Chapter 13

Marc didn’t come downstairs for three days. He just sat at the computer updating the William Shelby site, adding notes he’d made regarding places in the letters, adding pictures of the surrounding fields and a scan of the state’s historical landmark certificate, which arrived in the mail on the second day.

He held it and felt ashamed. If Benjamin was hoaxing him, he was taking a hell of a risk. It all seemed so obvious now that Benjamin wouldn’t risk his job for something as frivolous as a one-night stand. He loved his job. He loved anything related to the Civil War.

And Marc had ruined it.

He couldn’t face his family. When he got hungry or thirsty, he sent texts to Donna, asking her to leave food or coffee or sodas on the table in the hallway. The first and second day and night, she did it without complaint. The third morning, he came out of the attic to find a thermos of coffee, a cup, and dry creamer, with a note attached.

I can’t be here all day today. I have a meeting with Ralphie’s teacher at his school. The dry creamer is the best I can do. Sorry—D.

That day he didn’t eat till she returned. He spent most of the day staring at the attic walls, beating himself up for getting involved with someone so soon after Jed’s death.

He tried not to think about Benjamin too much. He was over him, he assured himself. Even though he kept thinking about the love they’d discovered together, and the kisses that brought a happiness he hadn’t felt since Jed’s death, he was over him. Stop thinking about him. I’m over him. And no sooner had the words entered his mind than he’d remember spooning to the left, feeling warm arms clasping his body.

The sun dropped low in the sky, and the door downstairs opened and closed.

Donna sent him a text. What did you eat today?

He texted back, reluctantly. Nothing.

A moment later, Donna’s shouted up the opening. “Marc Aaron Shelby! Get over here!” He went across the floor to peer down.

“Yes, Donna?”

“What do you mean you haven’t eaten?” Donna was standing below the opening, hands on her hips, looking affronted.

“I haven’t had anything to eat since you brought dinner last night. I’m living on coffee and something called dry cream.”

Donna sighed, exasperated. “Marc, you have to get over this.” She walked away, and then he heard her steps return. “I wanted to tell you, they deposited money into the account. How much have we sold? I was surprised at how much we have.”

Marc shrugged since she couldn’t see him. “We’ve sold about six or seven things.”

“Marc?”

“Yeah?” He looked across the room at the window, darkening fast.

“Come here.”

“Okay, I’m down. What?”

“Marc, what’s going on?” Donna placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Marc, please tell me. You’ve been so upset. What happened?” She wiped a tear from his face with her thumbs.

Marc shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Food first. Then talk.” She pulled him down the stairs and sat him in one of the kitchen chairs. “You stay there. Ralphie, could you go to your room for a little bit? Uncle Marc and I need to talk in private. I’ll make dinner.”

Ralphie looked at both of them, then gathered his homework and left the room without a word. Marc swiped at his eyes, angry with himself for crying.

Donna got him a small bag of corn chips. “Eat those while I cook. And talk. What happened?”

Marc opened the chips and ate morosely. Finally, he managed to speak. “We fought. I accused him, and then he accused me. It’s just what Upshaw wanted.”

“Accused of what?” Donna asked, opening cans at the stove.

Marc described the conversation that suddenly became an argument, the sudden rejection, and the running away. He covered his face with both hands as he finished. “And then I came home. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“That sounds awful, Marc. I bet if you talk to him, you can work this out.”

“I don’t know,” Marc said. “I’m angry and hurt.”

Donna nodded. “I would be too.”

“It’s too soon to talk to him,” Marc said. “Besides, I doubt he’ll ever talk to me again.”

“You don’t know that,” Donna said as she stirred a sauce together. “I think you should reach out.”

“Maybe tomorrow, Donna. I’m not ready yet.”

She shook her head but didn’t push. “Okay, Marc.”

* * *

Marc walked from one side of the house to the other, moving furniture for pickups and taking photos of other unearthed objects. He couldn’t seem to smile. Everything hurt.

When Donna mentioned that Benjamin had purchased one of the bed frames, however, he perked up. “He’ll be picking it up later today,” she said. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Maybe I can talk to him,” Marc said. “At least I’ll get to see him, right?”

Even so, he was nervous as he stood on the porch with the headboard leaning on the house wall, wrapped in one of the hundred blankets he and Donna had unearthed during the clearing-out. Will we be able to talk? Will he even want to?

When the red truck pulled up in the driveway, he stared at the well-built man in the dark blue Pea Ridge National Park sweatshirt sitting behind the steering wheel. Benjamin got out of the passenger side and came up to the porch.

Marc stood there with the headboard in his arms, feeling stupid. Of course he’s got someone new. Of course. His face flamed red, and he walked past Benjamin without speaking to put the headboard in the bed of the truck. Benjamin followed him.

