The Afterlife of Lizzie Monroe

by Kelly Martin

  In the meantime, Lizzie decided to surprise her mother with homemade biscuits — practice for Daniel. What a mistake that had been. Lizzie rolled out the biscuit dough and tried her best to make a presentable bread. She refused to have Daniel come home to an inept wife. She had every intention of using the time Daniel was away to learn how to cook well and sew garments he would be proud of. It was the least she could do for him.

  A knock on the door startled her, and she frantically tried to wipe the white flour from her dress and hair. It just made a bigger mess.

  Another knock.

  "Coming." She unwrapped the flour-covered apron from her waist and practically ran to the door.

  When she opened it she nearly fell over.

  A soldier in a faded gray uniform. He was tall, nearly as tall as the top of the door. He had brown hair slicked back under his hat, and the prettiest brown eyes. One arm was behind his back. The other he'd left somewhere else, presumably on a battlefield.

  Lizzie stared at him for a second, not recognizing him. "May I help you?"

  The soldier seemed nervous, like he didn't know exactly how to begin. "Are you Elizabeth Monroe?"

  Lizzie felt her chest tighten up. Something about this was very wrong. Who was this man? "Lizzie. Yes, sir. Again, may I help you with something? If you need room and board, town is not far that direction." She pointed with a trembling, flour covered finger.

  He pulled his hat off and held it against his chest. "Pardon me, Miss. I hope I'm not intruding and I mean you no ill will."

  She didn't trust him, not completely. Mother was gone and wouldn't be back for a few hours. Lizzie didn't see how to get away from him without hearing him out. Since the war, she'd been leery of strangers. One never knew what they wanted or which side they were on. "I hope you are a man of your word, Mister…"

  "Davis. Frederick Davis. I have news of your Daniel."

  ****

  Now that her eyes worked better, she began looking around the room to see exactly where she was.

  Her first impression was a saloon. The Cheyenne girl, who was obviously a woman of ill-repute, only solidified that theory. Lizzie had no desire to be in a saloon and feared what this young man would do to her. A girl, unable to move, on a bed didn't bode well for her or her reputation. She hoped he was a gentleman. She was sure she could kick him and run if she absolutely had too.

  Well… she hoped she could anyway. Right this second, she couldn't even raise her arm two inches above her thigh, and her legs refused to respond to the simplest command her mind gave it.

  "This can't be happening." Mr. Davis shook his head in an expression that looked a lot like happiness, though Lizzie couldn't for the life of her find anything to be happy about. Okay, so she wasn't in that box anymore. She could be happy about that.

  "I feel like I'm dreaming," she admitted as she tried to wiggle her toes. They refused to comply.

  "Me too," Mr. Davis said from the rolling chair by the window. I don't think we are though. I mean, you're real, right? I didn't make you up?"

  "Not that I know of. I used to be real anyway, back when life made sense and I wasn't lying in the used bed of a brothel."

  Mr. Davis nearly spat out the drink he'd just taken. "Brothel? You think you're in a brothel?"

  Um… "I just assumed… and then I saw the Indian girl and how few clothes she had on and put two and two together."

  Shane stared at her for a second then laughed so hard she thought he was going to fall off of the reclining chair. Lizzie didn't see the amusement. "Cheyenne's going to get a kick out of that."

  "Why, if you don't mind me asking?"

  "To start with, she'd not an Indian — or Native American as we call them now. Her name is just Cheyenne. Like I'm Shane and you're Lizzie. And this isn't a brothel. It's my bedroom."

  Lying in some boy's bed unchaperoned… might as well be in a brothel… "I just assumed."

  "You know what they say about people who assume?"

  She shook her head.

  He did the same, but it wasn't in a curious way like hers was. "Of course you don't. I forget you're from the Stone Age," Mr. Davis mumbled with a smile. He seemed to be taking this better than she was. Of course he was. He wasn't the one who had been stuffed in a casket for God knows how long.

  "You resemble him." She couldn't help saying.

