by Teresa Rae
I climb into bed, wrapping the fluffy comforter around me like a cocoon.
I stare into the darkness, unable to sleep. Charleston is full of life, even at night. Virginia City is too quiet and still. I am thinking about the old neighborhood where I grew up when I first hear footsteps outside the door. I sit up.
“Marina?” I call softly.
There isn’t an answer. The footsteps retreat away from my room.
Worried about Marina, I slide my feet out of bed, finding the room incredibly cold. I hurry out the door. I am met with mournful cries coming from the other side of the house. I don’t know how Marina moved so quickly from one side of the house to the other, but I have more important things to worry about.
I stumble through the dark, unfamiliar house. I stub my toe on Marina’s door as I hesitantly open it. Crossing the dark room, I climb into her bed like I did so often with Mama while she was sick.
“Damn that woman!” Marina exclaims as she puts her arms around me, pulling me to her. I find her pillow soaked with tears. “Damn that stubborn, prideful woman! Why wouldn’t she let me take care of her? I went to school so I could give her a better life, and she died broke! I could have paid for treatments! I could have improved her quality of life! Why didn’t she just let me help her?”
Marina just needs to voice her frustrations because she already knows the answer. Mama refused Marina’s help because she thought it was best for Marina. My sister clings to me, and I let her cry. Wiping the moisture from her face, I listen as her sobs turn into whimpers before her breaths lengthen, and she falls into sleep. Once I’m sure she is completely asleep, I carefully slide out of the bed and tuck the blankets around her. I glance at my sister through the darkness. Even in a moment of desperation, she is a mountain of strength. She deals with sorrow and frustrations head-on, allowing her to rest peacefully. Unfortunately, I’m not like her; I will be tossing and turning all night.
“Lord, I am tearing the heart of my soul in two. I need you to come and lie there yourself in the wounds of my soul,” I beg with Mechtild of Magdeburg’s words as I return to bed. I will spend the night watching the shadows move around the room.
* * *
“Play your violin for me,” Mama pleads raggedly behind oxygen tubes.
“Wouldn’t you rather sleep?” I ask, tucking blankets around her.
“Baby Girl, I can sleep when I’m dead.”
I know I’ve lost the battle. I gently lift the violin out of its case and place it on my shoulder. I start slowly and play her favorite hymn, How Great Thou Art. She closes her eyes. I know she’s not asleep, but merely enjoying every note. When I come to the end of the song, I immediately begin playing another and then another until Mama is breathing softly.
I think she’s asleep until she says, “Becky Jo, God must really love me because He sent me an angel like you.”
I take her hand, relishing every moment.
“I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten; Look away! Look away! Look away, Dixie’s Land!” Loud singing makes me open my eyes, and I cringe to see Mama is gone, being merely a figment of my memory.
I cover my head with my pillow, but the singing doesn’t stop. “Then I wish I was in Dixie! Hooray! Hooray! In Dixie’s Land I’ll take my stand, to live and die in Dixie! Away! Away! Away down South in Dixie! Away! Away! Away down South in Dixie!”
Blinking away the sleep in my eyes, I glance at my clock and see it’s not even six o’clock in the morning. I groan and open my pink curtains to see three guys walking down a small, dusty path next to my window in the twilight. A baby-faced kid with dark, black skin and a limp is the one belting out the words. Opening his mouth wide, he starts the next verse, “Old Missus married ‘Will the Weaver’; William was a gay deceiver! Look away! Look away! Look away, Dixie’s Land...”
The guy next to him is also black, but unlike his singing friend, he has lighter skin, is at least thirty-five, and huge. I wrinkle my brow as I wonder if he’s ever considered a career with WWE Wrestling. He has the handsome face, enormous build, and serious expression that would make him an instant success.
I’m just about ready to lie back down and cover my head with my pillow again when I first notice the third guy. Although he is almost as tall as his huge friend, he appears to be only a few years older than me. Also, he is mesmerizingly handsome. Dark brown curls crown his head which match his brown eyes and contrast his pale, white skin. I can’t tear my eyes away from. It takes a couple seconds before I realize it’s more than his good looks that have caught my attention. He has the same look on his face that I wear on mine; his eyes are filled with grief.
