by Holley Trent
I lay on the tracks, motionless. The humid and still air hung like a veil around me, with the only sound an occasional robin’s call. The rails would provide no vibration from the ghost train, and no whistle or smoke would herald its approach.
With my men stationed behind the trees, I was alone and vulnerable. If the train stopped and the ghosts proved menacing, I’d be defenseless.
A chilling breeze crept over my skin and briefly stirred the hair on my arms and chest. I tensed. Through the merest slit between closed lids, I glimpsed the outline of the locomotive’s enormous wheels, gleaming silver against the sunlight. The breeze intensified as hands of bone rather than human flesh grasped my legs and shoulders, lifting me. The touch was icy but gentle, and no sounds of exertion accompanied their task, though I weighed two hundred pounds.
I didn’t dare open my eyes to see where I was being transported, but when I was placed on a pallet, I sneaked a look. Five gray uniforms. I braced myself. It was time to let my captors know I wasn’t dead. To steel my courage, I allowed myself a brief thought of Sarah — the taste of her lips as she’d kissed me goodbye. I took a deep breath and emitted a low groan.
“He’s alive, captain,” one soldier said. “Get the general.”
As though regaining consciousness, I slid my eyelids open and blinked several times to clear my vision. I tried to rise up on one elbow, but collapsed back on what I could now see was a cot. “Where am I?” I looked around the room, counting four soldiers. They looked solid, not like the spirits I’d seen in battle, though their skin was as gray as their uniforms.
“You’re on the Stonewall Jackson,” said a soldier whose shoulder bars indicated he was a captain. “Who are you?”
I began to speak but was interrupted by the arrival of a man I’d seen only in photographs — a man who had died of pneumonia after having his arm amputated from a wound he’d received at Chancellorsville. I’d been there, across the battlefield from the second most revered general in the Confederacy. Now I looked into the sharp eyes of Stonewall Jackson.
“What were you doing on the tracks?” General Jackson asked, his tone threatening.
I ground my teeth before replying. The general seemed to be looking into my soul. No room to dissemble. “Trying to repair them, sir. My men and I have been following a small group of rogue Yanks who’ve moved into Northern Virginia.”
The general stroked his thick beard and looked around at his group of soldiers. “I suppose you realize by now that our train doesn’t depend on tracks.”
I thought hard about how to answer. “I’m privileged to be in your presence, general. I’ve heard tales of the ghost train, but I had no idea you were on board.”
General Jackson nodded. He looked me up and down. “What happened to your clothes?”
“Well, sir, it was so hot working on the tracks, I figured we should just do it in our skivvies … sir.” I gave a humble half smile. I was in skivvies because my only alternative was my Union uniform, and that would have been an immediate giveaway.
The general nodded, again. “Welcome aboard, though I’ll be damned if I know what to do with you.” His eyes seemed kind, but behind their friendliness glinted a hint of red. I figured they were bloodshot, and then I registered something stranger. The general’s color was not gray like the other soldiers. He looked pale, yet alive. “Where are you injured, soldier?”
“I must have been hit on the head, general. We were repairing the tracks when we were ambushed by some fellows on horseback. I remember seeing someone swing at my head with a rifle butt.” I touched the back of my head gingerly, and then winced. “Frankly, I don’t know why he didn’t just shoot me. Don’t know where my men are, whether they got away or were captured. I guess the Yanks figured they killed me.”
“Do you have a knot on your head?” General Jackson moved closer to me, and I detected the faint scent of lemons on the general’s clothes. I remembered hearing that Stonewall was particularly fond of the fruit.
I turned my head so the general could see the wound. “I believe the knot’s gone down, general.”
The general reached out and touched the back of my head, and then he brought his fingers to his nose. A sinister smile curved his lips. “Interesting scent. How was the meat?”
My heart beat faster in my chest. “Pardon me?” I’d used rabbit’s blood on my fake wound.
