for me to simply will myself to stop living, though I did think about my own death in the first months after Frank’s murder. Walking through the rose garden and past the fountain, I gave that idea some thought. Perhaps there is another kind of strength that allows one to survive a tremendous loss and continue to live. I’ve often thought that I’d rather be dead and allow Frank to live. But that in itself is cowardly.
Even through the worst of my grief, I never doubted that Frank knew how much I loved him. Not until lately. In the past month he has appeared to me three times. I wake up from a troubled sleep, and he is standing at the foot of my bed. He points his finger at me and makes his accusation of betrayal. I want to reach out and touch his hand, to feel his thick, black hair beneath my fingers. To pull him to me and tell him that I haven’t betrayed him in thought or deed. But he makes his accusation and he fades. It is unbearable, and if I don’t find the reason for his visits, I truly will become insane.
By the time I had mulled through the entire legend yet again, I found that I had arrived at the old oak. It was a live oak, an enormous presence that exuded a peace that invited me to sit beneath its branches on an old root. I settled in, wondering if Mary and Charles had shared this same natural seat. I felt as if they had. Setting my empty coffee cup beside me, I leaned back into the trunk of the tree and prepared to wait. I wasn’t certain what to do to attract the notice of a ghost. Were there chants or songs or whistles that might help? I didn’t know.
Lacking any specific behavior, I decided to wait quietly. The sun was warm and relaxing, and I leaned into the tree and closed my eyes. Fragments of dreams danced behind my eyelids. There were parties in Ravenwood, laughter, the crinkle of dresses, the clink of crystal. Charles and Mary danced before me, their love a palpable presence so that all other dancers stopped to watch them. I think I must have laughed out loud with pleasure at the sight of them. They held nothing back from each other. To stand beside them was to bask in the overflow of their love.
I awoke with a start. To my dismay, dusk was settling around me once again. I’d slept the entire day away. I gathered up the coffee cup and hurried back toward the house. It was a long walk and darkness was falling. Since I’d set out so early, I hadn’t even considered needing a flashlight, and the grounds were without any lighting. Unfamiliar with the landscape, I had to hurry or risk getting lost.
Mixed with the sense of having squandered a valuable day was a secondary feeling of bitter disappointment. I had been so certain I would find Mary at the tree. Had I slept through our meeting? I thought not. It was more likely that she simply had not come. That she would not come.
Tears are a rare thing for me, but as I hurried along the path back to Ravenwood, I felt them building. I knew it was a combination of disappointment, disorientation and desperation. The dreams of Mary and Charles were still with me, highlighting my own loss. It had been foolish desperation that had brought me to Ravenwood in quest of a ghost. Maybe Dr. Stoler was right. Maybe I’d never accepted Frank’s death.
Rain that I hadn’t even noticed blowing in began to fall softly. It mixed with the tears on my face as I hurried along the unfamiliar path. My cotton sweater was soon clinging to me. Half blinded, I failed to see the horse and rider step out of the trees and directly into my path. When I finally registered man and beast, my shrill cry of fear unsettled the horse and he danced forward.
I had one glimpse of a superb rider controlling the magnificent animal before I had to throw myself off the trail and out of the horse’s path. In that one brief glance I saw a man with his face completely hidden by a hat. I had time to notice no more before I landed facedown in a leafy azalea. Before I could move from the clutches of the shrub, I felt the cold bite of steel against the back of my neck. My face was pinned into the azalea.
“What are you—?” I began indignantly.
“Make another move and you’ll die.”
Chapter Two
The pressure of the knife or whatever blade he held against my neck made me give up any ideas of resistance. Roughly he pulled me out of the shrub. When his hand grasped my breast, he stopped suddenly.
“You’re a woman!” He spun me around to face him.
The light had completely faded from the day. The gray mist of rain and gathering darkness concealed most of his features, but I could see that he was dressed in the uniform of a Confederate officer. The weapon he’d used to pin me to the ground was his sword. For a second I was so taken aback, I couldn’t think of anything to say.
Once I found my tongue, I had no lack of questions. “What are you doing at Ravenwood? Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you dressed in those clothes?”
He didn’t answer, but a slight grin played across his face. “And I could ask you the same,” he said in a drawl.
The hand that had pawed me suddenly lifted me by the elbow with a gentle support. “The lighting was poor. There are stragglers from both armies on these grounds, and I’ve developed a fondness for the residents of Ravenwood. Whenever I have some spare time, I ride through here to patrol.”
I had been frightened before, but it was nothing compared to what I experienced now. “Wha-what armies?” His dress. His speech. It was as if I’d stepped into a nightmare.
“What armies?” He laughed. “The Confederate and the enemy, of course. What did you think, the Trojans and the Greeks?”
“Oh, Lord.” The words escaped me on a sigh. I was too afraid to scream. It occurred to me that the man and horse standing before me were figments of my deteriorating imagination. If I could conjure up Frank, why not a Confederate soldier and horse? I decided to play for time and test him. “What year is this?”
“Eighteen sixty-three. April. Have you lost your senses tumbling around in the bushes?”
His hand was still beneath my elbow, and for good reason. My knees threatened to give. In an instant he had his hands about my waist, offering support. “You’re rather tall for a woman and strangely dressed. I thought you were a boy.”
“I don’t feel very well,” I answered as I stumbled forward. Thank goodness he was on the tall side, for a man, or I might have crushed him on the spot. In a moment I had my spine re-engaged and I stood on my own. I had gone to sleep in 1993 and awakened…in the midst of the Civil War? It was not possible. It was…insane. But the man beside me was flesh and blood. A very solid man with firm muscle. The horse smelled of horse. Even the delicate scent of the paper-whites was all around me. If this was a dream, or a nightmare, it was Technicolor. But after all, hadn’t I come to Ravenwood in search of a ghost?
For the first time I noticed the silence. The night was hushed, as if it waited for a burst of fire or a volley of cannon. “Where is the Union army? Why aren’t they shooting?”
“Several battalions have dug in at the low ground not two miles from here. We’re expecting reinforcements any day.”
He spoke with such matter-of-factness, and absolutely no fear. I didn’t completely accept what might have happened to me, but I felt a sudden rush of pity for this man. He had no concept of the future, of the futility of the battle about to be fought. How could I tell him that those reinforcements would never come? That the siege of Vicksburg was one of the most torturous events of a long and bloody war. That his army, his men, were doomed to starvation and death, along with many of the residents of the town. I was overwhelmed with what I knew and could not tell.
“You’re looking ill. Let