Instead of lying back down, I watch the guys cross the street and, for the first time, I notice they’re carrying shovels and pickaxes. Virginia City is an old mining town, and judging by their old fashioned clothes and tools, these guys are actors playing out the past for the tourists. They stop in the middle of a sagebrush filled field and begin digging at absolutely nothing. I decide, being from Charleston, I don’t know a thing about hunting for gold. It’s best to leave the prospecting to the experts, I think as I stretch my arms above my head. I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It only takes me a moment to realize the sunshine has removed the feeling I’m being watched.
I smile while getting out of bed. I skip all the way to the bathroom for a hot shower.
Twenty minutes later, I walk into the kitchen. I stop dead in my tracks when I find a peculiar woman waving a smoking bush around the room while chanting. She has long, graying hair which is hanging out of a bright orange bandana. She must have a lazy eye because one of her hazel eyes glances at me while the other stares at the doorway. Numerous multi-colored bead necklaces hang around her neck. Her large, pink muumuu is just as bright, burning my eyes. I blink a couple times as I notice she is barefoot and doesn’t shave her legs. She places her burning bush in a pot on the stove. Smiling, she throws two chubby arms around me.
“Two specks of dust in a vast world, and the universe has brought us together!” she exclaims, squishing my face in her hands. Several silver bracelets jingle on her wrists. “Welcome to Virginia City, Becky Jo!”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say between my smashed cheeks. “Who exactly are you?”
“My name is Sunny. I’m Marina’s housekeeper.” She continues to hug me tightly.
“And why are you building a fire in the house?” I gesture to the smoking flames in the pot. My eyes follow the smoke to the ceiling. The smoke detector is wide open, and the battery has been removed.
Sunny finally releases me before putting a lid on the pot. “I was just cleansing the house for the day.”
“Don’t you think we should put the battery back in the smoke detector?” I ask
She waves away my suggestion like she’s shooing away a fly. “The battery is dead. I swear I have to replace that battery once a month.”
I’m not surprised if she’s making fires in the kitchen every day. I ask, “Do you need some help with breakfast?”
“You poor creature!” Sunny turns on me. She hugs me again and adds a kiss, which is really awkward considering I barely know the woman. “You’re probably starving. I just had a feeling I needed to cook today. Luckily, I whipped up some granola!”
She swishes her muumuu around the kitchen, gesturing for me to sit at the table.
“Is Marina up?” I ask while Sunny pours what looks to be rabbit pellets into a bowl.
“Marina left an hour ago. She had an early meeting.” She places the bowl on the table in front of me. I’m disappointed. I wanted to sightsee with my sister, but I can’t hold work against her – she just inherited a dependent.
“What time is she going to be home?” I ask, putting a spoonful of granola in my mouth. I nearly gag. The granola is the worst food I have ever tasted. I choke it down.
“Because she’s been away, she’s behind. I doubt you’ll see her before you go to bed, but don�
��t worry. I have our whole day planned out! I’ll show you around Virginia City, today, and I’ll start helping you study, tomorrow.”
It sounds like we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. I better start off on the right foot. I force myself to eat more of Sunny’s disgusting granola.
* * *
Sunny shows me the C Street and all the major attractions. I see the Old Washoe Club, Silver Queen Hotel, Virginia City Visitor’s Center, Chapin Boarding House, Gold Hill Hotel, Red Dog Saloon, Mackay Mansion, Piper’s Opera House, The Fourth Ward School House, and a bunch of other antique buildings.