Ralphie took the bag of bolts and wood slats to the man in the driver’s seat. Benjamin lowered the back gate of the truck and laid out the blanket on the bed. Marc gestured at the heavy headboard. “I don’t want to mark this up. Can you help me?”

Benjamin hopped into the bed and reached down to get one end of the headboard. Marc pushed and lifted, and Benjamin stumbled back into the cab. “Whoa, there, mister.”

Marc tried to laugh, but his laughter had an edge to it. He apologized and hurried to get the footboard. Donna handed Benjamin the bed rails, and the three of them met at the back of the truck once again.

“And who’s your friend?” Donna asked, trying to sound natural by naming the elephant in the room.

The man behind the steering wheel responded. “I’m David, one of his soldiers at arms, ma’am.”

Marc lifted the footboard into the truck bed and stood back, feeling awkward and out of place. Behind him, Donna thanked the two men for taking the bed off their hands.

“Not at all, Donna. In fact, it’s going in my tent tomorrow. I’m looking forward to sleeping in a bigger bed,” Benjamin said.

“It nearly passes for the traditional travel beds,” David said.

Benjamin nodded at David’s words. “He’s right. You guys should have asked for more. I’ve got a feeling this isn’t a replica, and once I get it authenticated, I’ll give you any difference from what I paid. I’d hate to steal from you folks.”

Benjamin slid the rails and slats into the truck bed, on top of the blanket-covered headboard. As he did, David got out of the truck to help him. He was taller than Marc had estimated. Benjamin grabbed a quilted cover from the backseat and tossed it to David. “Can you place this over the top and bungee cord it all in place?”

“You don’t have to make up the difference, Benjamin. Please. If anything, it feels strange selling it to you.” Donna shook his hand. “I hope it works for you.”

Marc followed her as she walked back to the house. So maybe that’s not his new guy. Maybe they’re just friends.

As they got back to the porch, he looked at his sister. “Okay, what did you want to ask back there that you didn’t?”

Donna looked at him like he was daft. “Me? Nothing.”

Marc snorted. “Seriously? You think I don’t know your tells, sis?”

“Fine,” Donna said. “I just wanted to know if David was straight. He’s the kind of guy I’d like to date.”

Marc watched as Benjamin slid into the passenger seat. “So you don’t think that Benjamin’s already dating again, so soon?” He couldn’t hide the catch in his voice.

“I doubt it,” Donna said.

* * *

On Sunday morning, they sat around the kitchen table. Ralphie had his homework spread out in front of him, and Donna was reading a magazine.

Marc had “Ashokan Farewell” on repeat on his phone, several versions of it. The third version had a man reading a letter from Sullivan Ballou to his wife. He sat and listened, morosely scrolling down a web page without really seeing it. His mind was at the campsite.

You could have been sleeping in his bed last night. You could have been spooning right and left with him. But you had to open your big mouth and accuse him of something he would never have done in a million years. How stupid are you?

He groaned.

Donna closed her magazine, and Ralphie slammed his fist on the table. “Dammit, Uncle Marc, can you please play something that’s not so depressing?”

“Sorry.” Marc shut off the music.

“And can you please go see him?”

Marc looked at his nephew. “Go see him? What for?”

Ralphie sighed in a why-are-adults-so-stupid? way. “Because you’ll never know if Benjamin likes you or is dating that David guy if you just sit at this breakfast table listening to Civil War music.”

“What, are you, a relationship counselor now?” Marc tried to joke. Inside, he cringed. Ralphie was pressing buttons he didn’t want pressed.

But Ralphie wasn’t done. “Look, he invited you to his big Civil War thing weeks ago. Us, too. Today is the big battle, and it’s happening about a hundred yards from our backyard. We should go.”

“If you want to go, I suppose we can,” Marc said.

“I do, but mainly because I’m begging you to go out there and find out if you guys can make up,” Ralphie said. “Because I can’t handle one more day of you moping around this house not doing something about it. It’s like the Haunted Mansion around here—the Haunted Mansion of Broken Hearts.” He shook his head. “And it sucks.”

“Ralphie!” Donna couldn’t keep a straight face, and then she turned to Marc. “He’s right, Marc. Just do it. I need to know about David as much as you need to know about Benjamin.”

“Just do it, Uncle Marc. Go talk to him.”

Marc nodded. “All right. It can’t make it anything worse than it is right now.”

“That’s the spirit,” Donna said. “In fact, let’s all go.”

They went out the door. Marc could hear the campsite even from his back porch. He jogged down alongside the house and through the backyard.

