“Aubrey, sir, Lieutenant Ethan Aubrey, Army of Northern Virginia. I tried to reach General Whitaker, but . . . you do see me, sir—ma’am?”
Carlson waved to them. They smiled and waved back. Then Carlson turned again and got into his car. Jackson and Angela both managed to ignore the ghost for a minute so they could wave to him as he drove off.
“Ah, yes, of course,” the ghost murmured. “Carlson doesn’t see—and you must not look like crazy people. He has gone, so!”
“Lieutenant, I’m Jackson Crow and this is my wife, Angela Hawkins,” Jackson said.
“How do you do, sir,” Angela said, and asked anxiously, “And yes. We see you clearly.”
“Both of you. Remarkable.”
“There are more,” Angela said softly.
“Yes, of course, so in the world—I’ve seen one other, I believe. Oh, people sense us. Especially here. Those who don’t sense us even . . . sense us. They see the lines of blue and gray, the cavalry and the canon. So sad, the business of war.”
“Yes,” Jackson agreed.
“Can you help us?” Angela asked. “Do you know anything?”
“I know enough to know it’s not safe,” Ethan Aubrey said. “What has gone on . . . well, it’s on the other side of the cemetery.” He appeared to wince. “I can’t cross that line, so it seems.”
“What line?” Jackson asked.
The ghost of the departed Confederate lieutenant pointed to the front of the church. An old stone path led to the front door.
“Seems this side is Confederate dead.” He shrugged. “That’s mainly me. A few other good fellows lie here, but . . . well, they are not here, if you know what I mean.”
“You can’t cross the line?”
“I guess . . . well, maybe peace is a hard thing to acquire. Oh, believe me, I have listened to others for years—and years—now. I’m glad we’re one great country. But . . . I’ve tried. I’ve tried to cross the line. And I cannot. But Whitaker was here . . . I warned him to go, but too late.”
“He was murdered?” Angela asked.
The ghost was thoughtful. “I don’t think murder was the intent. They just meant to knock him out and get out. But the gentleman . . . he gripped his heart. And he fell. And I watched him try to write, but . . .”
“Ahem!”
Jackson had been staring at the ghost of Aubrey intently; he turned at the new arrival. Another man in uniform stood there, this one United States Navy.
The man saluted. They all saluted back. “Chief Petty Officer Roger Banton,” he said, introducing himself. “South Pacific, World War II. And I think I can add a bit of information here.”
“That would be wonderful,” Angela assured him. “Anything that might help!”
Jackson didn’t realize he was frowning, looking from one man to the other. But the ghost of Chief Petty Officer Roger Banton smiled. “We’re friends,” he said, clapping a ghostly hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. “He surrendered years ago!”
Aubrey shook his head. “I didn’t surrender. I recognized slavery is wrong—states rights are still important—and this is one country. I love the country. I’m glad we lost. Except from what I have observed, we still have a long way to go to create a truly equal world in the hearts of all men—and women.”
Angela laughed. “I got it. No problem. But, please, for now—”
“It’s across the church, on the other side, near . . .” Banton began
“My cousin’s family’s vault. We’re not sure what is going on. Sometimes, you just see young people by day. They come to drink beer amid the graves, hiding out from their parents, I imagine. But then you’ll see someone slipping around the vault and then at night . . .”
“Yes?” Angela asked.
Ethan Aubrey looked at her, perplexed. “I don’t mean to be forward, ma’am, but . . . you are with child.”
“I am,” Angela told him.
“And so lovely!” Aubrey said, turning to Jackson. “I don’t mean to be forward in anyway, sir. I just . . .”
Angela laughed, delighted by the man. “Women have come a long way, Lieutenant. We have the vote; we serve in the government.”
Chief Petty Officer Banton gave him a punch in the shoulder. “I told you about that. Come on now, you were talking about equality.”
“Yes, right, but the babe . . .”
“I’m perfectly healthy. I’m pregnant—not ill,” Angela assured him.
“And if I may, without being forward, you’re a most lovely angel with all that beautiful blonde hair! So, you work for the government?” Aubrey asked.
“Yes, it’s allowed,” Banton said, laughing. “Even in my day. ‘Rosy the Riveter!’ Women had to move out into the work force, and they did. And proved in many ways they were equally or more competent. Ethan, get with the twenty-first century!”
“And you—you’re an Indian!” Ethan said to Jackson.
“Half—” Jackson began.
“Native American!” Banton said. “Hey, I try with him all the time.” He grew serious suddenly. “The world is still on something of a shutdown. You won’t have the crowds tomorrow, but people still come here, as I said, especially young people. They go for ‘walks’ but meet here. Social distancing is hard for the young, but others come and walk and enjoy the land, some with masks, some without. And we are close to a neighborhood, so you have bike riders and more. There will be people, hopefully still being very careful, but they will come. It’s Memorial Day weekend. And something is going on in this graveyard. I’ve seen the poor priest, Father Landry. He looks about and shakes his head. He’s alone here, it’s such a small place. I believe he will be getting a deacon, and there is a groundskeeper who comes out now and then. But . . .”
“Something is going on. Something that killed Whitaker, whether intentionally or not,” Aubrey finished. “Please, search the other side.”
Jackson nodded. He looked at Angela who gave him a determined nod as well.
He asked them to wait just a second, snapping pictures of the presumed letter and partial letter that might well have been
