The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe

by Kelly Martin

  Shane rolled his head around his shoulders, popping his neck. Her hands were clean, or as clean as he could get them without an actual bathtub or shower. And that was expecting too much at the moment. He dabbed the cloth in the container again, this time the water had a chill to it. It had been sitting out too long.

  "I'm gonna wash your face now, okay? Don't freak out on me or anything. We have to get some of the dirt off."

  "I understand. Thank you for assisting me," she said as she shut her eyes again.

  He felt he was doing more than simply 'assisting'. Probably wouldn't be the best thing to say to her, though. Without a word, he placed the washcloth to her forehead. She shivered beneath it.

  "Sorry. I should have told you the water was cooler now."

  "No apology necessary."

  Shane washed her forehead. Then he went down the bridge of her nose and around her cheeks.

  When it came time to wash around her lips, he became self-conscious. Inwardly, he didn't know what to do. Should he warn Lizzie he was about to touch her lips? How pent up had they been in the eighteen hundreds anyway? Or should he just do it? It wasn't like she could stop him — which wasn't the best thought he'd ever had.

  Finally, he decided the truth was best. "I'm going to wash your lips and chin now, okay? You still with me?"

  He felt her swallow hard.

  "I know you don't like this, but it'll be over soon. I promise. I do this kind of thing all the time."

  "I hope not." She smirked as the cloth wiped over her bottom lip, making it plump out a bit.

  Stop looking at her lips, He chided himself. Or at least, he needed to stop looking at them like that.

  He hurriedly finished with her lips and then decided her neck should probably be washed too. Her dress had a lacy neck on it which didn't look comfortable. If he moved it down a bit, he could wash her neck off. No sense having a clean face and dirty neck.

  Lizzie hadn't been expecting that. When his hand touched her neck, her eyes flew open and she yelled.

  "Shhhhh…" Shane quieted her. He removed the washcloth from her neck and patted her shoulder. "Calm down. We can't wake up my sister."

  "Too late." Shane's door opened and Cheyenne strolled in. She had her hair in a messy ponytail, a black shirt, and short neon yellow shorts. She looked like the cat who ate the canary when she walked in, knowing Mom would have a fit when she told her Shane had a girl in his bed… Then she saw Lizzie… and looked a bit puzzled. "Who's that? Why do you have all of those towels? And why is she dressed like Doctor Quinn?"

  Shane had two choices: lie and tell her she was a one night stand and to not let the door hit her on the butt on the way out, or tell her the truth and hope she didn't believe him.

  Chapter Three

  June 1862

  Lizzie fanned a fly away from her nose as she walked down the long path past Dixon Church toward town for the fifth time in as many hours. It wasn't like she was forgetful. She didn't need to go to the mercantile every hour for bread or eggs, or the reason for this trip — a ribbon for the sleeves of her wedding dress.

  In reality, rumors brought her back.

  With mail rarely getting through and the news scarce, rumors were all anyone had to get any sort of information: correct or incorrect. And rumor had it some Confederate soldiers had been spotted along the ridge toward town. Not a battalion, but a few scattered souls who had been left behind or deserted the battle. The gentlemen would no doubt be hailed cowards by some, but not by Lizzie. She had every hope in the world that one of the men was Daniel coming home to her… Daniel or her father on the Union side, though she couldn't see the good preacher abandoning his post for any reason.

  "Lizzie, you'll wear the road out, miss!" Mr. Goodwin, the blacksmith, yelled from across the way when she entered town. Mr. Goodwin's shop always smelled of animals and fire. Still, the man had been nicer to her than most in town since her father became a traitor in their eyes.

  "I am very forgetful. Next time I'll have Mother write a list," she lied, knowing well and good the blacksmith wouldn't believe her.

  Mr. Goodwin nodded politely and didn't speak again until she'd passed by. "The soldiers didn't mention Daniel," he called as he struck metal on the anvil with his hammer. The clank rang in her ears.

  The news caused her to turn suddenly. "Excuse me?"

  Mr. Goodwin put the horseshoe in the water barrel next to him. Thick, hot steam bellowed like a curtain between them, and a knowing grin crossed his hardened lips. "The soldiers. The reason you keep coming to town. They came by right after you left the last time. Mayor Thompson talked to them. They were Rebels from a few miles south, trying to get home. Staying the night in the boarding house, I reckon."

