Sarah turned to Nathan, then back at the man, then back at Nathan.
“He can’t see me.” Nathan spoke softly.
She turned back to the man.
“You keep looking behind you like you’re afraid someone’s going to sneak up on you.” He chuckled. “There’s no one here that’ll harm you here. It’s the living you got to worry about.”
“I was just—are you the caretaker here?”
He shook his head. “No, but I talk to a lot of people who come here. Turner rubbers, historians, taphophiles.”
“Taphophiles?”
“Epitaph lovers. People who like cemeteries. Some are geneologists. We get a lot of those. Or some just like to come here. It’s peaceful, don’t you think?”
She showed him the notebook of names she’d taken from the mailbox. She suddenly realized the powerful grip she’d had on it. “These are all the people buried here?”
“All that we know of.”
“There are more?”
“Oh, yeah. See those field Turner markers? There’s no telling who they are…were. And that’s a real shame.”
“How about Nathan McGraw?” She glanced toward Nathan. He stood beside her watching intently. “That name’s not on the list.”
The man took the list from her. “If it’s not on the list, we likely don’t know of him. Is he a relative of yours?”
“No.” She glanced at Nathan. He was listening as if holding onto every word they said. “But he’s a person of interest.”
“Well, if you leave your name and number, I’ll try to find something for you. I do that for lots of people.”
Sarah gave him her business card, and as she drove Nathan back in silence, she found herself too tired even to reason. She tried to make small talk with Nathan, but he was deafly quiet. Finally he said, “It’s as if I never existed.”
“Maybe you’re in one of the unmarked graves.”
He didn’t answer. It was silent for a long time.
“Nathan?”
“Hmm?”
“How did you die?”
He was silent so long she knew he wasn’t going to answer. Without thinking, she
gripped his hand despite how cold it was. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He squeezed it back. It was the first time Sarah wasn’t afraid to touch him.
* * *
Sarah was determined to find information on Nathan’s burial. She woke before dawn, searched the internet of the Battle of Saratoga and sure enough found John McGraw under the list of casualties. She didn’t have time to do much else before she had to open the store.
Her first customer was Therman. He came in looking as disgruntled as ever.
Claudia was wiping the counter. “What’s wrong, Therman?”
“This.” He slapped down the morning paper.
She picked it up and read, “Hanson awarded tenure.”
“He’s older than I am, and they didn’t throw him out. You know, that’s what’s wrong with everything.”
“What?”
“It’s all politics.”
“It is?”
“Of course.”
“I got fired once.” Claudia perched her purple glasses up on her head.
“I wasn’t fired!”
“It’s kinda like the same thing.”
“Hardly.”
“Who knows about the Battle of Saratoga?” Sarah shouted above their conversation.
“History teachers with tenure,” Therman muttered. “When are you going to get an art section in here?”
Sarah ignored them. “What’s it got to do with Fort William Henry?”
“Fort William Henry had to do with the French and Indian War,” Claudia answered. “The Battle of Saratoga was fought during the Revolutionary War.”
Sarah stared at her.
“You’re talking like about twenty some years difference.”
“So they’re different wars.” Sarah went back to the computer. She found nothing under Nathan McGraw. She found information under the company he’d served under and the captain Nathan had said he served under, but nothing on him.
Maybe Nathan never really existed. There was no proof he existed. And if he didn’t exist, just what, exactly, was he?
She had no idea.
She was still searching when a customer walked in. It was the same woman who’d come in just days ago. Sarah still had the strange feeling she knew her. Or had known something of her. It was a feeling she couldn’t shake.
Claudia was still arguing with Therman when the woman sat down at the internet counter beside her.
The woman smelled like something out of Bath and Body Works. She wore a light tan cardigan over a tee shirt and loose fitting jeans. She was the type of person who could look good in anything even on a Saturday.
“Hello.”
The woman seemed startled by her greeting. “Oh, hi.”
“I’ve seen you here before. Thank you for coming back.” Sarah extended her hand. “I’m Sarah Price, the owner.”
“I know, I mean, I read the article in the paper.”
Sarah nodded. The Lake George Mirror had written a press release on The Bookworm. This was the first time anyone had ever mentioned it to her.
“It’s nice to meet you.” The woman took her hand. Strangely she didn’t offer her name in return.
“Can I get you some coffee?”
“Yes, please. Just regular black. Nothing fancy.”
Sarah delivered her coffee while Claudia and Therman continued arguing. The woman sipped her coffee. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No. I just moved here from Syracuse. I lived there all my life.”
Something sparked in the woman’s eyes. It was as if she seemed familiar with the area. “Do you know Syracuse?”
“I used to live in Cicero.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“What brought you here?”
“Oh, I—I move around a lot.”
The woman seemed to grow uncomfortable. It was almost as if she didn’t want Sarah to know anything about her. She wondered why.
“Cicero’s a nice area.” She made small talk. “So is Lake George.”
“Oh, it’s beautiful here, but—” Her voice trailed off.
“What?”
“It isn’t what I expected, I guess.”