  Mr. Davis raised a brow. "Who?"

  It wasn't a happy memory. "Fredrick Davis. A man I knew once. I guess he's dead now. Suppose he got to live his life in the natural order."

  "The natural order…" He repeated. "Anyway, it's now two thousand fourteen… if you were wondering," Mr. Davis said.

  Dear Lord, had it been that long? She'd been locked up way too long.

  "And that girl you saw is my sister. Twin. Her name's Cheyenne."

  My word! How could she offend him in that way, assuming his sister was a woman of ill repute? "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I just thought… um… with her clothing and all… that."

  Mr. Davis busted out in a laugh that rocked his entire body. Lizzie hadn't ever seen anyone laugh like that. "No, I'd say your assessment of my sister is fairly accurate. She wears the bare minimum of clothing at times."

  Lizzie wasn't entirely certain what that meant — if his sister was a prostitute or not — but she decided not to dwell on it. She seemed nice enough. That's all that mattered to Lizzie. There were much more important things going on than how Mr. Davis's sister made her money.

  Apparently, Mr. Davis thought the same thing. "This is so weird. How are you even here? You should be dust by now."

  "I have no ideas."

  ****

  That didn't help Shane very much. He'd handled having a relatively dead girl in his bed fairly well he thought. No screaming, barely any freaking out — he did most of it while she was unconscious and looking very freaky lying in her one hundred and fifty year old dress on his bed.

  Still, he wanted to know how she was alive now and how she had survived in the casket since the 1800s, but he knew it would be a touchy subject for her. Everyone knew how Lizzie died. It was like the town legend — like the witch that haunted the Bell family. His band was even named after it. Love's Suicide. Lizzie's story had always been to get people to see their shows though. Familiarity and all. It had never really been about Lizzie. Why should he have cared about a dead girl who had decomposed years ago?

  Only she hadn't. Lizzie was as real as he, as alive as he was, and in his room. A big part of him wanted to know why. There obviously had to be something going on to keep her alive. Magic if he had his guess, but he had no idea how to bring the subject up with her. She seemed very spiritual and he didn't know how she'd deal with the idea of magic.

  Instead of saying anything, he just sat there and stared at anything but her. He'd run out of anything to talk about that wasn't the elephant in the room — how in the world she was there.

  Lizzie grunted as she tried to raise her arm. It wasn't working very well. He cringed thinking how stiff her muscles had to be after being in a coffin, unable to move, for as long as they were.

  "Blast it!" she said and lay her head against the headboard in frustration. She looked like she was fixing to get into a long narrative. Oh good… "In the darkness, my mind wandered a lot, as you can imagine."

  He nodded.

  "I used to daydream about running. You know, just taking off full force and running as hard as I could go until I got tired and fell over. I tried to stretch my legs and my arms, but there wasn't much room."

  "And you were conscious? The entire time?"

  She opened her mouth to speak then shut it as if another thought crossed her mind. "I woke up there. It was dark and I had to feel my eyelids to make sure I was awake. I didn't handle it well I don't think."

  "Who would?"

  She grinned sadly. "At first, I kicked and clawed. Tried to get out. I yelled, screamed, whatever I could do because it wasn't right. I wasn't supposed to be there. Finally, I gave up
and accepted where I was and that I'd never get out. I slept some, but the rest of the time, I was awake."

  Shane's body shivered. He didn't want to imagine. "Food? Water? You never got hungry?"

  She shook her head. "Never. Not until you brought me here."

  "See. I don't get that." He couldn't figure it out. What in the world had happened to this girl? "I don't see how you didn't go crazy."

  Lizzie's eyes met his and they were darker than they had been all night. "Who says I didn't?"

  O—kay.

  So maybe taking this girl back home with him wasn't the greatest idea. He didn't know anything about her except she was dead, had been for a long time. Who knew what had happened to her brain in the dark that long? He wasn't sure he could have been able to stand it, though, she didn't exactly have a choice.

