The Journey is Our Home

by Kathy Miner

  TEN: Cass: Beaver Island, Michigan

  “Cass, my darlin’ girl, I swear by all I hold holy on Earth and under Sky, if you don’t stop pacing, I will knock you upside the head with this here pot, stake you out in my herb patch like Gulliver, and let the ants pick your bones clean.”

  Cass stopped pacing. Veda’s voice had never risen above a serene, conversational tone, and her stirring hand had kept right on gently stirring the pot she’d made reference to, but as threats went, it was top-notch. Cass plopped down at the kitchen table and cupped her face in her hands, scrubbing at her forehead with her fingertips.

  “I’m sorry. I just can’t settle.” She thumped back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “I woke up off-kilter, and it’s just gotten worse as the day’s gone on.”

  “Mmm. A disturbance in the Force you sense.” Veda’s imitation of Yoda was spot-on. She paused in her stirring to look over her shoulder at Cass. “Fear and doubt stifle the third eye. If you settle yourself down, whatever it is will come clear. You know that.”

  “I do know that,” Cass muttered. She met Veda’s calm gaze with a troubled frown. “I’m afraid to know. It’s Jack. Something’s wrong.”

  Veda turned back to the stove. “I figured as much. A few more minutes here, then this’ll be ready to steep. If you want, I’ll read for you.”

  Cass blew out a huge breath, relief softening the rigidity in her shoulders. She had wanted to ask, but had been afraid to do even that. “I’d appreciate it. Can I do anything to help, in the meantime?”

  “You can bring in some more wood for this stove,” Veda answered. “While the weather holds cool I want to get some of that ginger syrup put up for Emma. It’s the only thing helping with her morning sickness, and she’s just about out.”

  Cass stood up and kissed the top of Veda’s head before she headed outside. After the plague had done its bitter work on the island, most of the survivors had settled together in a cluster of smaller homes on the northwest end of the island. While the mansions on the lakeshore stood deserted, they were building a thriving little community here, working together, sharing resources and knowledge and life. Cass and Veda’s back yard butted right up to the newly pregnant Emma’s, and the communal garden they shared sprawled into Charlotte and Paul’s yard as well.

  Speculation over who the father of Emma’s baby was had run like wildfire through the community, but Cass and Veda’s money was on Paul, Emma’s much older and unhappily married neighbor. Neither Charlotte nor Paul had made any secret of the fact they’d both wished the other dead in the plague, and for the life of her, Cass couldn’t figure out why they kept on keepin’ on. She was hoping the resolution of the situation didn’t cause too big an upheaval. When you lived in a group of less than thirty people, privacy did not exist.

  The rest of the survivors lived nearby in two’s and threes. There were only a couple of exceptions. Mr. “Smith,” who always introduced himself with air quotes and never, ever revealed even a scrap of personal information, still lived on his off-grid property at the southern end of the island. Another group, a family of four, also maintained their off-grid homestead from before the plague. The Nolettes, however, were considerably more interactive than Mr. “Smith.” Gavin and his wife Maddie were both in their mid-forties and had lived together on Beaver Island for years. Gavin built custom boats entirely by hand, and Maddie was an artist. Their sons, Luc and Bastian, were 17 and 15 respectively, and as independent-minded as their parents. The boys had been invaluable during the winter just past, sharing wild game and showing people who had never touched meat not purchased in a supermarket how to skin and prepare wild game for consumption.

  The boys were emulating their parents, who had also assumed “teaching” positions in the community in the wake of the plague. In nearly thirty years of living without modern amenities, Gavin, especially, had become a master at improvisation and adaptation. All things considered, and especially compared to the mainland, they were thriving, in large part thanks to the Nolette family and their tutelage.

  Cass didn’t dare say it out loud to people who had lost so much, but to her, there was a touch of Nirvana about their current situation. This was life as she’d always sensed it should be, lived in intimate contact with the land and swaying in time with the passing seasons. She resonated with this way of life much more than the techno-saturated, social-media-ruled world of before. She knew they’d been lucky, and also knew hardships would come that would make her long for the old days. But for now, if she could just figure out how to get a horse or two to the island, a childhood dream could be realized, and life, as far as she was concerned, would be complete.

