Soul Scent: A Zackie Story (The Zackie Stories Book 2)

by Reyna Favis

  My brow furrowed and I clicked the button to talk again. “Really? She doesn’t have to lie down or anything?”

  “No, that’s a dumb way of doing things. She’s gotta use gravity to help her.”

  Maggie rubbed her belly and said something soothing to the baby in a low voice. Zackie ambled over and stood before Maggie, gazing expectantly up into her face. After a moment, Maggie got a good grip on the webbing, doubling it around her hands, and stood with her legs braced and apart. Her face took on a look of intense concentration and she began pushing. Her knees bent and she grunted with the strain. Lenora kept up an encouraging chatter on the radio.

  Three times, she pulled and strained. “Please…please…” she muttered, as sweat poured down her face. Cam stood helplessly by, his face was pale and his hands occasionally shot out as if he would catch her if she lost her balance. On the fourth push, Maggie bent deeply and moaned, her chin tucked into her chest. Zackie extended her muzzle towards the distended abdomen and lunged through the spirit’s substance, her head disappearing into the mounded belly.

  When Zackie pulled back, Maggie let out a relieved sigh and the baby emerged, gently held in the psychopomp’s maw. The little limbs flailed and a cry of triumph came from her tiny throat. Maggie sank to her knees, letting go of the webbing and sobbed joyfully.

  “What’s happening?” Lenora demanded from the radio.

  “The baby’s here,” I breathed.

  Ron came over the speaker. “That was quick. I’ve birthed livestock that took longer.”

  I felt a little giddy and started babbling. “Nothing happened the usual way, but–” I let go of the button, not sure what else to say.

  After a beat, Lenora spoke again. “But nothin’. Dead woman’s having a baby. Nothin’ usual about that.” The radio was silent for a few beats and then we heard Lenora again. “Tell me everything that’s happening.”

  Zackie lay down with the baby between her paws, nuzzling the little one until she squealed with delight, kicking her feet and waving her hands. The psychopomp looked up at Maggie, tail wagging and displaying a toothy grin. It occurred to me that perhaps Cam would not be the primary caretaker for this baby. Maggie reached out with her hands and lifted the baby, cooing and cuddling it to her breast. Cam joined them on the ground. Looking immensely relieved, he extended a finger for the little one to grasp.

  I described the scene over the radio. Lucas, listening in, shook his head in wonder. “What’s the baby’s name?” he called to Cam.

  Maggie stroked the soft cheek. “I’m calling her Katherine, after my sister.”

  “She says it’s Katherine, like her sister,” Cam called back, grinning like the psychopomp.

  As I turned to Lucas, I caught a whiff of ammonia and my smile faltered. Standing a little apart, Hannah watched the mother and baby. Her face was drawn down with sadness and she began to fade almost immediately. I had the urge to reach out to her, but it was too late. She was gone.

  “What is it?” Lucas tensed and his eyes scanned the area where Hannah had been.

  “It’s okay. No danger.”

  He looked relieved and then the corners of his mouth turned up a little. “This mission was unexpectedly calm. I’d understand it if you docked my pay.”

  “Count your blessings. I think this is pretty rare, so treasure the moment. And you did give us Lenora’s gift when we really needed it.”

  Lucas laughed. “I gave you placebos. You believed it would make a difference, so it did.”

  I was about to argue the point when Cam motioned for us to come over. Lucas stood and offered me his hand and together, we approached the happy group surrounding the baby. The handholding worked in our favor, since I was able to stop Lucas at a respectful distance before he interfered with Maggie’s space. “What’s up?” I asked.

  Maggie still held the baby and her face was serious. “Katherine wanted to be an independent being before we transitioned. She’s told me that she’s ready to go, but wants one more thing before she leaves this earth.”

  A wave of relief washed over me. Up close, Katherine was a cute little thing, but I still felt jittery about taking on responsibility for a baby. I was deeply grateful that she would go on with her mother. But my moment of gratitude dissolved, replaced by uncertainty, as I followed up on Katherine’s request. “What’s the one more thing?”

  Maggie looked from Cam to me, her face solemn. “Can you both promise her that her name will be on the headstone?”