  "I'm sorry." She shut her eyes. "I didn't mean to sound so cryptic. It's just… I never thought that would happen to me. When I sli… when died I wanted to go to Heaven. I thought I would, you know?"

  "I don't believe in Heaven." Shane didn't know if he should have said it, but he thought she needed to know the truth about him. Looking at her, he knew he had some explaining to do. "I mean, I don't care if you do. More power to you. I just don't. I've never seen anything to tell me there is a God."

  At least her brow worked because it rose pretty high. "What year did you say it was?"

  Shane told her, and she seemed to take it pretty calmly. He guessed after being where she had been, nothing else could surprise her.

  "So… I died two centuries ago and I'm talking to you in your room. You don't think that's God?"

  "I think it's something. Magic probably." There he said it. He'd rather believe in magic than a God who would allow bad things to happen. "I don't know exactly, but I don't think it was God. I imagine He had better things to do than toy with a suffering girl."

  "Magic was in the Bible, you know? During the plagues."

  "I know, but still…"

  "One can believe in magic and the Bible. Doesn't mean one should practice it. I thought I was going to Heaven with Daniel and I woke up in that Hell. I wanted to die, not live forever alone in the darkness. Ironic I suppose."

  "Pretty messed up," Shane admitted. He felt bad for her, which was new for him. He didn't normally feel bad for anyone. Where to go from here? "Well, you didn't. Or you did and you're not now. Anyway, I suppose we need to know why you're here. You can stay here until we do."

  Her eyes widened and she looked like she wanted to run. Luckily for both of them, they knew she couldn't — couldn't even walk. "Really? Your folks won't mind?"

  Folks. So country. "My mother works two jobs and is rarely here. She'll be home in the morning so you'll have to be quiet, but it shouldn't be a problem. She never comes up here anyway. I'll have to convince Cheyenne you've gone, but that shouldn't be a big issue either."

  "And your father?"

  A very sensitive subject. "He's not around anymore."

  She tilted her head like she understood. Shane had news for her. She didn't. "Dead? I suppose my own father is dead now too. I always figured the war got him like it had Daniel."

  "Not exactly. I mean, not about your father. I'm sure he's been gone for several decades, but my father isn't dead."

  "Oh. I beg your pardon. I'm all over my words tonight. It's been so long since I've used them." She laughed nervously. It was, dare he say, cute.

  "It's fine. I understand." On top of the not moving, the solitude had to have been awful. "But he's just gone. He isn't coming back, not for a long time anyway."

  She seemed to accept his answer, which he appreciated. Too much had gone on for one night and talking about his father didn't sound fun. An uncomfortable silence thickened between them like they'd already talked about everything they had to discuss. If her body would allow her to fidget, Shane figured she would. For the first time, she looked uncomfortable and not because she had been in a coffin a few hours ago. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must be going."

  The girl tried to sit up and her old bones creaked. It would be gnarly if it wasn't so spooky. He had to give her credit, she did actually lift her head off of the headboard. "You can't go," Shane said as he sat on the bed with her. Not close enough to freak her out, but close enough to get his point across.

  "I beg your pardon." She sounded irate and defiant. "I most certainly can leave."

  "No you can't."

  "You aren't holding me against my will." She sounded sure of that.

  "One, I'm not holding you. I found you. You would have burned if I hadn't saved you." Of course, if he hadn't set the fire she wouldn't have needed saving, but that was beside the point.

  "Two, you can't walk." He pointed to her very immovable legs.

  "I can try. If I really want to I can."

  Sure, she could. "And three, you have nowhere to go."

  The last part affected her the most. Her breathing increased and Shane thought she would cry again. Perfect.

  "You know you've been…" What would the right word be? Thankfully, he'd never been really great at picking the right word. "… away for over a hundred years. I hate to say, but all of your family is gone. Your house is a historical landmark or something." He'd seen it before on a second grade field trip. It hadn't been anything special. Just an old two room home along with an outhouse and an old barn. The barn Lizzie had killed herself in.

  Oh boy.