  Cass hopped off their back stoop and filled her arms from the woodpile just outside their back door. She took three loads in, filling the wood box beside the stove to bursting, then returned to the back stoop to enjoy the summer day while she waited for Veda.

  On the opposite side of the stoop, a weathered string of jazz cd’s hung from bright pieces of yarn strung between two sturdy sticks, spinning and glinting dully in the breeze. The cd’s marked the graves of the couple who had died in this house – Brent and Amelia Walker, their driver’s licenses had said. Both souls had long since crossed to rest permanently in the spirit world, thanks in part to Cass. Brent, especially, had struggled with the passage. His big, booming personality had been nearly as bombastic in death as it had been in life, and Cass had been plenty relieved when he had at last accepted his death and transitioned.

  So many had died so quickly, their remains as yet unburied, and the resulting abundance of lost souls could be overwhelming. Most of the homes the survivors now occupied were quiet, the bodies of the previous owners respectfully buried, and their graves marked, their souls safely crossed over. Cass had helped with that process whenever necessary, though it hadn’t been her preference in the time before to work with the restless dead. She had left “ghost-whispering” to others, but in these times, one did as one must. When she needed a break from it all, she went to the island’s cemetery, a habit she’d carried over from childhood. It had always amused her that people considered cemeteries frightening. In her experience, they were the least-haunted places she knew.

  She lifted her face to the soft sun, and deliberately steered her mind away from her worry about Jack. As Veda had said, her fretting was getting her no closer to understanding. What she needed was some activity, something to take her mind off it. Maybe later this afternoon she’d head to the marina, see if she could get in some sailing practice. Veda had grown up on the water and had been sailing as long as she could remember, but her age and poor health made Cass reluctant to take her out now that she’d learned the basics. She was diligent about studying the how-to books she’d found, but she learned best by doing. She needed another teacher, and that was that.

  “Hey, Cass.”

  She opened her eyes, and lo and behold, there was the teacher she’d called for. Crazy how often that worked.

  “Hey, Luc.” She returned the greeting, then tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing him. “So, I’m betting the son of a boat builder would know just about all there was to know about sailing.”

  Luc scuffed a foot in the dirt and shrugged. Dark-haired and dark-eyed like his French-Canadian father, he had already matched his dad’s lanky six feet and would probably surpass him in another year. Right now, though, he was all shy boy. “I guess I know a fair bit. I’ve been sailing all my life.”

  Cass hopped up, ready to bargain. “What would you need in trade, to give me lessons? I know you and your folks are awfully self-sufficient, but surely we could come up with something? I need to learn, and –” She glanced conspiratorially over her shoulder at the door to the cottage. “I don’t want Veda taking me out anymore. Her hips give her so much pain, and she just can’t move fast if we were to get into trouble.”

  “I understand.” His face took on a rosy hue, and his dark eyes dropped back to the ground. “I’d just teach yo
u. For free, I mean.” Again with the shrugging and the scuffing. “It wouldn’t be any trouble. None at all.” He glanced up, and his eyes were filled with a longing he was trying – and failing – to hide. “I’d like to help you, Cass.”

  Uh-oh. Cass didn’t need to be psychic to see what was going on here. Luc was sweet 17, and clearly thinking about being kissed. Unfortunately, his prospects on the island had diminished considerably. At 22, she was the closest to his age, if you didn’t count Emma’s little half-sister, who was nine. So unless he wanted to wait for Tiana to grow up, Cass was his best bet. Cass felt a flood of sorrow for him. How much would it suck to have your dating years stunted by a pandemic? His crush would fade in time, and in the interim, she would be sure to be careful of his feelings.

  “Thank you for the offer, Luc, but I would have to insist on a trade. You’ve already done so much for the rest of us, and I believe in an energetic exchange. Like for like. Would one of Veda’s herbal preparations come in handy?” She hesitated, not wanting to weird him out. “Or one of us could do a reading for you. Veda reads palms and does Tarot, which can help you understand your path and the circumstances going on around you. I communicate with those in the spirit world.”

  “I know what you do.” His rosy hue got even deeper. “I think it’s really cool. And now that everyone is different, they all believe you, too.”

