The White Lady

by Beth Trissel

  ‘Retreat! You have no chance against me, girl. I shall incinerate you,’ her Highness threatened in a wordless rant.

  ‘Get back!’ She willed her entire being into her sweeping breeze. Her wind was like the Santa Ana, and Helen’s the shriveling icy death of a roaring blizzard.

  By rights, Avery should lose. The trick was not giving up. Whatever shimmer of power she had inside her grew like a spark fanned into a flame. White light surrounded her in a glorious stream.

  ‘Leave Stan alone! Get away from Ignus! Go!’ She might have prepared for this her whole life. Battling with a flow of thoughts poured into wind gusts came naturally to her.

  ‘For now.’ Helen spoke again.

  Meaning?

  The raging cyclone ceased, and the revolving stopped. Acrid smoke cleared. They were back in the parlor. The room wasn’t the wreck they’d left behind. Neither was it the same as before Helen wrought havoc.

  She blinked at their sudden arrival. Jetlag had no comparison to this disorientation. Gulping in breaths, she saw a Christmas tree before the window, but it bore no resemblance to the one they’d left crashing about them. This small fir sat on a round table above a lace table cloth. The eclectic mix of glass balls, whimsical figurines, and the many ornaments on the traditional Burke tree had vanished. In their place were strings of popcorn, simple paper decorations, tiny red bows made from snippets of flannel, and miniature dolls fashioned of cloth with nuts for heads. Only homemade ornaments. No tinsel, or bubble lights. A paper star topped the tree.

  Electricity was out in this era, whatever it was. Greens and holly lined the window sill and the mantel above the blazing hearth. Candles waited to be lit. Most striking, the portrait hung in its usual place.

  They’d gone back in time. But to when?

  Stan set his bag down on the purple, gold, and blue carpet and caught her in his arms. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded between gasps. “You?”

  “Thanks to your brilliance.” He swung her around, and then held her against his hard chest. A quiver ran through her as he pressed his lips to her cheek. “We’d have been screwed if not for you. Where did you learn that trick?”

  “I’m not sure this is a talent you can be taught.”

  He gazed at her in amazement. “You’re a bona fide magical person. We need a name for you.”

  Ignus stared at them like a man rousing from a dream. “Why? What did Avery do?”

  “Are you kidding?” Stan stood her on her feet and rounded on him. “Where have you been?”

  He seemed genuinely perplexed. “Right here with you two. What do you mean?”

  Had Helen kept him oblivious of everything?

  Stan eyed him incredulously, then sprang into action. “Better discover where we’ve landed.” He bolted for the doorway and paused to shoot a glance down the hall. “All clear. What year were we aiming for?”

  “Nineteen eighteen,” Ignus said, “give or take a few.”

  “Come on. Quietly.” Stan dashed up the hall over the strip of mahogany and blue patterned carpet. Avery sprinted at his heels. He stopped before the front door and cracked it. His back stiffened and he held a finger to his lips. “Think we overshot our mark. There are men in uniform in the street.”

  “They’d be returning home from the war if it’s a little later,” Ignus said from behind.

  “How about a lot earlier?” the knowledgeable member of their party asked.

  “What do you mean?” She peered past Stan at a very different street. Far fewer homes stood than in modern-day. There were no lights, poles, signs, or neon anywhere. The hilly road wasn’t paved, but dirt packed over cobbles.

  Weary soldiers passed by on horseback. Others trudged on foot. Some were carted in the back of a wagon under blankets. Wounded, she supposed. Poor men. No one glanced at the house. Maybe they were heading to the hospital or camp, or both.

  She stared in disbelief. “They’re Confederates. Those were the Boys in Gray, right?” Stan was more the historian.

  “Yep. Southerners.” He pinned an accusing stare on their would-be guide. “You’ve taken us back to the Civil War, or as I like to term it, that most uncivil era.”

  “Helen did this.” She had no doubt.

  “Wonder Boy, here, gave her free rein,” Stan muttered.

  Ignus gazed around as if they’d landed on another planet. “What? How? Where is she?”

  “Better yet, who is she?” the with-it male thrust back.