  Lizzie averted her eyes and bit her lip. Shane wasn't sure how this would go, but he knew one thing. She couldn't leave. Not only because she was Lizzie Monroe, but because if anyone found her, she could tell that Shane set the church on fire. Sure, he'd take Preston down with him, but he didn't want it to come to that. He couldn't rely on the hope that she might be committed if she told someone else her crazy story. He might not want to go to jail, but she didn't deserve to be locked up as a nut when, in fact, she was telling the truth.

  When she didn't talk, he did. "I say you stay here with me. You can hide out in my room. I'll figure something out. For now, you'll stay here. I'll help you learn to walk again, teach you how the world has changed since 1862, hopefully figure out how you are here and alive." Magic, obviously, but what kind? "And when the time is right, I'll help you get a ticket to wherever you want."

  "I can't stay here in Dixon?"

  Oh honey… "I don't think that would be a good idea, do you? You are a pretty famous person here. You have a museum and people know your picture. If people see you, they'll figure out you came back from the dead." And if they questioned her, she'd tell about the fire. Plus, he didn't want her committed for her crazy story. The quicker he got her well and gone, the better.

  "Your sister didn't."

  True. "She had bad eyes, but someone will have watched too many paranormal movies and figure it out. And when they do, it'll be bad for you."

  "People in your time wouldn't accept it?"

  He shrugged. It might not be ethical, but he had to scare her into staying put. He couldn't babysit her 24/7 until she was able to walk again. "I daresay no one in any time would accept it. Our government has a tendency to dissect things it doesn't understand."

  Her nose wrinkled.

  "Yeah. Plus, you know, I imagine you are here because of some sort of magic or spell which would make you a witch."

  Her eyes lit up. The scaring her into staying part seemed to be working. "I was never a witch! I never dabbled in anything like that."

  "Know someone who did?"

  "Not that I can recall."

  "In any event, I paid enough attention in history class to know what people in your time did to suspected witches."

  "I wasn't…"

  "Doesn't matter if you were or weren't. People will assume and that won't be good."

  "Why?"

  Sigh. "They burn you at the stake." Too over the top? In all honesty, they probably wouldn't do anything to her now for being a witch. It would be viewed as a lifestyle or religious choice. But Lizzi
e wasn't from his time, and she didn't need to know that. She just needed a reason to stay put.

  Lizzie looked like she was going to throw up. "I guess I don't have a choice. No matter what, I'm stuck here. Thank you for being so kind to keep me safe."

  If you only knew, sweetheart. If you only knew…

  Chapter Five

  December 1861

  Lizzie placed the last pinecone on the Christmas tree and relaxed her tiptoes. There. Beautiful.

  Ever since she could remember, her father cut a tree from the far end of the field, right at the edge of the clearing behind the barn, and brought it home for her to decorate at Christmas. This Christmas seemed more special than the others, the last she'd see her father and Daniel until the war ended. Both were scheduled to leave soon. Father for the North. Daniel for the South. Both would be in the same room for Christmas dinner in a few hours… she prayed they remained civil.

  "Help me with the biscuits, dear." Her mother called from the table.

  "Um… Are you sure?" Lizzie wasn't positive that was a good idea.

  "You have to learn how sometime." Mother laughed. "Rumor has it Daniel has intentions to ask your father for your hand soon. You can't marry without being able to cook for your family."

  Lizzie's stomach knotted when she thought Daniel might propose. She wanted it, of course. She'd wanted to be Daniel's wife since she first laid eyes on him, but with the war starting and threatening to grow worse, a family was the last thing she wanted to think about. Okay, so she was the last of her friends to find a husband and that added pressure, but there were things she wanted to do before settling down. Travel on her own, write and publish a short story — maybe even a novel. See the world. She'd shared her big dreams with her mother once and she simply laughed, calling them the silly ideas of a childish school girl.

  Not wanting to be an old maid and loving the man very much, she knew she'd accept Daniel's proposal if and when he offered it, but it still made her uneasy. What did she know of being a wife?