Promised Soul

by Sandra J. Jackson

Nine

  I spent the next few days trying to forget about the encounter with the little girl and busied myself with shopping, packing, dining with my mother and friends, and catching up on my reading. By the end of each day, the exhaustion carried me into deep and dreamless sleep. My routine kept me occupied and so with each passing day, the memory of my bizarre encounter with the child continued to fade until it too seemed like just a dream. My life was slowly getting back to normal. My trip was in order, and my packing was almost complete. There was one more thing, however, that still occupied my mind and that was my upcoming visit to the Titanic exhibit in Halifax.

  My eyes fluttered open as a distant ringing disturbed my sleep. I laid there for a moment trying to collect my thoughts. Realizing it was the phone, I jumped up quickly. My book, which lay across my chest, fell to the floor. I hurried to answer it but after a couple of steps, dizziness, which came from rising too quickly, necessitated in my grabbing on to the back of a chair to steady myself for a brief moment. Still not fully awake and with my heart pounding in my ears, I made my way to the kitchen.

  “Hello!” I said, disoriented and shaky.

  “Mary; I did not forsake you.”

  “What?”

  “I said, it's Sherry, did I wake you?”

  I closed my eyes, pulled a chair out from the table, and sat. I pressed the receiver to my ear with one hand while my other cradled my forehead. “Yeah. Sorry, I fell asleep on the couch; I'm still a little bit dazed.”

  “Oh! Not getting much sleep these days with your big trip coming?”

  “Actually, I've been getting eight hours every night. I don't think I've slept that well since I was –” a surprise yawn interrupted, “a kid.”

  “Maybe you're not sleeping as soundly as you think. Anyhow, I wanted to let you know I get into Halifax Wednesday night. My meetings should be wrapped up by Friday morning, so I'll have the rest of the day before I have to fly out. I'm only sorry my visit is going to be so short.”

  I looked at the calendar on the wall and scratched my head. It seemed as if all the days in the past two weeks had blended. There was no telling what day it was.

  “What day is it today?” I had to ask.

  Sherry laughed, “Wow! You really have been on summer vacation. I'll be arriving tomorrow night, does that help?”

  “Yeah, it does.” My stomach rolled. The tour I'd feared a good part of my life, even feigning sick once for a class trip, was going to happen.

  “Okay, good! So we're still on for the museum on Friday?”

  I didn't want Sherry to hear any hint of unease in my voice, so my high school drama skills were put to use. Though I'm sure it wasn't very convincing, I did manage to speak with enthusiasm. “Sure! It'll be fun!”

  “Good! I'll see you soon,” Sherry said with equal enthusiasm.

  My acting must have been better than I thought.

  “Soon, bye.” I hung up the phone, realizing as my eyes scanned the clock that it was past dinner, my stomach growled right on cue. I grabbed an apple from the bowl and bit into it.

  By Friday morning, I had gotten used to the idea of seeing the Titanic exhibit and was actually looking forward to it, or at least that was what I told myself. In any event, the day was going to be spent with a friend I hadn't seen in a long time, so my irrational fears would have to wait.

  I arrived at the museum at the agreed meeting time and five minutes later, Sherry joined me. Though we hadn't seen each other since graduation, we had kept in touch through social media and the occasional phone call. Seeing her again brought back fond memories. We hugged and talked for a brief moment before finally entering the museum. No sooner had we walked through the door, did a strange feeling come over me, and it felt like the room was rocking back and forth. It was how I imagined a boat ride on rough water would be like, imagined, because I'd never actually been on a boat for very long. My parents had given up taking me anywhere by boat for fear that my incessant screaming would get us all thrown overboard.

  My eyes blurred and dizziness swept over me, I pressed sweaty palms against the wall to steady myself. A sense of passing out briefly washed over me, but just as suddenly, the dizziness left as it had appeared. The whole ordeal happened so quickly, in fact, that Sherry gave no indication she'd even noticed anything was wrong. We continued into the museum heading directly for the exhibit.

