Sheila Connolly - Relatively Dead 02 - Seeing the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  Wait—how could she see the others? No way was the entire Massachusetts army related to her. She got a partial answer when Ned released her hand, and like switching off a television, the scene from the 1770s disappeared, leaving only the green fields. She could see a couple of deer wandering near the tree line. She turned to Ned, who was watching her with concern. “Did you see?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer immediately. Finally he said, “Yes. A lot of men, around campfires.”

  Abby realized what that meant. “We amplify each other. Henry was there—I recognized him, but I don’t know through whose eyes I was seeing him. Do you think we would have seen the others if he wasn’t part of the group?”

  “Abby, I don’t know. You want to sit down?”

  “Well, I’m not about to pass out, if that’s what you’re worried about. If anything, I feel … excited, I guess. We just saw the Revolutionary War! Not that we can tell anyone, but we know we saw it, right?”

  “We did. Come on, let’s sit and sort this out.”

  Abby followed him to a nearby bench and they sat, with the same now-empty view in front of them.

  “You aren’t upset?” Ned asked when they were settled.

  “No, I’m not. I feel like we’ve proved something. Henry was here, and I saw him. I didn’t see anything until you took my hand, but when you did, the whole crowd just appeared, boom. And that means there were a lot of people I could see who couldn’t possibly be relatives. Of course, it would have been pretty weird if Henry had been going around doing whatever he was doing without anyone else in the picture, right? I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

  “Just a bit. But don’t stop,” Ned said, smiling.

  “What did you see?”

  “About the same thing.”

  “Before or after you took my hand?”

  “Only after. Like you said, we kind of feed off each other, or boost each other’s signal or something.”

  “But it’s not just the strength of the reception. It broadens what both of us can see. Wow. This is so cool!”

  Ned broke out laughing. “You sound like one of your schoolkids.”

  “I’m excited. Oh, and now I’m hungry. What else should we see here?”

  “Washington’s headquarters is nice. That’s over that way.” He waved vaguely toward the left.

  “Then let’s do that and then we can look for food.” Abby stood up quickly.

  They walked back to the car, and Ned drove the short distance to the houses closer to the river, to the west. An eager middle-aged docent welcomed them at the door, gave his short spiel about the house, then let them alone to wander. There were bedrooms upstairs. “It looks like the men just walked out—I mean, slippers under the bed? Clothing laid out? It makes things—and them—so much more real. And so much better than closing it off behind Plexiglas with big signs saying ‘Do not touch.’” Abby slipped her arm through Ned’s, although without any skin-to-skin contact. “But I guess we have a different view of what’s ‘real’ about the past, don’t we?”

  “We do. But I agree—this is well done. Seen enough?”

  “For now. Let’s go find lunch.”

  15

  Abby’s buoyant attitude lasted as they drove away from the park in search of someplace to eat. She’d already vetoed the mall, but otherwise she let Ned make the choices.

  As if reading her thoughts—how did he keep doing that?—he said, after a few miles, “I’m headed toward Chester County. We’re doing it kind of backward, because that’s the route the British took as they marched toward Philadelphia, so the battles there precede the winter at Valley Forge. The B and B I found is out that direction—I thought you’d like something quiet.”

  “As long as it’s not a shoebox plastic chain hotel, I’m happy.” As long as I’m with you. “Anything else out this way?”

  “Mushrooms, at Kennett Square. Lots of antique shops. A wonderful old used bookstore in a gigantic barn. The Brandywine Museum.”

  “Do we have time to do all of those?”

  Ned laughed. “I doubt it. You’re going to have to pick a couple.”

  “You are cruel. Mushrooms versus art versus old books. Let’s eat first, then decide.”

  They drove back the way they had come, then took Route 1 going west. The countryside opened up after the initial congestion, and as Ned had said, there were many antique shops, both small and large. Abby had no plans for her long-range decorating scheme, since she was still living in what was essentially a furnished house, but she’d have to make some decisions soon. Apart from her great-grandmother’s chair and her clothes and books, she had little of her own, and the prospect of not only finding a place she could afford and paying rental deposits but also furnishing it somehow was overwhelming. And coming closer every day: Leslie had told her that the owners of the house would be returning from their winter house by the end of May and would expect her to have cleared out by then.

  She pushed the thought away. Right now she was here in Pennsylvania to explore, on several levels. Her confidence with her relatively newfound abilities was growing, and the fact that she and Ned combined made it stronger was intriguing. Talk about a power couple!

  Ned turned in at a small restaurant housed in an old fieldstone building. “Want to try this?”

  “Sure. It looks nice.”

  Inside they found a menu leaning toward sturdy traditional fare, but the food proved tasty. Abby debated about having a glass of wine with her meal. “Have you found that alcohol—or any other chemical substance—makes your ability stronger? Like, are you more open to whatever when you’re relaxed?”

  “I really can’t say. As I keep telling you, I’ve spent more than half of my life repressing the whole thing. Did drinking help shut it down? Maybe. Or maybe not. It may be different with each person.”

  “I’ll have a glass of wine, then. You can monitor the results. You know, we could be the only people in the world who have this thing.”

