Aether Spirit

by Cecilia Dominic

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was reading, and I must have fallen asleep. I only meant to rest my eyes.”

  “You’re exhausted. Why are you working? You should be in bed.”

  “Where?” She shrugged. “The General’s House is in ruins, and the women’s hospital is full now. I missed my chance to grab a spot. And I’m not going back to the women’s quarters.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not welcome there, and I fear to lose what little I have left.”

  The hopelessness in her tone made him want to scoop her up and tell her she could stay with him as long as she liked. He tamped the emotion down.

  “Well, you can’t sleep here.”

  “Surely there’s somewhere…”

  “There’s one place that has room. If you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll go anywhere that’s welcoming.” She stood and closed the file, placing it back in the pile. He appreciated how she left it exactly where she found it. If he hadn’t seen her, he wouldn’t have known she’d been there.

  Who was he kidding? He would always know when she’d been somewhere. He didn’t know how, he just did, like something metaphysical tethered them and would always bring them to the same place.

  Now I’m getting loopy.

  He rubbed his eyes. “It’s the Negroes’ quarters. They have room, and the matriarch offered space to those who might need it.”

  “That’s fine with me. As long as they don’t mind, I don’t.”

  “Come with me.”

  He led her out of the hospital, where most of the patients were settled, or at least would be until he got back. They passed Bryce in an alcove getting a poultice applied to his arm by the little blonde nurse who’d taken such a liking to him. His eyes widened when he saw Claire, but he pressed his lips together before he called out to her. Chad tugged Claire along.

  “That young man looked familiar,” she said and rubbed her right temple. Chad noticed someone had found some gloves for her. They were basic and not the fine kid she’d worn when she arrived.

  “You’re exhausted. Your mind is probably telling you that you see all kinds of familiar people to comfort you.”

  They walked into the evening, which unlike its predecessors, was dry with an early spring softness to it. Chad didn’t know how many had been killed in the attack on the base, but the scent of new green life seemed almost an insult, a reminder that time would march on without regard for the dead.

  “You might want to take my elbow,” he said. “It’s dark out, and the ground is muddy, especially on the paths.”

  She did so, and the slight pressure of her hand on his arm squeezed his heart. He paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark and reminded himself to breathe evenly, to not give her any indication of the emotions that tumbled inside him. Desire mixed with regret, mostly, with an added dash of the ever-present fear that she would disappear on him again, either physically or mentally into a coma like she had before.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Dammit, she’d always been able to tell when something bothered him. “Yes, just treading carefully. I don’t want to trip and bring us both down.”

  She gave his biceps a slight squeeze. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

  “I only wish that was true,” he muttered. “Come along, then.”

  The slice of waxing moon provided some light, and they picked their way around puddles. Claire held on with one hand and rubbed her temple with the other. He wondered what night she was trying to remember. They’d had a spring engagement, but it was still snowing in Boston.

  They’d been engaged on her birthday, which was March fourth. Oh, gods, he hadn’t considered that. Would being around him on that date trigger more damaging memories? And what if the date passed without any sign from her that it had once been special for more than marking her entrance into the world? Her mind would be safe, but he wasn’t sure his heart would be.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  It was a question with echoes from the past, a game they used to play. They’d make up the craziest things they could think of to shock the other.

  “Just that I have a lot of work to do.” He wasn’t going to risk an off-the-wall answer that might trigger the blocks in her mind.

  “I won’t keep you too long, then.”

  They reached the Negroes’ quarters. Somehow they had survived the shelling, which had destroyed the buildings around them. The mournful sound of singing floated out, and Chad stopped.

  “Are they having a funeral?” Claire asked.

  “No, just coming together during a tough time.” He wished he could join them, but he really needed to get back to the hospital. Plus, he’d never done so before in spite of being invited.

  An unexpected cold blast of air made all his hair stand on end.

  “Should we go in?” Claire asked.

  The shiver passed, but the back of Chad’s neck still tingled with the sensation of someone or something observing them. “Yes.”

  They slipped in the front door, and Lacey met them. She couldn’t see, but she could hear better than most.

  “I heard y’all outside. It’s not a night to be about. Is this your young lady?”

  Chad shook his head before he remembered she couldn’t see the gesture. “No, this is Doctor Claire McPhee. She’s a visiting doctor, but she was staying at the General’s House, which was one of the buildings shelled last night.”

  “Yes, I heard about Clarice Soper. We’re praying for her.”

  “Thank you. Every little bit helps, I’m sure.” Actually, he wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to contradict the woman. “Any word from the contraband camp?”

  “No, the roads’re too muddy for much to get through. What brings you here? Surely not just for news.”

  “No. Although Doctor McPhee managed to escape, she’s now without a place to stay. You said you had room.”

  “Bless your heart,” Lacey told Claire. “Come on in, we have plenty of space.”