Stonewall Jackson addressed the ghost soldiers who were now hovering over his shoulder. “Leave me, men. I need to speak with this man — alone.” He turned away from me and monitored the departure of his men. When he rounded on me, his fangs protruded over his bottom lip. “I know the difference between human blood and rabbit blood, soldier.”
My skin prickled. I watched Stonewall’s eyes drift to my neck, and I instinctively brought my hand to my pulsing vein. A rush of cold fear skittered down my spine. “You’re not gray like the ghosts. What are you?”
“I am what people call ‘undead.’” The general snickered. “Now tell me — truthfully — why are you on this train?”
I found myself leaning toward Stonewall, whose eyes captured mine in a mesmerizing stare. Before I could conjure a believable lie, I blurted the truth. “I have direct orders from General Meade to investigate the train.”
The general shook his head and harrumphed. “I’m only surprised it’s taken the Yanks this long to send a posse. And who are you?”
“I’m just a soldier who wants this war to be over so I can return to my wife and farm, general.”
“Like any soldier, no matter which side he’s on. And what are you fighting for?”
“I am opposed to slavery, general, but I understand how Southerners feel about states’ rights. If I were a Virginian like you, I’d probably want to be left alone to govern on my own terms.”
The general’s expression softened and his fangs sank back into his mouth. “I have a wife and baby daughter at home in Lexington, but I can never return to them.” He shook his head. “Still, soldier, you haven’t told me your name.”
“I’m Colonel Malcolm McClellan of Pennsylvania, general.”
“Well, Colonel McClellan, you’ve been bold to board this train, and I can use a bold man.”
I held Stonewall Jackson’s stare as the general stroked his long beard, no doubt contemplating my fate. “I feel I can trust you, Colonel McClellan, and I’m rarely wrong about anyone.” Stonewall half smiled. “Since I became a vampire, I’m an even better judge of human character.” He paced the railway car.
“I’m not afraid of you, general,” I said. “I believe you to be an honorable man.”
“I am, and that didn’t change when I became a vampire. I won’t harm you, but you’re going to need to do something for me.”
“Before you ask, I would never betray my men, general.”
Stonewall shook his head. “No officer worth his salt would do that. But you must promise me that you will no longer fight against the Southern cause. That’s no more than I’d require of any prisoner of war.”
“Yes, general, I’ve demanded the same of captured Confederates. I will abide by those terms.” I raised my hand in a salute, and Stonewall returned my gesture. We had sealed our agreement in a way that we both knew was binding.
“I’m going to let you go home to your wife, but first you must visit my wife and daughter in Lexington.” Stonewall looked out the window at the passing countryside. “You can tell her you were a soldier in my corps, and you wanted to return the sash she made me.” Stonewall smiled. “I know you can act. I’ve seen you play a convincing role in your skivvies. But this time, you’ll be in a Confederate uniform. That should help your ruse.”
• • •
I visited Mary Jackson and her infant daughter, Julia, in Lexington. I held Mary’s hand while she cried over her husband, and then I bounced baby Julia on my knee.
She was a beautiful little thing, and holding her made me miss Sarah all the more, imagining her heavy … someday … with my child.
“How well did you know my Thomas?” Mary asked.
“I suspect I knew him as well as a soldier can know his superior officer,” I said. I wondered if my regiment would say the same of me.
“Thomas was a fierce soldier, but he was also a very tender-hearted man.” Mary wiped a tear from her eye. “He loved children, and he was devastated when our first daughter died. I am so sorry he didn’t live to be part of Julia’s life.”
I took a handkerchief from my pocket and handed it to Mary. “I’m sure your husband is here in spirit, and he lives in Julia.” I tilted the baby’s chin. “She has her father’s brow.”
Mary swiped her eyes with the handkerchief, and then smiled. “Yes, she’s her father’s daughter.”
When I said goodbye to Mary and Julia, I asked if I could do anything for them.
“You’ve already done so much, colonel,” Mary said. “You’ve been a real comfort to Julia and me. If you have an opportunity to return, I would welcome your visit.”
