Sheila Connolly - Relatively Dead 02 - Seeing the Dead (11 page)

“Sure, fine. Can we go now?” At least Ellie seemed a bit more enthusiastic than she had been before.

“Okay. Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah. Come on.” Ellie led the way downstairs and out the front door, turning right toward the center of town. Yes, she certainly had been there before.

It was only a few blocks to the nearest cemetery—not the Sleepy Hollow one that Abby knew well, but another one, built on an awkward hill closer to town. Ellie was happy to scramble up the hill, while Abby followed more slowly, reading the tombstones, mostly old slate ones. “Ellie, don’t go too far! Hey, can you read these stones?”

“Sure. Come on—there’s this really cool one you should see.”

Abby followed willingly and found Ellie standing in front of a stone dated 1773. Ellie pointed. “Look, see? He was African, and he started out as a slave, but then he was freed. Don’t you wonder what he was doing here? And what things were like when he was here? And it says, ‘Here lies the body of John Jack, a native of Africa who died March 1773.’ There’s lots more. What does ‘a slave to vice’ mean?”

Ellie was far too smart for her years, and Abby wasn’t sure how she should answer her—or if she even knew the answer. And what would Leslie think? “Maybe you should ask your mother,” Abby told her.

Ellie didn’t appear to hear her, because her eyes were fixed on another spot in the cemetery. “Who’s that?”

“Who?” Abby searched in the direction Ellie was looking, but she didn’t see anyone. “Is it a man or a woman?”

“It’s a man, in funny clothes. You didn’t see him?”

No. It couldn’t be.
And if Abby wasn’t ready to explain vice to a seven-year-old, she was even less prepared to broach the subject of seeing … whatever the man was. Who she couldn’t see. Not a relative of hers, apparently. But why could Ellie see him? “No, I must have missed him.”
In more ways than one
. “Have you seen him before?” Abby asked cautiously

Ellie shook her head. “He’s gone now. Can we go back? I’m thirsty.”

“Sure, let’s do that. Your mother should be finished soon. She’s going to wonder where we went.”

They made their way down the hill and followed the sidewalk back toward the museum. When they reached a corner, they had to cross the street, and Ellie dutifully put her hand in Abby’s. She giggled. “That tickles.”

Abby was frozen in place, because she’d felt an electric zing when Ellie had taken her hand. Like she felt with Ned, only much softer, smaller.
Oh, no.
At least Ellie didn’t seem to expect a response from her, but held her hand as they crossed the busy street. Once on the other side Ellie skipped toward the front door of the museum, and Abby followed more slowly, trying to grasp what had just happened. If anything at all. Should she talk to Leslie? Or should she discuss this with Ned first? She took the easy way out, handing Ellie back to Leslie and retreating to her office, where a quick Google search revealed that the long-departed John Jack had had a fondness for demon rum—that was his vice.
That
she and Ellie could talk about. Not about the other thing, not yet.

The rest of the day passed without incident, and Abby drove home shortly after five. It was still light—the days actually were lengthening. Abby knew that the battle had begun at Lexington at dawn, but she was less sure how long it had lasted. Or maybe she needed to know first when it had ceased to be a battle and had turned into a retreat for the British, although more and more American militia had kept showing up throughout the retreat and had continued to take shots at the redcoats. There were several theories about when the “first” shot had been fired, but what was the “last” shot?

She’d finished her supper and had cleaned up when Ned called. “She wants to talk with you,” he said, without introduction.

“Now? On the phone?” Abby replied, flustered.

“No, face-to-face.”

“You want me to come over now?”

“Can you? And she wants me to go home, so it would be just the two of you. She’s kind of angry with me.”

Abby had more or less expected that. So now it was up to her to play peacemaker? To explain to Sarah how she and Ned had discovered this thing between them, and how she was the one who had prompted him to bring it out in the open with his mother. Well, that was true, and she could kind of understand why initially Ned had been reluctant to articulate whatever was going on—and then denial had become a way of life. Now that was over, but Abby wasn’t sure in which direction the future lay. She liked Sarah, and she had never intended to hurt her.

