You are all brightness and possibility. You are what can be. You are the world that was for me before I crossed Laurel Creek, before the bird whistled to me, before the voice called to me. I wish you to remain as such, so that I may return to you, to the place I left before war when my heart and soul were free of a deathly weight. I was clean, never having watched the possibility of what can be for another man blown away from him in the flash of a musket. Never having taken from another the fullness of time.

Can you see? My weight. How can I write to you without it pouring from my hand into the pen and scratching scars into the peace of you. I remember what it was to ponder our life together—our farm, our children, our future. I shall write again, but not until I can hold my weight myself. I love you, Juliette. I hold you here with me, close my eyes, and flow in your peace. One day, I shall be with you, falling like the jar of clay that I am, letting you wash over me and be filled.

Your devoted,

Samuel

Winter’s Light

G
inger quickly lay down in bed, squeezing her eyes shut as she pulled the covers under her chin. He was out there, having followed her back to the house. He was a stranger—a weird man who had come across the water and was somehow now obsessed with the farm or the bridge or—or— She dared not think it. She was hurting and lonely and the last thing she needed was a crazy man obsessed with her. Kindness was what was called for in the South, but her Seattle sensibilities had warned her time and time again that not everyone deserved kindness. The world was full of creeps.

“Virginia Moon?”

Ginger shuddered. He was outside on the porch. That was the direction from which his voice had come.

Her eyes popped open. Had Osbee locked all the doors? Where was Beau? Why wasn’t he barking? She looked down and the dog was gone. When had he left?

“Virginia, I need to speak with you.”

Ginger stared at her bedroom door. It was open. If he gained access to the house, he could easily enter her room. She should call the police. Sitting up, she searched the covers for the phone. She needed to call, but she needed to shut and lock her door. Unable to decide which need was greater, Ginger flung her covers off and jumped out of bed. The telephone, which had been buried in the bedspread, flew across the room. As it hit her dresser, the back of it popped open and the batteries tumbled out. Two of them rolled under her dresser.

“Shit,” she hissed, racing across the floor. She slammed the door and turned the lock. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her palms and feet were sweaty as she knelt down on the wooden floor, peering beneath her dresser. She found one battery had rolled all the way to the wall. Where was Beau? What if Samuel had killed him? Reaching her hand underneath the dresser, Ginger grappled with the battery. Her fingertips touched it slightly and it rolled right.

“Crap.” She reached again but it was now in the center and beyond her grasp. She knelt back onto her knees and stood up to move the dresser.

“Apologies, Virginia.”

Ginger spun around and found Samuel standing right in front of her. His cap, coat, and bedroll were gone. His white shirt was soiled at the neck and his eyes were gentle, softly gazing into her just like the day she had first seen him. She shook her head, staring from him to the door, which was yet fast locked.

“I normally would not come into a lady’s room.”

“Get out!” Ginger yelled, leaning back on her dresser and sliding across it toward the door.

“Please, do not be frightened. I need to speak with you and you will not come to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you! Get out!”

“I do not think it is a choice at this time whether or not to speak with me, Virginia. You draw me here.”

With her back to the wall, she reached for the door. She unlocked it. “I—I don’t draw you here,” she whispered.

“You do. I cannot cross Laurel Creek but through the bridge and when I enter—”

Ginger flung open the door and bolted out into the hall.

“I keep returning to your orchard.”

“Leave me alone!” Ginger yelled over her shoulder as she stumbled down the stairs.

“I do not mean to frighten.” He was at her heels, just behind. Where the steps creaked beneath her feet, his made no sound. “Please stop and listen.”

Ginger reached the bottom and held her hand out to the front door. She found it locked. Just as quickly Samuel was in front of her, between the staircase and freedom.

“Beau!” Ginger screamed, backing toward the kitchen, her eyes fixed upon Samuel’s. A tiny jingle behind her brought her gaze over her shoulder. There the dog stood at attention, his head cocked and ears pulled forward. Ginger stopped and stared at him. He neither barked nor growled nor came barreling toward Samuel as he would have done with any other stranger. He simply stood there, his eyes shifting between her face and the man at her back.

“Do not be frightened, Virginia Moon,” Samuel said softly in her ear.

