We had no success finding Shasta that day. We stayed another hour combing the field; miraculously I saw no snakes, not even by the pond. Miss Chenowith told me that the plantation was part of a small community called Pascoe, which disappeared over 100 years ago when the town and plantation was leveled by a massive tornado. A short time later, before the inhabitants could rebuild, the town was consumed by a terrible flood that didn’t recede for almost six months.
Everyone that was left moved on to seek work in Memphis or Nashville. The cemetery was mysteriously tended periodically until the mid-1950s when the Paladino family bought the property from the county and started the dairy farm. It was assumed that some of the surviving members of Pascoe had tended the burial site and had gotten too old to continue, or gave up when the barbed wire fence was constructed for the dairy.
If Shasta had been buried there, I doubt it was in the town cemetery. According to Miss Chenowith, he had been a slave, and sadly slaves were not afforded elaborate burials and not in a white cemetery. If there was any marker for poor Shasta, it was probably made out of wood, not stone, in a place that had now been erased by time and the elements. I pictured in my mind’s eye a small makeshift wooden cross, wood that had probably rotted and washed away decades ago, probably in the flood that finished the town. I had no reason to believe that Shasta had any reason to hang out in such a sad, forgotten, and empty place.
The only thing the day had given to me was a rejuvenated desire for Seth and me to resume our trip. I felt for Miss Chenowith, I truly did, but I had to remember why I was here, why I was on this trip. I was on this trip for Seth, and I had to make the most of every, every minute because I knew that Seth could be gone again. If that happened I might never get another chance. I made up my mind that we would head out first thing in the morning – Shasta or no Shasta. I would use our drive back to Miss Chenowith’s home to try and decide the best way to break the news to the sweet lady. I thought I would soften the blow by treating our gracious host and cook to dinner. She proclaimed that she wasn’t fit to be seen in public, so I drove through a popular local Mexican food establishment that she recommended; it turned out that Tex-Mex is her favorite cuisine. I never would have guessed that. We took our meal back to her place for eating and squenching, leaving my vehicle smelling like refried beans and hot sauce.
Miss Chenowith was very quiet on the trip home and during dinner. I think I saw a tear slip down her cheek a few times. I felt sorry for her; I knew what it was like to lose someone. Well, maybe not in the same way as she did. The person she lost was already deceased. I knew, though, that it didn’t make him any less a person or make her grief any less painful than mine. He wasn’t gone, he couldn’t be. He had to be somewhere close, didn’t he? Again, more questions that I didn’t have a clue how to answer.
I told Miss Chenowith after dinner of my intentions to resume our trip in the morning. She was noticeably upset, but she said she understood.
“I know you have to cherish every, every minute,” she said with a sad smile.
My heart leapt into my throat and my eyes felt like they bulged as big as saucers. “Why did you use that term?” I asked barely above a whisper. She said she was just a medium, but could she be more than that?
She looked at me, obviously a little surprised at my reaction.
“That was one of my favorite plays growing up,” she said. “It really puts things in perspective.”
She frowned.
“Why does that bother you?”
My heart was still racing but I felt stupid. What had I expected her to say? I read your mind, Thomas. I know everything about you!
“It doesn’t,” I said, mustering a smile. “It was one of mine, too. It really does make you think.”
She smiled, patted my arm, then drew a shawl around her shoulders.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said as she placed her hand over her stomach. “I think I got too much sunnin’ today.”
She did look a little flushed, and now that she mentioned it, I kind of felt a little weathered. It had been an unusually sunny day, very few of the yellowish clouds could be seen. Of course, any day was unusual now whether it was sunny or not; the sky is lavender, for God’s sake. I may have gotten used to it, but I was still aware of it. Maybe that had an effect on us, being out in the phenomenon all day; after all, they had warned everyone over the radio to stay inside until they had more information.
I suddenly realized that it had been almost two days since I had listened to a radio. I had no idea what was going on in the world right now. That gave me a pang of panic. Could they be reporting that the phenomenon had passed in Europe and would eventually pass here just hours or minutes from now, putting everything back to normal? The bottom line is that it did me no good to worry about my weathered skin or the passing of the phenomenon. I could do nothing about either one. I tried to push it out of my mind, but the searing flame of worry in my gut kept pushing back with a vengeance. I couldn’t forget, no matter how hard I tried. I suddenly had an overpowering desire to see Seth.
“Y’all make yourselves at home,” she said pointing to the kitchen. “Give Seth a kiss for me and I’ll see you in the morning.”
As she turned to go upstairs her tired expression and posture made her look every bit of her 70-plus years. It was the first time I had seen her like this and it took me back a little. I knew it had been a tiring day and she was stressed from the loss of Shasta. Hopefully, it was nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix, or at least make better. I could use a good forty winks myself, especially since I planned on hitting the road early in the morning.