  I stalled for time and explained the situation to Lenora, Ron, and Lucas before answering her. “Isn’t that your sister Katherine’s call?” Shifting uncomfortably, I made eye contact with Cam and raised my eyebrows. I didn’t want to promise anything if I couldn’t pull it off.

  “I wrote it on my arm with a Sharpie before I – before I…” Maggie paled and the corners of her eyes turned down as she recalled that awful night. “I wanted Katherine to know I’d named the baby after her. She’ll believe you if you tell her this.”

  “That should help. We’ll talk to her and try our best.”

  Cam was more optimistic. “We’ll make it happen.”

  Zackie stood and nudged Maggie to her feet, cradling little Katherine in the crook of her arm. “Thank you both. And please thank the midwife for all her help.” They walked into the woods and Cam and I turned away as the bright light flashed, temporarily bleaching the colors out of the foliage. The last thing we heard was Maggie’s ecstatic cry, “Greg!”

  # # #

  Katherine stalled for time and offered us some more cookies. We sat in her living room and stayed quiet, giving her time to process what we’d told her. The conversation had been careful and gentle, telling her nothing about the time Maggie spent in the clearing or her suffering. Katherine was still fragile and the grief weighed heavily on her. We mentioned the message written in Sharpie and that Maggie would be pleased if Katherine included this name for the baby on the headstone. It would be a few months yet before the headstone could be erected, so she had time to think about it.

  “I thought there was something about you two when we met in the church.” Katherine concentrated on pouring tea and spoke softly. “I will, of course, give the baby a name on the headstone. I lost both my sister and my niece that night.” She put the porcelain teapot down with shaking hands and stared almost desperately into our faces. “Is Maggie at peace?”

  Cam held her eyes with a steady gaze. “Yes, she and the baby are at peace.”

  Katherine nodded and appeared to relax. “Thank God for that.” She sat back in her chair, the tension rolling off her shoulders. She closed her eyes briefly and repeated those words like a prayer.

  After we ate all her cookies (we were still depleted from the recent spirit work), she saw us to the door. She seemed to be breathing easier and a weight had been lifted from her. Katherine’s eyes shown as she bid us good-bye. “Thank you both for coming here.”

  # # #

  Living with Zackie was proving to be a chore. She spent the nights popping in and out and I thought I was going to have a seizure from all the blasting light. I suspected she was visiting baby Katherine. When I complained to Cam, he said it couldn’t be helped and I needed to suck it up.

  It was the third night with my unwanted roommate. We were going to the final farewell dinner for Ron and Lenora. Zackie stood next to me yawning, as I secured all the newly installed locks on my door. She pointedly ignored me as I groused about her nocturnal habits and my voice rose with my growing anger at being disregarded.

  “Hey, you can’t train a dog by just yelling. You gotta look for the behavior you want and then reward it.” Joel climbed out of his red truck. “How you doin’?”

  “Doing okay, except for dealing with Zackie. She’s keeping me up at night.”

  “Pfft…you’ll do all right. The important thing is, you got the dog with you at night.” He pulled out some gum, took a stick and then offered me one. When I shook my head, he continued. “So, remember
the Roseberry Homestead I was tellin’ you about?”

  “That really old house you’re restoring? Yeah, how’s that going?”

  “Great. We got the architectural historian coming in tomorrow. Thought you might wanna come and see the place with your master stonemason friend.” He snapped his gum and grinned.

  “Awesome! I’ll give her a call. She’s still studying, she’s not at the master level yet, but I know she’ll want to see this.” I was glad for this distraction. It would be a good thing for Peyton. She’d been through the grinder these last few weeks and having something fun to do would cheer her up. Joel gave me the details of when and where as I turned the key in the last lock. “We’ll be there. Right now, I’m late for dinner at Cam’s. See you tomorrow?”

  A short drive later, I arrived at Cam’s house and let myself in because no one heard the doorbell over all the yelling. Zackie and I went straight to the dining room, where she planted her front paws on the table and grabbed some fried bread. She went under the table and I waved at the combatants, trying to get their attention.

