Ghost River

by Jon Coon

  Gabe climbed the steps, arranged his typed pages, and tried to steady himself. When he first looked up from his notes, he nearly gasped aloud. Sitting calmly next to Carol and with his arm around Emily, was Charlie’s ghost, as it had appeared on the river bottom. Gabe looked quickly back at his notes and cleared his throat, before risking looking up again. This time Carol was seated next to her father, with Paul and Emily beside her.

  On the other side of the aisle, a stately, ageless, honey-skinned woman tilted her head and gave him a sympathetic smile. She was elegantly dressed, wearing a tignon, the traditional Cajun woman’s headwrap. Dr. Alethea Laveau-Guidry knew Gabriel, as she had always called him, better than anyone in the congregation. And she knew how badly he did not want to be in that pulpit. The rest of the mourners looked up at him expectantly. He took two breaths and exhaled forcefully as if starting a dive. Go.

  “Charlie Evans was a proud Marine with two tours in Afghanistan,” Gabe began. “A Marine’s strength comes from holding to an uncompromised code of personal integrity. As you know, Charlie was very proud of his days in the Corps, and the Corps was proud of Charlie, decorating him for courage and valor in combat. Charlie was the finest example of a man dedicated to living by that code as anyone it’s been my honor to know. The pillars of that code are honor, courage, and commitment.

  “So when Charlie came to the state police and took the pledge to serve and protect, he didn’t take it lightly. Our pledge became part of his code, part of who he was and how he lived every day.

  “What separates guys like Charlie is that, from the beginning, they know what the cost might be, and because of their honor, their courage, and their commitment, they never, never hesitate to do what’s right and what’s necessary. Because he remained true to his code, Charlie leaves a high standard for us to follow.”

  Gabe paused and looked directly at Carol and the kids. “Now at the end of Charlie’s watch, because of his faith in the grace of our just and loving God, faith that Charlie demonstrated in the way he lived his life and loved his family, I know angels have joyfully taken him to his heavenly reward.

  “As most of you know, Charlie and I were very close. While I can’t begin to understand the pain Carol, Paul, and Emily are experiencing, I find assurance, however, in the Apostle Paul’s words that we don’t grieve as people without hope and not as a people who are alone. More than we realize, we are surrounded and comforted by God’s promise of a final reunion and by the spirits of those who love us. Let’s remember Charlie as a loving husband, father, and brother who gave his life living by his promise to serve, trying to bring peace and closure to a grieving family. Now it’s our turn to help find that same peace and closure for our brother Charlie and his family. I ask for your prayers for them and thank you.”

  Gabe folded his notes and exhaled deeply, relieved he was finished but still weighted with sorrow. He looked up and saw Carol wiping away tears. Alethea smiled sadly and nodded her approval.

  Following the brief internment service, gun salute, and flag ceremony, Gabe said his goodbyes to Carol and the family. As the black Cadillac that had brought them pulled away from the curb, Gabe saw her lean into her father and begin to cry.

  “It’s going to be a tough night at Charlie’s house,” he said to Alethea, who was beside him in the truck. After turning off the interstate and following the black top five miles down the road, he turned off onto a gravel and shell side road and followed it along a river tributary for another ten minutes. Another turn brought him to a long sand drive lined with live oaks and Spanish moss.

  Branches overhanging the road created a tunnel penetrated by intermittent rays of golden afternoon sunlight. It reminded Gabe of diving cenotes, the caves and caverns of Mexico, with their beams of light punching through holes in the overhead stone, standing like pillars in gin-clear water.

  The road ended in a small clearing, which was the yard of a cypress cabin with a rusted tin roof and creaking screen door beneath a sagging porch roof. Alethea respected his silence until they pulled in, scattering chickens, and parked. A large, white-faced, stiff-legged, golden retriever came off the porch, tail wagging and head up, happy to greet a friend.

  “Hello, Cher,” Gabe said and dropped to one knee to scratch the aging dog’s head.

  “Come in,” Alethea said, holding open the door.

