Sheila Connolly - Relatively Dead 02 - Seeing the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  “He and his son, who is not my ancestor,” Abby said absently. “In fact, Henry didn’t marry his second wife, Jane, who was my ancestor, until well after the war was over. And I haven’t even started looking for details about his sons from that marriage. I wish I had more time!”

  Ned, apparently frustrated by the slow pace of the traffic, chose that moment to cut over on a local road headed north, and wound his way through neighborhoods until he came to the northern end of Abby’s road, where traffic was lighter. “One of the pluses of having grown up around here—I know the back ways.”

  “Thank goodness! I hadn’t realized how bad it would be.”

  They pulled into Abby’s driveway ten minutes later. “You want to stay?” Abby asked.

  “You’ve got an early day tomorrow,” he said.

  “Wow, that was an enthusiastic response,” Abby teased. “Actually I have an ulterior motive. If you stay over, you can drop me off at work in the morning and I won’t have to worry about parking. Oh, but you weren’t planning to watch the parade, were you?”

  “I could park at my parents’ house and walk back. If you want me there.”

  “I do. Do your parents usually attend?”

  “Not anymore. I think they worry a bit about the house now. You know, lots of gawkers wandering along the Battle Road. Some of them seem to think that any colonial house along the way is open for tourists, so it’s better to have someone keeping an eye on the place.”

  “Makes sense. How strange it is, that people compartmentalize their history. You know, the Fourth of July, Patriots’ Day in a few places, Veterans’ Day. Better than nothing, I suppose. At least they remember.”

  “Life goes on, Abby. People now are living their lives in the moment, not the past. They’re creating their own history.”

  “And wars,” Abby added. “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

  “My, aren’t we being literary today! That’s George Santayana.”

  “It is. But isn’t it sad that people keep making the same mistakes?”

  “I think war is part of being human. People are always fighting over something, from who owns the only cow in the village to who should control the world.”

  “What’s worse, for some people it’s the high point of their lives. Look at Henry Flagg from Waltham, who enlisted in the Civil War but never actually took part in a battle. But he spent a lot of the rest of his life honoring the soldiers who did fight.”

  “It’s a life-and-death experience, obviously. Either that or some people are addicted to the adrenaline rush of battle.”

  “Now that’s just sad,” Abby said sharply. “Did your father fight?”

  “No, he had a high draft number during Vietnam. Yours?”

  “No. He had a heart murmur, or so they said at the time. It’s never given him any trouble. I must say I can’t imagine my father fighting with anyone. So neither of us has any direct experience—well, once removed—with war. All we seem to know is that it’s a very intense experience and it leaves a trail, psychic or whatever.”

  “You’ve seen Valley Forge now. Does it change your understanding?”

  “Yes and no. There was a lot of suffering there, and it adds up. But it didn’t reach the same level as an actual battle, with cannonballs flying and all that.”

  Abby realized with a start that they were still sitting in the car, arguing the philosophy of war. “We should go in. So you’re staying tonight, and you’re taking me to work in the morning, and we’ll take it from there?”

  “It’s a plan.”

  • • •

  Ned dropped Abby off at the museum at seven thirty the next morning, and traffic was already heavy. Abby walked in to a scene of barely controlled chaos, and the place wasn’t even open to the public yet. She walked up to the first staff member she encountered and asked, “Amy, where do you need me?”

  Amy was clearly frazzled. “What? Oh, hi, Abby. Check to make sure there’s enough toilet paper in the bathrooms, will you? I know we’re not supposed to let just anyone in to use them, but it’s hard to say no to a mom with small kids.”

  “Will do,” Abby replied. When she’d accomplished that, there was another small task, and another. The next time she looked up, Ned was standing in the doorway, looking amused. “Busy?” he asked wryly.

  “Oh, no, not at all!” she replied in the same tone.

