39. A Ghost

1865 SEPTEMBER 3, SUNDAY

39

The church held a picnic in honor of the surviving veterans and in celebration of the harvest. Stubborn Nora even broke Mrs. House down into allowing Bradley to participate, setting him up beneath a shady tree. Nora's steps bounced when we left to return home.

We all descended from the carriage, laughing and chatting, with even Mrs. Mathis chuckling at her son's teasing. Moses came bounding around the back when he heard our laughter, barking and wagging his tail in greeting.

Stopping on the porch steps, I realized I had lost a glove. "I think I dropped my glove in the carriage."

Mrs. Mathis gestured to Thad to remain.

I turned back to the carriage and halted at the top step, peering out past the gate.

A man walked a slow, defeated gait up the road toward the Mathis property. From where I stood, he appeared a slim silhouette, bent over from the weight of his baggage, and his head bowed beneath a worn cow hat. There was a limp familiar to sore feet and fatigue.

"Another one?" Mrs. Mathis asked. "I thought we had seen the last of these vagabonds. I was sure they had all reached home by now. I'll go tell Louise to make a plate for him. Nora, can you help Ella find her glove?" Kay took Mrs. Mathis's shawl, and Seth scraped off his boots before they went inside.

"Are you sure you dropped it in the carriage and not at the picnic?" Nora asked.

"I think so …" I still watched the man approach the gate and stop to look in our direction. He stood there, his gaze shadowed beneath his hat. Moses remained at the foot of the steps, sniffing the air, and let out a low woof.

"Ella?" I could feel Nora's eyes boring into me. Moses panted, and his tail thumped the ground. "What is it, boy?" Nora asked. He released a subtle woof and started jogging toward the stranger at the gate.

"A moment," I told her, my eyes watching him. So many times I glimpsed John in a returning veteran. My mind convinced me that he wasn't dead and that he would mysteriously appear one day. Longing played tricks on your mind.

But …

It couldn't be him.

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until I released it with his name, "John?"

My mind raced, trying to comprehend what I was seeing, trying to make out whether it was truly him.

Impossible. I only wished it was him. He was gone.

"What?" Nora and I exchanged looks. Her face had drained of color, her brown eyes wide. She turned back to look toward the road. "It can't be."

I was afraid to learn my eyes had deceived me, if he was truly a figment of my imagination, or if he were a ghost.

My legs seemed to carry me forward. I stopped to look back at Nora, who stood still on the stairs, staring at the man at the gate. I glanced back at the man. He had not moved, contemplating whether to approach or wait for me to advance toward him.

Moses reached the stranger first, sniffing his feet, and accepted a pat from the man. My steps were measured, unsure to what or whom I was nearing. I was ten feet away from him when he looked up and turned back to the road, revealing his profile to me. I knew at once, despite the gnarled beard and dark, tired complexion.

"John?" I called. "How—" How was this possible, I wanted to ask.

"I didn't think you'd still be here," he rasped, his back turned to me. I didn't realize I missed the sound of his voice until I heard it and my breath caught in my throat.

I swallowed the lump. "You're alive?"

"I'm here, aren't I." His words were sharp. He turned around. His eyes were dark and withdrawn.

I took a step, but he held up a hand to stop me.

"Don't come any closer. I'm infested with pests and reek of dysentery."

He took off his hat then, and I could see a tan line where the brim rested. Dark circles shadowed his crow's-feet, his lips were cracked and blistered, his dirty, matted hair brushed his shoulders, and his beard was left tangled. He did not wear his uniform, but brown, homespun pants that skimmed the tops of his deteriorating, brown, leather boots, a cotton shirt, and a gray, wool jacket—holey either from moths or bullets.

His gaze took me in from head to foot. I searched him for some sort of emotion, some sort of sign. I did not know exactly what I wanted to hear from him or see in his eyes, but I could feel my heart sink.

"Still wearing black, I see." Then his eyes paused, looking at my left hand by my side, seeing the gold band I still wore for Brett. "Oh," he said, as if he understood everything now.

I wanted to explain it all. I wanted to tell him that everyone thought he was dead, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I clenched my hand, attempting to hide it.

Nora rushed to my side then and stopped when John extended his hand. "No, Nora," he warned.

Her cheeks were wet, and I could see the evident pain etched in her expression, but she managed to restrain herself beside me. "John. But it can't … oh, John. Is it really, truly you?"

"How come you're looking at me as though I were a ghost?" he asked, a dry, sardonic tone to his voice.

Nora beamed. "Oh, my dear brother! It is really you, isn't it? I'm not imagining it." She stepped toward him till she was within arm's reach.

"You better not move an inch closer, Nora Lee, or you'll get every insect I've inherited," he asserted. "I'm going to stay out here. Tell Ma she's needed in the backyard."

We both bobbed our heads and watched as he lumbered around us, Moses following on his master's heels. As John disappeared behind the house, Nora wrapped her arms around me.

"This is by far … the happiest day … of my life," she blubbered.

I patted her arm. Disappointment and confusion burned my throat. It all seemed so surreal. I had dreamed of John's return—even when I knew he was dead. We would always greet each other with desperate kisses. Kisses I still remembered. That turned my blood molten and left tingles where his beard scraped my skin. We would apologize profusely, only stopping our caresses to whisper words of love. This scene was nothing I had dreamed of.