Beau wagged his tail.

“Please leave.” Ginger breathed, her head light as her heartbeat surged in her ears. “Please leave me be.”

“Why do I return here?” he asked. “I cannot leave until you tell me why you are calling me here.”

What was it her father had said? What had her mother told her? It was not possible.

Beau yawned and trotted back into the kitchen.

“Step into the light,” Ginger whispered, shutting her eyes as she said it. This was not real.

“What light?”

What light was it? What did her father say?

“I can’t see it, Samuel. But you can. You know—the light. Step into the light.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Alpha and Omega.”

“Virginia Moon, open your eyes, please.”

“The Creatrix.”

“Please look at me.”

Ginger took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

Samuel stood in front of her with his arms crossed before his chest and his brows drawn together. Leaning as he did slightly toward her, he looked like any other living man. He must be a living man.

“What are you talking about?” he asked quietly.

“The Universal Mother?”

He shook his head, curling his lip. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged and tottered a little to the left. She needed air. This was not happening.

“Maybe you should sit down.” He motioned her to the couch.

Ginger let go of her breath and backed toward the sofa. Slowly she seated herself as Samuel lowered himself to the chair next to her. Sitting on the edge of the couch, Ginger kept her back straight and her hands clasped tightly together upon her lap, just in case she needed to make a run for Beau and the kitchen. She watched the entwined fingers of her right hand turn a curious shade of purple.

“Breathe,” Samuel said.

Ginger was breathing. Her rib cage ached from the speedy cadence of her shallow breath.

“Now. Let’s start again.”

“Step into the light,” Ginger repeated.

“Virginia, the only light I see is the one outside and I was in it until you made me come in here to speak with you. If you wish me outside, then please join me. We need to speak together.”

“You cannot see the light?” Ginger glanced sideways at him.

He leaned back in the chair and shook his head helplessly. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“My father said that is what I should tell you.”

“You spoke with your father concerning me?” Samuel rested his head on his fist as he looked at her.

“Well, not about you.”

“Not about me,” he repeated.

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly was the conversation, then?”

“You—you’re—” Ginger couldn’t say it. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t swallow.

“I am what?” Samuel prompted.

“I—I think you’re—” She gulped for air.

“Yes? You think I am what?”

“Dead.” She coughed.

“I am dead?”

Ginger nodded quickly and just as quickly she added, “You need to step into the light.”

“I am hardly dead, Virginia.”

“I think you are.”

“Why?”

Ginger gazed at him. Why did she think so? “My doors are locked and you’re inside the house.”

“Yes.”

Ginger frowned. “You didn’t come through a window, did you?” Maybe he had. This was a hopeful thought.

“No. I came through the house into your room.”

“H-how did you come into the house if not through a door or window?”

Samuel thought a moment and then smiled at her. “I willed myself through the house to your room. No, wait. That is not quite right. I think I did not so much will myself as follow your will. You are calling me.”

Ginger rubbed her forehead and looked at the kitchen door. She needed help. “Beau?”

The dog’s collar jingled as he came into the room.

“I have no body, so I can will myself places. Often, I get lost in time, but mostly I can get to where I wish to be.”

“Come here, boy.” The dog walked over, eyed the ghost sideways as he passed, and then seated himself next to Ginger’s leg. She looked at Samuel. “You have no body?”

“No. I have been willing myself across Laurel Creek, as I have mentioned, but alas keep ending up back here. I think your call to me is stronger than my will.”

“Samuel, why don’t you have a body?”

“Because I left it long ago.”

“That means you’re dead,” Ginger said, patting Beau on the head. The dog at least was real.

“I am right here speaking with you, Virginia. Unless you have gone mad, I am yet here. Not dead.”

“But you’re not alive.”

“I am here.”

“You’re a ghost.”

Samuel closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the chair.
The house was quiet with nothing but Beau’s calm breath and Ginger’s racing heart sounding in her ears. She gazed at Samuel, wondering if she should say something more. He opened his eyes as she was about to open her mouth.

“I would say I am spirit. Ghosts are those things that live in stories told over fires to frighten children. I do not wish to be frightening.”