  “– no more spirits left to free.” Cam’s face was red and he slapped his palm on the table.

  “And I’m telling you Grandfather said we’re not done yet.” Lenora also slapped her palm down.

  I gave up trying to get their attention, grabbed some fried bread and sat in my usual spot across from Lucas. “Should we be yelling too? I think I’d like to eat my bread first.”

  “Go ahead and eat. They’re doing enough yelling for everyone.” Lucas took some bread and followed my lead.

  Ron frowned at the empty bowl. “Looks like I’m going to have to add to the noise pollution.” Holding up the empty bowl, he roared, “We need more bread.”

  That request brought a temporary cessation in hostilities as Lenora got up to fry more bread. “You also want more bread?” she asked Cam, crossing her arms and leaning her hip on the table.

  “Yes. Please.” Cam growled the response and looked like he wanted to say more. Probably in the interest of hastening the bread delivery, he held his tongue.

  “We do still have the Scotland trip hanging over our heads.” Lucas said the words mildly, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he waited for the response.

  Cam placed his elbows on the table and glowered. “Et tu, Lucas?”

  “What’d I say? We’re not done yet.” Lenora grabbed the bowl and stalked out of the room.

  I sat back, contentedly chewing my bread and took a good look around the room. Whatever my condition, whether I was hungry, sick or frightened, these people had my back. Maybe they were a bit loud on occasion, but hearing loss was a small price to pay to be among people I trusted. I’d found my family and all was well in my world.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Nothing in this world happens without the help and support of others. I would like to express my undying gratitude to the Schooleys Mountain Writers’ Group at the Washington Township Public Library, the Phillipsburg Free Public Library Writer’s Group and the Belvidere Writers’ Group for their unstinting support in reviewing early versions of this work and offering helpful feedback. Thanks also to beta readers Dana Geissler, Sara Ehrlich, and Rich Kliman (note the Oxford comma, Dr. Kliman) for generously donating their time and providing critique on the overall story structure, as well as catching those pesky typos. The librarians at the Phillipsburg Free Public Library were instrumental in providing key references for this story and I am grateful for their help. I would also like to thank Loren Spiotta-DiMare for her words of wisdom and Laura Reilly Salmon for sending me a dragon when I really needed it.

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  Lenape

  I hope you enjoyed meeting Ron Falling-Leaf and Lenora Ottertooth. My intent was to make these characters human and relatable, while highlighting the story of the Lenape people in New Jersey. While I thought that like Parmelia and Bodean, Ron and Lenora would depart at the end of the story and return to their home, they surprised me by wanting to stick around.

  The history of the Lenape and their cultural beliefs were gleaned from Kraft’s tomb of a book. This is truly the definitive guide.

  Kraft, H. C. (2001). The Lenape-Delaware Indian Heritage 10,000 BC to AD 2000. Lenape Books.

  All dialogue written in the Southern Unami dialect was taken from this source. Any errors are my own.

  Lenape Talking Dictionary. (2002). Retrieved January 23, 2016, from http://www.talk-lenape.org/sentences.php?resultpage=2&

  Current and historic Native American views on suicide were derived from the works below.

  EchoHawk, M. (1997). Suicide: Individual, Cultural, International Perspectives. In A. A. Leenaars, R. W. Maris, & Y. Takahashi (Eds.), (pp. 50–59). New York, NY: The Guilford Press.

  Lester, D. (1997). Suicide: Individual, Cultural, International Perspectives. In A. A. Leenaars, R. W. Maris, & Y. Takahashi (Eds.), (pp. 53–38). New York, NY: The Guilford Press.

  Please note that the use of a rope or sash belt (or webbing, in the case of the story) during the birthing process is likely not a Lenape practice. In the article below, the sash belt is referred to as a common Native American tradition and the Navajo are specifically cited as using this as an aid during child birth. Modern hospitals near reservations even install sash belts in the ceilings of the obstetric units to help the mothers. I thought this idea had a lot of merit and wanted to include it, despite the fact that this was probably not historically or culturally accurate. However, it did not seem beyond the pale that displaced tribes meeting in Oklahoma might share ideas and certain practices might be adopted.

  https://www.scienceandsensibility.org/blog/series-welcoming-all-families-supporting-the-native-american-family

  Crime Scene Clean Up

  Much of the details for Fia’s new job were taken from the book by Reavill about the crime scene clean up company, Aftermath. The cleanup process for the fancy car was taken from Aftermath’s website.

