I needed to hear him say it. I needed the confirmation that he was indeed Archer Breckenridge and I hadn’t imagined everything. He smiled fully again and I was struck by how captivating his smile was.
“My name is Archer, Rosalind,” he stated.
Another chill down my spine, followed quickly by a shiver. He did indeed know my name. What else had he seen and heard since I had moved? Instead of responding, I turned and walked into the house, realizing I was probably being rude.
Wait, how can you be rude to someone who isn’t even living?
I laughed to myself, feeling like I was going crazy. I was having a conversation with a ghost, of course I was going crazy. I guessed my loneliness and the strange things happening around the house had finally taken their toll.
I made my way toward the couch closest to the fireplace. Archer suddenly materialized in front of me and stood in front of the other sofa.
“How do you know my name?” I asked in a much harsher voice than I had intended, realizing how stupid that question was the minute it crossed my lips.
He chuckled, and I swore I could feel the reverberations in the atmosphere around us. “I’ve lived in this place for decades, Rosalind. I’m slightly embarrassed to admit I’ve watched you a little since you arrived.” He looked away from me shyly as he said this. He at least had the decency to appear embarrassed.
While a part of me wanted to say something snarky or sarcastic in return, I realized his admission didn’t bother me nearly as much as it maybe should. I couldn’t think of anything at all to say in response. I just stood there for a moment, trying to process all of this.
“Have a seat, I guess,” I said, waving toward the sofa he stood in front of.
He lowered his body onto it, so it looked like he was sitting, though I guessed he was just hovering.
“Does it take a lot of energy to sit like that?” I asked, my curiosity winning out.
He smiled, a twinkle of humor in his eyes. “No, not really. Not any more than standing or walking takes.”
There were so many questions racing through my head, but leaving just as quickly, too fast for me to grab onto one long enough to formulate the words out loud. I closed my eyes, laid my head on the back of the sofa, and took a deep breath, exhaling a moment later. When I opened my eyes, he was still there, the same smile on his face.
“Is this really happening?”
With that question, he laughed, a rich, deep laugh. “Yes, Rosalind, this is really happening, as difficult as it must be to fathom. I take it you’ve never conversed with a spirit before?”
He sat back on the sofa, as though he were getting comfortable, and threw his right ankle to rest over his left knee.
“No, this would be a first for me. And if we’re going to have a conversation, you might as well call me Ros.”
“If it’s all right with you, I would much rather call you Rosalind.”
“Okay.” I nodded my assent. “Is there another name you go by? A nickname perhaps?”
“Yes, my friends and family often called me Archie when I was alive.”
“Would it be okay if I called you Archer? And when would that have been, exactly? When you were alive? How old are you?” I had a pretty good idea what his answer would be, but again, I was seeking confirmation.
“I’m twenty-eight years old, I suppose.”
I sat quietly, willing him to continue with my eyes. After a moment or two, he must have figured I wasn’t going to ask anything else until he went on.
“I was born in 1878. I died in 1906,” he finished.
“You don’t really sound like what I thought someone from the nineteenth century would sound like,” I observed out loud, more to myself than to him.
As a ghost, he must have been able to hear anything spoken anywhere near him, no matter how quietly it was said. Well, that was my assumption, at least.
“Well, I’m not sure exactly what you were expecting. I think there’s often the misconception we talked much differently during my time, but we didn’t. Perhaps a bit more formally at times.”
“Oh,” I muttered, unable to form any other words.
“I’ve also been observing the inhabitants here for almost a century. I picked up the idioms and manners of speech over the years. It makes me feel more relevant, more alive.”
I was slightly taken aback by this. I’d thought a ghost was a stagnant, unchanging thing, completely stuck in the time he or she lived in when alive. I found I liked the fact he tried to adapt, with his speech at least.
“So, does that mean you’ve stayed current with music and books as well? Actually, can you even read?”
I had so many questions now, it took everything in me to refrain from spitting them all out at once. Archer steepled his fingers together and looked at me as though seriously considering my questions.
“I do get to listen to music, which has made things feel less lonely. As for books, I can move them and manipulate them, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Archer chuckled at his joke. “I greatly enjoyed reading while I was alive, but I find it consumes too much energy to try to manipulate the pages to read for any length of time. Each time I’ve tried, I had to give up the endeavor after a few pages.”
“I’m so sorry, Archer. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t read.”
He nodded, and I swore I saw a flash of sadness in his eyes for a second before it disappeared. “I sometimes consider all the great books I must have missed over the years. Do you know what I’ve found unexpected joy in?”
“No.”
“Films. I have found I really enjoy them. Well, many of them, that is.”
He looked at me with a question in his eyes. I got the feeling he was inviting me to ask more questions. I was stuck processing and taking in what he had just said.
“So, the books around the house were you then?”
“Yes, I remember many passages I loved or had great meaning to me. Those were the books and passages I shared with you.”
Some time must have passed without me saying anything at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him shift. I looked up at him, not sure where to go next and struck silent by the strange energy filling the atmosphere between us.
