“Who were you talking to?”
“Rudy Herzog. The kid’s pretty shook up. Whenever something bad goes down, he seems to be nearby.”
“And what else?”
“Well, tongues are wagging. For some reason, there are people who think that I, and maybe the kids, I guess, are involved in this ghost business.”
“Well, you are.”
“I know we are, dear, but it’s not like we’ve been broadcasting it all over.”
“Remember, Mike, Gettysburg is a small town, and in a small town it’s hard to keep secrets.”
“I guess.”
Just then the crack of thunder shook the house. Seconds later, rain began pelting down. “Should I go pick up the kids?” he said.
“Might as well,” sighed Terri, exasperated. “But I’m eating the black cherry without you!”
He kissed her on the forehead then held her tightly.
“I’m scared for all of you,” she murmured.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be okay,” he reassured her, his lips buried in her hair.
“We’re supposed to be taking care of those boys. They’re our responsibility. But they’re just kids. And our daughter’s the worst of the bunch. She thinks she’s bulletproof.”
“Terri, we’ve raised her to believe in herself and not be timid.”
“But this is different, Mike. When you get them in the truck, please tell them to be cautious.”
“Will do,” he said, grabbing his keys and going out once again. “Call over to the Inn and tell them to tell LouAnne I’ll be picking them up.” The rain was coming down harder as he sprinted for the truck, his wife standing silently in the doorway, offering a weak wave.
He found the three would-be ghost hunters huddled together under an umbrella on the steps of the Charney Inn, deep in conversation. As he pulled up they bolted into the car, trying to evade the steady summer shower.
Before Mike could even open his mouth, LouAnne blurted, “Daddy, you won’t believe what T.J. and Bortnicker did!”
“What was that?”
“They came to my rescue!”
“What?”
“Mr. Darcy,” explained Bortnicker calmly, “it seems a seventeenish patron of the restaurant had one too many cocktails and tried to hit on your daughter during her final performance. T.J. and I had walked around town and bought an ice cream, and then tagged along on the end of one of Carlton Elway’s ghost tours for a bit, which was actually quite entertaining. Luckily we got back to the Inn just in time for the last show, during which this smarmy prepster-type guy with golf shirt, khakis and top-siders asked her a few dopey questions that were so stupid they made the other people uncomfortable.”
“I tried to divert him without embarrassing him, Daddy,” frowned LouAnne, “but the guy was one of those Ivy League types who’s always trying to show everybody how smart he is. I couldn’t wait for it to be over so I could just get out of there.
“So I finished up and thanked everybody and while the people are leaving he comes over and introduces himself. Get this, his name was Clifford Pangborn III, and he says, ‘but you can call me Cliff.’”
“And then what?” said Mike, his anger rising.
“And then, boom! T.J. and Bortnicker were in his face, and T.J. says, ‘No, my friend, I think we’ll call you gone!’ The guy was so surprised he just kind of slunk away down the stairs.”
Mike chuckled. “Nice job, guys. Good to know my daughter has two bodyguards.” He paused as they stopped at a red light. “Listen, I had a visitor tonight, Rudy Herzog.”
“The cop?” said LouAnne.
“Yes, who used to play for me at the high school. The gist of what he told me is that my boss Bruce Morrison and the police chief have been throwing my name around lately and yours as well.”
“Us?” said T.J. “What for?”
“T.J.,” answered Mike patiently, “I don’t know how small Fairfield is, but Gettysburg is a real small place. Word gets around. You guys have had a run-in with Carlton Elway, who’s a notorious busybody, and Mary Ellen Landon, who’s a legendary one. What I’m saying is, if you three are going to go through with this cockamamie idea of yours tomorrow night, it’s got to be done right, like a Navy SEAL mission.”
“What do you suggest?” said T.J., his excitement rising.
“Well, I know exactly the right place to drop you guys, but we’ve got to go through the house and find all the darkest clothes we’ve got to make you invisible out there.”
“Why don’t we just buy some?” asked LouAnne.