I wrap my arms around myself as we walk through the old St. Mary Louise Hospital and current St. Mary’s Art Center, grateful this is our last stop. Sunny has shown me Virginia City, and I’ve hated every minute of it. I can’t complain about the buildings – they are spectacular, but I don’t like the way I feel in them. I can’t shake the feeling someone is watching me. And then there are the unexplained noises and smells. While we were in room eleven in the Silver Queen Hotel and Casino, I swear I could hear the faint sound of water splashing where there was no water. Also, in the Miner’s Cabin at the Gold Hill Hotel, I tried to convince myself I didn’t hear men working in the mine or smell pipe tobacco. However, the most frightening stop was the Old Washoe Club. I couldn’t even force myself to go up the spiral stair case, even though I didn’t hear or see anything unusual. The place just gave me a terrible feeling. I made some excuse to Sunny before returning to the car. I’m grateful my tour of Virginia City is nearly over.
“The Daughters of Charity opened this hospital in 1876,” Sunny explains as we walk through the hospital. “I know it doesn’t look like much now, but it was considered a state-of-the-art hospital when it was built.”
My face pales when I get a whiff of rubbing alcohol, vomit, and flowers. It smells like a hospital, but it shouldn’t. Sunny’s next words prove this. “The nuns closed the hospital in 1897.”
I really must be losing it. I wrap my arms tighter around my body. I silently listen to Sunny explain the nuns’ different charitable endeavors. We walk into another room, finding the beds unmade. The place is open for tourists, so I don’t understand why the beds are unmade. I don’t get an opportunity to contemplate it too long before someone strokes my hair from behind. I turn around, thinking maybe Marina has changed her mind and joined us on the tour, but there is no one there. This time, I don’t bother to explain anything to Sunny – I run back to the car as fast as I can!
Sunny emerges from the building just as I am shutting the car door. She gets into the driver’s seat and says, “Becky Jo, you don’t need to be afraid of that old nun. She won’t hurt you. She’s just a confused spirit who hasn’t found peace.”
“You saw her?”
“No, I didn’t need to see her. I know what she feels like.”
After all that I’ve experienced on this little tour of Virginia City, I believe her. Some ghost just touched me. I just don’t understand how all these weird things have happened in one day.
“It wasn’t just here,” I explain. “Strange things happened on all of our stops.”
Her lazy eye stares out the window while she smiles at me. “Of course they have. That’s part of the charm of living in Virginia City. It’s one of the most haunted places in America.”
Great, I have enough problems, I don’t need to add ghosts to the mix. I think I’ll just have to spend the next few months with my head in a book, locked in my room. I make a goal to stay completely away from all the old buildings and the ghosts who haunt them.
* * *
Perfect. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, Mama looks absolutely perfect. Marina has made sure of that. Wearing her favorite church dress and black pumps, Mama appears to have fallen asleep after a stirring Sunday meeting. Even the wig on her head is perfect. It’s the fancy wig Mama saved for only the very best occasions. She wore it the day Marina graduated from law school and the evening I won Miss Charleston. I’m glad to see she’s wearing it this final time.
Mama may look perfect, but she smells completely wrong. Gone is the sweet aroma of peppermint drops, being replaced by the smell of funeral mums. I reach carefully into the casket and take her familiar hand into mine. This hand has held mine since my birth, and this is the last time my skin will touch hers. It saddens me immensely that Mama also feels wrong. She was a woman of warmth, bringing sunshine to every room she entered. That light has been extinguished. The thought is excruciating. I put a fake smile on my face and fight away the despair. It’s a trick competing in pageants has taught me, cry on the inside but smile on the outside. The words of Proverbs come to mind, Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful.
“Becky Jo, it’s time,” Marina says, towering over me. She got her height and looks from Papa Joe. Like me, she never met her dad. He died before she was born. Also like me, Marina was blessed to have a remarkable mother. From Mama, Marina inherited strength, an impeccable work ethic, and a desire to make the world better. I wish I could say I inherited those qualities from Mama, but unlike Marina, I didn’t have the blessing of being Mama’s biological daughter.
Marina gently takes Mama’s hand and returns it to her lap. She turns to the packed room. “Starting with Diane, please say your goodbyes before we leave for the cemetery.”