  “Let me get your firewood unloaded first. It won’t take long.” He opened the cover on the truck bed, climbed up, and began tossing out a half cord of wood he’d split for her. He stacked it by the door and covered it with a tarp.

  “Are you still working on the big oak that fell last fall?”

  “Yeah, there’s enough there to last us both a couple years. But it’s drying. I give it a good lick, and half the time the maul just bounces off. I need to get it done before it breaks my back.”

  She sat in her porch rocker and waited for him to finish, then led him into the one-room cabin. A tiny bed and dresser filled one corner. Nearby was a wood stove for cooking and heat, a large sink with water pump for food prep and washing clothes, and two wooden ladder-back chairs sat at a cypress table. A sturdy rocker beside the stove completed the room. Two oil lamps hung from the rafters, and an outhouse, along with a cold-water shower off the small back, accommodated the necessities.

  Three things in the cabin were unexpected: first was a bookcase wall filled with ancient volumes in Hebrew, Latin, Greek, German, Spanish, and languages Gabe didn’t recognize. Second, above the bookcase hung an antique crucifix, which Gabe suspected came from the Middle Ages. Doctor Guidry, with PhDs in anthropology and psychology, had chosen the road less traveled.

  Third, less noticeable and generally as inert as the books, was Souriciere, a docile seven-foot white python, whose name, translated from Creole French to English, meant mousetrap. In return for eliminating rodents and other pests, Souriciere, a long-time friend, was invited to share the cabin’s warmth on cold nights on a soft pallet in front of the stove.

  “You did a good job. Charlie would have liked that, I’m sure. But I can tell your spirit is greatly troubled,” Alethea said as they sat at the roughly hewn table. She poured two glasses of sun tea then took his hand in hers.

  “I’d rather wrestle gators than do that again,” he sighed and gently squeezed her hand before pulling away. He put his hands flat on the rough-hewn table and stretched his back. “Who am I to be standing in a pulpit?” he asked.

  “I know you don’t believe it, but you had every right to be there. And what you said proved it. That was a beautiful eulogy, given from your heart to people you care about. No one is worthy, Gabriel, but all can be forgiven. You did well. You were nervous, but it didn’t show.”

  “You’re going to think I’m nuts, that the PTSD is back,” Gabe said. “And then you’re going to tell me finding Charlie and talking with him is my subconscious trying to explain what my conscious can’t deal with. So while you’re thinking about that, let me tell you about this: I saw Charlie sitting with his arm around Emily in church, and it wasn’t pretty.”

  “Is that what you meant by ‘the spirits who love us’? Your theology was trending away from traditional dogma there.” She smiled with a gentle laugh.

  “You know what I meant.”

  “So do you want me to comfort you with psychobabble or tell you the truth?” She sat up straight and stared straight into his eyes.

  “That’s what your name means doesn’t it, ‘truth’?”

  She lowered her eyes as, from a dark corner, Souriciere came across the floor and put her football-sized head in Alethea’s lap. “Okay, brace yourself. I saw him too.”

  “But how can that be?” Gabe asked. “I saw angels with him. He didn’t want to go. He was adamant he needed more time. Do we get a choice? When they come for you, isn’t that it? How can he still be here?”

  “Did you see them take him?”

  “I thought so, but the light was so bright, it happened so fast . . .” Gabe looked down at Cher,
who had curled at his feet, and scratched behind her ears. Then he looked back up at Alethea, waiting for an answer.

  “Sometimes spirits are allowed to linger.” She lifted the big snake into her lap and gently stroked its head. “Especially when they are concerned about the safety of loved ones. Lots of stories of unexplainable rescues or warnings. If he’s still here, he wants you to know it, and I expect you’ll see him again. For certain, Gabriel, there’s something he wants from you. I expect you know what that is.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid I do.”