“Too obvious, my dear, the wrong people will notice,” said Bortnicker.
“Exactly,” said Mike. “But like we said, I want radio, er, cell phone contact at all times. This may be the only shot you get. Once Reenactment Week starts the battlefield will be crawling with patrollers, if it isn’t already.”
“Daddy,” said LouAnne, “if we get caught, will you get in trouble?”
“Bigtime,” said Mike, staring through the windshield wipers. “But this is important to you guys, and I think it’s also the right thing to do.”
“Alright, Mr. D!” cried Bortnicker.
“Easy, son. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about all this. Neither is Mrs. Darcy.”
“I was thinking about our visit to the Research Center today,” said T.J., switching gears. “It seems to me that this guy became such a maniac on the battlefield because he was trying to make up for what he was accused of back in Charleston.”
“Shooting that guy in the duel?” said LouAnne.
“Exactly. That’s why I just can’t buy the idea that he wimped out and deserted when things got hot during Day Three. What I think happened is that he did mysteriously die during the battle, but then the people back in Charleston, especially that Mary Londoner babe, spread the dirt about him to justify blowing him off after the duel.”
“Sounds plausible,” said Mike.
“Also sounds like you want to clear his name,” said Bortnicker.
“Well, if that happens along the way, fine,” said T.J. “But it just proves why it’s so important we talk to him.”
“Alright, then,” said Mike as they pulled into the Darcys’ gravel driveway. “Let’s get a hold of Mrs. Darcy and make us some commando outfits.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Any doubt that LouAnne’s “illness” was lingering was dispelled immediately the next morning when T.J. descended the stairs from his room to find her sitting on the bottom step, lacing up her running shoes. “’Bout time, Sleepy Head,” she joked.
“Well, excuse me, Miss Day Off,” he countered.
They went outside, where last night’s showers had produced a dense fog that had yet to burn off. “Humid, but no sun yet,” observed T.J. “Perfect!”
“I have a new route to show you. Break the monotony,” said his cousin as they completed their stretches.
“Sounds good to me,” said T.J., rising from the dew-laden grass of the front yard. They began, as always, with a slow, easy jog that would soon quicken.
“Psyched for tonight?” she asked.
“I don’t know if that’s the right word,” he answered, “but I am kinda excited.”
“How about Bortnicker?”
“Are you kidding? He’s already prepared a list of questions he wants to ask Hilliard. I’m pretty sure none of them are stupid or offensive. I think a lot of it will depend on how he asks them. He drives all the teachers crazy back at school.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, has his mother called or emailed him since he’s been here?”
“Not as far as I can tell, unless he’s just keeping it to himself.”
“What’s up with that?”
“Well, he’d probably say something weak like, ‘She just wants me to learn to be on my own, blah blah blah,’ but deep down it must bother him a lot. She’s just so weird and into herself with all her feng shui stuff that I wonder if she’s even noticed he’s not around.”
�
��Does she have any boyfriends?”
“There have been a couple guys I can remember, but Bortnicker hasn’t managed to warm up to them. But, put yourself in their place. If you were dating this lady, who’s actually kind of pretty and has an okay personality, and she introduces you to her son, who asks you all kinds of goofy questions and behaves like a weirdo, would you still come around?”
“I see what you’re saying.” They stepped it up, entering the park near the Culp’s Hill observation tower. The first cannons and monuments whooshed by. “You looking forward to high school, Cuz?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Not the school part especially, but seeing my friends and fall track season, that sort of stuff.”
“How about Katie?”
T.J. paused, caught himself then said, “Yeah, her too, I guess. But, uh, I’m sure she’s having a fun enough time on her own this summer. She hangs out at the Westfield County Club mostly with the preppy crowd, playing tennis and stuff. Not my thing.”
“You seem a little down on her. Something happen to change things?”