  “Thank you,” Claire said. She relaxed her grip on Chad’s arm and allowed herself to be led beyond the neat but small receiving room and into the building. Chad watched her go. He knew she’d be in good hands, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d rather her be in his hands.

  It’s just leftover feelings. You don’t know anything about her other than she doesn’t tolerate the company of other women well.

  And that she was smart and kept her sense of humor and ability to get into impossible situations and…

  He told his heart to shut up. He needed to find out what happened with her and the nurses, although he guessed it came down to one thing—Nanette feeling threatened in her queen bee position. Damn politics.

  Meanwhile, he had to get back to his patients. If he hurried through the dark at a pace a little too fast to be safe, he told himself it was because he was eager to get back to his duties, not the persistent feeling of being watched and followed by something he couldn’t see.

  * * * * *

  “Now my name’s Lacey Roker,” the blind woman said. “And you’re Doctor McPhee.”

  “You can call me Claire. I appreciate your generosity in putting me up.”

  “Don’t you worry about it.”

  Claire followed Lacey into the Negroes’ quarters. She marveled at how well Lacey navigated, but she recognized the woman must be very familiar with her surroundings. This building had been barracks at one point with a large gathering space just inside the entrance. People sat around tables or on stools talking in hushed tones. Some of them played cards or dice, but in general a feeling of exhaustion pervaded the place. Claire could see why. The men had been busy with rescue and recovery all day, and the women had gone about their duties as much as they could. She didn’t sense any hostility, just mild curiosity.
She wondered if Lacey would introduce her to anyone, but they only walked through.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Lacey said once they’d passed through and walked down a narrow corridor with doors on either side. “But we’re just too worried about friends and family in the contraband camp between here and town to be very social.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Claire said. “I mean, about being rude. All I need is a place to sleep. I don’t expect anything.”

  Then she wondered if she was being rude. She’d always been kind to her family’s servants, but she’d learned early on not to try to have a conversation with them or her aunt would scold her. This woman obviously held some authority, but could they talk as equals?

  Lacey led Claire to a room at the end of the hall. “This is one of our guest rooms. Bathroom’s shared, but no one’s staying at this end, so you should have it to yourself. Sheets and towels are on the bed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If you need anything, just holler.”

  “I will.”

  Lacey shuffled out of the room, and Claire took in her surroundings. The walls were stained from long-ago water damage but clean. She quickly made up the small bed, attended to her bodily needs in the bathroom next door, and returned to her room to find her nightgown and robe clean and laid out on the bed. The familiar items almost made her cry. She dressed for the nighttime and, after dousing the lamp, she slipped between the sheets.

  “Well, that was exciting.” The girl’s voice startled Claire just as she was about to fall into a deep sleep.

  “Can’t you leave me alone for once?” Claire asked. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Oh, well excuse me, Miss. Finally someone can see me, and I’m supposed to let you do stupid alive things like sleep?”

  The general’s daughter had been fifteen when she died. Claire reminded herself what she was like at that age. Or tried to. She could remember fifteen, but something about trying to remember sixteen brought her up against a sharp stabbing pain in her right temple.

  “Ouch,” she hissed.

  “What is it? You can’t die. I need someone to help me, but they need to be alive.”

  “Help you with what?”

  “I’m not sure. Something happened before the attack, and it has something to do with why you can see me when no one could before you got here. Except for Mrs. Soper.”

  “How about you let me sleep, and we can figure it out tomorrow night?”

  “Fine.” A very alive-sounding huff followed the word, but Claire sensed she was alone again.

  How had she gotten mixed up in that strange situation? She wished she could ask Mrs. Soper more about the ghost, but then she remembered the kind old woman might be well on her way to becoming one herself.

  That wasn’t a good thought.

  Claire flipped to her other side and looked out of the window at the moon. She’d enjoyed the walk with Doctor Radcliffe, although she felt guilty for taking him away from the hospital for so long. She only wished she could figure out why he went hot and cold on her. He was so kind one moment and then curt the next. Was it something about her? It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t find herself thinking of him so often. She admitted to herself that she’d gone to his office not only to review charts, but also in the hope she’d see him and be able to offer him…what? Some sort of comfort? Conversation? She had an odd need to take care of him. But her aunt, who held the family purse strings, wouldn’t approve of her being interested in a black man.

  “Augh!” The spike of pain that flashed through her skull was stronger than any she’d had yet, and although it only lasted an instant, it left her panting. She clamped her lips shut, hoping that she hadn’t actually cried out.

  A knock at the door made her sit up and then collapse back on to the bed.

  Drat, someone heard me.

  “Are you all right, Doctor?” It was Lacey.

  “I think so.” Claire covered her eyes against the beam of light that speared them when the door opened. Shuffling footsteps approached the bed.

  “You didn’t sound all right,” Lacey said. She smoothed Claire’s hair back from her temple with a cool hand. “You’re not the only one havin’ nightmares tonight. Let me get something to help you sleep.”

