by Crowe (epub)
“Ghosts,” Johnny said, but Cursed is what he thought. “I think it’s this eye, sir,” he said. “I was told that it would let me see things that other people can’t see.”
Colonel Morris nodded. “Maybe so. Listen,” he said, “that sack of yours… is it full of death notices?”
“Yes, sir.” nodded Johnny. “Got all of ‘em memorized.”
The Colonel sighed. “That’s what I thought. You see, all of us who died in battle, we found ourselves drawn here, to this camp.” He shook his head. “We can’t explain it.”
“Each morning, we get up, we go out, and we fight this same battle every single day. Then we come back here every night, and we find that the camp is a little bigger, that more soldiers have joined us here.” Colonel Morris looked across the camp at the rows of tents. “And nobody ever wins and nobody ever loses. We’re just stuck here, repeating the same thing over and over, day after day. But we do it, because we left this business of fighting unfinished, don’t you see? We can’t just leave the job undone.”
Johnny blushed. Hadn’t he planned to do just that? Hadn’t he been ready to drop the sack full of envelopes and head for home the first chance he got? He stood a moment in embarrassed silence, a thought was rolling around in his head, gaining speed. “I think maybe I can help,” he said. “I can give out these notices ---”
“No!” interrupted Colonel Morris. “That’s the last thing I want you to do. What do you think would happen if all these soldiers were to up and disappear?”
Johnny reckoned that he didn’t know.
Colonel Morris calmed himself. “I can see that you don’t have near enough notices in there for all the soldiers at this camp, but what happens if you deliver those notices you do have? I’ll tell you what. Those soldiers will do just what your friend Emmit did. They’ll up and leave. What happens to those who are left? What if that’s enough to break the stalemate? We’re outnumbered here as it is. What if those Federal troops see that a bunch of our boys are gone they decide to press their advantage? What if they win? What do you think happens to the rest of us then?”
That was a question that Johnny hadn’t considered. What would happen to the ghosts of these men if they were beaten here?
“That’s why I can’t let you deliver any more of those notices.”
Johnny nodded. He understood the Colonel.
“Now,” the Colonel said, “about your friend Emmit. It looks to me as though we have a hole in the line that we need to fill.”
Saul pulled up to the inn. He stepped down from the driver’s seat and tied his horse to the post outside. It was one thing to let the horse wander around when they were camped, but it wouldn’t do to let the beast take off still hitched up to the coach. Wouldn’t do at all, Saul thought with a shiver. His customer was inside, and on the one occasion that Saul had met him before, the customer struck Saul as the kind of fella that you wouldn’t want to disappoint. No, he thought, can’t have you takin’ off with the goods and leavin’ me here holdin’ the bag. Saul thrust his hands into his pockets, jingling the coins inside, and walked into the inn.
It was dark inside and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, Saul walked over to a table along the back wall and sat down facing the door, so he could see when his customer arrived. Saul was a little early, which was good, he had awakened with the thought that he should try to get here earlier than his customer. Saul didn’t rattle easily, but something about the fella unsettled him. If he hadn’t placed such a large order, Saul would have probably lit out of town and tried to forget the whole thing, though he had a feeling that would have been a very bad idea. Something told him that his customer had ways to find people in order to collect on what they owed him.
All this fretting and worrying was hungry business. Saul looked for a waitress, hoping to get her attention and place his order, when a voice spoke from out of the shadows behind him.
“Shame what’s happening.”
“What’s that?” Saul shrieked, jumping from his seat and knocking his chair over.
“The war. Tearing up the land. Looting. Pillaging.”
Saul watched the bulky form of his customer step forward. He righted Saul’s chair and laid a meaty hand on Saul’s shoulder, sitting him back down.
“Too bad about some of those big houses,” he said, taking a seat across the table from Saul. “A lot of history in the land around here.”
“Hmm.” Saul’s throat was dry and constricted. He felt like he was trying to breathe through a pinhole.
“Lot of those big family fortunes,” said the gruff voice, “just… lost.”
Saul shifted his in chair. His customer looked over tented fingers, his eyes shining in predatory delight. “I… uh… I have your order out in my coach.”
“I know.” The voice was deep, yet silky.
“You… you know?” Saul stammered.
A chuckle rumbled from his customer. “Of course,” he said. “That’s why we’re talking about your payment.”
Saul’s head felt fuzzy, as if he had just finished an entire bottle of wine. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t follow.”
“I was just saying,” the shadowy man said,” that a lot of these powerful old families leave much of their fortune just laying around… if one knew where to look for it. Many of them don’t entirely trust the banks with their money, even the ones who made their fortunes running those very same banks. They say that only a small percentage of the fortunes of those big old families is in the banks. Most of it is just unaccounted for.”
Saul was swept up and carried forward by the conversation. It still seemed like a dream to him. I’ll wake up in a minute and find I’ve dozed off in this dark little inn, he thought.
“Where do you think they are?” asked Saul.
