by Angie Fox
The library was one of the original buildings in Sugarland and dated all the way back to 1842. Red limestone columns flanked the entrance and the door resembled something out of a medieval castle. A spotlight shone on the right front wall, where a Yankee cannonball struck the building and is still, to this day, embedded in the white stone wall.
We're very proud of it.
It was coming up on midnight when we pulled up out front, in the shadow of the large statue of our founder on a horse. Darkness shrouded the square. It appeared a bit creepy, even before we brought two ghosts in there with us.
My sister let us in and the large wood doors opened with a loud, echoing creek.
"It's a good thing we can't afford a security guard," she said, as she led us into the cavernous lobby. I breathed in the comforting scent of old books. "I wouldn't know how to explain this one."
"Let's start with the phone books," I said, getting down to business. "For Sugarland and any cities or counties within a fifty mile radius."
"You've thought this out," Melody said appreciatively as we passed through a main hall and headed for the research area to the left.
"Of course." I said, pretending not to notice her sarcastic tone. I didn't always look before I leaped. In this case, though, I knew we were up against a time deadline.
Rows and rows of bookshelves held thick books detailing local history, census data, and phone book records. I grabbed the one for Sugarland and headed for a sturdy table. Melody took books for the three surrounding counties and joined me.
Several hours later, we'd searched every phone book for every city and county in Tennessee and the nearby states. Melody had logged into census data from 1940 through the present day.
Nothing.
I'd expected her to be hard to find. It concerned me deeply that she had no personal record at all.
"What do we do now?" I asked, worried. My voice carried in the silent library. I didn't even see the ghosts. No doubt they were conserving their energy. I'd learned from Frankie how easily they could wear themselves down, and how hard it was to maintain a presence on the physical plane.
"Come on," Melody said, heading for a section at the back, labeled Genealogy. "We'll look at old yearbooks."
Yes, but, "That's not going to tell us where she lives."
She continued, undeterred. "It might give us a better idea of her name. Maybe we're spelling it wrong. We might be missing part."
I highly doubted Private Cleveland had given me bad information. Still, it would be neat to see what Maime had looked like.
Melody handed me the 1942 Sugarland High School Yearbook, and grabbed one from the town over for herself. "One thing I've learned about research. You keep at it. You never know what's going to give you a break."
The spine crackled as I opened it and saw a photo of the baseball team. It was hard to imagine those cocky kids had played ball at my old high school more than seventy years ago. They looked like your typical young athletes, so tough and sure of themselves.
I turned to the class pictures, to the senior class of 1942. And I saw her.
Mary Bee Saks, nicknamed "Maime."
She smiled bright, her raven hair neatly curled away from her heart-shaped face.
"Look at this," I told Melody. Then we turned back to see John Cleveland, "Johnny" in a sweater vest and a bow tie. He appeared as if he didn't have a care in the world. I almost didn't recognize him.
I'd needed to see this, to hold in my hands the undeniable truth this woman had indeed existed. But why had she ceased to exist after 1942?
I blew out a frustrated breath.
"You okay?" Melody asked.
"Of course," I said, rubbing a hand over my face. My eyelids felt like sandpaper.
We had to be missing something, a vital piece of the puzzle. I didn't know what.
"Dawn's coming," she said. A faint trace of morning light had already begun to light up the windows behind us, casting the world in gray. "I need to go home and clean up so I can open the library for the law-abiding citizens."
"Right," I said, bracing my head in my hands, unwilling to pack it up just yet. The answer felt as if it were just out of reach. Something simple. If I could only see it. I refused to believe that the woman in the book I held in front of me was somehow unreachable.
Soon it would be too late.
"Get some rest," Melody said as we stood. "Take care of yourself."
That wouldn't help Private Cleveland. Or buy us any time.
I was glad I didn't see him as Melody closed up the library. I didn't think I could look him in the eye at that moment.
"Let's go," she said, when we'd finished turning off the lights. "We'll think of something else tomorrow."
I'd let her drive me to my house. I didn't have my car.
But I didn't promise her I'd stay home.
I had one more idea, one last shot in the dark. I only hoped it would give us the answer we needed.
Chapter 5
Dawn broke as I pulled my ancient Cadillac into Holy Oak Cemetery. Neatly trimmed bushes surrounded the large memorial park. The iron gates stood open.
I drove past the caretaker's cottage and the landscaping shed, and straight down Resurrection Avenue. I knew the place well. I'd taken my Grandmother here many times to place flowers on the grave of both my Grandfather and my Father. Then I'd done the same next to her tombstone.
Instead of turning right toward the newer section, I made a left.
Rocks spit from under my tires as the older vaults loomed into view. Century old crypts clustered in the foggy haze of dawn.
I gasped and clutched the steering wheel as I saw spirits lingering among the tombs. This had happened once before without Frankie. Evidently, him showing me the other side had opened my mind to the possibility, and thus I could detect spirits strong enough to show themselves to me.
