Tears spilled over her cheeks and she squeezed her friend tightly. “What am I going to do without you, Annie?”
She smiled, tucking a small leather pouch into Adelaide’s pocket. It was Annie’s pouch of protective stones and gems. “One thing is certain, you won’t know all the best gossip!”
Adelaide managed to laugh through her hiccupping sobs. “I truly will be behind times.”
“Write me when you marry Thomas Cooper.” Annie cast a sideways glance at Robert and Adelaide immediately excused herself from the room. They needed their privacy and besides—Sarah would want to say goodbye.
Her sister knew something was wrong the moment she stepped in the parlor. Sarah put down the mending and stared at her, eyes as wide as saucers. “What’s happened?”
Adelaide felt her lower lip tremble. Putting her hand over her mouth, fresh tears spilled over her cheeks. A wail was building up in her throat, all she could do was slowly shook her head.
Sarah rushed to her side. “What’s wrong? Addy?”
“Annie’s family is leaving. She’s here to say goodbye.”
“The Frankels too?” Sarah whispered. “There’ll be no one left by month’s end.”
Sarah linked arms with Adelaide and together, they walked back to the kitchen. Annie pulled away from Robert, immediately throwing her arms around them and burying her face against their shoulders. “My dear, dear friends. A person only says goodbye when they plan on saying hello again. We will be reunited; and in the meantime, we’ll write each other. Agreed?”
“Of course.” Adelaide sniffled, running the back of her hand over her cheeks in a futile attempt to dry them. “Write as soon as you get to…wherever you are going.”
She nodded. “Stay safe, dearest Randolphs.”
They followed Annie out the door and watched and she hurried down the back staircase. She headed a few steps and then turned, waving again. “Remember, it isn’t goodbye, so much as ‘until we are next together.’ I feel very strongly we shall meet up, as soon as this war is at an end.”
Adelaide watched her friend walk away, her familiar gait bobbing around the side of the house and away; away from them and away from Harpers Ferry. Deep in her heart, she knew that Annie was wrong. They would never see her again.
Chapter 18
July 1st, 1861
“ADDY, WAKE UP.”
Her eyelids felt heavier than an iron kettle. She squinted at the candle thrust in her face and peered at her brother in the darkness. “Robert? What are you doing?”
“I think…I…ah…Poppa’s gone.”
Adelaide rubbed her eyes. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“He’s passed on, Addy.”
For the first time, she realized Sarah was not in bed next to her. “No…you must be wrong. He’s just sleeping.”
Robert shook his head.
Her heart began to pound. He must be wrong; either he was wrong, or this was some horrible nightmare. She was bound to wake up in a few moments, Sarah next to her, rain glistening on the moonlit windowpanes.
She could hear her sister wailing.
Adelaide looked up at her brother, barely able to make out his features in the faint glow of candlelight. “How could this happen? He had a broken arm and some cuts. The bone was set—Dr. Marmion was certain he’d be okay.”
“He was wrong.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
You’re okay, Adelaide told herself as she struggled out from underneath the tangle of blankets. Deep down you knew this was going to happen, that it could happen. You’ll be alright.
She followed Robert down the dark hallway to Poppa and Rebekah’s room. Her father looked just as he had before she went to bed: his white hair a sharp contrast to the thick, gray beard on his chin. He looked like he was asleep, his mouth hanging open a little.
As she looked closer, though, she knew. Her father was dead.
Adelaide’s body began to shiver uncontrollably. She sank to the floor next to her sister and sobbed. She sobbed for Poppa, sobbed for the father Luke would never be able to tell goodbye, and the man her baby sister would never know.
But she also sobbed for what she knew was going to happen next.
* * *
“WE’LL BURY HIM next to your mother.” Reverend Fairley was a big man with thick, curly black hair. He was such a contrast to Reverent Bates, the man he had replaced at St. John’s once their brave minister had left to fight for the Confederacy. “Dr. Marmion has asked Mr. MacGrogan to help with the coffin.”
Robert nodded solemnly. “We’re indebted to them.”
Reverend Fairley clapped him on the shoulder. “Your father was a good man and strong in the Lord. He has taken his place in glory, as the good book promises. He left this mortal life as we all would wish to—surrounded by family and with the praises of his Savior on his lips.”
The good Reverend obviously envisioned a much different death than had actually taken place in the bedroom. But, he was right: everyone wanted the Good Death. A Good Death was much less like death, but more like a passing on to another phase of life. Or, at least, that’s what everyone said. Adelaide knew different: she’d seen spirits writhing and churning in pain, lost in muddled confusion and trapped between this life and the next.
“When will we go up to the cemetery?” Sarah whispered. “For the service?”
“Oh, no, you can’t do that” Reverend Fairley looked at them strangely, like they weren’t privy to a dark secret. “Didn’t Robert tell you?”
Sarah and Adelaide shook their heads.
“I’m sorry, ladies, but it’s much too dangerous.” Reverend Fairley looked away from them. “Not with all those Rebs along the river.”
Adelaide’s eyes flooded with tears. “We can’t even give Poppa a proper burial?”
