Once in Darci’s room, I wasn’t sure what to do with her and wished I’d taken her outside to the Quarters. But it had rained the night before and I knew it was cool outside. The only thing I could think to do with Darci was to get her warm.
I put her in bed, removed her shoes, then wrapped the blankets around her, but she didn’t respond.
“What happened?” I asked her. “Tell me what Sylvia said that’s upset you.”
Darci just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. If my words didn’t get through to her, maybe my visions would, I thought. I put my hands on her upper arms and my forehead against hers as I sent images to her of her talking to me.
No response. Standing, I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked to the fireplace. Outside, I could hear voices. I opened the window and looked out. Through the trees I could see the corner of the back terrace below. All the guests, with Delphia and Narcissa, were out there. I couldn’t see them for the thick foliage, but I could hear them, could identify each voice. By now I could have identified their headless bodies in a morgue. They were laughing in an excited way. “Wonder if they’ve been told that my son has given in to their demands?” I said out loud, hoping Darci would hear me through her catatonic state. “My son is being threatened that his mother will be killed if he doesn’t use his powers to kill someone for those women. Did they choose who got to go first tonight?”
I knew my voice was as bitter as I felt. Why did Darci have to choose tonight to go into some sort of trance?
There was a light tap on the door. Angry, I flung it open. “I told you that—” One of the unsmiling female employees was standing there, a tiny glass of the green liqueur on a tray. Since there was only one, it was obvious that they didn’t want me drinking the laced stuff and falling asleep in Darci’s room.
I thanked the woman, took the tray, then closed the door and locked it.
Maybe sleep would help her, I thought. I sat down on the bed beside Darci, pulled her up into my arms, and managed to get the drink into her. She made no response and I held her until she fell asleep.
Gently, I lay her down, got off the bed, then covered her.
Now what? I thought. Below me, I could no longer hear the voices so I was sure the women had been put into their nightly drug-induced stupor. I wondered if they realized what was being done to them—or had they agreed? I’d heard Sylvia Murchinson say she’d signed a prenup saying she’d receive nothing if her husband divorced her. In spite of knowing her penchant for “pool boys,” she’d signed the agreement anyway. I could imagine that a woman like that would agree to being drugged and locked in at night if the end result was that she’d get “mega millions.”
Turning, I looked at Darci on the bed, sound asleep, but frowning and restless. Whatever had been said to her had turned her mind upside down.
I had no doubt that what was said had something to do with her husband. I prayed that she hadn’t been told that her husband was dead.
I looked at the setting sun and thought that, without Darci, I couldn’t do much. If she couldn’t find my son with all her powers, I couldn’t—
Suddenly, I remembered what Darci and I had talked about before dinner: Amelia would be waiting in the twilight for Martin and her baby.
I left Darci’s bedroom as fast as I could go, bounded down the stairs and ran out to the Quarters. I paused for a moment to remember exactly what Darci had said. “Double trunked elm tree by the edge of the river.” The river was easy to find, about two hundred yards from the slave quarters. To the right was the road so the tree had to be to the left. I started running.
When I saw the tree, there was Amelia sitting on a bench that I doubted was actually there and doing her crochet.
Halting, I watched her for a moment and tried to compose myself. Every night for over a hundred years she’d gone to this spot and waited for my ancestor. It’s where she’d met him when they were alive. She’d been safe at this time of day because her husband had been in the Quarters with the slave women.
I didn’t want to think about that time. I just wanted to get my son, and Devlin had said a slave could help. If Amelia Barrister wasn’t a slave, I didn’t know who was.
“Hello,” I said quietly so as not to startle her.
But she’d been waiting for Martin—who she thought I was—for about a hundred and twenty years so, yes, she was startled.
She dropped her crochet on the ground, put her hands over her face and began to cry. “You came,” she said over and over. “You came.”
I’d promised Darci I wouldn’t do anything with the ghost without her there, but Darci was upstairs, drugged into sleep, and ghost or not, this pretty woman was in pain. I went to her, sat on the ground before her and put my head on her lap.
Amelia stopped crying and put her hands on my head, caressing my neck, running her fingertips over my face, memorizing and remembering.
So this is love, I thought, my hands on her legs through her heavy skirts. I kissed her fingertips as she touched my lips. This is love. The love wasn’t coming from me but from her, and what I felt made me understand every song, every movie I’d ever seen. Until that moment I hadn’t understood how anyone could, say, give up a great movie role to be with another human. I’d complained about Alanna choosing a movie over me but I’d understood.
What I hadn’t understood until this moment was what people whined so much about. “I love her, man,” I’d heard too often. And Darci! She had everything. She had money, beauty, power, but she was miserable because she didn’t have the man she loved.
The love I felt coming from Amelia was enough to make me understand—and, more, it made me want that kind of love. It made me want to be part of what the rest of the world was experiencing—the lucky ones, that is. And I knew, without a doubt, that this was what that Shape-Changer had meant for me to remember, that love is all.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that but, slowly, I began to come back to reality. What do I do now? I thought. The last time I saw Amelia I’d mentioned our son’s—her son’s—name and she’d disappeared. If Darci were here she might know what to do, but then Amelia believed Darci was the slave sent to spy on her.