I said goodnight to Miss Chenowith and went out to the backyard to find Seth and Jackson. The sun was beginning to set, and the weird, luminescent light show was once again descending over our side of the world, turning the outdoors into an enormous black-light painting. I was outside for just a few moments when I thought that worrisome flame was going to erupt from stomach – Seth and Jackson were gone.
I started to call out when they emerged sheepishly from behind the storage building.
“Hey, buddy, what are y’all doing?”
Seth shrugged and patted Jackson on the head as they approached me.
“Nuffin,’ we was just playin’,” he said.
I was a little curious to see what they were doing, especially since Seth was acting like I had just caught him with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. I might have pushed the matter if not for feeling the cold paws of Jackson on my thigh as he yipped for my attention. I stroked his equally frigid head and then beckoned them to follow me inside.
“We need to get some rest, buddy. We are heading out for the moozem in the morning,” I said with a weak impression of Seth’s pronunciation. He wasn’t impressed with my jest as he gave me an annoyed smirk but his face brightened when he realized what I had just told him.
“Really?!?” he beamed.
“Yes, really,” I said as he took my hand and started to pounce up and down with excitement. Jackson barked playfully and ran around Seth and me in a large circle, looking like a silver ring the faster he travelled.
“Can I see all the spaceships?” Seth asked as I led him toward the door.
“You bet!” I said, “Every one of them!”
We went in the house and Seth scored a couple of cookies from Miss Chenowith’s teddy-bear-shaped cookie jar. He gave one to Jackson and trotted off happily toward the bedroom. I made a mental note to check the carpet for cookie fragments later. I didn’t know if it was possible to teach an Impal dog to squench. I had seen only one, after all. But even if it was, Jackson sure didn’t have the hang of it yet.
I made myself a glass of cold buttermilk. I was thirsty with an unsettled stomach, and buttermilk always seemed to do the trick. The worry that burned in the pit of my stomach, however, would have probably been best quenched with a stiff drink, but the
re was none to be found. Unless she had a secret cabinet somewhere, it seemed that Lizzy Chenowith was a teetotaler.
I searched for a piece of cornbread and found one wrapped up in the bread box next to the fridge. I crumbled it into my glass and swished it around until the crumbs were sufficiently saturated with fermented milk. It was a little trick I learned from my granddad. He did it every night before going to bed. He claimed that it enhanced the taste, settled his stomach faster, and helped him sleep better. I knew it settled my stomach, but I wasn’t sure about the other two … but I needed all the help I could get tonight.
I took the final swig from my glass and sat it on the table in front of me, staring at the milky film coating the inside of the glass. I could feel the flame in my gut again, trying to rebel against the lactic acid onslaught. I might save myself a lot of worry and aggravation if I could just accept and appreciate the way things are instead of constantly asking why. Maybe I am not meant to know, or maybe I am just incapable of comprehending. Maybe it’s both.
I got up and washed my glass in the sink then set it out to dry. I pushed the questions and the worry to the back of my mind as best I could and focused on tomorrow. Seth and I would be resuming our trip in the morning, and that made me happy; that soothed my stomach better than anything. I got in bed and slept relatively peacefully, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. It had nothing to do with Seth, of that much I was certain, but it was something close. I awoke to the distant sound of someone sobbing. I couldn’t tell if it was outside our window or somewhere in the house. I sat up and listened. I heard it again, this time I could tell it was the unhappy sobs of a woman. Could it be Miss Chenowith? I swung my legs over the side of the bed and quietly slid to the floor. I looked at Seth and Jackson. They were still resting peacefully. I silently dressed and tiptoed to the door. I listened intently, and when I heard the crying again, I could tell it was coming from just down the hall, maybe the kitchen or the crystal ball room.
I opened the door as carefully as I could; every muscle in my body was stiff with anticipation as I tried to move without being heard. Now that the door was open and I was in the hallway, the sobs were much more pronounced and I could tell they were not coming from the kitchen, but the room with the crystal ball and radio.
It dawned on me how silly I was being and I instantly felt like some kind of perverted voyeur. Why was I trying to sneak up on sweet Miss Chenowith in her own home? If she was upset I either needed to give her privacy or attempt to comfort her. I decided that since I was this far committed, I should see if I can help her. She had probably heard me opening the bedroom door, anyway.
I walked past the kitchen and entered the doorway to the room where Miss Chenowith was sitting at the table with the crystal ball, her back to the window. Her head was buried in her hands as she continued to weep copiously. As I slowly approached and my eyes became accustomed to the morning light streaming in through the window, my guts twisted like someone wringing a towel and my heart leapt into my throat. I was in complete and utter shock.
Miss Chenowith heard my clumsy footfalls and she lifted her head and looked at me. She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and wearing the same hairstyle as always, but she was different. Her predictable clothing and pale complexion were enhanced by a silvery glow. A stream of silver tears rushed down her cheeks and disappeared through the tabletop, not leaving a spot.
“What has happened to me?” she pleaded.
I could not give her an answer, I was still paralyzed from the shock, but I knew. I knew that Miss Chenowith had passed in the night, but like every other person that had passed during the storm, she had no choice, no free will to pass on or to stay. She was stuck. Miss Chenowith was now an Impal.
