What difference would all the words make? Mama had survived the war, but succumbed to pneumonia. Everyone had loved mama and wanted to say a few words. She had helped every family in the area at births, nursed the sick, and found help for the needy.
Each eulogy reminded Sarita she would never see her mama again. The neighbors had lost a friend and would mourn her but, damn it, this family had lost its heart.
Outside flowers bloomed and the sky was so bright and clear it hurt her eyes. The young preacher had said the last words and every neighbor had offered condolences. With each kind word the knot in Sarah’s belly tightened. Walter stood close enough to support her if she needed him. Each member of her family added a shovel of dirt to the grave. Each hugged her and reassured her daddy they would tend to the farm and look after him. There were enough sisters-in-law to feed the neighbors who would come to her parents’ house during the rest of the day.
When the last brother had moved toward the wagon procession to head home, Walter stepped from the shadow of trees and placed a hand on her daddy’s shoulder. He touched Sarita’s elbow and she moved into his embrace. How much longer could she keep her tears banked? Would she be able to stop crying once she started again?
Walter, the other half of her soul, would be her support, while her daddy would be alone in the house that had once overflowed with children and love. He would sleep alone for the first time in thirty-one years.
Walter’s voice was quiet and firm. “Everyone is waiting in the wagons. I can send them on to the house.”
Sarita looked up into her daddy’s face. He nodded to her, his voice barely audible. “You two go ahead. I will be with everyone in a minute.”
Walter led her across the carefully tended graveyard. Her skirts dragged in the damp grass as she forced her feet to take her away from her mother’s final resting place.
Cousin Mattie stepped from the procession and hugged Sarita. “We will be here for you,” Mattie whispered against her cheek. She moved away.
Sarita saw her father. His shoulders shook and she wanted to go to him. Her stomach tightened more.
Walter caught her hand and pulled her back against him. “Let him be, Princess. He needs these moments with his wife.”
She wept against her husband’s chest. “Mama!”
A deep voice penetrated her fog. “Sarah, what the hell is wrong?” Her daddy never cursed.
“Mama, oh, Mama, I need you,” she moaned, crying so hard her head hurt.
“Sarah, baby, wake up!” Daddy’s voice sounded anxious. “Mama get in here, hurry.” She felt his rough hands cup her face. “Mama’s coming. She’s on her way.”
Her mom’s floral fragrance drifted in. “I’m here, Honey, I’m here.”
“No, you can’t be.” Still she cried.
“Look at me, Sarah. Look at me.” Soft hands caressed her face. Her mama’s touch soothed.
Sarah forced her eyes open. Her daddy held her and her mama stared at her, so close she breathed in her comforting scent, she could count her eyelashes.
“What happened, Sarah?”
She kissed her mama’s hand.
Her daddy sounded strained. “I don’t know. One minute we were talking about deja vu and the next she seemed to freeze, like she’d been hypnotized. She started fingering that old necklace and -. Sarah, where did you get that necklace?”
“It was in the trunk with my, I mean, Sarita’s journals and stuff.”
“May I see it?” He held out his hand.
Sarah’s hands shook when she removed the reddish beads. She watched him handle them with his sensitive physician’s hands.
“Very warm, like they borrowed some of your body heat.”
Sarah held her breath, massaging her neck where the cinnabar necklace had rested.
Her father rubbed individual beads of her necklace. Nothing happened.
“Honey, I’m not an expert on antiques, but they do seem really old. They are a little rough and they’ve cooled a lot since you took them off.” He sniffed them, then shook his head. He motioned her mother to come closer and then put them on her. Sarah nearly choked.
Her mother touched them and smiled. “They feel nice.” She rose and looked at her reflection on the shiny Steinway lid.
When her mother moved to a wall mirror Sarah followed her, stopping behind her. Their reflections in the mirror were so similar, their smiles, their eyes. She touched her mama’s hair and nestled against her cheek. “They look good on you, Mama.” She loved that she could say that to her. Her chest still ached from the feeling of loss that had swamped her moments ago.
She touched the beads at her mother’s throat. Nothing happened. She stayed alert and went nowhere. She was still Sarah in her house with her parents.
“You look tired,” her mom said as she turned around and hugged her. “Maybe you should get some rest.”
She really wanted the necklace back. No, she needed it back. Her dad must have sensed that. He rose and came to the mirror. He deftly removed the necklace and placed it around Sarah’s neck. She reached up to touch it. It hadn’t carried her mother’s warmth. Her head swam for seconds.
Her dad snatched her hand away. “What did you feel?”
How did he know? “A little dizzy.”
“You felt dizzy?” her mom asked.
He looked at her mother. “Did you feel odd when you touched the necklace?”
Her mom looked at him as though he had grown a second head. “What are you talking about? Of course I didn’t feel odd. I felt pretty. I always do when I wear jewelry, but not dizzy.”
“The necklace belongs to our Sarah.”
“Well of course it does. She found it in the attic.”