  “To be determined.” Avery’s mind raced. “More immediate, who are we in this place? We’d better come up with something fast. I’m guessing the African missionary angle Mrs. Burke suggested needs a twist?”

  Stan nodded. “With the Union blockade of the east coast, even dedicated missionaries aren’t sailing the seas now. Only the most daring blockade runners make it through with supplies, and not all of them are successful. We can’t claim to be among them. We don’t resemble brash sailors with a strut in their stride.”

  “You could maybe manage the strut. But our clothes are way wrong, and I don’t know any sea stories.” She scrambled for ideas. “But the church continues in wartimes, right?”

  “Sure does,” he affirmed. “They had a lot of revivals during the Civil War. Needed all the spiritual sustenance they could get.”

  “I could use some about now.” Light gleamed. “What if we say we’re in ministry, bearing gifts for Christmas?” she suggested. “People won’t expect us to be as current with fashion then.”

  “Good, because we’re about sixty years off.” Stan gave Ignus a withering look.

  He shook his head beneath the green bowler. “Holy shit.”

  “That’s not an actual sacred vow, dude.” The disenchanted member of their party appeared utterly disgusted with him.

  She’d better intervene before they came to blows on the doorstep. “How about we say Stan is a minister? I’m his sister or whatever, and you’re his assistant.”

  Ignus thrust out his jaw. “Just because I swore? He cusses plenty. I don’t see why I can’t be in charge as usual.”

  “Nothing is usual,” Stan hissed. “Avery and I have been over the rainbow fighting the Wicked Witch of the West. Another little thing that seems to have slipped your mind.”

  “You’re under a serious spell we’ve got to break,” she explained. “I’m drawing a blank and open to suggestions.”

  Stan clenched his fist. “If punching you in the jaw would wake you up, bro, I’m more than happy to be of service. Here and now.”

  “Hold that kind offer a sec.” Ignus tapped the head of the cane in his palm as he did when thinking. “I understand you’re upset, but I never expected to go back this far. What do we know about the Civil War in Staunton, Virginia?”

  “By we I assume you mean me.” Stan spread his arms as if to encompass the vast bloody era. “It all depends on what year this is. The Shenandoah Valley was burned, including parts of Staunton, and the city was looted by Union troops—that’s the Boys in Blue—in eighteen sixty four. Supplies were nil. Let’s just say it was bad for residents.”

  “I bet.” Flames crackled in her mind, and she imagined the severe deprivation that must’ve followed the burning. She met Stan’s grim gaze. “I hope we’re not here for that fun.”

  “Thanks to Helen, we may be.” He nodded at the now empty street. “I’m hoping we’re early. Those passing soldiers weren’t in blue, so it may not have happened yet. Eighteen sixty three wasn’t a blast, but things got a lot worse later.”

  “I told Helen to return us to the time she wanted us with her in the house. You know, when she’s in greatest need,” Ignus said, pacing in a small circle. “I had no idea it was now. But she has to be here somewhere.”

  Stan halted him with a hand on his shoulder. “Heads-up. She’s changed from the sweet young thing you fell for.”

  “I haven’t fallen for her,” he scoffed.

  “You have, dude. Hard, and she’s using your passion to bli
nd you.”

  “The truth hurts.” Avery knew from experience. “I’ll bet she did the same thing to your dad.”

  “Weird, both Burke men falling for her—” Stan began.

  “I’m not.” The wizard in denial flushed red.

  Stan got in his face. “Then why don’t you know thing one about the Hell Avery and I went through to get here?”

  “And it isn’t over. Possibly just beginning,” she whispered, nudging them.

  Chapter Five

  Curious people—thankfully not soldiers—were collecting around Avery, Stan, and Ignus in the front hall. A burly middle-aged gentleman in a dark frock coat with a graying beard and mustache, leaned on a cane. He eyed them quizzically from beneath bushy brows.

  Slightly behind him, hovered a slim young woman. She turned her head, revealing blond hair pulled back into a wide bun at the nape of her neck. A sturdy black hairnet encased her unusual ‘do’. Avery had heard these nets referred to as snoods. Ladies wore them at reenactments.