Fourteen
“So, Rosalind. How old are you?” Archer asked after a few minutes of electric, tension-filled silence.
“I’m twenty-seven.” It was so strange to talk to someone practically the same age, but whom I was separated from by almost a hundred years.
“Your husband, Dan. How old is he?”
I was startled by Archer’s use of Dan’s name. It was like he had thrown ice water on me, made this all feel more real.
“I’m sorry, Rosalind, it wasn’t my intention to upset you. Your ages are one of the few things I wasn’t able to figure out.”
“Um, yeah. I understand. He’s thirty-three years old, so a bit older than me. Though I guess I’ve always felt older and more mature than other people my age and I never really noticed the difference that much.”
“How long have you been married? How did you meet?”
He had a smile on his face, but I detected an undertone in his voice. It was almost melancholy. I leaned forward a little, trying to look deeper into his eyes, searching for any changes in his facial expressions.
He gave nothing else away, and I wondered if I had imagined it. I was wondering if I was imagining this all, if I would wake up from this like I had all the other dreams where I had been with him. I sat back and sighed, feeling somewhat reluctant to talk about Dan with him, but not sure why. This all was beginning to feel a little ridiculous.
“Hmmm. We began dating about seven years ago, and we’ve been married for three years.”
“How did you meet him?”
“We met while I was in college. We just happened to be at the same restaurant on the same night. We were each there with our friends. It was late, and it wasn’t a place my friends and I usually went to. I don’t remember much of
the night.”
I stopped there and pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and hugging them to me. I looked out the window, though all I could see was the fog still rolling around. The faint glow of the moon sometimes broke through the haze of mist.
I closed my eyes and went back to that night, to the things I could remember. It was strange to me how much you could lose or forget over such a short period. I sighed again, opened my eyes, and looked back at Archer, smiling.
“Would you tell me about it, Rosalind?”
“I remember laughing at something one of my friends said, my head thrown back. I wore my hair down, something I almost never did. I could feel my hair tickling my lower back, which only made me laugh more.”
I stopped and looked over at Archer, giving him a chance to ask any questions he might have had. He gave me a look that conveyed that he wanted me to keep going. So I did, getting lost in the memories.
“I looked across the room and our eyes just met. Mine and Dan’s. It almost took my breath away, and I remember thinking this only happened in movies or books. But it happened. I couldn’t look away, and I guess he couldn’t either. He has the most beautiful blue eyes. They are this brilliant aqua color, with hints of gold in them, if you look closely enough. They are just unreal. But that isn’t even what got me. As our eyes met, he smiled, a real, genuine smile. The skin around his eyes crinkled, and I could see the smile in his eyes. I can’t even begin to tell you how rare that is, how rare it is to see a man’s smile in his eyes. But Dan, he gave me the most breathtaking, authentic smile. I guess that was probably it for me.”
Archer continued to sit there as I recounted my story, never once interrupting me, just letting me dwell in the memories. He nodded his head, telling me he wanted to hear more.
“The rest of the time we were at the bar, I kept looking back. He was looking at me too. I could feel his gaze on me. Dan and his friends were finishing up dinner before we even left the bar area. They came up to us and introduced themselves and ended up inviting us to some party they were headed to. I can’t tell you one thing about that party. But I remember how it felt to have Dan’s hand in mine when he introduced himself. I remember how it felt to have his hand on my lower back at the party, how warm and safe it seemed. I remember how his faint breath felt on my neck when he was talking in my ear so I could hear him over the music. I remember what his kiss was like at the end of the night, tentative and brief, but sweet and warm with the promise of something that didn’t feel so safe. I think maybe I even fell a little in love with him then, even though I never believed it was possible.” I stopped, remembering who I was talking to, and blushing.
“This must all seem very forward and scandalous to you, doesn’t it?” I asked, not quite ashamed, but feeling some unnamed emotion I couldn’t put my finger on and wanting to move away from this conversation that now felt awkward and wrong.
“No, I know some things are different now than they were when I was alive. More casual. But scandal wasn’t unheard of or new, even then. Things did happen. We may have been more discreet, but life wasn’t as different as you believe.”
I could tell he didn’t want to embarrass me in any way. He sat considering me for a moment or two before he continued. “Do you miss him now? I noticed he’s been gone lately.”
“He had this job before we met, so this is always how things have been. Well, I guess not always. This was the first time he had a chance to bring me along. Though it didn’t turn out the way we expected in the end. So I do miss him, but I’m also really used to the time apart.”
There was no sadness or longing in my voice. It was all so matter-of-fact. It troubled me, because in such a short time I’d begun to become numb to Dan’s absence. Then I decided to push it out of my mind. It wasn’t something I wanted to consider or explore at the moment, and not with Archer. It would do me no good anyway, I couldn’t control the circumstances.
“Can I ask something a bit more… personal?” he asked suddenly, almost urgently.
“Well, you’re on a roll right now, so why not?” I gave him what I hoped was a good-natured shrug.