  Leslie chose that moment to rush past the door, then backtracked when she saw Ned. She gave him a quick hug. “Hey, long time no see! Where’ve you been hiding?”

  “Working, mostly.”

  Leslie grinned. “I already know about you two”—she nodded at Abby—“so you don’t have to be coy about it. Not that she says anything about you, ever. So discreet! You here for the battle?”

  “I thought we’d skip the crowds.”

  “Aw, that’s half the fun. You still have time to get over there, if you hustle.”

  Ned glanced at Abby, who shrugged. She didn’t feel strongly either way. “Up to you, Ned. I might be needed here, though, in case the toilet paper runs out.” Abby winked at Leslie.

  “Go see it. You should, once in your life. Consider it a business-related activity. But then scoot back here, because we’ll be busy after the battle is over. Wow, doesn’t that sound odd! Hey, we should all get together, right, Ned? I should have you two over for dinner, once I’ve recuperated from this craziness.”

  “Sounds good,” Ned said.

  “Great!” Leslie said, then hugged him again. “It’s been too long. Oops, gotta go.” Leslie disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

  Abby looked at Ned. “I guess I’ve been ordered to attend the battle at the bridge. Unless you’d really rather not?” After all, he had already walked from his parents’ house.

  “No, I think Leslie’s right—you should see it once. After that, you’re on your own. But we’d better hurry.”

  The fickle New England weather was cooperating, and the tourists were swarming toward the battle site. It was difficult to carry on a conversation while wading through a crowd. “What are we going to see?” Abby panted.

  “Well, no surprise, it all starts with ‘the shot heard round the world,’ which usually happens right around now, starting at eight. Then they restage the battle, with a lot of marching and firing of muskets—blanks, of course, but there’s lots of smoke and noise. Then the parade shows up, and the other minuteman companies arrive, and there are even British reenactors. There are a whole lot more people at the reenactment than at the original battle.”

  “I can believe it. Although weren’t there Civil War battles where the local people packed picnics and sat on convenient hillsides to watch?”

  “You may be right. Disturbing, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I know we watch that kind of thing on television and in movies all the time, but to go and watch real men die? That’s just perverse.”

  Even though it was still early, the crowds were thick near the bridge. There was a circus-like atmosphere to the event, especially since there were a lot of children—who of course were too short to see anything. Abby was surprised not to see vendors selling genuine inflatable muskets and felt tricorn hats. And what would authentic 1775 snacks be?

  As Ned had predicted, it was hard to see anything, although the sounds of musket fire were startling, and Abby could see the smoke from the discharges floating away above the crowd. She scanned the area halfheartedly, because she really didn’t expect anyone who was not breathing in the here and now to appear. Still, she tried to picture Henry Perry marching with his company of minutemen, knowing only that a troop of well-trained, well-armed British soldiers lay ahead.

  From what she’d read, Abby knew that the confrontation at the bridge itself hadn’t taken very long. The British had arrived and were surprised when the pesky patriots actually shot at them, so they went back to search and sack the town before heading back to Boston. Their mistake: by the time they were ready to lea
ve, the local minutemen had arrived in force and numbered nearly a couple of thousand, with more arriving all the time. While there had been no face-to-face confrontation, the Americans had harried the British troops all the way back to Boston.

  Once the brief encounter at the bridge had been performed, the parade from the center of town had arrived, and the party atmosphere increased. Abby could even hear strains of music coming from somewhere.

  Ned leaned over and spoke into her ear. “Had enough?”

  Abby nodded. “I think so. Back to town?”

  “If we can swim against the tide,” Ned replied.

  They turned and started to make their way back toward the museum. They had turned the corner onto Lexington Road when Abby said suddenly, “Mind if we take a short detour? I’m not expected back at any particular time, and this won’t take long.”

  “Sure. Where?”

  “The old cemetery—not Sleepy Hollow, but the other one.”

  “Okay. It’s a nice one, isn’t it? You’ve been there?”