I took a breath and gave a prayer, asking for help in knowing the right way. I took Amelia’s hands in mine. They were soft and young and as solid as anyone’s hands. I could not, for the moment, believe she was a ghost.
“I want you to listen to me,” I said softly, “and I don’t want you to disappear again.”
“Disappear,” she said, smiling. “You do say odd things.”
I held her hands tighter. “How many times have you come to this tree and Martin hasn’t been here?”
“A few,” she said, smiling. “Edward keeps you very busy.”
“How many times?”
She stopped smiling. “More than a few. Many, many times.”
“Amelia,” I said slowly,“the year is 2003 and—”
Her laugh cut me off. “How silly you are. The world will end in the year 2000.”
“People in our time thought that too, but…” I didn’t want to get off the subject. “My name is Lincoln…Frazier, and I’m from the twenty-first century and I’m a descendant of the child you and Martin had.”
She started to fade; the information was too much for her to comprehend.
“Go ahead and fade away,” I said, “but it could easily be another three hundred years before another of Martin’s descendants shows up.”
She came back into view, but she pulled her hands from mine. I could see she wanted me to move from the lover’s position I was in, so I got up and sat by her on the bench.
“Who are you?” she asked.
I wanted my head back on her lap and I wanted her to look at me with the deep love she had for Martin. I reached out to touch her but she pulled away.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“To give you peace. At least I think that’s why I’m here with you. And to get your help, but I don’
t know how you can help me.”
She sat in silence, looking at me with her beautiful blue eyes, and waited for me to continue. Where do I begin? I thought.
“Your father took care of your son,” I blurted out, expecting her to start fading, but she didn’t. When I saw the tiniest spark of interest in her eyes, I prayed I was on the right track. “Your father knew whose child he was. He couldn’t save you and he couldn’t save Martin, but he could save his grandson. He”—I tried not to choke over the word—“he bought the child and educated him with his other grandson. Does that sound like something your father would do?”
“Oh yes,” she said, and there were tears in her eyes.
“Your father treated his grandson as his own.” I hesitated before saying the name. “Jedediah ran your father’s estates even after he was given freedom.”
“Freedom?” she said, her eyes wide.
I reached out to take her hands but she wouldn’t let me touch her. I wanted another second of feeling the love she’d given to Martin.
“Yes, freedom,” I said. “Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation about 1863, give or take a year or so.”
“Lincoln,” she said. “Like you.”
I wasn’t about to tell her it was a stage name. When I’d left home I’d wanted to disassociate myself so completely from my parents that I’d changed all of my name. But for Amelia, I’d give her my real last name.
“And Martin?” she asked. “My Martin?”
I knew from her diary that she knew what had happened to Martin, but it looked as though, over the years, she’d blocked it out. I tried to tell her the truth about the man she loved because she needed to quit waiting to find peace. But I couldn’t. I told myself this was the role of my life, the role that would make me win an Oscar over Russell Crowe, but, still, the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth.
I’d never spent much time thinking about ghosts so I didn’t know much about them—not that anyone except Darci did—but, even without being reminded of the grisly truth, it looked to me like Amelia was beginning to wake up. She took her eyes off mine and looked around her. She looked out at the river, staring at it for a moment.
“The river used to be much deeper,” she said. “It was higher on the banks.”
“Lots of people; lots of water used.”
She nodded and I wondered if she’d ask me to tell her all about the wonders of the twenty-first century, but she didn’t.
When she moved her head to look at the tree, I wanted to tell her not to. I was afraid she’d see Martin hanging there.
She didn’t look up at the branches, but kept her eyes on the double trunk. “Two trees were planted,” she said, “but they grew together. There was a heavy rain and a boulder washed down the hill and pushed the trees together. No one got around to thinning them and eventually they grew into one. Martin and I said the trees were like us, that we weren’t supposed to be together, but we were and we’d grown into one.”
“Emmy,” I said, reaching out to take her hands.
She put her warm, smooth hands in mine. “Only Martin called me Emmy.”
I squeezed her hands and when I did I felt a softness in them, an insubstantial quality that made me know she was leaving. Not fading. Leaving. Going away forever.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“I need help in finding my son. He’s here somewhere but we can’t find him. He’s your grandson, with a few greats added, that is.” I wanted to make her smile.
Amelia didn’t smile. “Martin? What did he do…afterward?” she asked.
“He stayed with your son for a while, then he went away to wherever spirits go. Do you know where?”
She nodded once and her hands in mine grew transparent, there and not there.
“My son,” I said, and the urgency I felt was in my voice.
“I will help you,” she said. “I will wait and see what I can do to help you.” With that she faded more, until there was nothing in my hands.
“Wait!” I called.
Instantly, she was there again, but not sitting beside me. She was standing a few feet away and she no longer looked like a living person. Now there was a light behind her and she looked like…well, like a ghost.