"Let's go tell your mother," I said, taking Nora's hand.

"Oh, Ma. She's going to be beside herself when she sees him alive and well."

"Alive, yes, but well … maybe not."

Nora sighed. "Ma will doctor him back to new, though. He just needs a bath, some home cooking, and a warm bed to sleep in."

She let go of my hand, hiking up her skirts and running as fast as she could toward the house.

"Ma! Ma!" she yelled. "Ma! Come quick! Ma!" Once she entered the house, I could still hear her yelling.

My feet felt numb as I walked back to where Thad stood with the carriage.

"Is that really …?" Thad probably feared he, too, was seeing things.

"It appears John Mathis has returned from the grave." My voice sounded like someone else's in my ears.

"Apparently so. I wonder where he's been all this time?"

"Obviously, not in the ground." I shuddered as soon as I realized I said it aloud.

Thad ahemed and rocked on his feet. "Here." He handed me my glove. "Found it wedged in between the seats."

The small, white glove was so crisp and clean in my hand. Balling it up, I pushed it deep inside the pocket where its companion hid, waiting.

"Thank you," I managed to say as Thad turned away from me, climbing back into the driver's seat. He clicked his tongue and flicked the straps against the horses' backs, lurching forward and clattering off toward the stables.

Mrs. Mathis and Nora embraced, laughing through their tears. Even Katie mewled at seeing Mrs. Mathis and Nora cry. But I did not know how to feel. My heart ached, my soul soared, but my eyes were dry.

Seth stood awkward among the women, not knowing what to say for comfort. Instead, he fetched the large bucket Louise filled with scalding-hot water, and a bar of lye soap, to take out to John. Thad was setting out his scissors and razor, ready to give him a cut and shave.

"Send for the doctor, and stop at Margaret's and Renny's on your way back," Mrs. Mathis instructed Kay, shoving her bonnet in her hands and guiding her out the door.

I felt like I was floating, my soul slowly peeling away from my body. Mrs. Mathis tasked me with preparing John's bed, and I could not help watching him from his bedroom window, his slim frame shivering in the backyard while Louise ordered him to strip. My chest tightened, humiliated for him as he tried to cover himself with his brown hands. My face heated at his frail nudity. His tan lines were sharp at the base of his neck and at his wrists. Red, jagged scars crisscrossed his white back. Other scars, obvious bullet or shrapnel wounds, puckered on his chest, neck, and upper arm. Anger flared in my gut, knowing at least one man who had put those there. I wanted to shoot Ethan again for what he did to John.

I was too afraid to move from the window, afraid this was all a dream. I wanted my eyes to stay on John forever, to make sure he was real, to make sure he wouldn't disappear as soon as I turned away.

Voices in greeting echoed from downstairs when the Smith family and then Renny and Landon arrived. Instead of going downstairs to welcome them, I shut the bedroom door and stayed at my post to watch John.

The lights were extinguished throughout the house, except for the upper hall near John's room. The doctor had come and gone a mere hour ago. I walked past the door, and through the open crack I could see Mrs. Mathis rocking in the chair beside his bed, knitting while he slept.

"Ella?" she whispered.

I peeked my head in through the door. "Everyone has left, and Seth and Nora are talking in the parlor."

Mrs. Mathis beckoned. "You've stayed away from us all evening."

"I'm sorry. I just didn't want to intrude on your reunion."

Mrs. Mathis set down the needles and yarn. "You know you're as much family as my own sons and daughters." She patted her side, as if to say, "Come." I did, kneeling beside her, resting my head on her lap. She laid down her knitting and stroked my head, taking out pins and removing the locks of coiled hair at the nape of my neck. "It scares you that it might be different between you, doesn't it?"

Her maternal touch unraveled me like my hair. "I suppose … well, I really don't know … what I'm thinking."

With a clean-shaven jaw and combed hair, he looked more like the John I remembered, just older, more distant, and haggard. His breathing came in jagged gulps as though even in sleep, his trials continued.

"I understand. I have many questions I want to ask him, but right now, I must be content with the relief he's alive. I had come to accept his death. We all had. So, I think confusion is normal. I keep asking myself, if he were dead, how is he now alive? Where was he all this time?"

I nodded my head against her lap.

"Are you tired?" she asked me.

"No. I don't know how I'm going to sleep with all this mulling in my head."

Mrs. Mathis ran her fingers through my hair, releasing tangles from my long, wavy hair. "Well, my dear, I think I'm going to try and get some rest. Do you mind sitting here for a while with him?"

I lifted my head and looked at her kind face. "Of course not."

Her wrinkled hand cupped my chin. "If he wakes, feed him the broth. No water yet. If you need anything else, don't be afraid to wake me. And, dear, please don't be dismayed. He'll eventually realize you've loved him all this time. If he's anything like his old self, he's as stubborn as his father was."

I smiled, grateful for her comforting words. She leaned down and kissed my forehead. I helped her to her feet and handed her the knitting. She patted my cheek as she left the room and closed the door, leaving me completely alone with her son.

John slept restlessly, waking through the night with shuttering gasps and coughs. His eyelids fluttered open and then relaxed back into sleep as he realized he was back in the comfort and safety of his own home. My heart warmed with the thought my presence brought him peace, but he never once acknowledged I was the one who remained at his bedside.