  Mr. Goodwin had a tendency to get off topic. "Daniel? You spoke of Daniel."

  "I did, but they didn't. Daniel's mother has already questioned 'em. She told my old lady about it. Broke down in tears. I don't know where your lad is, missy, but I know he ain't here."

  Lizzie's heart sank. She became ill with herself for even entertaining such a ludicrous notion that Daniel was so soon home. She tried to hide her melancholy mood, but she feared it couldn't be covered. "Thank you, Mr. Goodwin."

  Retracing her steps on the dusty road, she started back toward home when the blacksmith called after her. "Forgetting something, missy?"

  Lizzie stopped long enough to raise a confused brow at the man. "From the store. You said you needed something."

  "Oh right." The thought of getting ribbon for her wedding dress hurt much worse now. Would she ever see Daniel again? Would she ever get to wear it? "I've forgotten what it was," she said sadly. When she reached the church, she ran the rest of the way home.

  ****

  Lizzie couldn't move many things, but she could finally begin moving her fingers. While Shane and the other girl talked, she kept running the tips over the now dingy white ribbon decorating the sleeves of her wedding dress. She never had gone back to get it. Her mother must have added it after Lizzie had died. Her mother… how horrible it must have been for her. To lose her only living daughter.

  She slowly rolled her arm over to the thick raised line on her wrist. She remembered every detail of how it got there, how the blood spilled quicker than she imagined, how she had second thoughts, but it was too late. Had her mother found her in the barn? How had she reacted? Lizzie felt so selfish for hurting her mother in that way. The boy who was not the devil said she had been gone for over a hundred and fifty years. That meant Mother was gone as well.

  Lizzie wasn't in Hell, but she wasn't in Heaven either. That fact hadn't escaped her, though she dared not voice it to Shane. She felt she couldn't tolerate his explanation on how Heaven didn't exist either.

  Lizzie's chest hurt. She'd never see her mother again. Ever.

  A sob echoed through her body and she was unable to stop it. Shane — Mr. Davis, it wasn't proper to call him by his first name — and the girl who dressed like a saloon prostitute looked at her in wonderment, but she didn't care. She'd ruined her life the day she killed herself.

  "Um… are you alright?" the prostitute asked, walking toward Lizzie. Prostitutes, or saloon girls, sure wore less clothes in this century than they did in her time. Except for her clothing, or lack thereof, the girl was beautiful. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Non-weather worn skin, due to her profession Lizzie supposed. She had to be more of an indoor girl. Lizzie started to speak, but Mr. Davis jumped between them.

  "She's fine," Mr. Davis said. He wasn't an overly-convincing liar.

  "She's not. She's shaking. What did you do?" The prostitute bent down to Mr. Davis' ear. "Did you drug her and bring her to your room?"

  Mr. Davis didn't appear to like that accusation very much. Neither did Lizzie. She hadn't done anything with him — that she knew of. "I didn't do anything to her. I found her like this."

  The woman crossed her arms, clearly not believing him. "You found her like this? A girl in a dingy white dress straight out of a western?
Where? The mental ward?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Uh-huh." The prostitute pushed Mr. Davis out of the way and stood next to Lizzie. "Sweetie, do you need a ride home or back to the asylum? Are you hurt?"

  Lizzie laughed bitterly. Instead of dying and going to Heaven, she was in a brothel. "I suppose I am. I'm dead."

  The prostitute tilted her head like she hadn't heard her correctly. "You're dead?" Lizzie would have had the same reaction if the roles were reversed. Then again, she supposed most people would unless talking dead girls were some sort of normal in the future.

  Mr. Davis cleared his throat and gave her a look that said, "Don't say another word!"

  So, she didn't

  "Yeah… How many drugs did you give her, Shane?" The prostitute didn't wait for Mr. Davis to answer. "What's your name?"

  "You don't have to ask her that," Mr. Davis interjected quickly, glaring at Lizzie over the other girl's shoulder. He kept biting his nails. A nasty habit.

  "I have the right to ask her anything I want. I'm in charge, remember?"

  A prostitute was in charge?

  "You're such a two year old. I'm gonna tell…," he said in an unmanly nasally voice.

  "Doesn't matter. I'm the oldest. she puts me in charge when she's gone to work and I'd like to know who this dead girl is in your bed. So…" she turned back to Lizzie. "Who are you exactly?"