  CHAPTER 4

  0800

  The Evans Family Kitchen

  Clear and cool

  Though Carol had asked him to spend the day, Gabe hoped a short visit would be better than none. When he arrived, Emily and Paul were up, but Carol was still sleeping. Captain Bright had been called back to Texas. Eleven-year-old Emily poured a cup of coffee for Gabe and asked, “How is it? I made it.”

  Gabe had a habit of looking for single words to describe people. Precocious came to mind for Emily. Her quick, inquisitive mind often let her comments escape before the implications were considered. But then there was her affectionate, cuddly side. She was happiest in the arms of her mom or dad, soaking up their adoration like a young puppy. Not an easy word choice for that one. Perhaps precocious would do until something better came along.

  Gabe nodded his approval mid-sip. Emily put the pot back on the counter, then joined Gabe and Paul at the kitchen table. Seventeen-year-old Paul, on the other hand, was easy. Lanky and usually in need of a haircut, Paul was a debater and a politician. Always ready to assert his opinion as the authority on whatever subject was under discussion. Autocrat, meaning a dominating, self-willed person, fit Paul well.

  “How could you say that?” Paul asked as Gabe put his hot mug on a coaster.

  “Say what?”

  “You know, the stuff about angels carrying Dad off to a heavenly reward. That’s ridiculous. I don’t believe any of it.”

  Emily scolded her brother. “Paul, don’t talk to Gabe like—”

  Paul cut her off. “If my dad was all those good things you said and if there is a God, how could He let this happen to us—to my dad? He didn’t deserve to die like that. Not now when we still need him. What’s going to happen to us now? To my mom?”

  Gabe looked at Paul with a compassionate smile and thought sometimes this godfather business wasn’t all that much fun. “Okay, one question at a time,” Gabe began. “When you both were baptized, I stood with your parents and promised to be your godfather. Now we all know no one will ever be able to fill your dad’s boots, but as long as I am able and to the extent that you’ll let me, I intend to keep that promise to watch out for you as best I can. Is that okay with you?”

  Without speaking, Paul looked down at the table and slowly nodded. Gabe asked him again and got a feeble, “Okay.”

  “Good, now as part of being a great dad and responsible husband, with his pension and the extra insurance he bought, there’s enough for you to live comfortably, stay in this house, go to college, and make sure your mom is well cared for. You are extremely fortunate. So within reason, money’s not something you have to worry about. Got it?”

  “Guess so . . .”

  “Now, as to God’s part, I’m not nearly smart enough to understand why horrible things happen to good people or what His plans are when those things happen. But this I do know. It’s not what happens but how we deal with it that’s important. Losing your dad like this can ruin your life, but only if you let it. That pain may never heal, but you have to live with it and move on. And I know from experience God can help with that part.” He looked over at Emily who nodded her approval.

  “Dad told us that,” Emily said. “That what really matters is how we play with the hands we’re dealt.”

  Gabe stroked her hair gently and smiled. Then he refocused on Paul. “Paul, I don’t know exactly what happened, but I do know that your dad’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  “What—”

  “Let me finish. There’s an old steel bridge beside the newer concrete interstate bridge. It shouldn’t be there. The steel bridge should have been salvaged years ago. And it was booby-trapped. Explosives that should have gone off before it hit the water, but someone wired them with detonators and trip wires. It looks like that’s what killed your dad.”

  “Why—”

  “Not done yet,” Gabe continued. “When I found your dad, he was close enough to the new bridge that I discovered a huge problem. The river has scoured away the bottom. At least one huge pier, which should be supporting the bridge, is just hanging off the span. It’s a very dangerous situation, and a lot of people could get killed if that bridge collapses. And again, because your dad was in exactly the right place, we will be able to save a lot of lives. I don’t believe much in coincidences, so I don’t think that was an accident. Our guys have finished the inspection, and a repair crew is moving on to the site.”

  “Wow,” Paul said softly.

  “Yeah, wow,” Gabe repeated. He shifted in his chair to be closer. “Now this is the last part, and it’s the hardest. How could I possibly know your dad was taken to heaven by angels? The first way would be if I was there and saw it happen. I doubt that you will believe that, so here’s the second way. Do you believe in electricity?”