Sarah wondered what she meant but decided not to pry. It was obvious the woman didn’t want to offer up any information willingly.
“Do you live in the village?” Sarah asked her. It seemed good to know someone close to Syracuse, and she didn’t want her to leave just yet.
The woman shook her head. “I rent an apartment in Glens Falls. I’m an LPN at the hospital there. I just started actually. I moved here last month.”
Sarah suddenly didn’t feel so alone anymore.
The woman finished her coffee and turned to the magazine section. She bought a copy of Cosmo and her coffee on credit. Sarah didn’t pay attention when she checked her out. It wasn’t until she left that Sarah even looked at the signature on the charge receipt.
She actually felt the color drain from her complexion.
The signature on the receipt read “Maggie Webb”.
* * *
The phone rang just as Sarah was heading out the door. Her first thought was to let the machine get it, but deciding it may be a customer, she picked up the receiver. Big mistake.
“The Bookworm. How may I help you?”
“I’m coming up there tomorrow.”
Sarah didn’t know which was more grating: the sound of Art’s annoyance or the commanding tone he used. Her head suddenly hurt.
“Did you hear me?”
“I’m working tomorrow.”
“Stop playing games. I want the ring.”
A tiny pulse began throbbing at her temple. Art always told her to stop playing games when things didn’t go his way.
“I don’t have it.” She wanted to sho
ck him, so she added, “I sold it.”
Long pause. Sarah mentally pictured the look on his face. No doubt he’d adlibbed every word of this telephone conversation. The tiny vein at his temple was probably pulsating.
“I’ll get a lawyer,” he finally said.
“You do what you have to do.”
Sarah quietly put down the receiver.
Setting her purse on the coffee counter, Sarah ran upstairs and took the wedding set from her dresser drawer. She should be upset. Under normal circumstances she would be crying. She would think about Art’s new life with Tanya. Perfect, young, perky Tanya who he couldn’t wait to marry. Tanya, who giggled at all of Art’s jokes—all three of them.
But she wasn’t upset. She was surprisingly calm. Calmer than she had felt in months.
She stared at the engagement ring. The rock on it was huge. There was a time when she couldn’t stop herself from staring at it. Every time someone at work or in stores saw her hand, they had to look at that diamond. They would oh and ah about it, say how lucky she was. When Art had first presented the ring to her on Christmas Eve, she’d believed she was lucky. She’d also believed in hopes and dreams coming true.
Now she felt lucky having him out of her life. And she didn’t want to look at the ring anymore.
She shoved the rings in the front pocket of her jeans and went downstairs. Grabbing her purse from the counter, she closed up shop and crossed the busy street. She hurried across Shepard Park and didn’t stop until she was standing at the edge of Lake George.
She pulled the wedding set from her pocket. She didn’t believe in hope anymore. Perhaps it had died with her divorce. Or maybe before. She was certain it had died with Michaela.
She heaved the rings into the lake.
* * *
Sarah drove to Salem. In the passenger seat of her Blazer lay a bouquet of carnations and mums she’d hurriedly bought in Wegman’s floral department.
She hadn’t planned on coming here, but once she saw the flowers, she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She was still questioning her actions when she approached John McGraw’s grave.
Maybe she was still trying to prove to herself that all this was really happening. Of course she knew it was because she knew she wasn’t crazy.
The thought shocked her. For the past year, she’d wondered if she was going mad. And now when she was seeing ghosts—well, one ghost—she suddenly knew she was sane. And the worst part was there wasn’t a soul she could tell it to.
Maybe that was part of the lesson fate was teaching her. Maybe Nathan’s intrusion in her life was meant to be something she was to keep private. She didn’t know, but it seemed that Nathan needed more for her right now than she could ever need from him. . How could someone so lost teach her anything?
She hoped Nathan could come to terms with his family’s deaths. He hadn’t said anything on the way home, had simply disappeared after seeing her to her door. She hoped he would talk to her about their deaths or his own. It wasn’t healthy to keeping emotions in, even if he was already dead.
She laid the flowers on the ground and secretly wondered if she would ever see Nathan again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nathan went back to Fort William. As usual, the guard dogs followed him up to the room that had once been his sleeping quarters. Nathan didn’t bother talking to the dogs anymore. He had on occasion, but they never heard him. They blindly sensed his presence, and that was all.
He was left with unanswered questions. He had thought of Sarah early this morning and had transported himself to where she was. He found her at his family’s graves. Not only that, she’d lain flowers there. The fact that a complete stranger had done something so personal was difficult to believe. She had never known his family. She had a business to run and little time, yet she’d given up her morning to pay respect to people she’d never known. He wondered if maybe she’d done it for him.
The idea warmed a part of him that was very cold.
One of the guard dogs growled. Nathan turned in the direction of the sound. The dog was crouched in front of the stairwell, as if preparing for an attack.
Nathan smelled the air. It was as if the room had filled with smoke. He coughed.
Boot heels pounded up the flight of steps.