  A chill coursed through my body, and the hairs on my arms stood at attention. All around me, in various showcases were recovered items from the doomed ship; it was all so tragic. A tremendous sadness fell over me at the loss of lives, and I empathized with the lost passengers. Sherry however, seemed to be enjoying every minute; reading every bit of information there was and snapping pictures along the way.

  Finally after what seemed like a lifetime we moved on to look at what the rest of the museum had to offer. A full hour and a half later, we left, leaving the museum and its contents behind. Sherry was thrilled and couldn't wait to move on to the cemeteries. The prospect of looking at gravestones from such a tragedy, from my perspective, was not as thrilling. Trying to settle myself, I took a deep breath as we headed to the car.

  We drove for a few moments before arriving at the first of three cemeteries where passengers from the fated Titanic had been laid to rest almost 100 years before. When we arrived, Sherry was the first to get out of the car, a map of the cemetery in her hand, she headed for the graves.

  Why am I so scared? I sat in the car with both hands gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles slowly turning white as my grip tightened – motionless, paralyzed. A rap at the passenger window shook me from my apparent trance, and I jumped, biting the inside of my lip.

  “Are you coming?” Sherry called to me through the closed window of the car.

  I nodded and reached for a tissue to dab at my injury, the slight metallic taste of blood caused me to scrunch up my face in disgust. I exited the car, knowing Sherry would have some questions.

  “Sorry if I scared you,” she said. “I thought you were right behind me; what's wrong?”

  “You caught me. I was daydreaming about my trip,” I lied. “Let's go and see those gravestones.” I smiled at her hoping that she wouldn't notice that it was the phoniest smile ever – she didn't.

  Sherry marched a good fifteen steps ahead of me as we approached the headstones.

  “There they are. It's so tragic!” she cried and quickened her pace.

  I stopped, my feet unable or unwilling to move. My mind swirled, and it felt as though the ground rocked underneath me; the hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I trembled. Sherry's lips moved, but I heard no words, everything sounded muffled. I closed my eyes hoping the dizziness would pass.

  “Oh, this is the saddest…” Sherry's voice broke through my confusion.

  Finally, after a few seconds, the light-headedness that overtook me began to fade, and the world around me cleared. I took a cautious step forward. The dizziness returned, enveloping me, surrounding me with the sounds of screaming and crying. I pressed my hands tightly over my ears as the agonizing cries grew into a deafening din. I looked all around, yet there was nothing, and as suddenly as the noises began, they ended. Slowly, I pulled my hands from my ears. I feared I had lost my mind.

  Sherry was at the last headstone in the row, but utter terror had prevented me from coming any closer. I stood there paralyzed, watching and praying she'd soon come back. Sherry pulled something from her purse, placed the small object on the ground, and wiped her eyes.

  “This is so tragic,” she called out, looking in my direction. I hadn't yet reached the first headstone of the same row.

  “You've got to come and read this.”

  “I'm feeling a little dizzy, and it gets worse when I walk. I think I'll just wait here until you're done,” I called back, my voice sounding shaky in my ears.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, taking her eyes off the headstone and looking my way.

  “Yeah, I'm probably just getting hungry,” I l
ied to her again; I hated lying. “I get a little dizzy sometimes when I get hungry.” That was far from the truth, or rather was true, except for the fact that I had eaten quite a substantial breakfast that morning.

  “Are you sure?” Sherry asked. “We can go if you like.”

  I smiled another phony smile. “Yes, I'm sure. Can you read it to me?” I feigned interest.

  Sherry turned back to face the headstone and read the touching epitaph. When she was done, I stood motionless watching her as she searched her purse, pulled out what looked to be a rather crumpled tissue, and used it to dab at her eyes.

  My stomach rumbled. Hunger had replaced my light-headedness; my apparent illness seemed to dissolve. I waited a little longer, hoping Sherry would soon be done, as if reading my thoughts she walked away from the headstones pausing only occasionally to read their inscriptions.