Knowing why didn't make it any less jarring. I slowed as a young woman, no more than eighteen, stood watching me from the door of her family vault. I shuddered and kept driving.
Deep breaths, I instructed myself, hoping I wouldn't see anything too unsettling. I headed straight back, past the vaults and monuments and grieving angel statues, to the right rear corner of Holy Oak, where soldiers from the Second World War lay buried.
As I drew closer, the sheer number of graves astonished me. It shouldn't have. I'd driven past this place before. I understood the price the men had paid. But after meeting Private Cleveland, after seeing his hopeful expression staring back at me from that yearbook, the acre-plus field of tombstones felt surreal.
He had been younger than me when he died.
Neat rows of white marker stones lined up like soldiers. I parked nearby and lingered near the car as a soldier in full paratrooper gear wandered down a row at the back.
Focus. He had every right to be here, just like I did.
I kept my keys in my hand as I approached the first row of graves.
I needed to stick to the plan.
Graves often held flowers. If someone had left a bouquet for Johnny, perhaps they'd included a note. I could look them up and drop by for a visit.
If that was too much to hope for, even a florist tag would allow me to learn who placed the flowers, who still remembered John Cleveland, and if they knew a girl who had ever gone by the name of Mary Bee Saks.
I was running out of options.
Row four, near the front, held the "C's." I walked it quietly, reverently, until I stood before his grave:
Jonathan Reeves Cleveland
Private
US Army * World War II
February 11, 1923
October 31, 1942
* * *
The headstone gleamed white. Immaculately trimmed grass crowded the base of the stone, and my heart sank. No evidence existed that anyone had come to visit.
It angered me for a moment, and then I reminded myself that maybe he didn't have any family left. His friends had likely died. Perhaps Maime was the last on
e who remained.
Which made me sad all over again.
I hoped John hadn't been able to follow me this far. He didn't need to see his final resting place abandoned.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm going to keep trying."
I bowed my head and said a quick prayer for him—or for hope, I wasn't sure which.
Slowly, regretfully, I retreated back toward the car.
Maybe I could find something more at the library. Perhaps Melody and I had missed a vital clue. My footsteps came slower, as if leaving this place meant admitting defeat.
Who was I kidding? It did.
The spirit of young woman sat kitting on a marble bench nestled under a tall oak tree near the road. Her fingers worked the needles deftly and I wondered how long she'd been at it. Her long skirt and high-necked white shirt appeared to be turn-of-the-century. Yet the sweater in her hands remained half-finished.
I joined her on the bench, resting my elbows on my knees. I'd taken this case, I'd said I would make a difference. I promised. And I had no idea how to make good on it.
I sighed and tried to clear my head. I focused on the green grass, the calls of the birds, the clicking of knitting needles. Stilling, I let the beauty of the morning wash over me. I liked this time of day. It was quiet. Peaceful. So unlike my routine lately.
I had the chance to help a brave soldier, and the sweet-looking Maime. I couldn't pass that up, even knowing what I did now, that it could be impossible.
The sun warmed my back as it burned off the morning dew.
I glanced next to me and saw the spirit had disappeared. Here one moment, gone the next. I supposed it was that way for all of us.
An old woman approached from my left. Pink blush topped her high cheekbones and set off her heart-shaped face. She wore a flowered skirt with tennis shoes, along with a light jacket. Her gait hitched, her pace slow. I scooted over a little on my bench, to let her know I'd welcome company if she needed a break before continuing.
She smiled gratefully as she neared. "Thank you," she said, taking the place the ghost had vacated. "My health's not so good lately." Her hands shook as she folded one over the other. "It's usually just me this early."
"I like it in the morning," I told her. "It's peaceful. I'll have to remember that next time I come see my dad and my grandma."
The wind blew at the scarf she'd tied over her hair. She brought a hand up, making sure it remained fastened. "I come here for my husband."
That had to be hard. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Me, too," she said quietly. "My life would have been very different if he'd survived the war."
I had no doubt.
We sat in silence for a moment, facing the graves.
"He was everything to me," she said simply. "I never wanted anybody else."
"That's neat," I told her. It didn't lessen the loss, but it had to be comforting to enjoy that kind of certainty.
She gave a small smile. "It was hard. Especially back then. I raised our child alone." She shook her head. "He never knew his dad. He doesn't see the need to come back, just drops me off here on his way for coffee. But I like it here. It makes me feel close." She drew her hands to her body, as if she'd revealed too much. "Anyhow," she pushed up off the bench, "I'd best be on my way."
"Good talking to you," I said, meaning every word. She'd made an incredible sacrifice.
I watched as she made her way toward the field of tombstones, and wished I could have said something more to comfort her. She passed row one, rows two and three, and began a slow advance down row four.
It was a long shot, yet it still made my stomach tingle.
I stood, not eager to hamper her privacy at such a time. Yet she stopped very, very close to where I'd been. It could be a coincidence, or it could be more. I scarcely dared hope as quickly, quietly made my way toward her.
Head bowed, she placed a bottle cap on the grave of Private Jonathan Cleveland.
