Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat

by Orrin Jason Bradford

Ahh, they’re back, she thought, as she forced herself not to look in the direction of the motion. She knew she’d not be able to see anything if she did. Not that there might not be something there to see, but her advancing macular degeneration made her direct vision pretty much non-existent. On the plus side of the equation, it strengthened her peripheral vision, making it much easier to see the restless spirits that had accompanied the gazebo to its new location. Of course, it also helped that she believed in spirits. Otherwise, her rational mind would have blocked the subtle movements, but after decades of helping others to travel back to their past lives through her regressive hypnotherapy methods, she knew all too well that there were countless occurrences in the world that simply could not be explained by the rational mind.

  As Grace continued to stare straight ahead, she kept her attention on her peripheral vision. Sure enough, a moment later, she spied the quick movement and color of the spirit. She’d guessed right. It was Paulie-girl, the six-year-old spirit that had been the first to show herself. Grace guessed that Agnes and Thomas, the other two restless spirits, had sent Paulie-girl out first, figuring her innocent appearance would be less frightening than theirs.

  Of course, it hadn’t mattered to Grace, who welcomed all contact with the spiritual world, but they’d not known that at the time.

  “Good morning, Paulie-girl. How are you on this fine spring day?”

  “Oh, Grace, you startled me,” Paulie-girl replied. “I didn’t see you hiding there in the bushes.”

  “Not really hiding, just finishing the planting. What do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful,” Paulie-girl replied. “You’ve done such wonderful work restoring our resting place. We may never want to leave it now.”

  “Well, I’m sure that’s not why I did all this work. I want to help you all to move on to what’s next for you. I believe the gazebo is only a way station, a place to finish your work here on earth so that you can then move on.”

  Grace could feel Paulie-girl growing uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, so she changed the subject. “Where're Agnes and Thomas? Sleeping late this morning?”

  Paulie-girl chuckled. “You know we never sleep. It’s one of the few things I miss from my earthly life. No, they’re around here somewhere.”

  “I’m right here,” came the voice of an elderly woman from inside the gazebo, where Agnes sat. “Been here for several minutes listening to you two yammer away.”

  Agnes looked to be about seventy-five, though Grace had learned from her that her actual age was closer to a hundred-seventy-five. Grace didn’t yet know what the incompletion was that kept Agnes stuck in this limbo land of the gazebo, but she imagined it must be pretty large for her to stay so stuck for so long.

  “And here comes Thomas, strolling down the road,” said Paulie-girl, pointing in the direction of the road that ran in front of Grace’s cottage.

  Grace looked up, not directly where Paulie-girl pointed, but off to one side. Sure enough, the middle-aged Thomas sauntered down the street like he owned it. He was still dressed in the gray uniform he’d been wearing when he was shot and killed while retreating from the battle of Bull Run. That was about all the details Grace had been able to glean from him so far, but her instincts told her that whatever had happened at the time of his death might actually be what kept him hanging out at the gazebo.

  “Well, I see we’re all here now. Can I offer anyone a cup of tea?” Grace asked, as she stood up, dusting off her coveralls.

  “You know we can’t drink tea,” Paulie-girl said, giggling again.

  “Yes, I do know that, but I can still drink it, and it’s impolite to drink without at least inviting you to share in it. Tell you what I’ll do, I’ll fix me a pot of tea, then come back out here and drink it with you as I describe in detail what it’s like.”

  “Oh, that would be nice,” Paulie-girl said.

  “Sounds like a particularly insidious form of torture, if you ask me,” Agnes added.

  “Well, personally, I would enjoy being reminded what tea tastes like, and perhaps later you could open that fifth of Jack Daniel's and do the same?” Thomas licked his lips at the suggestion.

  “We’ll see, Thomas, we’ll see.” Grace turned to walk into the house. “You all make yourselves comfortable. Now that the work on the gazebo is complete, we can take some time to get to know each other better.” She could feel Agnes bristling at the suggestion.