“He’ll have a proper burial, Addy.” Robert snapped. “Just no pomp and circumstance.”
She buried her face against Sarah’s shoulder.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, ADELAIDE sat on one side of the door and Sarah on the other. Waiting. It was only a matter of time before his spirit made its move. There was a pattern now, something they could try and monitor to anticipate what would happen.
She traced her finger over the sides of the watch. First, someone died in the Ferry. Whatever barrier was broken or portal opened, maybe by John Brown, it kept the soul from crossing over. It emerged, lost, hours or days later. They’d seen it with Thomas Boerly and the raider who attacked her.
It still didn’t explain what the Shadow Man was—or why he was watching her.
She glanced at Sarah. She was slumped forward, her hand still clenched around the sage bundle, but was asleep. And lightly snoring.
Adelaide rolled her eyes. It was a good thing the watch was in her possession.
They’d propped a looking glass against the wall across from his bedroom, as neither wanted to see him in that form. Adelaide balled up her fist and rubbed her eyes. It didn’t chase away her exhaustion. For all intents and purposes, they were orphans. Their mother died so many years ago and now Poppa. They had Rebekah, but was she worth? Nothing. She was daft and feeble, she couldn’t even care for the child she’d birthed. That left Adelaide—who was only two years younger—to care for Lizzie. And the cleaning. And the cooking. And the—“
Something moved in the mirror.
She bolted upright. There was an almost inaudible thud and it slithered to the hardwood floor and then, after a moment when it was no doubt feeling out its strength, she heard two soft taps on the window. It was trying to figure out how to get out of the room.
Crawling to her knees, she rapped her knuckles against the portion of the wall furthest from the doorway.
It knocked back.
She dropped her hand down, almost all the way to the floor, and knocked again.
The response was almost instant.
It was damned fast. She wasn’t sure if she’d faced
one this quick before, but if she had, it had been out in the open. There was nothing she could use to block it or slow it down. This was going to be a problem.
But there was no time to debate it.
Positioning her thumb above the clasp, she pressed herself as close to the wall as she could and locked her eyes on mirror. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.
She kicked the outer doorframe.
Movement flashed in the mirror; she pressed her thumb into the clasp and squeezed her eyes closed, tears welling against the lids. She could hear it screaming, feel the pull as the light dragged it out of one life and into the next.
And when it was over, she sank down onto the floor and wept. He was gone.
Chapter 19
July 4, 1861
ROBERT DIDN’T BOTHER to look up from a stack of papers, addressing her from the opposite end of the table. “I’m not as good a businessman as Poppa was.”
“I think you’ve done a fine job.” She slapped dough into a loaf pan, pulling her hands out to swat at a fly. “Really, Robert, you’ve done the best you could.”
“If there weren’t so many soldiers running around the Ferry, we might have half a chance.” He sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left in town and those that are here, aren’t really interested in buying dry goods.”
Adelaide tried to smile encouragingly at her brother, but feared it looked more like a grimace. “That’s why I’m baking bread.”
“Yes, bread we can sell. Maybe we’ll make enough to buy more flour so you can make more bread.”
“Sarah and I can do seamstress work. You just won’t let us.”
“I can also smuggle whiskey across the river,” Robert slowly stood up from the table and perched his cap on his head, “but a person has to have some moral restraint.”
Adelaide rolled her eyes. Robert Randolph: the great moral compass.
“At any rate I must return to the shop, if only to sink into further depression at the lack of sales.” He hesitated in the threshold, his hand gripped on the frame. “Keep the doors closed.”
“The doors are closed, Robert.” She retorted. “That’s why it’s one hundred degrees in here.”
Either he didn’t hear her, or he ignored her.
It was hard to believe it was the fourth of July. When Virginia had been part of the Union, it had been a day of celebration. Now, as part of the ‘glorious Confederacy,’ she was regulated to baking bread all day. The heat was unbearable: it hung in the air and felt like it was stuffed in her throat, choking her.
“Maybe we could make pies, too.”
Adelaide jumped at the sound of Sarah’s voice. “Well, we could, but what would we put in them? There are a few apples left, but not nearly enough for a pie—never mind the fact that there’s no sugar.”
Sarah stared at the bare shelves against the wall. “There has got to be something we can do.”
“As it gets closer to autumn, I thought we could use pumpkins and squash to make pies or bread.” Adelaide paused. “Assuming the war lasts that long.”
“Right. It’s supposed to be over by Christmas.”
No one believed that anymore. Adelaide gathered her apron in her hand and carefully pulled two loaves of bread from the stove. As she set them down to cool, she thought she heard a popping sound, different than the usual crackling sound of the fire. “Did you hear that?” She turned to Sarah.
Sarah shook her head.
Picking up the two fresh loaf pans, Adelaide turned towards the stove. She heard the popping noise again.
“That’s gunfire.” Sarah hissed, backing up towards the door. “Where is it coming from?”
Adelaide could hear Robert thundering up the stairs. He burst into the kitchen and grabbed her so forcefully, she dropped the loaf pans on the floor. They hit the wood with a clatter; dough splattered across the floor and her skirts.