“You’ve been married for several years now. Why have you not had any children?”
It wasn’t the question I’d been expecting. Dan was already nearing his mid-thirties, and while it did seem a little soon to have children, it had never been a question of if I wanted to be a mother, but when. I realized I couldn’t say it was the same for Dan. We kept putting the conversation off. I slowly lowered my legs back down to the ground, shifting to the side, and absentmindedly rubbed my arms, a failed attempt at keeping the growing cold within me at bay.
“I’m sure it must seem so strange to you. I bet I would’ve been considered a spinster in your time, being my age with no children yet,” I said jokingly, my way to try to lighten the mood.
“Well, no, you’re married, so the term spinster wouldn’t apply to you, would it?” he joked back. “But it would be assumed at this point you were unable to conceive. Is this the case?”
“No, I don’t think that’s an issue. It’s something Dan and I haven’t discussed. And really, we haven’t felt the rush to start a family. I do want children though, very much. I always pictured myself as a mother,” I answered. “How about you? Did you have any children?”
A look of pure sadness and longing crossed his face, then disappeared, his eyes going blank with some effort.
“No, I died before I had any children. I died before I could get married,” he said with regret and some other emotion adding an edge to his voice. It almost sounded like anger, but I didn’t see it on his face or in his posture, so I couldn’t be sure that was what it was.
“Wasn’t it rare to reach your age without having been married?” I wasn’t sure if my question would upset him, but I figured since he was already asking personal questions, this was fine, and I was curious anyway.
“I suppose in some ways it was rare. Though it was more common for men to wait longer than women. I was engaged once when I was younger, but it didn’t work out. We were both young and thought we were in love. Our families were not happy with the engagement and insisted on a long one to try to prove our love false. Her parents then sent her to Europe to spend the summer with family. Not too long after she arrived she married someone else, an old family friend. I found I wasn’t as upset by the news as I probably should have been if I’d truly loved her,” he answered with a rueful smile. Before I could ask another question, he continued.
“After that, I threw myself into the family business for several years and was quite successful at it. It made me even more desirable to families in our social circle. A year before my death I met Helena. She was lovely, intelligent, and icy. It took no time at all for our families to arrange the engagement. I was happy with the match, but as time wore on and I got to know her, I began to feel maybe it would be a mistake.” He stopped abruptly. I was about to ask more questions, now extremely curious as to what had happened and why he felt this way, but I stopped short at the troubled look on his face, his lips no longer smiling, but instead set in a grim line. I got the uneasy feeling there was more to the story, but it wasn’t a happy story or one he was even willing to share at the moment.
“I’m truly sorry to hear that,” I replied, slightly regretful my path to marriage seemed so effortless in comparison.
I began to get up then, deciding some background music was needed if we were going to continue to talk. I also thought I might be able to get an idea of what modern music he enjoyed and didn’t like.
I refused to examine the reasons I was so interested in Archer, why I wanted to know his thoughts on everything, his likes and interests. The appearance of someone I could talk with, even if the person wasn’t alive or didn’t even exist, was a welcome relief from the loneliness I always felt at night. Even if it did make me crazy.
“I was thinking about putting some music on, is there anything you’d like to listen to?” I asked ove
r my shoulder as I made my way to the hidden stereo system. I could have turned it on with the remote control and then just streamed from my phone, but I needed to get up and move around.
With a quick glance at the clock, I was taken aback by how much time had passed. Archer and I had already been talking for nearly two hours, though it felt like no time had passed at all. I should have been tired and ready for bed, but there was an edge of excitement running through me, almost like adrenaline floating through my veins, and I was wide awake. I opened the cabinet and went to turn it on. I glanced over my shoulder at Archer, waiting for his response. A frown touched his lips and I wondered what was wrong.
He stood up, and I knew I must have said or done something wrong, though what, I couldn’t be sure of. I wondered if the talk about his fiancée upset or angered him. Before I could get a chance to ask and apologize again, he began to speak.
“As much as I would love to listen to music and continue our conversation, I think it’s time for me to be going. I’ve used a lot of energy making myself visible and talking for so long, and I think I need some rest, for lack of a better word.”
“Oh, I didn’t even consider that! I’m so sorry for keeping you.” My face warmed in embarrassment.
“No, no, it was quite lovely. I’ve never had a connection with someone still alive, let alone talked to them. To have you see me, really see me has been nothing less than miraculous. If it’s all right with you, I would like to try again and continue our conversation another time?” he asked, the unmistakable undertone of hope and anticipation in each word.
“I’d like that,” I replied quickly, probably much too quickly.
He smiled a breathtaking smile. His teeth must have been blindingly white and perfectly straight when he was alive. His smile had to have broken at least a few hearts. Mine fluttered a little, a brief weightless feeling in my chest. He took a step forward toward me and then stopped. That electric energy that seemed to surround us since he had appeared pulsed between us, growing stronger as he came closer. Neither of us knew what to say or do next. I smiled back at him, a little more tentatively than he had.
Through the Mist Page 9