  “I don’t mean to be any trouble,” Claire said. “I’ll be fine. I just get headaches sometimes.”

  “That sounded like more than a regular headache.”

  “I’ll be fine, I promise.” I just hope I don’t have nightmares.

  “Do you get these headaches often?”

  “Sometimes. Something is making them happen more here.”

  “Hang on. I’ll get you something.”

  Claire was too tired to argue. Soon Lacey returned with a mug of something warm, liquid, and smelling of honey and spirits.

  “What is it?” Claire asked. “It smells really strong. I’m not a drinker.”

  “The rum’s to mask the herbs and help you sleep,” Lacey replied. “Now drink it all down. I put a little something extra in there for the pain.”

  Claire did as she was told. Warmth spread from her stomach to her limbs, and she relaxed into the mattress and pillow.

  “Good night, now.” Lacey said and left.

  What had caused the headache? It was another clue to the past. Claire tried to chase after the thought, but there was a barrier between her and what she tried to think, and the medicine wasn’t helping. Instead of controlling her mind, she floated into a dream with tantalizing hints of memory.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Boston, 3 April 1864

  Claire was walking down Beacon Hill when she saw him. It was only from the back, dark hair and a light suit with a dapper light blue hat. It must be Sunday, and they were going to walk through the park. She knew how it would end and that she was dreaming, but she was going to enjoy it. It had been so long since she’d been kissed. Truly, she knew she had been, but not by whom, and she always woke before it happened.

  This time it would—she would stay asleep long enough to see his face and enjoy his lips.

  Before she could reach him, the dream changed, and she was in Paris.

  Now her heart hammered in her throat. Dreams of Paris never ended well. She struggled to open her eyes, but each lift of her heavy eyelids only brought her to the same scene. She walked down a boulevard at what she hoped appeared to be a relaxed pace, but she was alert for the men who followed her. Serious young men in hats that seemed nice enough at first glance, but a second look revealed their shabbiness. Medical students studying under the famous Doctor Charcot couldn’t afford the best but hoped to eventually once they graduated and brought their pedigree to different places hoping for the same cures Charcot worked on hysterical women.

  Someone had decided the hysterics might benefit from a trip to the theatre, and Claire had decided to take the opportunity to escape and return to her family in Boston. Her mind wasn’t quite working right, and she didn’t have a plan beyond the initial step. She accomplished that, slipping out during the second act after having observed and felt that their chaperon was becoming very engrossed in the story. She told the top hats—her name for the students—she was going to visit the ladies’ water closet and found a door leading to a servants’ exit. Without really thinking about it, she left through the door.

  Once outside, she wasn’t sure what to do. This wasn’t a familiar part of the city, but she thought she could find a rail station or some other means of getting home. All she had to do was appear natural and ignore the bombardment of emotions from the people around her.

  Damn, I was hoping that was just an effect of being in the hospital with the hysterics and their loud feelings.

  The shabby hats were getting closer, surrounding her. She ducked into a building with small shops on the ground floor. The aromas of cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, and othe
rs assailed her nose, and the lumps in the dim space resolved into barrels. A dark-skinned man with a pointed beard and a turban stood and put down his book when she entered.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle,” the proprietor said. “What can I interest you in today? We just got a lovely shipment of cloves from our vendor who has access to the finest in the east.”

  Claire smiled but feared it came out as more of a grimace. “Do you have something to settle the stomach?” she asked. She scooted back so she was wedged between two windows and pretended to lean back on one hand with the other across her lower abdomen. Without her body blocking the sunlight, she could see the play of light and shadow from outside. So far the undulations in light and gray were consistent with normal street traffic. She’d certainly had enough time at the hospital to study the different patterns of shadow movement.

  Like Plato, she thought, and stifled a giggle behind a cough.

  The man’s smile vanished. She mentally kicked herself—now he was concerned she’d vomit in his shop, perhaps into a barrel of his expensive spices, and he’d guessed she didn’t have the funds to pay for an entire shipment. People with money flashed it as soon as they entered places like this so they’d be shown into a private room and given the hoity-toity treatment.

  She’d learned that somewhere, from someone with an Irish accent, but she couldn’t chase the wisp of a memory now.

  “I have some ginger root in the back where it’s cooler,” he said. “Let me get you some. Or my wife can brew you some tea.”

  “That would be lovely,” Claire said. “Is there a place in the back where I could sit down? I fear I might have gotten overheated.”

  The shadows on the wall moved in a frenetic pattern, and echoes of the desire to find her came through the windows. She tightened herself against the wall as much as she could lest the top hats peek in and see her. A multicolored flash caught her attention and was then gone.

  Wake up, wake up, she chanted to herself, but she couldn’t. She could only play along with the dream and hope she woke at some point soon, before—