Sarah smiled. Daddy understood that part. Now if she could explain about the memories of being Sarita and get him to understand. Then she could make him believe in ghosts. Sure!
##
An hour later Sarah soaked in her claw foot tub, wondering how William was doing. If I am Sarita, then he is Walter, the other half of my soul.
So many Sarita memories involve pain and loss. When will I remember more of the good things? Well, Sarah needs Sarita’s journals back.
Wrapped in a large towel Sarah stretched out on her bed and thought about William’s hard body. She ached to run her hands over his hot skin, to curl into his embrace and become one with him. When the phone rang she reached for it. His deep voice melted her bones.
“Hi, whatcha doing, Princess?”
Sarah lay on her back, her head propped on two pillows. “Oh, just lying here, thinking about your sexy body.”
“Oh, yeah? Thinking about me, huh?”
“Yep, I just got out of a hot bath and I’m wearing a towel.” She stretched and closed her eyes.
“Just the towel?”
“And a smile.” She purred into the phone. “So what are you wearing?”
“My boxers and a hard-on.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you with that. Are you staying at your friend’s house or a motel?”
“I’m at his house. We talked some after supper, but we plan to spend tomorrow morning discussing our situation.”
“I like how you call my ghosts and Sarita memories our situation.”
His laugh warmed her from her head to her toes.
“Princess, everything about you is about us. We’re in this together.”
“How do you feel about phone sex?”
“A poor substitute for the real thing. I’d rather kiss your throat. Maybe open that towel and lick your breasts.”
“And I’d like to watch you do it.” Oh, yes, the man made an art of loving her breasts and blinding her with pleasure.
“I’ve never been one for body piercing, but maybe we could get you a little diamond stud for your belly button.”
“I love it when you talk dirty.” Actually she’d started something she’d have to finish alone.
“I could toss that towel and move down to your thighs.”
; “Oh, you could, could you? With your tongue?” Her memories of what he could do with his tongue between her thighs nearly stole her ability to think.
“And other things.”
His voice sounded awfully strained. Good. The hard-on would be good for him.
“I miss you.” Her own voice was so breathless she knew she sounded like she wanted to cry. She did.
“I just left this morning, Princess.”
“I know.” There was that little-girl-lost voice again. That and the pout. “Phone sex only works for me when I know you’re next door, within reach.”
“We’ll have to try that more often. Sarah, is something else on your mind?”
“We’ll talk about it when you get back.”
“I’ll leave early tomorrow and should be home late tomorrow night. I don’t think I could stand another night way from you. I love you.”
“Me too, you. A lot. Bye.
Long after she hung up she lay awake, wondering about what William hadn’t told her. She knew something had been bothering him. Could he be fighting Walter’s memories? He hadn’t mentioned his earlier allusion to marriage. Had he forgotten already?
##
After talking to Sarah, William hadn’t slept well. Breakfast had been relaxed but now he wandered around the cluttered office, trying not to watch his mentor read the pages written with the help of a man who had died well over a century ago. Breakfast coffee had him wired and life had him anxious. Life worked when it was orderly, predictable. Sarah had provided all the excitement he needed and all the complications he could handle.
His life was now out of control and confusing. He glanced at Doc as he placed a page on his desk. The slender, white-haired man nodded and rubbed his chin.
Interpret that body language?
William heard a hmmm from Dr. Mac. The hot-seat was damned uncomfortable. He forced himself to look away. He’d never paid attention to Doc’s collection of Civil War memorabilia, but now he studied each framed sketch or sepia print of soldiers, war implements.
His vision blurred.
Canon fire erupted, jarring his ears.
Smoke? The cannons in the photos became three dimensional, looming out at him. William saw his hand reaching toward a panorama of black and white photographs of Kennesaw Mountain. His head swam. He closed his eyes to clear his vision. Images of the past mixed, overlaid, sucked him down. Booming, screaming. Shouts closed in on him.
Smoke burned his eyes, filled his lungs.
He opened his eyes. Smoke belched from cannons and guns. Cannon fire deafened Walter.
“Watch out!” He turned at the shout and fired his gun at a faceless man in blue. The man dropped his own weapon, clutched at his chest, and fell.
Keep moving! Walter scooped up the dead man’s weapons, barely slowing. Keep moving. Darting glances at the men nearest him, he watched for any enemy target. A sea of ragged gray coats ran beside him. Running toward or from? His mind went on automatic. He could barely breathe the heavy acrid air. He moved ahead of the pack when he spotted a glint of sunlight on metal in the distance. He stopped, knelt, and took aim and fired.
A man in gray fell beside him as another in blue fell from the ledge where Walter had aimed. Before he could reload he felt his own leg give way. Fiery pain shot through his thigh and he fell, praying his own men wouldn’t trample him. Thrashing to stand he connected with flesh.
“William!” a voice called from far away.
Walter, my name is Walter. It hurts so much, but men grit their teeth and bear the pain. Southern men get back up and drag themselves until they can’t draw another breath.
“William McKeown! You’re all right!”
“Who the hell is William? My name is Walter,” he mumbled.