“I don’t know where the war will lead me next, ma’am, but I would be honored to visit you, again.” I kissed Julia’s forehead and handed her back to her mother.
“Where are you headed now, colonel?”
I rose from the settee and settled my hat back on my head. “I’m heading home to see my wife for a few days, and then I’ll report back to my regiment.” I touched Julia’s foot, covered in a crocheted bootie, and thought of the tiny socks Sarah had been making in hope of a child. “You take care of this beautiful baby.”
“Keep your head low out there, colonel, and thank you.” Mary followed me to the front door. I felt her eyes on my back as I walked to my horse. Mounting the steed General Jackson had provided, I tightened the reins, and then touched the brim of my hat in a parting salute to Mary and Julia.
It took seven days to reach my farm — seven days of hard riding on back trails, keeping to the woods. I wore the Confederate uniform into Maryland, and then changed to a faded chambray shirt and dungarees that Mary Jackson had given me. In exchange for the yellow sash I’d returned to her, she’d packed a few of Stonewall’s civilian clothes that she thought I could use when I returned home.
I didn’t know where my men were — my loyal men. I hoped they were all right. Had they remained in Virginia, waiting for my return, or had they doubled back to Pennsylvania with the news that I’d been abducted by the ghost train? Sarah didn’t need to hear that.
My pulse quickened. I was almost home. But as I crested the ridge, the house seemed eerily still. What day was it? Would Sarah be at market? I spurred the horse to a gallop, and then reined him abruptly as our hired man, Sully, came running from the barn.
“Colonel,” Sully shouted, “thank God you’re home.”
“Where’s Mrs. McClellan?” I asked as I dismounted, tense with foreboding.
“Oh, colonel, something terrible happened. Mrs. McClellan had been nursing the soldiers in town, and there was an outbreak of typhoid fever. She came down with it, and she’s awful sick. She’s in town at her sister’s house.”
My heart stopped, and then a roaring sounded in my ears. I’d intended to water my horse, but instead, I remounted and steered the stallion toward town. The only thing that mattered was getting to Sarah as quickly as possible.
I skirted town and took back streets to avoid running into anyone I knew, racing against mounting storm clouds and distant lightning. When I reached Caroline’s, I jumped off the horse and slung the reins around the hitching post. I burst into the house and yelled for my sister-in-law.
Caroline appeared at the second story landing. She staggered when she saw me. Gripping the staircase with one hand, she motioned for me to come up the stairs. She grasped my shoulders as I reached the top step. “Malcolm, where have you been? Didn’t you get my letters? I was frantic to find you. Why didn’t I hear from you?” She pounded my chest and then fell against me.
I wrapped my arms around her. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I haven’t received letters for weeks.” If only I’d known, I’d have rushed to Sarah’s side. Damn the war and this foolhardy mission.
“She got deathly sick about ten days ago, and then she rallied. I thought she was out of the woods, but then the fever came back. Oh, Malcolm, if only you’d been here.”
“Where is she?” My eyes darted around the landing.
“She’s in my room. I wanted her to have a nice window to watch the birds. But she’s delirious today. She wakes up for a few minutes and asks for you, and then she collapses. I’m frightened, Malcolm.”
I hastened to Caroline’s bedroom and rushed to Sarah’s side. She was flushed with fever, her breathing ragged. I picked up her limp hand and brought it to my lips.
“Last time she woke up, she was pinching the air for angels’ wings.” Caroline put a hand on my shoulder.
“What does that mean?” I brushed tendrils of Sarah’s hair away from her face.
“It means the angels are near, and she’s reaching for them.” Caroline’s voice caught on a sob.
“Bring me a basin of cool water,” I said, “and a clean cloth.” My eyes didn’t leave Sarah’s face, and I gently stroked her temple. “I’m here, my darling. You’re going to be fine. I’ll be strong for both of us. I’m not going back to my regiment. The war is over for us, Sarah. Just please, please stay with me.” My eyes filled with tears, and I blinked hard to clear my vision. I took her hand. “If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
Sarah’s eyelids fluttered. She opened her mouth to speak, but the only sound was a deep sigh. She smiled weakly.