  “It’s okay, Agnes. Only what you feel comfortable talking about.” At least for now, she thought, as she walked to her kitchen. She knew there were no accidents in the Universe, and that she’d been connected to these three restless souls for a reason. She felt strongly that the reason was to help them move on. She just hadn’t figured out how to do that yet.

  AS Grace finished placing the teapot onto the tray to carry out for her morning quiet time, the blinking light of her answering machine caught her attention. She tried to ignore it, but something about the frenetic blinking urged her to check her messages before going outside.

  In hindsight, she wished she had kept on walking by the wretched machine, for as she pushed the play button, she heard the shrill voice of her neighbor, Magina Martin, who just happened to be the head of the Foster Flat Town Council.

  “Good morning, Grace. I’m so sorry I didn’t get you directly. I so dislike having to leave bad news on someone’s answering machine.”

  It had been Grace’s experience that Magina actually loved leaving bad news in whatever form she could, and especially on answering machines, where she could drop one of her negativity bombs without having to listen to her victim’s complaints back. She wouldn’t put it past Magina to have waited until she was outside to call. Magina lived just up the hill, and her neighbors had caught her more than once spying on them with binoculars.

  “I’m so sorry to have to report that the town Council made a terrible mistake...well, it was Todd Barrows specifically who overstepped his authority when he told you that you could have the Foster Flat historical gazebo for your own. Terribly overstepped his authority. You see, it wasn’t his to give away, and everyone else on the Council agrees that...well, we’ll need to reclaim it. I do so hope this doesn’t create a hardship for you. We’ll be in touch next week to make arrangements to move our historical gazebo to its new home. And don’t worry, dear, the town will make all the arrangements, and we feel sure that we can convince the mayor to appropriate the money for the move. Bye now.”

  Grace stood frozen to the spot in her kitchen. As her tea cooled, her own temperature rose. How dare that busybody, no good, Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes try to take back the gazebo? She knew exactly what had happened. Magina had kept an eye on the restoration process of the gazebo, and once she saw how good it looked repaired, newly painted and landscaped, she’d gone back to the Council, which she had wrapped around her little finger, and demanded to get it back.

  But what can I do about it? she thought.

  Why not call your friend, Albert, the attorney? The answer came to her so strongly that, without hesitating, she picked the phone back up and dialed his number.

  “Hello, Jayne, this is Grace...Grace Wiseheart,” she said when Albert’s receptionist answered the phone. “I’ve got a bit of a dilemma here, and Albert has told me often that if I ever needed any legal advice to give him a call. I think that time is now. Is he in?”

  “Why, yes, he is,” Jayne replied with her thick southern accent. “But he’s in with a client at the moment, honey. He should have a break in just a little bit. Would you like for me to have him call you?”

  Grace smiled despite herself. Jayne and Albert were two of a very small circle of people in the area who got what she did and were okay with it. More than okay. They had both been clients of hers for years and had referred some of their friends to her as well. The rest of Foster Flat seemed to be permanently stuck in the Stone Age and liked it that way. More than liking it, they seemed overly zealous about keeping it that way.<
br />
  “Yes, please ask him to give me a call when he has a moment.”

  Grace hung up the phone and already felt better. Sometimes even a small act of defiance against “the Man”, who, in this case was in female form, could be very satisfying. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up the tea tray and walked outside to the gazebo. She sat down in her favorite spot, closed her eyes and tried to release the anger and resentment she felt. The effort was only partially successful.

  “What’s up? Bad news?” It was Agnes asking the questions.

  Grace opened her eyes but continued to look straight ahead so she could see the three spirits sitting to her left.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. The Town wants their gazebo back.” She related the details of the message to them.

  “Why...that’s...that’s not fair at all,” Paulie-girl said. “You’ve done so much work on it.”

  “Yes, I have, but I don’t know what I can do about it. When it comes to Foster Flat, what the town Council says goes, and Magina pretty much determines what the Council says.”

  “I’ve known all too many people like this Magina woman,” Agnes added. “Big fishes in little ponds, usually with a well-developed Napoleon complex.”