  “Yes, once, recently. I want to see if there’s anyone there.”

  “You mean, one of our people?”

  “Yes.” Abby led the way up the hill. There were some tourists around, although most people, even those interested in history, didn’t choose to spend a lovely spring day poking around an old cemetery. The ones who were there were respectful and kept their distance. Abby continued straight on until she reached the top of the hill, then stopped and reached out a hand to Ned. He took it.

  Abby turned slowly, watching, but she didn’t see anybody who wasn’t there. Abby, that makes no sense! She rephrased it for herself: she didn’t see anyone other than the living, even with Ned’s help. After completing a full circle she looked at him, but he was staring intently at one corner near the edge of the cemetery. She followed his glance, but she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary there. Then she remembered the man that Ellie had seen, who she hadn’t been able to see either. Abby kept a firm hold on Ned’s hand, but nothing—or no one—materialized.

  He finally broke off the contact. “Did you see something?” Abby asked.

  “I’m … not sure. You should probably get back to work,” he said abruptly. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood to discuss whatever he had or hadn’t seen. She’d have to talk to him about it later.

  He walked her back to the museum but didn’t come in. “I’m going to walk back and collect my car. I’ve got a lot of stuff to work on at my house, and since this is a holiday I’d better use it.”

  “You want to get together tonight?”

  “Let me see how much I can get done during daylight today. Or maybe tomorrow?”

  “I told Leslie I’d chaperone her daughter Ellie for the day, since school’s out, so I don’t know what my time will be like. Give me a call when you know your schedule.”

  “I will.” Ned turned and left, without any good-bye kiss. Well, yes, it was a very public space, and there were lots of tourists around, including a bunch trying to push their way into the museum. But still. And was he waffling about getting together again? She needed to talk to him about what Ellie might have seen—and maybe that was somehow connected to his odd actions in the cemetery today.

  With a sigh, Abby turned and went into the museum, where one of the docents grabbed her as soon as she walked in. “We’re swamped, and it’s only going to get worse,” she said. “Cover the back gallery? Please?”

  “No problem,” Abby said, and jumped right in.

  17

  Abby had conveniently forgotten that Ned had given her a ride to work in the morning, so she was stranded at the museum. He apparently hadn’t remembered either and didn’t call her, but she had no trouble begging a ride from a colleague, an assistant curator named Nat, who she knew lived out beyond her house.

  “It certainly looks different than it did this morning!” Abby commented as they drove past the bridge, where only a few individuals and small groups strolled late in the day.

  “The town’s got a good cleanup crew. Bet you’re glad things will calm down now. You still enjoying the job?”

  “Very much. But I’m happy that Patriots’ Day is over and things will go back to normal.”

  “Summers are busy too, you know. Concord is one of the main tourist attractions around here, after Boston, between the history and all those authors. And we’re much simpler to get around, and more kid-friendly.”

  “This is me,” Abby pointed to the driveway ahead.

  “Hey, nice place!” her companion said.

  “It’s not mine—I’m just house-sitting. Leslie set it up with a friend. But if you hear of any affordable places for rent around here, let me know, because I’ve got to clear out by the end of next month.”

  “‘Affordable’ and ‘here’ are not terms you hear together very often, but I’ll think about it. See you tomorrow!”

  “Thanks for the ride, Nat!” Abby watched as Nat pulled out of the driveway, then let herself into the house. She was tired. The weekend with Ned had been lovely, but not necessarily restful, and today had been chaotic, plus she and Ned had done a lot of walking. She was kind of glad to have some alone time.

  But at the same time, she wondered if there was something going on with Ned. She had seen nothing out of the ordinary—by their slightly skewed standards—during the weekend, but he’d acted a little odd at the cemetery today. Had he seen something, or rather, someone? He had told her he didn’t often see anyone, but maybe his ability was coming back now since he’d been with her. But why that cemetery? She’d have to do a little more research and find out who was buried there. Still, she hadn’t sensed anyone related to her there—although maybe Ellie had, she reminded herself. She still hadn’t told Ned about Ellie, because she was still puzzling about it, or that’s what she told herself. She’d be seeing Ellie the next day, spending some real time with her, and maybe she could find out more—carefully, of course.