“But not at me?”

“I think she considers you a catalyst, but not the cause, if you know what I mean. Don’t worry—she won’t bite your head off. I think she’s just upset.”

“Ned, so was I when I first found out about this. Your mother had probably found a way to rationalize the whole thing away for years, and now suddenly she’s supposed to rethink everything—and with a stranger who comes out of nowhere.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Ned said.

“Yes, I do. I started it. I would have gone to her directly, but then you told me you’d never even talked about it, and that’s just wrong. This is important. Isn’t it?”

“I guess.” Ned did not sound convinced. “Can I tell her you’re coming over?”

“Yes. I can leave now, so I won’t be long. Are you leaving?”

“Uh, yes. I’m sorry—maybe I’m the one who screwed up. You’re right—I should have said something years ago.”

“We can’t know for sure, but things will be different now. I’ll call you after I’ve talked to her, unless it’s really late. But I do have to work tomorrow, and things are kind of crazy at the museum. Oh, and there’s something else I need to tell you about, but that can wait. I’ll talk to you later.”

Abby hung up first. Poor Ned—he was being such a guy about this whole thing. Had he ever discussed any of this with Leslie? Abby could see why he might have hesitated with her, but with Sarah? Abby was pretty sure that Sarah would have understood.
And why do you think that, Abby?
she asked herself.

Because we share whatever it is, and Sarah passed it to Ned. We’re all connected
. She located her keys and went out to the car, to drive to Lexington.

11

There was only one car in the driveway when Abby arrived at the Newhall house. She’d been there only once before, but it wasn’t hard to find, since it lay along the Battle Road, although the house was set back from the road itself. It had been standing at the time of the battle, but it had never been part of it. The light over the front door was on, as were several lights on the ground floor. Abby parked and turned off the car, but then she sat for a couple of moments, trying to sort out what she wanted to say. Of course, she didn’t know much: she’d been living with the “condition” for only a few months, and prior to that she would have said she was anything but sensitive to … whatever this thing was. Maybe Sarah would have an idea about what to call it, because Abby was still struggling to come up with a name, and Ned wasn’t helping much.

She took a deep breath and climbed out of the car. Then she marched to the front door and rapped the knocker, since there was nothing so modern as a doorbell on the authentic colonial house. She heard footsteps inside, and then the door opened. Sarah looked at her, and Abby tried to fathom her expression. Was she angry? Hurt? Frightened?

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison, and with that the atmosphere lightened, if just a bit.

Sarah took a step back. “Come in, please. Would you like some tea?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Abby stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her, then followed Sarah to the kitchen in the back of the house.

“I thought we might be more comfortable back here,” Sarah said over her shoulder. “I think this is the earliest part of the house, and I like it. Please, sit.”

Abby sat and watched as Sarah boiled water, spooned tea leaves into an old pot, gathered sugar bowl and creamer. From the way she moved around the room, it was clear she had lived in this space for many years. Abby looked around. The only time she’d seen it before, it had been crowded with people, both friends and relatives of the Newhall family, and all the surfaces had been covered with food and dishes and bottles. Now it was stripped down, and Abby could admire the well-aged wood and the simple lines of the room. Finally Sarah slowed down. She set all the items on the table and pulled up a chair facing Abby and sat down.

“Well,” she said, then seemed to stall. “It’s kind of hard to know where to start.”

“Would you rather I started? Because I’m the one who told Ned he should talk to you.”

“That’s what he said. Maybe we should start with where you came into this story and then work forward?” Sarah asked.

“Okay,” Abby said. “But this whole thing was a complete shock to me, and I’m still kind of feeling my way along.” Abby proceeded to outline her first encounter with Ned, now more than six months earlier, and what they had discovered or learned together since. Sarah didn’t interrupt, but watched Abby’s face as she spoke. Finally Abby reached the present.