She knew him. Perhaps she'd been married to a friend of his. Or even…
I approached slowly as she stood, head bowed, before the grave. I waited until she finished her prayer. "Excuse me," I began, reaching into my bag, pulling out the ring box. "I don't want to bother you. But do you recognize this?" I opened the box. Inside nestled the pearl ring.
She gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. "How did you get that?"
I'd shocked her. Either I was a terrible person, or I'd just done a very good thing. "I'm looking for Mary Bee Saks," I said, throat tight. "Maime."
Tears welled in her eyes as she touched a finger to the pearl, much in the way Johnny had. "This belonged to his mother."
Johnny told me the same thing.
At the risk of sounding completely ridiculous, I forced the words out. "Are you…Maime?" She did look similar to the girl in the yearbook photo, that lightness about her, that heart-shaped face.
She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Oh my word. I felt the stinging behind my eyes. "Take it," I said, placing the box in her hand. "It's yours."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. "Thank you," she whispered, touching it as if she couldn't quite believe it were real. "I don't care how you got it."
I couldn't tell her. Not really. "I was asked to return it to you," I said. "Johnny would want you to have it."
She slid it onto her finger, a giggle bursting from her that turned into a hiccup. "I told him I'd wear it forever." It fit her perfectly. She fisted her hand. "My mother took it and said I couldn't have it back. I haven't seen it since that day." She held up her hand, watching in awe as it sparkled. "My sister must have kept it after mom passed. Neither one of them ever spoke to me again. Sissy passed last month. I had to see it in the paper."
"That's awful." I couldn't believe they'd be so harsh.
Her gaze darted back to his grave. "What I said before…about us being married. We intended to marry. We knew we would. Then he was called up earlier than we thought. He wasn't gone a month before I learned I was expecting. In those days…well, it just wasn't like it is now. My mother knew we hadn't married yet. She threw me out when I told her. I went to my uncle's in Memphis and changed my name to Cleveland. We told everyone I was his widow. I was you know."
"I know," I said. Without a doubt.
She squeezed her eyes tight as another tear slipped free. "They told me he didn't care. Or he wouldn't have done that to me."
"He cares." More than she'd ever know. Unless I could come out with it. How did I even begin to explain? She might not even believe me. But her hope, her eternal happiness may be at stake.
I had to try. My voice caught. "I have a friend—" That wouldn't do. I braced myself and came out with it. "I can communicate with spirits." Damn it, damn it, damn it. "Johnny asked me to find you, to give you the ring. He loves you with all his heart."
I wished I could take it back. At the same time, I yearned for something concrete to say to her, to prove I wasn't blowing smoke. I supposed this is where psychics got labeled as frauds.
But she hung on my every word. Thank goodness. So I added, "he says you're his one true love." She deserved to know.
She simply nodded, swallowing hard. "He's mine as well."
Chapter 6
"I thought you wanted a table," Melody said, as I flopped back onto the new-to-me purple couch in my parlor.
I leaned my head back. "This feels so much better," I said, running my hands over the velvet.
As soon as we'd removed Maime's ring from the display case and returned it to her, the disturbance stopped. I only hoped that meant Maime had begun believing again, that Private Cleveland had found her. I'd stopped by the next day and the day after that, but he hadn't returned to the bar.
I'd try again tonight.
In the meantime, Julie had given me a choice of any item from the store and I'd said, "couch" before I could change my mind.
I didn't regret it.
I could read here. Sleep here. I never needed to stand up again.
"Verity," Frankie called from the back door. "You need to see this."
"In a minute," I responded. Or perhaps never.
He shimmered into view next to me. "You have guests."
I didn't think he meant the physical kind.
"Okay," I said. It was the only thing that could have moved me. "Come on," I added to my sister as I lurched off the heavenly purple velvet.
"Just you," Frankie said. "You'll want to do this right."
I followed him through the kitchen and out to the back porch. Just past the apple tree, Johnny and Maime Cleveland stood by my lake. He shimmered in black and white. She appeared as the girl I'd seen in the yearbook photo.
Maime had passed.
She wore a simple blue dress, with her dark hair curled around her face. Pretty as a postcard. Her image appeared in transparent color, as newly deceased spirits did.
I couldn't help smiling as I approached.
"I hope we're not intruding," she said, clutching her hands to her chest, her ring sparkling with an ethereal brilliance.
The fact that she had it now meant she'd likely died wearing it. I was thankful all over again that I'd had the chance to return it to her, that she'd get to keep it with her forever.
"I was wondering what happened to you two," I said, stopping in front of him. Johnny had his arm wrapped around her waist and grinned like he'd won at life.
He had.
"It's hard for her to appear," he said, as the smiling Maime flickered. "She hasn't been here long."
I should have looked in the obits instead of the shop.
She gave him a shy, excited kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said.
"It was my pleasure," I told her. It truly was.
I watched as she shimmered away. He followed.
"We did good," Frankie said, as if he'd been behind this from the start.