  Two little children peeked around the woman’s full black skirts, and she was wrapped in a black cashmere shawl edged with a lavender pattern. Expensive clothes, especially the shawl. In happier times, she’d probably been wealthy. So much black meant she was likely a widow.

  These observations flashed through Avery’s mind as she took in the family. The small gathering must wonder why on earth newcomers were in their house, and what must they think of the strangers’ outlandish attire? She prayed the three of them could pull off the hastily contrived ruse. If they were accused of spying for the north, it wouldn’t go well. And what if Stan and Ignus were conscripted into the Confederate army? Dear Lord.

  Steeling herself against rising fears, she smiled at the puzzled group. “Time for introductions, gentlemen,” she hinted to her companions.

  A superior actor, Stan fell into his role. He removed his hat, tucked it under his arm, and gave a short bow. “Hello sir, ma’am. I am Reverend Stan Guthrie. I trained at Virginia Theological Seminary in Alexandria and would have remained longer, but had to leave when the Yankees seized the school.”

  “Of course,” the mature man concurred in a gravelly voice. “Hear it’s a hospital now.”

  “Yes, sir. Care of the wounded is a kinder fate for my dear school than a military camp, though.”

  “Indeed,” their solemn onlooker agreed.

  “I’m young for the ministry, I realize,” Stan continued, his expression earnest. “But my heart is full for the church and this fair lady.” He clasped Avery’s shoulder. “Meet Miss Dunham, my fiancée.”

  She went mute. But kudos to him for remembering the seminary.

  Ignus shot him a ‘What the heck?’ look, then removed his hat and extended his hand to the whiskered gentlemen. “I’m their close friend and ministerial assistant, William Burke. We’ve come to spread some Christmas cheer in these dark days.”

  “Have you, now? Most kind.” The bear of a man shook both their hands and studied Ignus. “Burke, you say? Why, I’m Horace Burke. Are you Elsie’s boy from Lynchburg?”

  Ignus pounced at the offer. “Yes, sir, I am.”

  The Burke called Horace swept a critical eye over him. “Heard you were shot?”

  “My leg still troubles me.” He patted the cane.

  “In the head.”

  “A flesh wound.” Parting his hair, Ignus revealed a convenient scar from a previous travel when he’d received a nasty burn during Fourth of July fireworks.

  “Heard it left you a might peculiar.”

  “Forgetful, actually,” Stan interjected. “But we value William’s work with the church.”

  “Immensely,” Ignus assured his reluctant relation. “How is your boy faring?”

  Avery froze. What if there wasn’t one?

  Horace brightened. “David is well, thank you. Promoted to captain. He can’t make it home for Christmas, though.”

  “Unfortunate.” Ignus creased his face in sympathy. “Our kinship is why I urged Reverend Guthrie and Miss Dunham to visit this particular home first.”

  Thank heavens they had an ‘in,’ with the family, even if it was a little iffy.

  “Most welcome you are, cousin. And your friends.” Horace nodded his thick head of silver-streaked brown hair at the attractive woman. “This is Mrs. Butler, her son, Able, and daughter, Althea. They’re staying with us for a while.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am, children.” Ignus turned on the charm and won a shy smile from the woman and her two kids.

  Stan raised his hand in blessing. “God keep you, Mrs. Butler, Mr. Burke. And bless the innocent children in these trying days in the year of our Lord…” he trailed off, likely hoping someone would fill in the black.

  “They are, indeed, a trial sent to test us. Eighteen sixty three has not been kind,” Mrs. Butler said with sad blue eyes. “Which makes your visit all the more welcome, Reverend Guthrie, Miss Dunham, and Mr. William Burke.” She smiled again at Ignus, who hadn’t lost his wow factor.

  Their apparent host nodded. “We spotted your carpetbag in the parlor. Please come share a cup of eggnog with us. Though I fear we are not merry company. You must forgive our gloom this Christmas Eve.”

  ‘It is?’ Avery barely kept herself from asking. The big eve was a week away in the future.

  Ignus patted his relation’s arm. “Troubled times, sir.”

  “Not only that, my beloved niece lies abed ill with consumption. She’s like a daughter to me. My late wife and I took her in after her parents passed. The doctor has come and gone with a forbidding countenance which has deepened our solemnity.”