  “What do you mean?” Paul asked, puzzled.

  “We see what it does, so that’s easy to believe in. But have you actually ever seen the real stuff, pure unadulterated, in the wire, out the outlet, light the light bulb electricity? No, and no one else ever has either. But you do believe that when you hit the switch the lights come on, and the reason is that electricity is doing the work, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Life is an act of belief and faith, Paul. And I believe what I said yesterday was true, both because of what I’ve seen and because God keeps His promises. I believe that even more than I believe electricity will always keep its promise of making a light bulb work. Does that help?”

  “Just what is it you’ve seen that gives you faith like that?”

  “Fair question and a conversation for another time, but if you trust me at all, have faith I will never lie to you.” Nothing would make me happier than letting you see for yourself, Paul. Hopefully someday.

  Carol had been standing in the doorway behind Gabe. She crossed the floor to the table and put her hand gently on his shoulder. When he turned to her, tears were running down over a thankful, broken-hearted smile. Gabe took her hand and turned back to the kids.

  “There’s one more thing. Our team is going back in the river today. We’re going to find out exactly what happened to your dad and why someone wired in those detonators. Someone was hiding something they were willing to kill for. We’re going to find out what and who.” He paused long enough for his words to penetrate. Paul softened, but Gabe knew this discussion was far from over. He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder and silently prayed for him.

  Then he said to Emily and Carol. “I’m sorry I can’t spend the day. I have to get back to the river, but I could sure use another cup of Emily’s wonderful coffee.”

  Gabe left the house through the garage and noticed four sets of scuba gear neatly hung by the deep sink near the door. He paused and stared at the gear for a moment, remembering the hundreds of dives he’d made with Charlie. He walked past the restored F-100 pickup in the other garage bay and recalled the hours he’d spent helping Charlie rebuild it. His sadness pulled him down like a thirty-pound weight belt. He shook it off, then walked out into the sunlight and climbed into his F-150.

  When Gabe arrived at the river he joined the team. They spent the day searching for the missing girl and finishing the survey of the new bridge. A state team with a side-scan sonar arrived and worked a large section close to the bridge and then down river. At the end of the day, cold and tired, the divers had mapped the area and discovered the second pier, the primary support for the other end of the center
span, scoured as severely as the first. State bridge engineers were on site along with men from the construction company who would be doing the repairs. They were briefed by the divers, and a repair plan was formulated.

  Late that afternoon Gabe drove the two-lane road that meandered alongside the river to Alethea’s. As he approached the turn onto the gravel road he saw turkey vultures circling. He slowed until he saw the birds on the ground ravaging the carcass of a doe. Gabe pulled the truck off onto the shoulder. When he approached to examine the deer the birds greeted him with angry protests before taking flight. A fresh kill, the blood from her wounds not yet dried.

  Gabe went back to the truck and returned with gloves and a hunting knife. He gutted the doe, left the entrails for the vultures, and loaded the carcass into the truck bed. Alethea would be happy for the meat, and her roast venison was gourmet dining for Gabe. He turned into her drive and honked to scatter the chickens as the truck pulled to a stop.

  “Hello, Cher, where’s Grand’Mere?”

  “I’m here,” her small voice answered from behind the screen door. Alethea stepped out onto the porch and held out her arms waiting for a hug. Her joyful face and warm smile could have melted asphalt.

  “A woman could starve to death waiting for you, Gabriel Jones. Jambalaya’s been ready for hours,” she said as he lifted her in a hug.

  “Fresh venison,” he said. “Let me get it butchered and in the brine barrel. Then we’ll sit.”

  As the sun set, throwing long shadows over the river, they sat by oil lamplight enjoying rice, sausage, and chicken. The peppers and spice made the dish authentically Creole. After eating Gabe added two logs to the stove and stoked the fire. With a fresh mug of dark roast coffee, he sat at the small table, scratched Cher’s head, and waited for Alethea to come and sit.