He turned toward her as they jogged and half-smiled. “Maybe.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m really looking forward to going back. My summer schedule’s so hectic between babysitting and working nights that school’s kind of easy in comparison. And I want to make All-County in cross country this year. I know I’ll only be a sophomore, but it’s been done.” She waited a bit, as if carefully choosing her words. “I’m really glad you came down, T.J. And Bortnicker, too. It’s kept my summer from being a horrible bore. But this whole ghost thing is like something on the SyFy Channel. I mean, you’ve seen some of those cheesy movies they have where there’s a bunch of kids who end up fighting vampires or aliens or whatever. When I watch them, at the end I always wonder how these kids can just go back to school and go on with their normal lives like nothing happened? Do you worry that this stuff we’re going through is going to change us forever?”
“Well, kinda. I hope it doesn’t. But I really want to get to the bottom of it, don’t you?”
“Of course. I just don’t want Dad to get in trouble, or any of us to get hurt... or worse.”
“How could you possibly get hurt, Cuz?” asked T.J. “You have two personal bodyguards!”
“Yeah, well there’s a little difference between Clifford Pangborn III and a dead Confederate soldier who shoots people.”
“I guess. Hey, uh, LouAnne, since I did come down to PA this summer, is there any chance of you coming up to Connecticut to visit?”
“You’d want me to?”
“Sure,” said T.J., trying not to overplay it. “We’ve got lots of room. Maybe Christmas Break?”
“Well, let’s see how this all ends up, but I’d say that’s a possibility. Let’s turn back.”
T.J. soared all the way home.
* * * *
After a quick shower they met again downstairs where Aunt Terri and Bortnicker were putting the finishing touches to a boatload of apple cinnamon pancakes. And there was an added guest as well.
“Uncle Mike, aren’t you gonna be late?” queried T.J.
“It’s my day off. See, we have a rotating schedule, so every so often I have a midweek day to myself.” He forked a short stack of pancakes onto his plate. “Is it safe to eat this stuff?”
Terri swatted him playfully with a dishcloth. “Of course! You don’t know what you’ve been missing every morning. Bortnicker and I have whipped up some real winners.”
“I think the Food Channel will be calling soon,” said Bortnicker as he sat down before his own steaming stack. “How about this show title: Breakfast with Mrs. D and Mr. B?”
T.J. shook his head as he smothered his pancakes with syrup. Wish Aunt Terri was his mother he thought. She’s just what he needs.
“So, what’re you doing on your day off, hon?” Terri asked her husband.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I’d better get another day in at the shooting range before Reenactment Week.”
“You’re doing it this year?” said LouAnne through a mouthful of food.
“Yeah. I figured, why not? Plus, the guys have been after me since I took last year off.”
“Bruce Morrison doesn’t mind?” asked Terri.
“I don’t care if he does or doesn’t. Besides, this year the events will be stretched over four days, from Friday the 2nd to Monday the 5th. I’ll probably just do the Saturday and Sunday battles.”
“Don’t those reenactments tear up the battlefield?” asked Bortnicker, refilling his milk glass.
“They’re not held on the park grounds,” said Mike.
“Where do they have them, then?” asked T.J., stunned at this revelation.
“Well, there are a couple of farms that border the national park. They’ve been alternating between them the past few years. Having the reenactment in the same place every year would just ruin whatever grounds served as the stage.
“You guys don’t live here so you have no idea what a huge undertaking this is. This is the 147th anniversary of the battle, not a ‘major’ one. They come every five years. But even though, they’re estimating like 25,000 spectators will be spread out over the four days. They’re building a small town on the donated farm, with event tents, bleachers, sanitary facilities, concession and souvenir areas, police and security, the whole works. I’d hate to be Al Warren while this is going on.”
“How long have they been having the reenactments?” asked Bortnicker.
“Around fifteen years,” said Mike. “And it gets bigger each time, and a little more commercial as well, sorry to say. Just to get in, spectators have to pay twenty-five dollars and up, and it’s usually hot as blazes.
