“Too many to count,” said T.J., wiping his brow with his tee shirt.
“You’ve gotten a lot better, Cuz,” she said with a smile. “Remember how you were sucking wind that first day?”
“Don’t remind me. It was embarrassing.”
“Maybe so, but I think I won’t be the only one making All-County in the near future.”
“Uh, Cuz, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said T.J. uncertainly.
“What is it?”
“Well, you’ve asked me a lot about my life and my family and such, but you’ve never mentioned the fact you’re adopted. Do you ever wonder—”
“T.J.,” she cut in, “I was put up for adoption when I was like one day old. I don’t know what the circumstances were, and I don’t care. My parents weren’t able to have kids so they adopted me, and I couldn’t have asked for a better life than I’ve got. Mom is like my best friend. She’s really soft-spoken, but she’s a strong person inside, and a great listener. And as you can see, I’m pretty much the center of Dad’s universe. They’ve brought me up with a pretty good set of values, I think. So, I consider myself one hundred percent Darcy.” She paused and shot him a wink. “Well, ninety-five percent anyway.”
Suddenly T.J. stopped short. “Omigod,” he said. “There’s something we gotta do.”
“Before we even eat breakfast?”
“Before we even shower. Something we should’ve done last night. Come on!” He grabbed her hand and they ran inside, scooping up LouAnne’s cell phone from the kitchen counter on the way.
* * * *
“Dude, no way!” said Mike Weinstein from Michigan, where Gonzo Ghost Chasers was filming at an abandoned insane asylum. “You actually saw the Confederate cavalryman?”
“And talked to him!” said LouAnne proudly.
“So I wasn’t delusional after all.”
“Not in the least,” said T.J.
“Wow. Far out. Well, that just means I’ve got to keep on chasing ghosts for a living till I actually get one on tape. Hey, you think this guy’ll ever come back to Gettysburg? The cavalry dude, I mean?”
“Nah,” said T.J. “We’re pretty sure he’s moved on.” He smiled and LouAnne gave him a wink.
“Well, cool,” said Weinstein. “Listen you guys, if you ever want to do a guest spot with my team, you know, like a Junior Gonzo thing, just let me know. We’d love to have you aboard.”
“Thanks,” said LouAnne, “but I think we’ll leave the ghost chasing to the experts.”
* * * *
Aunt Terri and Bortnicker outdid themselves on this day, with Belgian waffles smothered in whipped cream and fresh strawberries.
“Bortnicker, when are we ever gonna eat like this again?” said T.J., pouring himself a huge glass of milk.
“Don’t know, Big Mon,” replied Bortnicker, forking waffles onto his plate. “We must’ve gained ten pounds apiece.” Everyone cracked up, especially Mike, who for once had decided not to be the first person at work.
Tom Jackson, Sr. arrived as Aunt Terri was cleaning the breakfast table. After a bear hug from Mike and a kiss from Terri, he did a double take when presented with their daughter.
“LouAnne?” he asked. “Is that you?”
“Of course, Uncle Tom, who’d you think I was?” she answered, giving him a hug.
Over her shoulder Tom looked at the boys, who both gave “cat-that-ate-the-canary” smiles.
“Hope these two characters here haven’t been too much trouble, Terri,” he said as she handed him a cup of steaming coffee.
“Oh, stop it,” she said. “It was a pleasure. I’ll just miss my assistant chef,” she added, mussing Bortnicker’s permanently mussed hair.
“Tom,” said Mike Darcy, “I think having the boys with us was the highlight of the summer.” He threw a muscular arm around his nephew. “You’ve got quite a kid here. Same thing for Bortnicker. I hope they come back to visit.”
“You can count on it!” said Bortnicker. “And speaking of visits, Mr. Jackson,” he added slyly, “any chance of us hitting the Strasburg Train Museum on the way back to Connecticut?”
“I think we can arrange that,” said Tom as T.J. rolled his eyes.