A long line forms. Mama’s numerous foster children take turns bidding the small, angelic woman goodbye. I watch as nearly three decades of children weep over the casket of the mother we shared. They whisper words of gratitude and tuck small mementos into the casket. Looking at her meager bank account, one would never guess how important Mama was. She loved those deemed impossible by others and never gave up on any of her children. I fight back the moisture in my eyes. Even with all my pageant experience, it is difficult to hold back the tears. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
When everyone has had time with Mama, Marina and I take our turns. Marina tidies the small gifts left behind. She straightens Mama’s dress before placing her wedding ring from Papa Joe on her ring finger. “I know you wanted me to have your wedding ring, but Papa chose it for you. Now that you are with him again, I think you should wear it,” she whispers. “Don’t worry about Becky Jo; I won’t let anything happen to her.”
When it’s my turn, I simply kiss her cheek. Words can’t begin to express the way I feel. I am speechless with gratitude – gratitude that she loved and adopted me. I am also grateful she fought the cancer for twelve years, for my benefit. She wanted to be the one to raise me, so she did everything in her power to stay alive. She had a double mastectomy and went through chemotherapy – three times. When the doctors gave her three months to live, she proved them wrong and lived another six years. I miss her immensely. However, I am also grateful Mama has been released from the hell of cancer. She lived just long enough for me to turn eighteen and died on my birthday. Having her free of the pain is the best gift I could have been given. Still, her death has created a hole that can never be filled. The world is never the same after losing a parent, and Mama was the only parent I have ever known. My mind wanders to Isaiah; ye shall lie down in sorrow. I understand as my heart is filled with unspeakable sorrow.
“I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten; Look away! Look away! Look away, Dixie’s Land!” I am once again awoken by Dixie and the digging trio. This morning I am grateful to be rescued from rehashing Mama’s funeral. It is a nightmare to relive those emotions. They are still far too raw, evidenced by the taste of blood in my mouth from where I bit the inside of my cheek.
Calming my breathing, I watch the guys work several minutes before I throw on a pair of jeans, an old t-shirt, a pair of sneakers, and a jacket. I head out the door. I feel like doing absolutely nothing. I want to wallow in self pity, but I know it will destroy me. Since I’m up, I force myself to go for a jog. I have several pounds to lose before I can even attempt to model a swimsuit.
I quietly tipto
e out the side door and turn in the opposite direction of the working guys. Despite being saved from reliving Mama’s funeral, I’m actually pretty annoyed they keep waking me up. It’s really rude singing at the top of your lungs each morning at dawn, especially right outside my window. I’m having a difficult enough time sleeping without them waking me.
Veering to the right, I begin jogging. Nevada is cold, but soon I am covered with perspiration, and my pitiful jog turns into an even more pitiful walk. I knew I was out of shape, but I didn’t know the extent of my flabbiness until faced with the hills of Virginia City. I stop next to the road, heaving for breath. To add insult to injury, I can see Marina’s house in the distance. My life is just a whole lot of pathetic.
I continue down the road. With my current level of fitness, I am forced to take a long walk. I will just have to work my way up to jogging.
I am about to turn around to begin the laborious walk home when I nearly run into a beautiful Native American girl around my own age. Like so many of the others in Virginia City, she, too, is dressed in an old-fashioned costume. I have to give it to the re-enactors; they take historical accuracy very seriously. Her lovely black dress is perfect down to the buttons on the sleeves and the thin handmade lace at her neck. Antique replica shoes adorn her feet.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say on ragged breath, embarrassed I almost ran into her. “I didn’t see you there.”
Her brows furrow as she scans my clothes.
“I don’t have any workout clothes so I have to wear jeans. I know I look pretty ridiculous running in jeans, but they work.” I force a laugh, offering my hand. “I’m Becky Jo. I’m staying with my sister, Marina Douglass.”
She looks suspiciously at the outstretched hand. “My name is Clara,” she says so quietly I can barely hear her.
“It’s nice to meet you, Clara. You’re lucky you get to wear such beautiful clothes to work. Virginia City is a very interesting place.”
“It is,” she replies with her forehead still wrinkled.