  By the end of the evening there was still no message or call from Ned. If she stopped to think about it, he’d been kind of subdued for a while. Maybe talking with his mother had unsettled him. Or maybe they’d entered a new phase of their relationship—after all, they’d been together for six months now. But she and Brad had been together six months when she moved in with him, and that hadn’t turned out so well. She didn’t want to make that mistake again. Not that Ned was anything like Brad, and he certainly wasn’t telling her what to do and how to live her life.

  Or was there something more going on? If she stopped to think about it, she realized she didn’t know much about Ned’s work, other than it was scientific and somehow involved DNA. She still hadn’t seen his house, or rather, renovation-in-progress—when they spent the night together, it was always at her place, because he claimed his own bordered on uninhabitable. Should she be asking more questions? If they were together, shouldn’t she know these things? Maybe she was being as selfish with Ned as Brad had been with her. It was a sobering thought.

  She had been depending on him to help her sort out her unexpected visions of long-dead relatives, but now it seemed he was struggling with the whole thing—her abilities, his, and what happened when they were together. He understood what was happening to her, but he didn’t seem to know how to handle it in himself. Maybe he’d suppressed it so long that it had atrophied, if that was possible. Was that good or bad? Given a choice, would she rather live with whatever it was or without it? She still wasn’t sure, but it was all still new.

  Her brain was too fuzzy to do anything except zone out in front of the television for an hour or two. She went to bed early: she would need her energy for Ellie the next day.

  • • •

  As Abby drove into town the next morning, it felt like the aftermath of a storm. The townspeople were milling around, moving displays, tidying up, but just a bit more slowly than usual. Still, she reminded herself, it was school break week and the museum would probably be busier than usual, or so she’d been told. Sh
e felt guilty, like she wasn’t pulling her weight there, but she was still the new kid and didn’t really know what needed to be done. But she was pleased that she’d weathered her first Patriots’ Day without mishaps.

  When Abby walked into her office, Leslie was already there, with a sulky Ellie spinning back and forth in Abby’s desk chair, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. Leslie said sharply, “Ellie, sit still! Abby, can I talk to you a minute? In the hall?”

  “Sure.” Abby followed her into the hall, presumably out of Ellie’s hearing. “What’s up?”

  “My darling daughter is in a pissy mood. Doesn’t want to be here, but her daddy can’t stay home and there’s no one else to take her today. I’ve got something figured out for the rest of the week, but I’m afraid I really need your help today. You sure you don’t mind?”

  Abby couldn’t think of a good way to say no, even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. “Don’t worry about it. I promised you one day this week, and I’m kind of at loose ends today anyway, since I don’t have any groups coming in. I was planning to catch up on the paperwork and maybe freshen up some of the presentations, but that can wait. What would Ellie like to do? I don’t exactly know her well.”

  “Poor kid—she’s seen most of the historic sites around here, since birth, and I have to admit, they kind of bored me when I was her age. So I doubt she’d be too excited about anything historical.”

  “Does she like nature?”

  “Depends on which day you ask her.”

  “How about shopping?”

  Leslie laughed. “She’s a classic tomboy, so you can’t woo her with shoes or dresses. She does like books, but she’s got a zillion at home.”

  “Maybe she could write her own book …” Abby said slowly. “Does she know how to use a computer or a keyboard?”

  Leslie laughed. “Better than me. Don’t all the kids these days? Sure, that sounds like a great idea. And you can show her websites where she can find pictures to download, too. Or let her draw her own and scan them for her. I love it! But try to get her outside for a bit too, will you? Take her out to lunch, on me.”