* * * *
Finally the boys were packed and their bags were loaded into Mr. Jackson’s SUV. They’d left their Civil War uniforms behind, except for their caps, as a donation to the 72nd Pennsylvania Infantry. As the adults chit-chatted about Paris and possible future visits, the three teens stood apart, all feeling awkward and empty.
As was her nature, LouAnne broke the silence.
“Bortnicker,” she said, poking his chest and looking him in the eye, “you’d better keep in touch with me. I want to know about all the girls who are chasing you in Connecticut.” She pulled him close and whispered, “Thanks for saving me. I owe you one.” They parted, Bortnicker a dark red from embarrassment, and maybe something else.
Then LouAnne turned to T.J., her eyes wet with emotion. “Well, Cuz,” she said, her voice wavering, “this is it for now. Tell that Katie Vickers if she doesn’t treat you right, I’m coming after her.” And with that she kissed two of her fingers and pressed them to his lips.
T.J., overcome, swallowed hard. “See you at Christmas?” he managed.
“You never know,” she said with one last maddening toss of her hair. Then, without missing a beat she put her arms through theirs and led them to the SUV, where they hugged Mike and Terri goodbye and then climbed in.
They slowly drove through the still-crowded town on the way to the Interstate, T.J. and Bortnicker pointing out places of interest to the elder Jackson. “Man, you two could be tour guides here,” said Tom. “I had no idea you’d like it this much.” They came to a red light and then, suddenly, Carlton Elway, who’d been crossing the street with the ever-present Tiffany, marched over to the car. T.J. hit the window button and it slid down.
“Answer just one question for me,” he said. “Did it happen?”
“Oh, without a doubt,” said T.J. Then the light changed and both boys snapped Gettysburg’s most famous ghost hunter a military salute as they pulled away.
“So,” said Tom, eyeing the boys suspiciously in his rearview mirror, “I believe you have a story to tell me?”
“Allow me to begin...” said Bortnicker.
Author's Note
Gettysburg has been one of my favorite places since my first visit as a Cub Scout in the 1960s. I have returned many times and consider it a powerfully mystic venue. It’s no wonder a story involving Gettysburg’s history has always been percolating in the back of my mind. During my most recent visit in 2010, my college-aged daughter, Caroline, and I walked the route of Pickett’s Charge and even paid a nighttime visit to the National Cemetery and other parts of the battlefield, just to appreciate the atmosphere that T.J. and other characters experienced. If you ever get the chance, I strongly suggest you visit the Gettysburg Battlefield Park, as well as those others whose place in history is no less formidable: Antietam, Fredericksburg, Manassas, Shiloh and Vicksburg to name a few. It will only enhance your appreciation and enjoyment of this novel and of American History. And while you’re there, don’t be afraid to ask questions of our national park rangers, whom I have always found to be extremely knowledgeable and friendly. The dedication of the character, Mike Darcy, to his profession is surely not an exaggeration.
As for the events portrayed in the story, Major Crosby Hilliard is purely fictional, but the unit in which he served, Hampton’s Brigade, was much distinguished in various campaigns and battles throughout the war. Its movements in the novel before and during the battle of Gettysburg are completely accurate.
About the Author
Paul Ferrante is originally from the Bronx and grew up in the town of Pelham, New York. He received his undergraduate and Masters degrees in English from Iona College, where he was also a halfback on the Gaels’ undefeated 1977 football team. Paul has been an award-winning secondary school English
teacher and coach for over 30 years, as well as a columnist for Sports Collector’s Digest since 1993 on the subject of baseball ballpark history. Many of his works can be found in the archives of the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York. His writings have led to numerous radio and television appearances related to baseball history. Paul lives in Connecticut with his wife, Maria, and daughter, Caroline, a film screenwriter/director. Last Ghost at Gettysburg: a T.J. Jackson Mystery is his first novel.
Website:
www.paulferranteauthor.com
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