“Walter. Tell Sarita I love her. If I die, tell her. Letter - in my - pocket.”
“Walter, look at me! I can help you.” He stopped struggling and stared at the face of the man looking down at him.
The screaming and gunfire faded. He was alone in a room with a man he should know.
“Walter?” The lined face moved closer. A bony hand steadied him when he tried to sit. He rubbed his thigh where the bullet had downed him. There was no pain. He looked down. No blood! Holy God, not again.
“Doc?” William rose to his knees but his head swam. “Thirsty.”
“Here, drink this.” The Doc handed him a glass of water. He took a swallow, before draining the glass.
William closed his eyes. He swallowed hard, then looked at the only person he trusted enough to tell everything.
The older man eased himself to the floor and placed a tape recorder within sight. “That was the damnedest episode I’ve ever seen. It’s time to talk. Where were you and who were you?”
William felt a weight lift from his shoulders. This man would help him understand the strange happenings and make it all better. His throat ached and his voice croaked, but he began to talk and his voice became stronger.
When William had talked out, his mentor shook his head and struggled to stand. "A little stiff in my old age."
“Here, let me help you up, sir.” William rose to his knees and helped the older man as they both stood. “You shouldn’t have sat on the hard floor so long.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Doc started toward the kitchen. “I thought I had seen everything. Shows how wrong an old man can be, doesn’t it? Let’s have something to drink.”
Doc reached into the double refrigerator and withdrew two glass Coke bottles. He wrapped a paper towel around the bottom half of each and handed one to William.
“The original real thing,” William said.
“The only way to go, son. And now we’ll have a talk about reincarnation or maybe a connection with the spirit world. Maybe shared memories.”
“Then we can talk about Sarah.” If there was anything more to tell. At least he hadn’t seen the ghosts, yet. He’d seen objects move, but he hadn’t seen the ghosts.
##
Sarah awoke brimming with energy. She grabbed a tee shirt and shorts. Barefoot she tried to get past her mom and taking time for breakfast.
“I’m going to the attic, Mama.” She grabbed bacon strips from the stove warming pan and a Diet Pepsi can from the refrigerator.
“Good, mind if I tag along?” Her mama put toast and more bacon on a paper plate and grabbed her own Diet Pepsi can.
Sarah snagged napkins and opened the attic door, then called over her shoulder. “Come on, if you’re not afraid of ghosts.” This should be fun.
“Should I be afraid?” Mama asked in her matter-of-fact manner that always made things seem so simple.
What would mother and daughter find in the attic this lovely June morning?
Chapter Thirteen
Sarah slowed as she reached the door to the top of the stairs. The only music she heard was her mama’s humming.
She took a deep breath and reached for the knob.
The lemon scent of furniture spray caught her by surprise. Had Mattie and Eloise been dusting? The wood floors gleamed. Sarah turned in circles, noting the order someone had brought. No cobwebs decorated the corners and two fans stood by windows. Sarita’s trunk sat under a hanging lamp, one of three.
Sarah stood in open-mouthed shock. Someone had moved a table and a clothes rack beside the trunk. “Omigod.” Was she seeing ghost décor or did her mama see the same things?
Turning to her mother, Sarah nearly dropped her drink can.
A Pepsi can and a paper plate of food sat on a gleaming dark wood bookcase beside a matching chifforobe and dresser. Mama’s face beamed, her grin lighting her youthful face and eyes.
“Mama? When did you do all this?”
“Your daddy and I decided we needed to make this place more pleasant for your research after you left to see Melinda. He had some free time. We can sort and protect the things you take from the trunk or any other trunks.”
Sarah put her food down beside her mama’s and squeezed her,
kissing her cheek. “You didn’t do all this by yourself, I hope.”
She munched a slice of bacon, washing I down with Pepsi.
“Your daddy can push a vacuum cleaner with the best cleaners. Moving the furniture was no problem for us together.
I was ready to bring new curtains, but I just washed the old ones. I was concerned they would fall apart, but they didn’t.”
“Mama, did you or Daddy see anything odd?
“Like what?”
Mattie’s lavender scent caught Sarah’s attention before she materialized in a blue gingham day-dress. She stood beside the clothes rack, smiling.
“Oh, nothing, I just wondered.” Eloise and the sweet scent of Evening in Paris announced Eloise’s appearance wearing pleated, beige cuffed trousers and a matching shiny, satin blouse with padded shoulders.
Sarah glanced down at her own shorts and tee and her mother’s jeans and tee and felt underdressed.
Mattie’s voice tinkled as she smiled. “You both look fine. I must be gettin’ accustomed to changin’ styles. I am so glad you brought your mama.”
Sarah opened her mouth to respond but stopped. Her mom sniffed, then smiled. “Your Grandmama wore Evening in Paris perfume. It made me feel so grownup, hold the blue bottles.” She looked around, as if trying to find something. “I’ll bet one of the boxes up here has bottles from my collection. Mama gave them to me and I saved them for when I played dress-up.”
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