“There will be one ‘battle’ each day, depicting a specific segment from the three-day battle that actually happened. Pickett’s Charge, the real biggie, is Sunday, the 4th of July.”
“How many reenactors will there be?” asked T.J.
“Gotta figure, counting both sides, between 2,000 and 2,500. Plus twenty or so cannons and around one-hundred-fifty mounted cavalry.”
“Wow,” said Bortnicker.
“Like I said, it’s a very big deal. The town’s gonna be bursting at the seams, and that’s how the Chamber of Commerce likes it. But for the police, local EMTs and hospitals, and even the park rangers, it can be a logistical nightmare.”
“Lots of injuries?” said T.J.
“Oh, yeah. You’ve got reenactors falling off horses that get spooked by the cannon, dehydration issues because of the heavy uniforms, and spectators getting heat stroke from getting to their primo location bleacher seats early and then just baking there for hours awaiting the action.
“What never ceases to amaze me are how many reenactors are way overweight. I mean, your typical Civil War soldier was trim, and Lee’s Army was starving. These guys show up having poured tons of money into perfectly replicated uniforms and accoutrements, but having no clue as to what a Civil War era soldier should look like. They figure, ‘Well, I grew my hair longer and have a scraggly beard, so I look the part.’ Then they keel over from the heat. Ridiculous.”
“Well, Daddy, everyone can’t be as buff as you,” chided LouAnne.
“It’s not that, honey. I believe if you want to really pay homage to history and give people the real deal, the least you could do is ease up on the Big Macs for a while, you know?”
“But people don’t actually get shot, do they?” asked Bortnicker.
“No, of course not. Whether our weapons are real like mine, which is extremely rare, or just replicas, they fire blanks. On top of that, nobody under sixteen is permitted to fire a black powder weapon, and nobody, and I mean nobody, is allowed to even carry real ammo as a prop. Then, you have to point your gun at an elevated angle, never point directly at the enemy, and you can’t get closer than twenty-five yards.”
“So it isn’t totally authentic,” said Bortnicker.
“Nah, not really. You have to use your imagin
ation a bit,” admitted Mike, polishing off his last forkful. “Well, I gotta get going. Breakfast was great, Bortnicker.”
“What about me?” cried Terri in mock anger.
“You too, sweetie,” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of her head as he went by.
“Hey, Uncle Mike, want some company at the range?” asked T.J.
“Really? You want to go back?”
“Why not? It’ll help the time go by faster today. Get my mind off tonight.”
“Sure thing. I’ll bring the pistol and my rifle, though I’ll only be using the rifle in the reenactment. Only officers are allowed to carry sidearms.”
“I’ll be going into town,” said Bortnicker. “The only shops I haven’t checked out are the ones that supply the reenactors. It should be educational.”
“Oh yeah,” said Mike. “Wait till you see the prices!”
“You don’t even have to ask where I’ll be,” LouAnne said with a sigh. “But my day will go quickly. Those kids keep me hopping, and Mrs. Spath lets me eat whatever I want!”
As T.J. climbed into the truck with his uncle, Mike handed him a sheaf of papers. “Figured I’d let you read this on the way over,” he said. “It’s all the rules and regulations put out by the organizing committee for reenactors.”
T.J. let out a low whistle as he began pouring over the literature. “So, there are two types of spectator seating for these events?” he asked.
“Yeah. There’s general admission, where people stand or bring their own lawn chairs, and bleacher seating, which costs extra. I’m telling you, it’s a big production.”
“Oh, man,” T.J. said, eyeing another page. “You’ve got a pretty lengthy safety code here.”
“And for good reason. You don’t want some yahoo trying to steal the show by pulling a stunt that puts other reenactors and spectators at risk. Each company appoints a designated Safety Officer, who reports to the Brigade Safety Officer, who reports to the Army Headquarters Officer. There’s an inspection conducted prior to each battle.”
“What if someone’s in violation of the rules?”
“He isn’t allowed to participate.”
“How’s your unit on this stuff?”
Last Ghost at Gettysburg Page 18