  "Elizabeth," she answered quickly.

  Mr. Davis's shoulders slumped, and she thought he was relieved. The expression didn't last long. "Elizabeth?" the prostitute asked. "Elizabeth what?"

  "Kaufman…" Mr. Davis tried to answer for her.

  "Monroe," Lizzie answered at the same time.

  Mr. Davis rolled his eyes and hung his head Was she not supposed to tell her name?

  "Elizabeth… Monroe…" the scantily clad lady repeated very slowly. "As in Lizzie Monroe? The girl the band's named after? Lonely Lizzie?"

  "Lonely Lizzie?" The words didn't connect with Lizzie. Sure, she had been very lonely and sad when she had took her own life, but what did this woman know of it? And what band?

  "You know. Lonely Lizzie? The girl who killed herself because her fiancé died in the war. Shane is a bit obsessed with her. He named our bad after her…"

  "Enough, Cheyenne!" Mr. Davis butted in forcefully. He moved between the girls with his arms crossed. "She's had enough."

  "You don't seriously believe this, do you? She can't be Lizzie Monroe, Shane. Lizzie Monroe is dead as a doornail buried in the wall of Dixon Church, which, hey! Angela texted me a few minutes ago and told me the church had burned to the ground and… Oh my gosh! You did that! You burned the church."

  "Shhhh…" Mr. Davis put his arms up to quiet the one he called Cheyenne. Strange, she didn't look like an Indian. "You'll upset her."

  "I'll upset the dead girl? Are you serious?"

  Mr. Davis's eyebrows reached new heights.

  "Glory, Shane. You've finally snapped. You burned the church and paid this poor girl to be 'Lizzie'. She's not Lizzie, Shane. You're obsessed — and frankly, it's sick."

  Mr. Davis bit his lip and his right leg started shaking. Lizzie could tell he was working very hard on how to explain things to the other girl. She hoped his explanation wasn't immoral. "Look, Cheyenne. I know she's not Lizzie. We were just — you know." He cocked his head to the side and ran his fingers over his arms. The man couldn't be still.

  Lizzie didn't like the way that sounded.

  Cheyenne didn't back down. "Have you lost your mind? That's gross, even for you."

  Mr. Davis shrugged.

  The girl shook her head. "Fine, whatever. If she's willing to indulge in your sick, twisted fantasy, more power to you both."

  "Thank you," Mr. Davis said.

  Cheyenne wasn't finished. "Did you or did you not burn down that church?"

  "The church burned? Which one?"

  "Don't play dumb with me," Cheyenne ordered.

  Lizzie was interested in that answer as well. Her father had built Dixon church, been an active member and leader since its inception. Even when most of the congregation turned on him after he sided with the North, he still kept a special place in his heart for the church. "You set fire to the church, Mr. Davis? It wasn't an accident?" The tears stopped pouring and she could have raked his eyes out. How dare he?

  ****

  Shane stood in a position he never thought he'd be in — between his angry twin sister and a furious dead girl.

  He honestly didn't know which girl he was scared of more. "First of all, I didn't burn down the church." Okay, he so did, but they didn't need to know it. When a zombie looked at you like she could eat your brains, it was okay to lie. Self-preservation and all.

  "And second, I heard her screaming and went to help her. I'm a freakin' hero."

  "Uh-huh." Cheyenne so didn't believe him.

  "Oh, don't be so cynical. It's true."

  "Where did you hear her?"

  "At the church."

  "So you were at the church?" Cheyenne snapped her fingers in his face and pointed her finger so close to his nose, his eyes crossed.

  "I was walking by the church…" he corrected.

  "You burned my father's church down?" said the girl behind him. The girl who was so stiff she couldn't move, but fire sure came out of her eyes. Any second she could jump up and eat his brains.

  He turned to Lizzie. "I didn't…" and to Cheyenne. "I didn't…"

  Neither bought it.

  "Okay, fine. I may have set the church on fire."

  "How dare you!" Lizzie yelled, making his blood curdle. "I was in there!"

  "I didn't know that… well, I did, but you were dead so what did you care?"

  "Wait. I've just been messing with you." Cheyenne ran her fingers thought her hair, messing her ponytail more. "You really did set the fire — and you honestly think this is the real Lizzie Monroe? You're not just messing with me?"