“Could be anywhere, I guess. Built into the walls of their houses, hidden away under the floorboards… maybe even buried in the ground. No way to tell, and no way to find them, unless you knew what to look for.”
“It’d be pretty hopeless.”
“Could be,” said his customer. “Take this here,” he said, pulling out a rolled, yellowed piece of paper. Saul watched him unroll the sheet and spread it across the table, holding it down at the corners to keep it from rolling back up. “I happened to find this at an estate sale. It looks like a map to me…”
In his dream, Saul got to his feet and crossed the table, looking down at the map over his customer’s shoulder. “And these marks here,” Saul pointed, “they look like places where somethin’ was buried.”
“That’s right.” The man nodded. “But what? And where? Like I told you before, I’m not from around these parts, just passing through, so I’m not familiar enough with the land in this area to know what any of this might mean…”
Saul listened while his customer continued on, but his mind was like a sieve. Nothing that his customer said seemed to stick. Only one thing registered in Saul’s mind, and that was that a man in possession of this map was sure to turn up some sort of treasure.
“Where did you say you got this?” Saul asked, trying to clear his head.
“Estate sale.”
“And… whose estate did this belong to?”
“Washington. President George Washington, passed down to his family. I believe they said it was through the Lee side.”
The name “Lee” cleared Saul’s head a little. There was some connection that he wasn’t making, something of vital importance.
“Lee, you say?” Saul asked, trying to buy himself some time to fit all the pieces together. “Like Bobby Lee?”
Then it all clicked. He had asked that very question not days before; asked it of that boy that had stumbled into his camp outside of Slabtown.
Lee. Anna Lee. This is a map to the Lee’s fortune.
Sa
ul bent over the map and all at once his head cleared . Yes, he thought. That town there could be… what did he call it… Fiddler’s Picket. As he remembered, a few lines in the lower part of the map squirmed around and re-arranged themselves. Saul squinted and it looked to him as though they might be letters, spelling out the words “Fiddler’s Picket”. That’s it! And over here where all the Xs are, that’d be the Lee place. Saul felt his heart hammering in his chest, the lines taking shape. Here it was, all laid out just like his customer said, you only had to know what to look for.
The customer lifted his hand from the top of the paper and the map rolled up. Saul uttered a cry of outrage, then checked himself.
“But, like you said, it’s probably hopeless.”
Saul sat back down, thinking. “Still, the paper itself might fetch something, comin’ from the Washington family and all. How much would you be willin’ to sell it for?”
“Oh, I couldn’t sell it,” said the customer. “You never know, I might be back this way again sometime. Might have figured it all out by then. It’d be a shame to let this map go… might be a very costly mistake, if you catch my meaning.”
Saul’s hand drifted to his pocket, fingers running over the coins. “I’d be willin’ to offer you a fair price.”
“Well…” said the shadow man, leaning back in his chair. “I might be willing to part ways with it. For a price.”
“Name it.”
“How about we trade for it, straight up? I’ll give you the map and you drop off my order here.” The customer leaned across the table and handed Saul a slip of paper. Saul read it to himself, a smile broadening on his face.
Saul sat high in the driver’s seat. He looked back over his shoulder, not exactly sure what he had expected to see, but there was nothing there. Ought to stop at an inn for breakfast, he thought, but realized he wasn’t all that hungry. “Besides,” he called out to his horse, “we’ve got a little farther to go to make this delivery.” Saul patted his jacket pocket, where the map was rolled up. Then, after that, lots of work to do, he thought.
Lots of work to do.
The first two weeks of September passed, each day was the same as the day before.
Every morning, when the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, Johnny was awakened by the haunting sound of the wind rushing through the branches overhead; the faint sound of the ghostly bugle blowing in an army camp that was not there. With the night retreating into the west, the first of the soldiers marched from the receding shadows and took up their positions along the battlefield. Johnny would watch them come, his heart heavy. Every day on the battlefield was another day he wasn’t at home. He would march out and take the place that Emmit had left, filling the breach in an otherwise solid line of shadowy soldiers. All day he would hold the line, offering the enemy no chance to break their defenses and send the spirits of these once proud fighting men into the unknown.
Around mid-day, Colonel Morris would make his rounds, ensuring that the men were in place and holding a tight formation. Johnny would ask him about troop numbers --- “More coming every day,” was the standard response --- and positions, about formations and the lay of the land, and about the men and where they came from and the battles they had seen. In this way Johnny kept filling his bronze head with information, learning what he could about the battle in front of them and the greater war going on around them.
The Colonel would leave, and Johnny would return to his duty of keeping the enemy at bay. The heat of summer had lifted during the first days of September, making things more comfortable for the one soldier on the battlefield still able to feel the sun and the wind. In some cases the afternoons were downright pleasant. Then, once the sun had set, the soldiers ceased their firing and returned to the shadows and that far off camp that only one living man had ever seen but could not enter.
As September wore on, evening came earlier with each passing day. Johnny knew that back home, the early crops would be brought in, signaling the start of the harvest season. He had left home before the bulk of those crops had even been put in the ground, and here he was, still fighting while those crops were being gathered and sold or stored for the coming winter. Only now he was stuck fighting a battle with no end against an army of the dead that would neither advance nor retreat.