“So Ned and I figured out that I was seeing people who were from the same line of ancestors, which are yours too. I’m not sure how much he saw, because he didn’t say much about it. But …” She faltered. “Just recently I saw someone he didn’t see. I mean, the fact that he said so, on the spot, started me thinking that maybe he
had
been seeing the others. Anyway, it kind of shook me up. I mean, I’m used to having him kind of hold my hand through this, and suddenly there’s someone he can’t share, and I’m not sure what it means or what to make of it. Does anything of this make sense to you? I mean, when you and I first met, I thought we had some kind of link, like the one Ned and I have, but you didn’t say anything and then we all got busy with Thanksgiving. And I’ll admit I never tried to contact you after that. I probably should have, but I’d only met you the once, and back then I still wondered if I was imagining things.”

Sarah thought for a few moments before speaking. “And it never occurred to Ned that we might have something to share.” She sighed. “Oh, Abby, I think I’m as confused as you were at the beginning. I was always the sensitive one in my family, seeing things—all right, people—that nobody else saw. Everybody else in my family told me I was just oversensitive, or high-strung, or nervous—you pick a word. Nobody ever believed me, and they told me I would grow out of it. I learned pretty young not to talk about what—or who—I saw. And when I went to college, I got away from New England, to a place where I didn’t have any ties. I hadn’t really worked out the ancestor angle, so I thought, or maybe hoped, that it had all gone away.”

“But here you are,” Abby said.

Sarah smiled down at her teacup. “Yes. I made the mistake of falling in love with a man from Massachusetts, and I thought it would be safe to move back. It had been so long!”

“Was it? Safe, I mean?”

Sarah shook her head. “No.” She looked up at Abby. “Ned told me you’ve seen Johnnie Phillips?”

“I did, that first time I was here.”

Sarah shook her head. “I didn’t handle it well, when Ned first told me about him. I thought he was making him up. Even then Ned was kind of a lonely child, and I understood it was pretty common to make up imaginary friends for companions. And then after a while he didn’t mention Johnnie anymore, and I thought he had outgrown it. Him. But we never had a conversation about it, then or later.”

“That’s perfectly understandable. But given what you know now, do you think Johnnie’s always been in this house?”

“Quite possibly. Ned said he looked him up, a few years ago. This house had belonged to my husband’s family since it was built, but it was empty when we came back to move in. Before we moved in I was poking around upstairs, trying to imagine where to put the little furniture we had, and what we would need to buy, when I walked into what became Ned’s bedroom and there was Johnnie, clear as day. I knew right away that he wasn’t real, but that he had been once, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. We’re not imagining them. But you never said anything to your husband? Or Ned, when he was growing up?”

“I didn’t dare. With Edward I thought he’d laugh at me or decide I had mental issues. I was insecure, and I didn’t want to start all that, so I kept quiet. And, as I gather you’ve seen, there’s nothing angry or spiteful about the people we see. They don’t mean us any harm. They can’t reach out from the past and touch us, or change anything. They’re just kind of … there, I guess. Is that what it’s like for you?”

“More or less. I don’t think anybody’s seen me, even though I see them. Ned and I kind of worked out that the ones we see, we’re seeing them at times of high stress, strong emotion. You know, like deaths, funerals, battles. It’s like it takes a certain intensity to carry through to the present, or to leave a residue. I don’t see people going about their ordinary business, plowing fields or making dinner. I see crises. What about you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way. Johnnie’s not the only one in this house—Ned said he’d told you that Johnnie died by drowning. But there are others as well. One woman seems to have died in childbirth, and a couple of other people died here too. Probably more, but I see only the ones who died painful deaths, not the ones who died quietly in their sleep. So that matches. I don’t go looking for them, but every now and then they’re just there. It doesn’t scare me, and it never has. But you’re the first person I’ve ever met who sees the same things.”

“Even after all these years, you haven’t told your husband?”

Sarah shook her head. “What would be the point? He can’t see them. He might believe me now, but it really doesn’t matter.”

They sat in silence for a bit, sipping their tea. Finally Abby said, “What about Ned?”

“What about him?”

“He said he told you about Johnnie when he was a kid, and you told him it was his imagination, that lots of lonely kids made up imaginary friends. And I guess it worked, because he kind of shut down anything else like that. Until I came along, at least.”