“Move.” He pushed her towards the hallway, grabbing Sarah’s arm and yanking her behind him. “Get on the floor!”
Adelaide was too scared to question him and fell to her knees on the hallway floor. Sarah huddled beside her; her eyes locked on Robert as he disappeared into Rebekah’s room. After a moment of muffled discussion, he began hollering; screaming for Rebekah to get out of the room. There was the sound of a scuffle and then his voice, almost a roar, “Fine! Just die in there, I don’t care. Go to Hell where you belong.” After only a few seconds she dashed into the hallway, Levi running out of the bedroom on her heels. He threw himself at Sarah.
Robert picked his way past them and thrust Lizzie into her hands. He ducked back into the bedroom and then emerged, shoving past her and squatting down at the end of the hall. He set a rifle down on the floor and then sank down against the wall.
Adelaide stared at the rifle. It wasn’t Poppa’s old flintlock, it was one of the guns that had been manufactured at the Armory. “Where did you get that?”
“What does it matter?”
“Did you steal it?”
“No.” Robert picked a few bullets from a pouch. “I traded some stuff for it.”
“Like what?”
“It’s not your concern, Adelaide.” Robert snapped. “I did what needed to be done. That’s the end of the discussion.”
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES OR so later, the sound of gun fire abruptly stopped. The silence that settled over them was all too familiar. It was the pinprick of nerves, of waiting for a noise or crash from within the house. That’s when it got bad: when the silence fell apart.
“Do you think it’s over?” Rebekah whispered.
“Could be.” Robert stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “But we’re staying in the house and away from windows. You know how they are: they’ll be firing into windows whenever they can line up a shot.”
“Can I finish baking the bread?” Adelaide asked. “Or, at least, finish up the dough on the table?”
Robert hesitated. “I suppose. But only so we don’t waste all that dough—we need the money to buy more flour. Either that, or no one eats.”
* * *
July 5, 1861
ADELAIDE HAD SERIOUS doubts about the soup.
It wasn’t so much that she doubted Sarah’s ability to cook, it was just that they didn’t have much in the way of ingredients. She could smell the “stew” and it smelled…a lot less like stew than it should.
Groaning inwardly, Adelaide studied Levi’s trousers. He had hit such a growth spurt, it seemed like she was always letting out the fabric to cover his ankles. Levi was turning out to be so much like Luke: tall and spindly. Before her thoughts could turn to grief over missing her lost brother, Robert strode into the room. He dumped an arm load of fabric on the floor in front of her.
She raised her eyebrows. “What’s this?”
“This is all the fabric that was left downstairs.” Robert reported. “I want you to use it all up. Make as many shirts—plain, men’s shirts—as you can for us to sell to the soldiers. We can make a lot of money off of them.”
He looked uneasy.
Adelaide ran her fingers over the fabric and nodded slowly. “If Sarah helps, we can probably whip up a few every couple days.”
“Good.” He hesitated. “Addy…there’s something else.”
She frowned. “Something else?”
“Yes.”
“Spit it out, Robert.” Adelaide sighed. Whatever he had to say was bad, he might as well just say it so she could mourn and move on. “Get on with it.”
“Frederick Roeder is dead.” He blurted out. “He was shot last night.”
She stared him.
“Joseph Barry told me.” Robert slumped down in one of the high back chairs. “I guess Roeder walked down to the railroad office for some reason. I can’t imagine why. Someone shot at him from the Maryland side. Hit him, punctured his bowels—don’t make that face Addy or I won’t tell you—he dragged himself all the way back to the Confectionary.”
Ade
laide’s stomach lurched. The Roeder family lived above the Confectionary.
“Barry says Mary found him on the back stairs, covered in blood. There was nothing anyone could have done, Addy, not Doc Marmion, not Doc Starry. He died in her arms.”
There was nothing to say.
* * *
LONG AFTER THE sun had set and the crackle of gunfire fell silent, Adelaide crept down the outside staircase and made her way down Potomac Street. She just had to be sure—she needed to know that Mary had dispatched the spirit of her father. The girl had sent her mother to the other side well before she’d known any of the other, so called, Secret Six.
But her father crawling from the railroad office, bleeding from his bowels and dying when he reached the Confectionary? Mary was a composed, smart woman, but caught off guard? Anything could happen.
The imprint of death in the Ferry was an odor she couldn’t escape. It was like the movement and stalking of spirits: most people didn’t notice it. They blocked it out. But Adelaide smelled it all the time, the sweet coppery, rank stench of decay. It was thick near the Armory, no doubt from accidents, the raid, and the murder of so many over the last few years. Though she’d never seen the spirit, she knew the raider ripped apart in Hog Alley was still there. It was as if he’d come part of the soil itself; his moans and screams carried on raindrops and the bite of wind.
She squeezed her watch. It had become a burden. The Six had vowed to protect Harpers Ferry from errant spirits and specters, to guide them to the next life and cleanse the town. But this? This was like a plague. They swarmed the Ferry; they were searching for something.
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