  Reavill, G. (2007). Aftermath, Inc.: Cleaning Up After CSI Goes Home (Hardcover). New York: Gotham Books.

  http://www.aftermath.com/crime-cleanup-services/vehicle-blood-bio-cleaning-car/

  Coffin Birth

  Holy crap, it’s real. If you would like to learn more about this interesting phenomenon, please refer to the citations below.

  Hawkes, S. C. (1975). An Anglo-Saxon obstetric calamity from Kingsworthy, Hampshire. Medical and Biological Illustration, 25, 47–51.

  Wikipedia Coffin Birth. (2016). Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coffin_birth

  Tom Quick

  The story of Tom Quick and how to interpret his murderous actions were taken from the articles below. Being that a descendant categorized him as a psychopath, I felt no qualms in also doing so. The story about the butchered Lenape family was taken from “Tom Quick Indian Slayer, Hero or Serial Killer.” The quote from Tom Quick’s mother (about how couldn’t be held responsible for his actions because witnessing the killing of his father “turned his head”) is real. The obelisk dedicated to his memory as an Indian Slayer is also real, as was the damage inflicted upon it by parties unknown. The repaired monument remains in storage.

  Bertland, D. N. (1975). The Minisink: A Chronicle of One of America’s First and Last Frontiers. Port Jervis, NY: Four-county Task Force on the Tocks Island Dam Project.

  Cohen, D. S. (1983). The Folklore and Folklife of New Jersey. New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press.

  Hulse, D. (2003). What to do about Tom Quick. The River Reporter. Milford, PA. Retrieved from http://www.riverreporter.com/issues/03-05-22/tomquick.htm

  Tom Quick Indian Slayer, Hero or Serial Killer. (n.d.). Retrieved November 18, 2016, from http://www.whitsett-wall.com/Westfall/Tom Quick2.html

  The True Story of Tom Quick, Indian Fighter and Westfall Relative. (n.d.). Retrieved November 18, 2016, from http://www.whitsett-wall.com/Westfall/Tom Quick1.html

  Hostages in Medieval Times

  Treatment of hostages during the Middle Ages is descr
ibed in the Beachcombing article. The story of the boy hostage who was beheaded due to his father’s unbridled ambition is based on the sad tale of Conchobar Mac Murchadha.

  Beachcombing. (2012). Hostage Taking in Ancient and Medieval Times. Retrieved June 7, 2017, from http://www.strangehistory.net/2012/09/20/hostage-taking-in-ancient-and-medieval-times/

  GENi. (2015). Conchobar Mac Murchadha. Retrieved June 7, 2017, from https://www.geni.com/people/Conchobar-Mac-Murchadha/6000000002187764124

  Wikipedia. (2017). Diarmait Mac Murchada. Retrieved June 7, 2017, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diarmait_Mac_Murchada

  Child Labor

  The kiss of death and mistreatment of children in textile mills is real.

  Labor, U. S. D. of. (n.d.). State Investigations. Retrieved June 20, 2017, from https://www.dol.gov/dol/aboutdol/history/mono-regsafepart01.htm

  Goose’s Surf Speak Dialect

  Goose’s impenetrable manner of speaking is taken from the work below. Honestly, writing his dialogue was harder than writing for He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief.

  Gralle, T. (1991). The Surfin’ary: A Dictionary of Surfing Terms and Surfspeak. Berkeley, CA: Ten Speed Press.

  Murphy’s Quantum Law and Corollary

  Used with the kind permission of Paul Dickson, Eric S. Raymond and Gary L. Steele Jr. The original quotes can be found in the two references cited below, although no one quite knows where the bit about pregnancy came from.

  Dickson, P. (1981). The Official Rules. New York City: Delacorte Press.

  Raymond, E. S., & Steele, G. L. (1991). The New Hacker’s Dictionary. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press.