  “What if I go over there and have a little talk with her?” Thomas asked, popping his knuckles as though preparing for a fight.

  Grace had to admit the thought of sending a six-foot, Civil War soldier spirit to Magina’s house appealed to her, but she finally shook her head. “If my memory is correct, for Magina to see you, she must first believe in you...believe in ghosts and spirits and that sort of thing. Right?”

  “Yea, for the most part, that’s right,” Agnes replied. “There are ways, though, for us to influence you ‘other worldies.’ It just takes a little imagination.”

  “Well, I’m not ready to do anything yet,” Grace replied. “This is par for the course around here, anyway. I’m just not sure I’m up for another battle.”

  The three spirits all nodded, evidently willing to let the subject go for now. The four of them sat in silence for several minutes as Grace sipped her tea. The spirits enjoyed taking tea with her in the only way they could — by observing her enjoyment.

  Finally, Grace had calmed herself enough to redirect her attention away from her woes and back to their situation.

  “So, tell me, Paulie-girl, what are you doing here?”

  “Pardon, Miss Grace?” Paulie-girl sat up, surprised by the question.

  “Well, I was just wondering why you’re hanging around here with these old folks.” Grace smiled knowingly at Thomas and Agnes, who smiled back.

  “Well, I don’t know exactly,” Paulie-girl finally answered. “It just doesn’t feel right to be anywhere else...not yet.”

  It was Agnes’ turn to smile and nod knowingly. “That’s often what I hear from other visitors to the gazebo. Paulie-girl has some unfinished business, that’s all.”

  “Is that true?” Grace asked, even though it only confirmed what she’d felt herself.

  “Well...maybe, though I don’t know what that would be.” Paulie-girl squirmed in her seat.

  After another long pause, Grace asked, “Do you remember how you died? I mean you look so young and healthy...except for being a bit damp and as pale as a...well, a ghost.”

  Agnes and Thomas chuckled at her small joke, but Paulie-girl appeared too deep into the question to notice, finally replying, “Yes...I remember. I drowned.” She shuddered as she said it.

  “Could you tell me about it?” Grace asked, in her softest, most compassionate voice, the one she used to use with her children when she needed to know the truth and didn’t want to scare them into telling her.

  Paulie-girl didn’t answer at first, but appeared to have wandered off in her mind, remembering the incident that had cost her life.

  “He didn’t mean to do it,” she finally said. “I mean, he couldn’t have, could he? We were brother and sister — twins no less. No one could be so mean that they’d kill their twin on purpose...could they?”

  No one spoke for a long time. Finally, Grace asked, “What do you think, Paulie-girl? Do you think he meant you harm?”

  A couple of crystalline tears slowly blossomed in Paulie-girl’s eyes, then flowed over to mingle with the traces of pond water that remained on the young girl’s face. She cried silently, her body shaking with the pent up emotions of years past. “Yes, I do,” she finally confessed. “I didn’t want to believe it. For so long, I’ve tried to convince myself that no one could be that mean or evil. But I know now that my brother was. I mean, he always treated me well whenever anyone else was around, but when we were alone, he’d beat me, pull my hair, even sit on top of me and slap my face to see how red it would become.”

  Grace wished she could reach out and hug the poor girl, but knew that was impossible, no matter how much she believed in spirits, so she sat there and quietly sent her waves of love and compassion. Finally, as the sobs of remorse and sadness slowly quieted, she spoke up.

  “You know, I had two brothers myself. They weren’t twins, but they could sure be hateful to me just the same. I remember when I was still in diapers, they enjoyed using me for target practice with their b-b guns. They liked the sound of the b-b’s striking my wet diapers. Unfortunately, their aim wasn't very good so, many times, they’d hit my legs instead. I still remember how much that hurt...not just the physical pain, but the emotional trauma of knowing that my blood-kin could treat me so badly.

  “It took me years before I finally figured out how to put that behind me...how to get them back for what they did. Do you know what I did? What I think you may need to do?”