“You cannot see the light?” Ginger asked.

“Where does your father live?” he inquired, his voice clearly exasperated.

“Why?”

“So I can ask him why his advice to his daughter was such that she would say a thing over and over again and not know truly what it was she was meaning.” Samuel chuckled and sat forward.

Ginger didn’t. She cringed and leaned back and wished her father was sitting next to her right now.

“Where does your father live?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“If I knew where your father was and what he looked like, it would take me time, but I could get there. I am almost tempted just so he can explain to me the advice he gives his daughter. I would not give such to mine.”

Ginger thought for a moment. Jesse’s death had left her feeling as if she were spirit—as if she had died. Much of the time, she moved through the world performing the tasks of her life in an automatic way. She wasn’t living anymore. She was existing. Now she sat across from a ghost—a soldier like her husband, but dead over a hundred years. Perhaps she was crazy. Maybe she had lost her mind. If she was in a clinical situation and told herself as a nurse what she was experiencing at this very moment, she would surely think she needed a little psychological help.
That thought brought on another. Perhaps this was more of a nurse kind of moment and less of a spiritual one. Nurses ask questions.

“I see. So, what exact advice would you give your daughter if she was confronted with a gho—a spirit?”

Samuel smiled softly. “I would tell her to ask why he was there with her.”

“What would be his reply, do you think?”

“That he did not know, but he cannot make his way home because she draws him to her.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“That he was finally free to cross the Shenandoah and found her weeping in the snow. That he made his way down the road and found her listening to her child by a barn. That he almost found the way to Laurel Creek and she stopped on the icy road to help a boy.”

“You stopped me. Not the boy.”

“I was stopped from my path at the moment you were there and in that moment I found the boy. Had you not been there, I would have made it home.”

“And the boy?”

“Did not notice him on my path. And every time I cross Laurel Creek—”

“You end up back here.” She finished his sentence.

Samuel nodded and sat back in the chair. Ginger scratched Beau’s head, thinking. There was no light. So now what?

“Maybe I should call my dad again.”

“Why?”

“Well, if it isn’t the light you need to see, maybe it’s something else.”

“Can we just endeavor to understand what it is first together
without him? He seems not to truly know what it is we are addressing here.”

“He’s very knowledgeable in spiritual matters.”

Samuel shrugged and shook his head. “I am not convinced of that.”

Ginger smirked. Neither was she. “Okay, I won’t call my father. So . . . now what?” she asked.

Samuel slumped in the chair and rested his head again upon his fist, gazing out the window to the day. A crow sounded in the distance.

“You have a very nice farm,” he said.

Ginger nodded. “Thanks, but it’s not mine.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“Osbee.”

“Who?”

“My husband’s grandmother.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. And you live here with her and with your daughter.”

“And my two sons.”

“Three children you have.”

Ginger nodded again.

“Where are they?”

“School.” She played with Beau’s ear, thinking she must have lost her mind. Samuel’s knee was right next to her and she could reach out and touch it. Feeling the wool of his pants would at least make him real. But somehow, the thought that her hand would pass through his leg turned her stomach. Better to leave his knee alone.

Samuel cocked his head. “They leave home to go to school?”

“Uh, yeah. Most kids go to school at a school. You didn’t go to school?”

“Not until VMI. I was taught at home by my mother and then with the reverend.”

“Y-you went to VMI?” Ginger gazed over at him, her brows knitting together at the thought.

“I did. Why do you look at me so?”

“My husband went to VMI.”

Samuel sat up straight. Ginger scooted away a little.

“His last name?”

“Martin.”

Samuel thought. “Martin. I know no Martins.”

“This is Smoot’s farm. He’s a Smoot on his mother’s side.”

Samuel shook his head. “Has this always been Smoot’s farm?”

“Since 1799. Grandma’s family has owned it until now.”

“You said it was her farm. What do you mean, until now?”

“She’s getting too old to farm it. It was going to be left to my husband. His dream was to raise his children here but he—he—”

“Was lost in a war.”

Ginger nodded, brushing off the small pile of Beau’s hair that had collected on her knee. The gesture also allowed her to gaze away from Samuel. His eyes had become so intense, she thought it better to look somewhere else.