  Cass laughed. Out of the mouths of babes. “Well, that’s nice to hear, because they sure didn’t before. Well? Do you want to think about it?”

  “No, I don’t need to think.” His rosy flush dissipated, and his eyes went liquid with sorrow. “My best friend, Zeb, died in the plague. Would you…could you check in with him, to see if he’s okay?”

  “Sure. He may or may not come through, but we can try. I can ask right now, if you’re comfortable.”

  At his nod, Cass sat down on the stoop. Luc shuffled around awkwardly for a moment, then sat down beside her. Cass shut her eyes and cleared her mind, centering herself, asking for her spirit guides to support her and praying for protection for all involved. She took several deep breaths, and enclosed both herself and Luc in white light, through which evil could not penetrate.

  She opened her eyes and smiled at Luc. “May I hold something of yours?”

  Luc fumbled around, patting his pockets, then pulled a ratty paperback book out of his back pocket. 1984 by George Orwell. He held it up. “Like this?”

  “Yes.” She took it from him, then raised her eyebrows questioningly. “What, the world isn’t dystopic enough for you these days?”

  Luc shrugged. “It’s the book my mom and I are currently studying. I’m supposed to be drawing comparisons between Orwell’s vision and what we know about our current situation.”

  Cass was intrigued. “I may have to jump in on that, if you guys are open to a book club. I love book clubs, but we never stayed anywhere long enough for me to join one. Anyway.” She held the book in her hands and closed her eyes. “Time enough for that later. Let’s see if spirit wants to talk.”

  For a moment, the world around her shifted. Then she felt the familiar tingle that signaled an arrival from the spirit world. “Someone is coming through for you. He says he’s above you? Above and to the side – an uncle? Do you have an uncle who has passed?”

  “We don’t know. My dad’s brother lives in Big Rapids, but we couldn’t reach him or his family. My mom has a brother, too, but they weren’t close. I haven’t seen him since my grandpa’s funeral when I was little.”

  “He’s one insistent guy,” Cass murmured. “His name starts with an S. Steven? No, it’s more unusual. Sebastian? Was that his name?”

  Luc’s voice was excited. “Yes! My little brother Bastian is named after him!”

  “Okay, well, he’s telling me to tell you to tell your dad that he’s…” She frowned, and addressed the spirit she was interacting with. “I’m sorry, can you show me in a different way? I’m not getting it. Oh! He’s saying to tell your dad that he was right and your dad was wrong – there is an afterlife, and it’s beautiful, and he’s in it. Okay.” She grinned at Luc. “He’s doing that ‘nanner-nanner-boo-boo’ thing, and he wants you to say that to your dad. Does that make sense?”

  Luc’s jaw went slack with shock. “Holy shit!” He reddened again. “Sorry,” he muttered. “That’s what they always said to each other. They were really competitive, especially when they were growing up. Grandma was super strict about trash-talking, so that’s what they came up with. Wow.” He was quiet for a moment. “Wait. That means he died, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Cass said quietly. “He’s in the spirit world with your aunt and your cousins. He said your grandparents were there to meet him, and other friends and relatives as well.” She reached to rest her hand for a moment on his strong, young forearm. “He’s okay, Luc. They’re all okay, and at peace.”

  Luc looked down at her hand, and, as casually as she could, she removed it. She usually didn’t hesitate to touch a client, but she didn’t want to lead this poor kid on. Luc swallowed hard a few times, then looked up, his black eyes glossy with tears he didn’t want to shed in front of her. “Is there more?”

  Cass focused once more. “Not from your uncle. He’s pulling back. He said what he came through to say.”

  “Can you ask for Zeb, please?”

  His politeness made her smile. “I wish it worked that way, but it doesn’t. Spirit comes through according to its own rhyme and reason. Zeb knows you’re wondering about him. Let’s just give it a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  They waited together under a pure blue July sky while a breeze stirred the leaves of the huge Elder tree that sheltered their yard from northern winds. Veda had chosen this cottage specifically because of that tree, and though she wouldn’t sit underneath it for love nor money, she had a use for all of its parts, from flowers, to leaves, to berries, to wood. Cass didn’t know if her fear of getting whisked away to the world of Faerie was real, or if it was a fantasy Veda had created for her eccentric, tarot-reading public persona. The line between those distinctions was starting to blur as Veda aged.