  Shane hated to tell her, but he more than thought it. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt because he had been the one who pulled her out of her broken coffin.

  "I am Lizzie Monroe," the girl said, with much less heat than when she spoke to him. She didn't hate Cheyenne. His sister had always been the more popular of the two.

  Seeing his opportunity, Shane turned his back to block Lizzie and mouthed to Cheyenne. "She's a little cuckoo. We're role playing, if you know what I mean. Just go with it."

  Her face turned all shades of disgusted. "That's gross."

  He just shrugged, hoping she bought it. Was it really more believable that she was Lizzie Monroe or that they were playing some kinky game?

  "Mom's gonna be ticked when she finds out. You can get in a lot of trouble for this."

  "Oh come on. Lizzie's not the first…"

  "Excuse me!" Lizzie said louder than she had to.

  "I'm not talking about Lizzie and whatever weird sex thing you have going on. I'm talking about the church."

  Burning it down had been a grand idea. Who knew so many people cared about a stupid, rundown church? "Mom doesn't have to know. Just don't tell her."

  "You want me to lie?"

  "Don't seem so offended, Cheyenne. You lie all the time. Tell her I was with you. Give me an alibi."

  To Shane's ever-present hope, his sister seemed to think it over. "What's in it for me?"

  He was going to regret this. "What do you want?"

  She grinned mischievously as she went over and put out the smoldering cigarette in the drink can he had it propped on. "That's a nasty habit. You need to stop."

  "Duly noted. Will you please leave?"

  "In a minute. I'll think of something. In the meantime, you'd better get ol' Lizzie back home before her parents miss her." She winked.

  "I don't…" Shane heard Lizzie speak and turned to put his finger on his lips to shush her. Cheyenne didn't believe she was the real Lizzie which was okay. Good. Much less explaining that way. She did, however, think he was a kinky sex addict. That could get
— weird.

  "I'll be sure to get her home." Shane grinned so big it hurt, hoping she bought it. "So deal on not telling Mom or anybody about the church?"

  "Ummm…" Cheyenne hesitated as always did when she messed with him.

  He shook his head. "Come on! You know I'll get sent away for this. For one stupid act of teenage rebellion. Deal on not telling?"

  "Deal." Cheyenne almost let the door shut behind her. She opened it just a tad and grinned. "For now."

  Shane couldn't get to the door fast enough before she'd slammed it shut. At least that was covered for now. Horrible turn of events that his sister knew he'd set the fire, but bonus that she didn't believe him about Lizzie being the actual Lizzie Monroe.

  One angry woman down, one to go. Lizzie didn't seem as easily conned as his sister. "Does your sister think we… uh… had relations?"

  "No." He lied. "No. She doesn't. It's all taken care of."

  Lizzie's eyes hardened. "I can't believe you burned my father's church down," she said with so much disappointment, it made him step back. Why did he care what this stranger thought of him?

  "It was an accident," he said simply.

  Chapter Four

  June 1862

  Lizzie wiped her hands on the apron covering her beige day dress, causing some of the flour to flop into the air. Frustrated, she blew a stray strand of brown hair from her eyes. Biscuits were not her favorite things to make. She wasn't good at them. Not like Maggie Gail who won the biscuit contest at church every Fourth of July. Maggie Gail's wedding was in two weeks, marrying her injured soldier who came home a few days ago. Lizzie didn't know if Melvin would go back to battle, but she envied Maggie Gail just getting the opportunity to see and marry him. It had been an eternity since she'd seen Daniel, and she hadn't received a post from him in months.

  Lately, the newspapers wrote only dire news. Casualties in the thousands from both sides nearly every month. It made her sick to think of everything Daniel must be going through, but she tried not to let her mind wander to the what ifs. He'd come home to her. She knew he would. God wouldn't take someone she loved so much from her. Daniel would come back, as would her father. Daddy would marry her and Daniel in his church and the world would be right again.

  She let out an exhausted breath and wiped her forehead, leaving a trail of flour in its wake. Certain she looked like a horrible mess, Lizzie used a clean towel to try to wipe it away, then decided it didn't matter. Mother had gone to town a few hours ago to go to the church sewing circle meeting. Even though Mother said some of the conversations could get heated at times, she enjoyed going to speak with the other war wives. It was like camaraderie whether the husband fought for the North or South.