Caroline returned with the basin of water and a cloth. I dampened the cloth and applied it to Sarah’s hot forehead. “There now, don’t try to talk. I love you with all my heart.”
Sarah took a slow breath, and then her chest seemed to sink into the feather mattress. She did not inhale again.
“Sarah!” I pulled her limp body into my arms. “Sarah!” I rocked her and buried my face in her hair. “No! No!” Caroline’s trembling hand pressed my shoulder as I continued to sway on the bed and sob. “Please wake up, my darling. Don’t leave me.”
“She’s with the angels, Malcolm. Let her go.” Caroline knelt by the bed and clasped her hands in prayer, her tears pooling on the quilt. “She suffers no more.”
“No, she’s just sleeping. She can’t be gone. She can’t be.” I picked Sarah up and carried her to the window. I turned her head to the view. “There’s your favorite oak, Sarah, with the cardinal’s nest, remember?”
“Put her back in bed, Malcolm.” Caroline patted the mattress. “I’ll send for Reverend O’Donnell.” She pushed herself up slowly.
“No, we don’t need the reverend. Sarah just needs to rest. She’ll be fine in the morning. Won’t you, love?” I kissed Sarah’s forehead, and then placed her back on the mattress. I watched as Caroline folded Sarah’s hands across her chest. “There now, rest,” I said. “I’ll check back in a little while. We have so much ahead of us, Sarah.”
I staggered out of the room and collapsed in the hall.
For the next three days, I couldn’t eat and could barely speak. Caroline had the doctor administer laudanum to get me through the nights.
We buried Sarah with her Bible.
At the funeral, the mourners assumed I had been granted leave. My men had not returned to Gettysburg, so no one knew about the ghost train. Many townspeople offered condolences, but all I could do was nod. My heart was a dark cavern from which I felt I would never emerge.
But out of my despair, a plan coalesced. When I left Caroline’s, telling her I had to go back to my regiment; I knew what I would do. I owed it to Stonewall to return to the train and report on Mary. I only hoped the general
would honor my request.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“So, you asked Stonewall Jackson to make you a vampire?” Abby wiped tears from her eyes. The poignancy of Malcolm’s story gnawed at the pit of her stomach.
“Actually, I asked him to kill me, but he wouldn’t do it. I told him I couldn’t do it myself. I wanted to die a soldier’s death, an honorable death at the hand of the enemy. And then he came up with an alternative. He’d never turned anyone, but he’d be willing to make me a vampire. Speaking from his own experience, he told me that emotional pain is not as intense for a creature of the night. Though he missed his wife and daughter, being a vampire gave him a different perspective. I didn’t understand how it could be any different, but if he wasn’t willing to kill me, I told him I’d take the next best thing.”
“Becoming a vampire, you mean?”
“Yes, though the irony is that I missed Sarah just as much after I was turned, and becoming a vampire did nothing to assuage my guilt. What Stonewall hadn’t accounted for was the fact that his wife and daughter were still alive. Even though he missed them terribly, he had hope for their future, whereas my wife was lost to the ages.” Malcolm got up from the footstool and walked to the mantel. He stared into the fire.
Abby left the wing chair and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face to his back. “If you’ll let me, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you never feel that kind of pain again.”
Malcolm folded his arms around hers. “You’ve already brought me out of the darkness, Abby.”
With her head still pressed against his back, Abby asked, “Why didn’t General Jackson visit his wife and daughter himself?”
“He thought it would be too much of a shock for his wife. She’d seen him ensconced in a coffin, laid in the ground, and covered with dirt.”
“Okay, I need more information here.”
Malcolm turned to face Abby. “Sorry. Let me explain.” Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. “Stonewall didn’t die from his arm amputation. He was recovering from the surgery when he contracted pneumonia, and that was the fatal blow. The doctor who attended Stonewall knew the day he was going to die, and told him so. But he gave Stonewall a choice. He offered him the alternative of immortality.”