Nathan rushed toward the stairwell. The footsteps stopped. He saw no one. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
Fear raised the hair on the back of his neck. Someone was definitely here. He sensed it. Sensed it as strongly as the dogs had.
“Whatever you are, show yourself.”
“Private McGraw.”
Nathan whirled around in the direction of the voice. A man was standing directly behind him.
He was a good foot taller than Nathan. His hair, black as the modern-styled leather jacket he wore, fell a few inches below his collar.
“Who are you?”
“It is a pleasure.” The stranger smiled. There was something eerie in his expression. It carried dictatorship; an authority that seemed to dare one to cross it.
Nathan glanced at the dogs who now circled them. They could see this man no more than they could Nathan, but they smelled the air and whined nervously.
“Why can you see me when no one else can? Who are you?”
The stranger folded his arms over his chest. “My name is Cole Turner.”
“Who are you subject to?”
“No one in this life.”
“Then you’re dead.”
“Happily for years and years.”
Relief and fear ran a gamut within him. He was certain he’d never known this man in life. Just his sheer size was something one didn’t easily forget.
Nathan stared at the man’s black eyes. The weight of Cole’s gaze was crushing, but Nathan held it. “Do you know John McGraw?”
“Never heard of him.”
Nathan ran down the list of his entire family, but Cole Turner shook his head.
“Then how do you know of me?”
“I was sent to help you.”
“Sent by who?”
“My superior.”
“I thought you answered to no one.”
Cole was silent for a long while, then he laughed. It was rich and deep like something expensive, which one paid a fortune for even though you knew you’d come to regret it later.
Somehow Nathan knew Cole was a man to regret.
Cole moved closer. “You don’t even realize the powers you possess being dead. I’ve been watching you for the past few days.”
“Why?”
Cole rolled his eyes. “I’m dead. I have a lot of time on my hands. And when I see another drifter with no idea what he’s doing—”
“I thought your superior sent you—What’s a drifter?”
“You, Sir,” Cole raised his voice, “are a drifter. I’m a drifter. We are lost souls. Heaven doesn’t want you. Hell won’t have you. You have no place to go, so you drift. Oftentimes, you become dependent on a mortal, as you’re doing now with Sarah Price.”
Nathan was shocked that Cole knew about Sarah. Surprise turned to protection. Just why, he didn’t know.
“How do you know about her?”
“Drifters take care of their kind.”
“You’re a drifter.” Nathan folded his arms over his chest. “And I don’t know anything about you.”
Cole offered no explanation. Nathan’s annoyance grew. “Sarah’s the only mortal who can see me.”
“So?”
“Why is she the only one?”
“Do you fancy her?”
Nathan didn’t answer. No, he didn’t fancy her. She was a mortal, and he—He was not a drifter. He’d been dead for 247 years. If he was a drifter, where had he been all that time? Why couldn’t he remember?
“Have I always been on Earth? Where was I for 247 years?”
“I don’t know.”
Irritation turned to anger. This stranger suddenly appeared out of nowhere and proclaimed him unworthy of hea
ven or hell, professed to know everything about him, then just claimed ignorance. “I’m not a drifter.”
Cole shrugged. “I call them as I see them.”
“Well, you don’t know me. If you did, you’d be able to tell me where I’ve been all this time.”
“Dormant would be my guess. You probably had to settle for a period of time.” One of the dogs came too close to Cole’s leg. He sent it yipping off with the tip of his boot. “How did you die?”
Cole was the last person Nathan wanted to talk about this to.
“I assume it wasn’t peaceful.” Cole stared at him.
Nathan recalled the screams, the gun blasts and the dead all around him. He remembered sitting at the base of a tree just waiting for death to take away the pain.
“All right.” Cole sighed. “So it wasn’t a peaceful death. You probably just settled.”
“Did you?”
“For a time, yes.”
Nathan knew better than to ask how Cole had died. Sarah had asked Nathan the very same question the other day. Nathan wouldn’t answer. At first, he’d been angry that she’d asked. The question seemed not only rude but invading. It somehow seemed to put him at fault, as if he should have done something to prevent his death or found some way to save himself.
Rude or not, there was no way Nathan could not ask Cole. “How did you die?”
Cole turned his back to him, and for a long while, Nathan didn’t think he would answer. Finally, he said, “I was murdered.”
Before Nathan could offer his condolences, Cole faced him. His black eyes were bright like a moonlit sky full of stars.
“It was a long time ago. Those who did it are happy in hell.”
Nathan didn’t miss the confidence in Cole’s voice. He wondered how he knew the fate of his murderers. Maybe it was common knowledge when one was murdered. But Nathan didn’t know why had fired the shot that ended his own life. Maybe Cole had sent his murderers to hell.
Cole closed the distance between them. An acidic aroma filled Nathan’s nostrils It reached deep into his nasal passages, leaving a burning sensation in its path. Nathan backed away. Fear clawed its way up the nape of his neck.
“Who are you?”
“I’m a drifter. Just like you.”
Cole walked around him, his black boots hitting the floor with sharp thuds. Nathan turned in order to keep his back to him.
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