“Yes,” she said, her voice sweet-sounding and faraway.
“I, uh, I wanted to ask you about Martin. Did he, well…did he look like me?”
The light behind her changed from pure white to a beautiful golden color. “No,” she said. “Compared to him you are a plain man, and your body lacks muscle. Go now. I will help you.”
With that she left and I was standing in darkness, smiling. To Amelia, the man she loved was the most beautiful person on earth. It had grown night while we’d been talking. I stumbled my way back to the Quarters, pulled off my sweater, shoes, and trousers, and climbed into bed in my underwear. I hadn’t had one of those lethal 13 Elms nightcaps, but I felt as though I’d had two of them.
As I drifted off to sleep, I thought that tomorrow I was going to hire some thugs to come in and take the whole place apart. If I had to, I’d remove every brick off that old house, take out every floorboard. I fell asleep before I could think anymore.
When I awoke it was all of a sudden and I was wide awake. I lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, and thinking about Amelia. I remembered her hands and lips. I remembered my head on her lap and how good I felt when she touched me. I was wrong to have let her go. Wrong to have told her the truth so soon. I should have waited awhile, held her longer. Could I have made love to a ghost?
“Boy! You got to think of somethin’ besides sex!”
I sat up so fast I banged my head against the wall. When I turned I saw an old man sitting in the chair on the other side of the room. He wore dark glasses and held an ivory-topped cane; he was blind.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, rubbing my head.
“She didn’t tell you about me?” he asked, chuckling.
“No, she wouldn’t.”
I didn’t have to ask who “she” was. No, Darci hadn’t told me she’d met an old blind man who crept around in the middle of the night. “What do you want?” I asked.
“That house is on fire and unless you do something, they’ll burn to death.”
For a moment I was too shocked to move, then the words “fire” and “burn to death” hit me. I flung the covers back and opened the front door. I could only see part of the house through the trees, but it looked the same as always. I stared hard for two or three minutes. Nothing. No smoke, no flames, nothing.
Just in case the old man was telling the truth, I thought I’d better call the fire department. Better a false alarm than a fire, I thought.
I went back into the room and wasn’t surprised to see that the old man was gone. “One of Darci’s friends,” I muttered and wondered if the old man had died a couple of hundred years ago. I pulled on a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and stuck my bare feet into my already-tied sneakers, and opened my cell. I cursed when I saw the battery was dead. I’d forgotten to put it on the charger. I went down the hall where the pay phone was.
When I put in a quarter and there was no dial tone, I looked at the cord to the phone, followed it with my eyes up the wall, around the top of the doorway, then back to the floor—where it was cut. For a second I stood there staring at the severed telephone cord without comprehension.
It all hit me at once: Never, ever, had I let the battery on my phone die. My job depended on the telephone. I ran down the hall and toward the house. As I ran I looked at the house, and even though I could see nothing, I knew what was inside. My one and only concern was to get Darci out.
I jumped up to catch the top of the porch decoration, leaped onto the railing, then swung myself up to the roof. Within seconds I was at Darci’s window. It was locked, of course. I stretched out on the roof and kicked in a pane. I didn’t care if an alarm went off or who came running.
Inside her room, all was quiet. Everything
was exactly as it had been when I’d left it. There was no smoke billowing under the door, no flames bursting through the wall. Everything was quiet and calm.
Except that Darci wasn’t in her bed.
I checked the bathroom, the closet and under the bed. No Darci. If she were normal I’d have assumed she’d been kidnapped, but Darci was…Well, strange didn’t quite cover it.
Something had happened to her at dinner that had traumatized her—and I had given her a drugged liqueur that had seemed to knock her out. Had it? Had she been faking it so she could go off without me to meet an old blind man who walked into my room in the middle of the night?
I decided I didn’t know and didn’t care. Whether she’d left on her own or been taken, I was going to find her. Enough was enough! If we were going to be partners—and she’d asked for my help in finding her husband—then I needed to know where she was at all times.
As I headed for the door, I pulled Darci’s sunhat off the wreath and looked directly into it. “Your house is on fire,” I said, then replaced the hat.
The door was locked. Locked from the outside. Since the window had been locked from the inside, that meant she’d been—What? Abducted by ghosts? How about aliens who made little ceramic men that dissolved in water?
No, she’d control them. I knew in my heart that whoever was holding my son was now holding Darci. I grabbed the fireplace poker, wedged it in the old door, and pulled. The door broke in seconds and I opened it.
Silence. There was nothing but silence in the house.
I walked down the hallway and tried the doorknobs. Each one was locked. If I had Darci’s power I could have put my hand on the door and felt if there was someone—or something—inside, but I couldn’t. Short of busting down all the doors, I didn’t know if they were empty or not.
At the end of the hall, at the foot of the stairs, was Amelia’s room. I couldn’t resist opening the door. Moonlight shone in through the French doors in the far wall and the hall light shone behind me. It was enough that I could see the room: filthy, uncleaned since Amelia died over a hundred years ago. It was as though her body’d been carried out, the door closed, and not opened again until now.