CHAPTER 18
Mother’s Love
“In death—no! Even in the grave all is not lost.
Else there is no immortality for man.”
—Edgar Allan Poe
It seemed like it took me an eternity to unhinge my jaws and mutter a response. My answer was as inadequate as my ability to stand up at the moment, and I grabbed the chair across from her and tumbled into it.
“My God,” was the only thing I could say at the moment.
Miss Chenowith looked at me pleadingly, tears still cascading down her cheeks and passing through the tabletop like it wasn’t there. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, I managed to speak, albeit stupidly.
“Are you okay?”
That idiotic question forced her head back into the palms of her hands. She moaned pathetically as her shoulders heaved up and down with uncontrollable sobbing. Of course she wasn’t okay. She had died, for God’s sake. She was now stuck here like everyone else who had died since this phenomenon started. I had a feeling that this made it worse, made it much more stressful on the poor people as they left their physical lives. They had no choice to move on or to stay. They were stuck here, and nothing had really changed for them other than their physical body had been discarded and they … I trailed off as another thought popped into my head like a macabre road sign. Miss Chenowith was here, but her body was where … upstairs? That seemed the most logical place, and it was something that had to be dealt with and dealt with soon, but not now. The most pressing matter was to help Miss Chenowith cope with this new development, to try and put her at ease somehow.
I quickly decided the best way to handle this is not to be apologetic or sympathetic but be upbeat. That is what I had done with Seth. Of course, Seth had chosen to stay, and he had spent a couple of weeks … where? I hadn’t really thought about it before, other than imagining how hard it must have been on the little guy because he was able to see and hear me but I had no idea he was there. I guess you would call it “between.” I took a deep breath and spoke softly.
“Miss Chenowith,” I said, “you look very beautiful this morning.”
She stopped crying abruptly and her head shot up from out of her hands like a Jack in the box. She looked at me incredulously as if I had just asked for her hand in marriage.
“What did you say?” she asked between latent sniffles.
“I said, you look beautiful. Nothing has changed for you; in fact, it may be better.”
She looked at me like I had a tentacle growing out of each ear. Before she could retort, I explained how Seth could do things like push through a solid object or jump and tumble without being hurt.
“He enjoys everything he did before,” I said, choosing my phrasing very carefully. I didn’t want to say something stupid like before he died or before he passed on. “He still loves his favorite foods!” I interjected when I reminded her of squenching.
She paused and stared at her hands thoughtfully. Miss Chenowith reached out and touched her crystal ball. She watched with fascination as her fingers slowly penetrated the glassy surface. Without warning, she jerked her fingers back as if she had been bitten. She stretched out her hand and inspected the surface like she was admiring a new manicure, then smiled awkwardly.
“This is going to take some getting used to,” she said as she carefully pushed her other hand through the top of the table. She jerked it back with the same panicked reaction, and then rubbed her hands together like someone trying to get warm or trying to determine if they were really solid.
“You know, I can sit here and not go through the chair or the floor, but if I try to push through something I can,” she frowned and rubbed the last vestiges of silvery tears from her eyes. “Now that you mention it, I am kind of hungry,” she said as a small trace of happiness seemed to creep across her face.
“Let me cook for you this morning,” I insisted. “I’ll be right back!”
She flinched as I bolted up from the table and headed for the door, but an idea had occurred to me, one that was sure to help Miss Chenowith more than I ever could. I went to wake up Seth.
Seth was already awake and p
laying in the floor with Jackson. I tried to explain the situation to him as delicately as I could. After all, he is only six-years-old, and I don’t think he really has a full grasp of what has happened in his own situation. I basically told him that Miss Chenowith was like him now. He looked at me blankly like he didn’t fully understand, then I told him that he needed to teach Miss Chenowith about squenching. His face brightened and he hopped to his feet. He was more than happy to be helpful. He trotted down the hallway to where Miss Chenowith was sitting, but not before stopping by the kitchen and grabbing a large handful of cookies. I guessed that the large quantity must be for training purposes.
Before starting breakfast, I made the phone call I was dreading. I called 911 and explained the situation. Thank God that cell phones still worked. I had expected to get hung up on or have a cop sent out to arrest me for misuse of an emergency number, but it seemed routine to the operator.
“Yes sir, we’ve had a few of these calls in the last few days,” she said. “I’ll send an ambulance out shortly to collect the body; you can make arrangements with them on where you want it taken.”
I started to thank her and hang up when a thought occurred to me.
“One more thing … could you have the ambulance driver call me before they arrive? I don’t want any unpleasantness when they … well … take her out.”
“Sure thing, hun,” she said, with her professional tone giving way to one of Southern grace. “I was going to suggest that to them myself. It just seems only right.” She paused and said, “I’m sorry for your change, I know that sounds strange but that’s what we’ve been telling folks in your situation because, well, it’s not really a loss is it?”
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