  Paulie-girl sniffled before replying, “What?”

  “I forgave them,” Grace replied. “You see, forgiveness isn’t really for the other person. It’s for ourselves. I had to forgive my brothers so I could get on with my life, and keep those memories from holding me back from living my life as fully as possible. Do you remember what Christ is reported to have said while hanging on the cross?”

  “Something like ‘Forgive them, Father, for they don’t know what they’re doing’?”

  “Close enough,” Grace replied. “Close enough. You see, my brothers didn’t know any better — not really, and your brother didn’t know what he was doing either. Much of the evil and wrongdoings of the world are due to ignorance and unconsciousness. You could call it ‘spiritual immaturity’.”

  Grace paused for a minute to let her words sink in before continuing. “Paulie-girl, I won’t profess to know what’s next for you, what’s out there in the great beyond. I just know in my heart that it’s filled with possibility and that it’s time for you to get on with it, but it appears you can’t do that until you let go of the past.”

  “And that means I need to forgive my brother?” Paulie-girl asked, between sniffles.

  “Yep, that’s how I see it. How about you, Agnes?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Agnes agreed. “For still being alive, you’re pretty smart when it comes to the spirit world.” She turned to Paulie-girl. “Grace is right. I’ve seen it time and time again. Forgiveness isn’t always easy, but it’s certainly well worth the effort.”

  “But how do I do it?” Paulie-girl asked. “I’ve been holding on to hating my brother for so long for what he did to me, I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “Let me ask you this, then,” Agnes continued. “Did you love him before...before he did this to you?”

  “Well, sure. We had some great times. I looked up to him. I mean, he was my older brother, even if it was only by fifteen minutes. I think that’s why it hurt so much.”

  “I understand,” Agnes said, in such a gentle voice that it surprised Grace.

  “Well, then, that’s where to start. Go back to that loving time. Connect with your brother there. Close your eyes for just a minute and remember one of those times. Can you do that?”

  Paulie-girl closed her eye and scrunched up her forehead as th
ough trying hard to remember back past the pain. Slowly her breathing relaxed and a calm peacefulness came over her face, followed soon after with a smile.

  “Are you there?” Grace whispered.

  “Yes, I remember now. He was good to me sometimes. He made me feel special.”

  “Good, focus there and talk to that brother. Let him know how much it hurt, if you must, but also let him know that you now understand, and you’re ready to forgive and to get on with your...” Grace paused for just a heartbeat “...with your life,” she finished.

  Paulie-girl sat quietly for several minutes, her lips barely moving as she whispered a conversation with her brother. Finally, she stopped and took several deep breaths. With each one, the quiet calm grew on her face, the worry wrinkles disappeared, and then the rest of her began to fade away as well. She slowly opened her eyes.

  “What’s happening, Agnes?” she asked, more curious than alarmed.

  “You’re moving on, dear heart...you’re moving on to what’s next. Pleasant journey,” Agnes said, as the last vestiges of Paulie-girl slowly evaporated.

  The three remained seated in the gazebo. Finally, Thomas spoke up. “Whoa! That was...well... that was indescribable. Is that why I’m still here? Is there something I’ve been holding onto that won’t let me move on?”

  Grace and Agnes turned to him and asked in the same breath, “What do you think?“

  “Well, I don’t know what to think. I mean, I haven’t a clue who I’d have to forgive. I never saw the person who shot me. It came from behind as I was running...” He suddenly stopped, and both women saw the tears grow in his eyes along with the pain on his face.

  “What’s that about?” Grace asked softly.

  Thomas shook his head, but finally answered, “I was running...running away from the battle...away from my comrades. I remember several of the other soldiers tried to stop me. Tried to get me to turn around, but I’d had enough. I couldn’t face another attack.”

  Thomas sat down on the seat of the gazebo, almost collapsing on it. He placed his head in his hands and began to sob uncontrollably. “I was a coward. I ran away...deserted,” he said between the fingers of his hands. “I deserted my post.”