  “I'm starved, let's get lunch.” She linked her arm through mine, turned me around, and we headed back to my car.

  “I thought you wanted to go to the other cemeteries,” I said, trying to keep my voice from sounding relieved.

  “No, I think one cemetery is enough. I really just wanted to see the grave of the 'Unknown Child'.”

  I breathed a quiet sigh of relief, realizing that our Titanic mission was happily over. Each step we took away from the cemetery brought me more relief, and by the time we reached the car, I felt as good as I had earlier that morning. As for the nagging feeling that there was something seriously wrong, I suppressed it, resolving to deal with it later.

  “You know,” Sherry said as we reached the car, “the 'Unknown Child' really isn't unknown anymore.”

  “What?” I was preoccupied on a lunch destination. I unlocked the car doors, and we stood there as Sherry explained.

  “The 'Unknown Child', they found him, they're pretty sure anyway. It's only the third time they've come up with evidence of his identity, but this time they're sure. I guess the third time really is the charm.”

  Sherry opened the car door and got in, leaving me to stand outside for a second longer looking back toward the cemetery and its markers. I was thankful, not only because we were leaving, but also for the child. I couldn't help wonder if he was too, knowing that he finally wouldn't spend an eternity being unknown. At least he had a place to rest – and a name.

  I started the car and pulled away leaving behind the memory of déjà vu and the awful feeling it brought; more than happy to be out of there and happier still that I would not have to return. The rest of our afternoon went without incident, and we enjoyed each other's company for the little time we had left. When evening came, we headed for the airport.

  “I'm so glad you could come for a visit, even if it was short,” I said as we drove.

  “Next time, I'll make plans to stay longer.”

  “I can always come and visit you next. We'll figure something out.” We drove quietly for a moment as I tried to work out a plan in my head.

  “Maybe we can get together between Christmas and New Year.”

  “It's not like I won't have the time off,” I laughed.

  “We could go to New York City, maybe for the New Year's celebration in Times Square; I've always wanted to do that.”

  The mere thought of going to New York City made my heart pound. The knuckles of my hands protruded and turned white as I held the steering wheel in a death grip. Small beads of sweat rose to the surface of my face, and I was grateful that Sherry was busy looking out the window and not at me.

  “It's the land of promise, Mary,” a voice whispered from the deepest corners of my mind.

  I eased the car over on to the shoulder of the road, opened the door, and threw up.

  Ten

  I was too afraid to fall asleep as I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. It didn't matter anyway, my mind was racing, and it seemed the more I tried to push away the day's events the more they came back to haunt me. My sanity was in question. Hours passed before I eventually cried myself to sleep.

  She sat on the cool grass, her legs stretched out in front with her hands behind her for support. Her head tilted back as she enjoyed the warmth of the sun kissing her cheeks. It was the end of summer, and they had just enjoyed a picnic lunch. She sat there basking in the warm sun while Thomas watched her, his hands absently picking at the grass and clover.

  “Look, Mary, a four-leaf clover!” Thomas held the small clover between his fingers. Mary opened her eyes and looked at it.

  “Let me see,” she said and smiled. “I have never in my life seen such a thing. If only you were still a child; you could see the fairies.” She examined the clover Thomas held between his fingers before returning to her sun bathing.

  Thomas laughed, lay down on his back, and rested his head in her lap as he twirled the clover he held in his fingertips. “I'm crazy for you, Mary, absolutely crazy,” he said looking up at her.

  Thomas reached up and traced her jaw line with his finger. Mary looked down at his beaming face and smiled. She leaned forward, kissed him, and tilted her face back toward the sun again.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked in all seriousness.

  Mary sighed deeply. “Well, I'm wondering if I'll ever see you again; once they lock you away in the asylum,” she laughed. She didn't like it when he was so serious.