  Avery made sympathetic noises while thankful they’d gotten the tuberculosis vaccine, the other name for consumption. The infectious nature of the disease was not yet understood in this era. Healthy individuals with good food and living conditions were more resistant. But these folk were in for a rough road with greater deprivations yet to come.

  “Be sure to wash your hands with plenty of soap and hot water after visiting the invalid. Crack a window in the sick room for better air circulation and don’t get in her face,” she advised, pausing at the startling effect she had on her listeners.

  Brows furrowed and she came under sharp scrutiny.

  “Allow me to explain,” Stan said, rushing to her aid. “Miss Dunham has some medical training and believes consumption to be contagious.”

  Well, she’d seen a documentary on tuberculosis, the other term for the devastating disease, and she liked medical dramas. Near enough.

  “We are deeply sorry for your cherished niece’s failing health,” he continued. “I shall pray for the young lady and sit with her if you like, sir.”

  The disapproving man allowed himself to be mollified. “Thank you, Reverend. My daughter, Ida, sits with her now. Training to be a nurse are you, Miss Dunham?”

  “I was, before our engagement,” she lied, praying no one asked her to help with an amputation, or anything else.

  “She’s highly skilled.” How Stan said that with a straight face, she didn’t know.

  “Perhaps she might have a look at my niece?” Horace asked.

  “Certainly.” She forced a smile. Both of the guys were going with her, and they ought to be cautious. The vaccine wasn’t one hundred percent effective—

  “My memory lapses, Mr. Burke,” Ignus broke in. “Might I inquire the young lady’s Christian name?”

  “Helen. You may have seen her portrait over the mantel.”

  Dear God. Avery clutched at Stan for support. He closed his arm around her waist to keep her from sagging onto the floor, or maybe they upheld each other. She could hardly believe her ears. He must be shocked to the core.

  Horace considered them in astonishment. “Are you acquainted with Miss Burke?”

  “Only by reputation, sir. Her loveliness precedes her,” Stan managed.

  “We didn’t realize she was the niece you spoke of,” Avery added a little breathlessly.

  Judging by
Ignus’ expression, he was taken off guard but bearing up. “I told them of her. Has Miss Burke suffered a bereavement of a personal nature?”

  “Ah, yes.” Tears glinted in Horace’ brown eyes. “The sad tidings have spread through the family. Her young man never returned from Gettysburg.”

  “A terrible loss. And his death has laid her low?” Ignus asked, his voice husky.

  The distressed uncle dropped his glistening gaze. “She’s been poorly ever since he fell.”

  Avery’s thoughts reeled. Grief was associated with sightings of the white lady, except Helen hadn’t been jilted. Her sorrow and decline in health were understandable, tragic even. If she lay on her deathbed, it explained her summoning Ignus, and consequently them, to this time and place. But it didn’t explain the rest of her behavior. What in the world had caused her to go over to the dark side in such a big bad way?

  Horace rumbled in his throat and beckoned to them. “Please, follow me, and take some refreshment with us.”

  “Pray do.” Mrs. Butler inclined her head in its distinctive knitted hairnet. “Come, children.” She turned and walked with their host, leaning heavily on his cane, over the strip of carpet in the hall. The kids darted at her heels.

  Delaying a moment, Ignus gazed reproachfully at Stan and Avery. “You do Helen a disservice,” he scolded in a whisper. “Here, the poor woman lies on the point of death, and you accuse her of dealing in black magic.”

  Avery’s mouth fell open. “Which you didn’t experience.”

  “Because you’re enchanted. By her,” Stan emphasized. “But I expect you will learn.”

  She had no doubt.

  Ignus shook his head and followed the departing party.

  “Fashion in Lynchburg must be vastly different,” trailed back to them in Mrs. Butler’s soft voice. “Are they ahead of us, do you suppose?”

  Considerably. But Avery wasn’t about to elaborate.

  She gripped Stan’s arm as the others proceeded up the hall. “Stall a sec,” she urged under her breath. “We need to talk.”

  “Miss Dunham and I will be along in a moment!” He raised his voice for those rounding the parlor doorway ahead of them.