  Ned chuckled. “That sounds like a bad sci-fi movie. Do we have to go find the president and warn him about an impending Martian invasion only we can see?”

  “Maybe we’ll find out,” Abby replied. “Oh, Ned, it feels so good not to be afraid of this! I think I’m finally used to it, and I’m prepared when something new happens. I have no idea where this might lead, or whether it’ll just go out like a lightbulb, but it’s not scary anymore.”

  “I’m glad,” he said simply, and reached out to touch her hand.

  Abby drew back quickly. “Well, we still haven’t worked out the touch thing, but let’s keep it out of the public eye until we do. We’ll have private time later, right?”

  “We will.”

  After a pleasant lunch, Abby said, “I know I’ll feel guilty for not visiting the lovely museum, but I’d rather look at old junk in the antique places. Unless you hate that kind of thing?”

  “I guess I’m neutral,” he said. “It’s always interesting to see what other people consider trash or treasure. And I find it amazing just how much stuff there is out there. If there’s time, we can do the book place too, on the way to the B and B.”

  “Deal.”

  They set off again, passing the museum in favor of junky antique stores. Stepping into any one of them was an assault on the senses, Abby found, and she had to stand still and focus. Not that she had any particular items in mind, but it was kind of fun to have a purpose. In one place she decided she would count pairs of Staffordshire dogs, which she had read had enjoyed a huge popularity in the nineteenth century, at least among middle-class households, and then disappeared again. Once she’d chosen them as her target, she started seeing them everywhere, and she had to stop and explain to Ned why she kept bursting into giggles at every other booth.

  “Why on earth were these things so popular? We’ve seen them in every size from two inches to two feet. They’re spaniels, right?”

  “That’s what I’d guess,” Ned said. “I’m no expert. But there are lots of ine
xplicable crazes. Look at the Dutch tulip frenzy.”

  “I’d guess the prices for those went far beyond the prices for china dogs.”

  “You want a pair of dogs?” he asked her.

  “I hadn’t thought about it. Some of them are a lot cuter than others. And I have no way of knowing how old they are, or whether they’re real or fake.”

  “Does it matter to you?” Ned asked.

  “Not if they’re a gift from you. The first gift. I mean, tangible gift, because you’ve given me a lot more …” Abby could feel herself blushing. “But not the giant ones, please—they’re kind of scary,” she hurried to add.

  “Tell me if you see a pair you like,” he said, smiling.

  They continued on their leisurely way along the aisles. “Do you ever feel anything when you touch things in places like this?” Abby asked.

  “Not that I can recall. What about you?”

  “I don’t think so, but I haven’t touched much in here. Let’s see.” She picked up a chipped teapot. “I can see who might have used this, but not who actually did. And a teapot kind of speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

  They wandered happily, admiring absurdities. “What about that?” Ned pointed toward a silver-plated thing that Abby couldn’t figure out.

  “What the heck is it?”

  “You guess.”

  Abby studied it. Round, about six inches high, it stood on four feet with cloven hooves. Around the perimeter stood four knights in armor, guarding whatever was inside. And the lid was crowned with … a cow. “It’s got to be a butter dish!” Abby crowed in triumph. She lifted off the lid. “Look, you put ice in the bottom, and then put your artfully sculpted butter balls on the little tray on top, where they stay cold. This has got to be one of the silliest things I’ve ever seen. I wonder if it was a household’s prized possession, or they had a wealth of equally ridiculous items? You know, I think I prefer the colonial era—things were simpler then.”

  “Amen to that. Would you rather have this than a pair of dogs?”

  “No! What would I do with it? I’ll go back to looking at dogs.”

  In the end she spotted a small pair hiding amid a muddle of other china. “Those,” she said, pointing.

  Ned picked one up and studied it. “I think they’re poodles, not spaniels.”

  “I don’t care. They look friendly. You said I could choose.”

  “All right, they’re yours. Let’s go see what ridiculous price the proprietor is going to ask. Do we look rich?”

  “I don’t think so. But I don’t know how to haggle, so you’re on your own.”

  The price was reasonable, and within minutes Abby had them tucked deep in her purse, carefully wrapped. “Thank you,” she said.

  “My pleasure,” Ned replied. “Are you ready to head for the B and B? I’d say we could look at the book barn, but it’s getting late, and we’ll have time to stop by tomorrow morning on the way to the airport.”

  “Sounds good to me. Did you have any ideas about dinner?”

  “Woman, we finished lunch all of two hours ago. Don’t tell me you’re hungry.”

  “No, but I may be in a few more hours. Just trying to work out a timeline. Maybe if we planned to eat later, say, eightish, we could do something else between?” Ned looked at her, one eyebrow cocked, and Abby burst out laughing. “Yes, that.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said and started the car.

  The bed-and-breakfast Ned had chosen turned out to be a lovely eighteenth-century farmhouse—had he been trying for consistency?—with a variety of exotic trees, although half were not yet leafed out, and a small pond. Their room seemed huge to Abby, and it had a working fireplace. “Is it cold enough to use it tonight? Please?” Abby begged.

  “I don’t see why not. Have you finished peeking and prying?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “Come here,” Ned said. Abby went.