  “Oh Mary, you are always the jester. One of the many things I adore about you, but truly, tell me. Your eyes seem to hold so many secrets, and I have yet to find a way to unlock them.” Thomas sat up and faced her. He reached over and tucked a loose hair along with the clover behind her ear. She sat motionless with her face still tilted toward the sun. He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and gently coaxed her to face him. She opened her eyes, and he looked deeply into them, trying hard to read her mind.

  “Please tell me, Mary, tell me one of your secrets,” Thomas pleaded.

  Mary looked away for a moment and then back again. She loved him. She loved him more than she loved life, but how could she tell him that their time together grew shorter with each passing day. She adjusted her sitting position and curled her legs up behind her. She smoothed her skirts as she supported herself on one hand.

  “I love you,” she said, finally.

  “That's truly not a secret, Mary, though I never tire of hearing it.” Thomas smiled at her.

  “I love you more than life.”

  “And my love for you is as big as the universe and all it holds,” Thomas added.

  “My love for you transcends death.” At these words, a tear escaped from Mary's eye and travelled slowly down her cheek. Thomas touched the single tear as it tracked its way toward her lips, and then he brushed it away.

  He looked deeper into her eyes. “As does mine, but why do you cry?” Her sudden show of emotion worried him.

  “Because, Thomas, soon I will be leaving you and then my life will end,” Mary blurted, losing herself in his eyes before turning away from him.

  She knelt with her back towards him and buried her face in her hands. Her tears flowed more freely, and her shoulders began to shake as her sobbing overtook her.

  Thomas became alarmed, he moved closer to her and wrapped his arms around her burying his face into her hair. He smelled the warmth of the sun on her long, dark hair mixed with the jasmine she used. They silently stayed that way for a while until Mary stopped sobbing. When she settled, she turned and faced him again. Still on their knees, they held each other's hands and looked into each other's eyes. Thomas was about to speak when Mary gently put a finger to his lips and stopped him.

  “Please let me finish whilst I have the courage,” she said. Thomas nodded and held her hands tighter. “My father says we are leaving. We're leaving England and going to America; to… New York.”

  Thomas nodded and closed his eyes. He knew many people who had left looking for a better and easier life. Some returned, some found what they were looking for, and some were lost at sea.

  “Thomas, please say something,” Mary said q
uietly, looking down at the strong hands holding hers.

  “When?”

  “February. Father said it is less costly then and –”

  “And more dangerous,” Thomas interrupted.

  Mary didn't finish, she knew he was right.

  Thomas grew angry at the thought of Mary leaving during the worst time of year. He held his temper and took a deep breath before speaking again.

  “Is it because of me?” he asked looking at her; she was still looking at their hands.

  He knew that Mary's parents didn't approve of their relationship, after all, she had only turned 17 that spring, and he was 26. He was the son of yet another struggling farmer with nothing more to offer, not even a place of his own. Her parents tried to keep them apart as much as possible by keeping Mary busy, but whenever she had a free moment, she would steal away, and they would meet. They had been doing that for almost a year, sneaking out even during the darkest of nights. Mary always believed that her parents would realize that their love was all that really mattered.

  “I don't know. They say it's because the mines will be closing, and Father will have an easier time finding work in New York. He'll make more money,” Mary answered.

  “And…” Thomas said, knowing that there must be more.

  Mary didn't want to say. She didn't want to hurt Thomas anymore, but she had to tell him what she overheard.

  “I heard them say that once we're in America, I will see that there are far more choices in suitors. They feel that there aren't enough men here, and that's why I'm with you. They said I would be happier…” Mary's voice trailed off.

  Thomas could no longer hold back what he truly felt. He let go of Mary's hands and stood up, unsure of what to say. Ideas and plans rolled through his mind until he settled on one. He hoped it would be enough to keep her safe.

  “Did you tell them you didn't want to leave?” he said, not keeping the emotion from his voice.

  His tone shocked Mary; she had never seen him so cross. She rose to her feet and faced him, reaching for his hands to calm him, but he pulled away.