Ralphie and Donna followed him, but his concentration was on the path. He leaped over the back wall and bolted across the field, gaining speed as he’d done that first day.

Ralphie and Donna were close on his heels, but not close enough. Donna was laughing and cursing as her son helped her over the wall.

As he neared the fence post, he spotted Benjamin on a tall chestnut horse on the battlefield. Uniformed men in blue and gray clashed in the middle of the field as Benjamin exhorted them from the rear ranks.

The battlefield was chaotic. If there had been maneuvers, they’d fallen apart as the two sides met. No plan survives contact with the enemy, Marc thought as he ran toward Benjamin.

He had no plan. He just had a goal. He had to talk to the tall blond man on the horse before his heart broke completely.

As men dropped around him, Benjamin raised his hand in the air.

BANG! CRACK!

The world slipped into slow motion. An explosive sound hit Marc in the ears, and he stumbled. On the field, Benjamin fell off the side of his horse, landing on the ground, seemingly lifeless.

Marc screamed. No, he can’t die! This can’t be happening! He stumbled and fell forward onto the grass, hit his head on the ground, his vision going black, his ears still ringing from the explosion.

Cool earth welcomed him as he fell.

* * *

Marc grabs a box of blackberries and a raspberry too. He turns around and shouts across the store. “Jed? Do you want blackberries or raspberries?”

“Rasp—”

Bang. Crack. Another bang. Another crack. Screams and smoke. Screaming, frightened shoppers duck and drop and run.

Marc runs too, to where Jed fell to the ground. Marc still hears the echoing pops of gunfire. The berries fall to the floor as he places his hands on either side of Jed’s face.

Jed’s eyes blink once, twice, and then nothing.

“Jed! No! NO! You can’t leave me! You can’t die! This can’t be happening!” Marc screams… He falls on top of him. He won’t let go.

Marc jerked on the ground, moaning. The images and sensations came in bright flashes, like one of his vintage cameras going off.

Pop. Flash.

Blood soaking the front of his shirt.

Pop. Flash.

Blood covering the floor in a pool.

Pop. Flash.

Gunpowder smoke hanging in the air like a deadly miasma.

Pop. Flash.

Jed’s lifeless body beneath him.

A blink. A shift in time.

Marc is lying on the cool earth. Jed is gone. Benjamin is gone.

Smoke crosses the field in gray billows. It stings his eyes.

Hooves gallop toward him. He senses them more than hears them. His ears are still ringing with the gunshots.

Through the smoke, Marc see Jed riding toward him on a horse, beside a man with red curly hair like Marc’s. Is that him riding beside Jed? His mind rejects it—how could he be seeing himself riding with Jed? It’s obviously a dream. If Jed’s in it, it has to be a dream. He watches them, his ears still ringing.

The two men ride to Marc. Jed is on a white horse, and the redheaded man is on a gray one. Jed’s shirt is stained with blood, but he is smiling.

“You’re not real,” Marc croaks.

“I’m as real as you are,” Jed says.

“Who’s he?” Marc jerks his chin at the other man.

“This is William Shelby. When he first came to me, I had to do a double take because he looked so much like you. I was worried you hadn’t made it out of the store.”

“You were right, son. He does look an awful lot like me,” William says.

“Why are you guys here?” Marc asks.

“William wanted to meet you, and I wanted to let you know that everything is going to be all right. But you’re keeping me bound here, and I have to go, Marc. Let me go. You’re free to be with this new man in your life.”

“But I don’t want to lose you, Jed. I have so much to show you and tell you—about Donna and Ralphie and the house.”

“I know, Marc. I’ve seen it all. And I’ll always be with you. But William is going to help me cross over. We’ll take each other. I just need you to let me go.”

Marc shakes his head. Let you go? But I’ve held on to you for so long… how can I just let you go?

Jed smiles. “Because you’ve carried me long enough. I need to move on, Marc.”

“But—” Marc chokes out.

“Do you love me, Marc?”

“Yes!”

“Then let me go.”

Marc cries. It is an ugly cry, sobs shaking him to the core. “How?”

“You have to move on. And you should know that by finding William’s letters, you’re helping him move on, too.”

“Yes, son,” William says. “Thank you for this. Thank you for finding the letters, and for finding my love, my lost love, Samuel. Now wake up, son. It’s time.”

They turn and ride away into the smoke. Marc watches as they go, half-blinded by tears. He’s rocking side to side as if the battlefield is a sea, a stormy sea, and he groans as his head throbs with the rocking.

“Marc!”

The smell of the gunpowder begins to fade. He coughs. There are hands on him, rolling him over, tapping his face.

“Marc! Marc!”

Someone is calling him.

I turn toward the voice, and light pours in on him...