  Cass closed her eyes again and let her mind shift into a neutral, receiving space. She tucked Luc’s paperback into the crook of her lap, and opened her hands on her legs, palms up, signifying that she was willing to convey a message from spirit to Luc. No sooner did she issue the invitation than it was accepted, and another energy made itself known. Youthful, shy, masculine. Without opening her eyes, she started talking.

  “There’s another person coming through for you, a boy. But he’s saying his name starts with an ‘M,’ not a ‘Z.’ Wait, hold the phone. He’s going really fast, showing me a lot of images,” she explained to Luc. “A Bible, specifically the gospels. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. He says his name starts with an ‘M.’ It’s something biblical, Matthew or Mark. Is any of this making sense?”

  Luc nodded. “His name was ‘Matthew,’ and he hated it. He said it was the most generic name of all time. When we were ten, I told him I’d call him ‘Zebulon’ instead, ‘Zeb’ for short, and it stuck. Even his mom called him ‘Zeb.’” He drew in a long breath that shuddered, and wiped at his eyes, too overcome to hide his tears. “It’s him.”

  “Okay.” Cass was quiet for a few seconds. “He’s showing me an overturned fishing creel, and…” Now it was time for her face to heat up. “And, ah, a Playboy magazine. Open to the centerfold. He’s saying that those were both him, that he was just saying ‘Hi.’”

  “Oh my God, Zeb – my mom found that magazine and she is still ripping on me about how ‘porn warps and pollutes a young man’s mind.’ She made me write a 1,500 word persuasive essay – dude, I am so going to get you back for that!” Then it hit him, and his face crumpled. “But I can’t, can I? God, I miss him. He was such a practical joker, always getting us into trouble. This spring, I kept finding my fishing creel turned over and emptied out, no matter where I stored it or how carefully I locked it up. And
the magazine, well, yeah.” His face didn’t color now; it flamed. “I gave Bastian hell for that – I figured he was paying me back for, well, never mind. And it was Zeb, all along.” He shook his head in wonder. “So he’s, what? Still alive somehow? Or is he a ghost?”

  “He’s spirit,” Cass explained. “We’re made of energy – all of us, everything is energy – and energy cannot die. Here’s how I understand it, from the glimpses I’ve caught. As spirit, we inhabit a human form, and we live out a human lifetime according to a soul journey which was planned in the spirit world. When the human body we’re currently inhabiting dies, we return to the spirit world to be with the Divine, to rest, to be with loved ones, perhaps to plan another incarnation. So in that sense, yes, Zeb is still alive, because his spirit will never die.”

  “So he’s not a ghost?”

  “If by ‘ghost’ you mean a lost soul, then no. I use the words ghost and spirit and a few others interchangeably. But a lost soul is someone who either doesn’t realize they’re dead or is angry or conflicted about passing. That’s what that ‘Ghost Whisperer’ show was based on, and Zeb is not lost. He is telling me to tell you that he’s okay, that his mom was there to meet him, and they’re both happy.” She listened for a moment. “He’s fading now. Is there anything else you want to ask?”

  “Will he come back again? Just to visit?”

  Cass asked, but Zeb had gone. “He didn’t answer.” At the crestfallen look on Luc’s face, she started to reach for his arm again, then pulled her hand back and hid the gesture by returning his paperback. “That doesn’t mean he won’t. It just means he felt it was in your best interest to pull back right then. That’s what our loved ones in spirit form want most – what’s best for us. Many of them do pop in now and again to visit, to check on our lives. So if you find more scattered fishing supplies or incriminating porn, you can bet it was him.”

  “Wow. Wow.” Luc was staring into space, exhibiting what Cass called “First-Time-Shock-and-Awe.” His face was slack and blank while his mind circled over and over what she’d said, trying to come up with some way she could have known all that and failing to produce a logical explanation. She left him to it and stood, opening the door to the cottage just as Veda was reaching for the handle on the other side.