  The room was fully dark, lit only by the flickering fire, when they managed to pull themselves away from each other. Almost: their hands were still intertwined. Abby looked around the room, then focused on a dark corner, then nudged Ned. “I think we have an audience.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  Abby nodded. “Over there. Think she can see us?”

  Ned studied the darkness in the corner. “I have no idea. Does she bother you?”

  Abby considered. “I don’t think so. If she’s been here in the house for a while, I’m sure she’s seen it all by now. Unless we picked her up at the battlefield and brought her with us.” Abby raised her hand tentatively toward the shadowy figure, but she turned and disappeared. “It seems unlikely that she’s related to either of us, don’t you think? Maybe together we raise the rate of perception by a whole order of magnitude. You know, if we lose our jobs, we could always set up a business as ghost hunters.”

  “Abby, you’re crazy,” Ned said.

  “Just practical. After all, we have special skills, and we should use them wisely. Remind me to ask the owners at breakfast if anybody else has noticed anything. Discreetly, of course. Now, did you say something about dinner?”

  They ate a pleasant dinner in a nearby town and came back to the B&B shortly after ten. They had no visitors, human or formerly human, that evening, and Abby wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

  Breakfast the next morning was served in the large wood-paneled dining room, and the food was presented on what Abby guessed were mismatched antique-store finds along the lines of the butter dish they had seen the day before. All the food tasted wonderful.

  The proprietor, a sturdy middle-aged woman, stopped by their table to ask, “Everything all right? Sleep well?”

  “It’s lovely,” Abby said, and meant it. “You have a moment to sit?”

  “Sure. You’re the only guests at the moment, so I’m all yours. In case you haven’t guessed, I’m Mary Hicks, the owner of this place—well, with my husband. You’re from Massachusetts?”

  “We are, from the Concord area,” Abby replied. “We’re trying to escape some of the Patriots’ Day craziness. I’m glad we found this place on such short notice. Did you inherit the house?”

  Mary shook her head. “No, we bought it about twenty years ago. When the kids left the nest, it was too big for us, so it was either sell and find a smaller place or do something useful with the space.”

  “Do you know the history of the house and property?” Ned asked.

  “The owners before us wrote up something—I could find it for you if you like. I’m not that much into history—my spare time goes to gardening.”

  “And it shows!” Abby said warmly. “We should come back in summer and see what it looks like then.”

  “That’s our busiest season, so try to book ahead, if you know your plans.”

  Abby shot Ned a look, and he seemed to interpret it correctly. “We’ll think about that. I asked about the history of the place because I wondered if anyone had seen any … ghosts?”

  “Why?” the woman asked. “Did you? Are you into that kind of woo-woo thing?”

  “No,” Ned lied, “but you read about it, and this building has been around for quite a while. Have you seen or heard or felt anything?”

  The woman shook her head emphatically—so much so that Abby wondered if she actually had had some experience along those lines. “Not me. A couple of guests have said they heard odd thumps and bumps at night, or a door will swing open, but I tell ’em it’s an old house and that kind of thing happens. When the furnace kicks in, in winter, it sounds like an airplane engine!” Mary stood up quickly. “I’d better go make some more coffee. Nice to chat with you. You going home today?”

  “We are,” Abby said. “Big day tomorrow. And if you can find that history of the house, I’d love to see a copy.”

  “I’ll see if I can dig it up. Leave me your email in case I don’t find it right away. And thanks for staying here—tell your friends!” She bustled back to the kitchen.

  A
bby looked at Ned. “You think?”

  He nodded. “I’d say so.” He emptied his cup. “Well, if you want to look at old books, we’d better get moving.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  16

  The trip to the giant book barn was more than successful, and Abby emerged with several dusty nineteenth-century history books. Her carry-on was now straining its zipper, and she hoped it would hold together until she got home. They had to race to the airport, luckily not too far away, and the traffic was light on a Sunday. They made it back to Boston with no problems, but as they drove toward Concord the traffic thickened.

  “This is going to be fifty times worse tomorrow,” Ned commented as they proceeded at a stately rate of twenty miles per hour.

  “I can’t say I’m looking forward to that part of things,” Abby said. “How do the parades and stuff work?”

  “Well, you’ve got the reenactments scattered around the nearby towns at various times, and everybody wants to get into the act. They kind of split up the individual events—Lincoln gets to capture Paul Revere, for example, and other towns like Sudbury replicate the march to Concord. And of course there are parades in both Lexington and Concord, and lots of open houses held by town historical societies—and of course, your museum. It’s a zoo, but everyone seems to enjoy it. Concord makes a nice profit for the day. And then it’s over for another year.”

  “Do you think our ancestors are likely to show up?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t know why they’d want to. This is an artificial event—the Monday closest to the real day, which was yesterday. I can’t imagine why someone who’s been dead for over two hundred years would want to watch a lot of people marching around.”

  “So why did Henry show up at Littleton when we were there? That wasn’t the real date either.”

  “He wanted to meet you? Seriously, I can’t answer that. Maybe he’s always there, in some way. Maybe it’s like an endless loop, and he’s forever waiting on the green to march to battle.”