Johnny thought about what Colonel Morris had said that night at the ghost’s camp. The men feared defeat and what that might mean. They feared the unknown, and that was why neither side pressed forward. Here, fighting in this perpetual battle, neither side would have to worry about what lay beyond. Johnny thought he could understand that, but one question concerned him. What if what lay beyond the battle was better than the existence these men were stuck reliving day after day? What if redemption lay beyond?
If somethin’ don’t change, I’m goin’ to be stuck here for the rest of my life, Johnny thought. That’s fine for ‘em. They’re lives are over. But not mine. I got Anna Lee waitin’ on me.
Not sure what he had in mind, Johnny stood up from behind the overturned tree that he had been crouched behind. Musket balls flew past him, through him, leaving no trace of impact on his clothing or the trees around him. The line of Confederate soldiers stopped firing and stood, watching with a mix of awe and horror written on their faces. Smiling, he tipped his hat to them, then strode across the field toward the line of Union troops.
More musket balls flew around and past him, but Johnny took no notice of them, his eyes fixed on the entrenchment ahead. As he closed in, the gunfire became scattered. He heard the wailing and crying of the soldiers, fleeing from this incoming demon that their shots could not pierce. Stepping over the barricade and into their line, Johnny watched as the ghosts cringed in horror away from him. Most ran, but a few brave ones stood their ground, determined to face this monster that looked like a man, they would face whatever destruction he brought with him.
“Hello,” said Johnny to the cowering soldiers.
That scared off a good many more of them, the ghosts dropping their muskets and fleeing, screaming that the Devil was upon them. The more stout-hearted affixed bayonets to their muskets and proceeded to stab at Johnny, who paid them no mind as their blades poked and punctured nothing. Johnny searched but did not see anyone who looked like an officer. He tried to reach out and grab one of the men to ask him where his commander was, but it was no use, his hand passed right through the soldier, who looked down at Johnny’s arm sticking into his chest and fainted.
I wish there was a way to get hold of one of these fellas, Johnny thought, reaching up and scratching his left arm. Before he knew what had happened, the golden arm shot out and grabbed the ghost soldier by the collar and hoisted him to his feet. He swooned, then opened his eyes wide in fright when he saw that Johnny had gotten a hold of him. The ghost squirmed, but Johnny’s hand held tight.
“Uh, you there.” Johnny addressed the ghost. The soldier made a moaning sound and his eyes rolled back until all Johnny could see was the whites. “Yes, you. Where can I find your commandin’ officer?”
The soldier’s head lolled to one side and his body went limp. Johnny’s hand opened, releasing the soldier, who collapsed in a heap at Johnny’s feet.
“You didn’t have to grab him like that.” Johnny spoke to his arm. His left shoulder shrugged, then the arm fell limp at his side again. Johnny looked up from the soldier on the ground, saw the other Federal troops leaving their positions and sprinting for the safety of the shadows. Looking to the west, he saw the last of the sun sink below the horizon.
Word spread among the Confederate troops about what Johnny had done, and he was pretty sure that the word had spread among the Union soldiers as well. The next day, when Colonel Morris made his noon rounds, he found Johnny’s usual post abandoned. Word went up and down the line, but no one could report having seen Johnny that day. Colonel Morris shuffled the line in order to close the gap and
wondered where Johnny had gone off to.
Johnny spent the following three days walking the battlefield, paying no mind to the sights and sounds of the battle being waged around him, the land and the troop positions taking on a sapphire-tinted hue. An idea began to take shape, rolling around inside Johnny’s bronze-plated head; in order to pull it off and end the fighting he would have to rely on rumors he picked up from the new recruits and do his best to piece together a picture of where the armies of the living were headed and what their next moves might be. Based on what he had heard and what he had experienced in his time as a scout under General Stuart and a foot soldier before that, he thought that if his luck held then his plan just might work.
Johnny watched and waited for the sun to set, then made his move. The soldiers had left their positions and were headed back into the shadows, the dappled light fading as they passed under the trees. Johnny followed at a distance, then, seeing his man all alone, got in real close to the one soldier he had been waiting for.
“Excuse me,” said Johnny.
The soldier turned around, startled.
“Is your name Sanford Nelson?”
The soldier nodded. “Folks jus’ call me Sandy.”
“I have somethin’ here for you.” Johnny pulled an envelope out of the canvas bag over his shoulder. He held it out and the soldier’s hand closed on the envelope. The soldier tried to take it, but Johnny kept a firm grip on it.
“Uh… I think we need to go together,” said Johnny. “Take it back to camp and read it.”
Sandy shrugged, let go of the envelope, and started towards the shadows again.
“Wait!” Johnny yelled. Sandy turned. “We, uh… we both have to hold on to the envelope.” Sandy raised an eyebrow. “Just followin’ orders,” Johnny said. He turned the canvas bag so that Sandy could see the stenciled “War Department” on the side.