by Barbara Best
“Hey, don’t worry, I’ll be sure and let the new ranger . . . his name’s Jeff Banning . . . I’ll let him know what’s up, and drop your name. Okay? Jane Peterson’s disappearance was the biggest thing that has happened at Pulaski in over a hundred years, besides the occasional ghost sighting or a time or two when the fort is used for a movie. Did you know a film directed by Robert Redford was made here last year? It’s called The Conspirator. Anyhow, I’m sure Jeff will help you as much as he can.”
“Don’t imagine you’ll let me have another look at the place. The casemate where she disappeared.”
“Not a problem.”
Bryce waits for Frank to come out of his office and they head down the veranda, past the public restrooms, past the Colonel’s Quarters, and then left a few steps to the arched room Jane and Sophie were last together.
“Nothing’s changed a bit.” Frank sifts through an exaggerated ring of keys and makes the extra effort of actually opening the heavy old door to the adjoining space. “Wish we had the funds to fix things up in here. Money’s hard to come by these days.”
“I get what you mean. Has anyone been in here since . . . you know.”
“After the first couple of weeks with the police and all that, not a soul.”
Bryce switches his mini Maglite on. It smells like it looks, old and dank. Unused. The worn brick walls are in disrepair, a lot of the mortar missing in chunks, which litter the unfinished wood floor.
“Be careful, all right? This flooring in here is unstable as hell. A lot of the planks are loose or on the verge of breaking through. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt . . . and lose my job, if you know what I mean.”
“Listen, I appreciate what you are doing for me, Frank. No worries. I’m staying put. Just want to look.” Bryce follows the bright round LED beam from his flashlight over the bricks, up to the ceiling and then down to the floor. Hoping for that slight chance a reflection of light might catch on metal. “I’d be glad to fix this place up for you,” Bryce smiles.
“Yeah, and pull up every one of those boards on the floor. You’re still hunting around for that key, huh?”
“Can you blame me? I keep thinking it’s somewhere.” Not really expecting Frank to believe him, Bryce had told the ranger he was looking for a key that Jane used in the door the night she vanished. All Frank would say is, the door was locked tight when Jane disappeared and they had the only key that he knew of. He told Bryce the fort had spent a lot of the early twentieth century abandoned and when the national park service took over in 1933, they probably at some point had a key made for the door. He’s sure the original is long gone.
“Those feds, the police and some detective did a pretty thorough search.” Frank starts shuffling around like he’s had about enough.
“Well, that’s, that. Sorry, Frank. You’ve been pretty patient with me.”
“Ghee, I know how I’d feel if I were in your shoes. I wouldn’t want to give up either. How about meeting up for a beer later? I get off in an hour and a half and I know this great place.”
“You know what, I think I’ll take you up on that. Mind if I hang around?” The two walk out onto the veranda that frames the parade ground.
“Look all you want. As a matter of fact, if you go in that door over there and make a left,” Jeff points, “you can get into the Colonel’s Quarters. We normally keep it locked on the outside, but the women reenactors stay in that room when they come. I heard Jane’s bed was under the window, at the back, on the right side of the fireplace.”
Bryce walks the grounds for a bit and then heads for the Colonel’s Quarters. The room is fairly large and he decides to take a seat on a primitive looking bed frame that is made from a few rough pieces of lumber and shoved up against one wall. Bryce stares at the corner on the opposing side, under the window to the right of the fireplace. “Jane, where are you?” An unexpected shiver seizes him.
I believe someone just walked over my grave. Bryce can’t help but laugh. This place is creepy in a way. He’s not really sure what Jane saw in all this old stuff. Sure, he likes history okay, but he can’t relate to wanting to live in and around it all.
Prickly. The old stained mattress is stuffed with dry straw, which is poking right through his shorts. Bryce pushes back to get more comfortable, propping against the cool white painted brick surface. He pulls out his phone to check his messages. He told the hospital to call or text if they needed him to come back in. Bryce could use all the hours he can get. He worked sixteen straight just before he headed to Savannah so he could have today and tomorrow off. He lays his head back to rest his eyes for a minute.
Whistling air and a thunderous explosion. Lightning? Bryce’s eyes fly open to pitch black. He’s frozen in place. He can’t see a thing but turns his head instinctively to the sound of men hollering outside and catches the fresh scent of burnt wood and sulphur. Gunpowder? There’s another flash of orange white against a red silhouette of people. He sees soldiers, a glimpse of a full skirt. Ghastly phantoms casting about the room. He feels the heat, smells the offensive sweat and stink of bodies, and . . . another loud bang . . .
The ground shakes as deafening waves of thunder penetrate deep. Something plunks hard on Bryce’s head. This scares the hell out of him, causing his body to pitch sharply to the left before his mind commands it. He pushes back and away from the source of flashing light and sound, his adrenalin pumping. Another massive explosion, this time even closer, “What the . . .” Bryce hears his own strangled protest and jerks to life, opening his eyes with a jarring start. “Hell!”
This time, the golden light of a late afternoon sun is streaming in through windows and an open doorway. All quiet, except for the frantic shriek of a gull outside.
Bryce searches everything around him. With wild darting eyes of someone under attack, he tingles with the sensation of something real. Somehow he had slipped down to the floor between the bed and an old musty black leather trunk against the wall. The briefest bitter scent of powder lingers in his nostrils. Bryce looks down at his hands. Shaking for Christ’s sake. Something they didn’t normally do. Not even during the most critical situations at the hospital. Freaking weird!
Bryce scans the room once more, slowing his breathing and this time in a more logical fashion. Nothing’s amiss, it’s quiet, the same. He fights a strong impulse to pat his body and test his legs before standing. Instead, he checks his phone for the time. Musta dozed off, you nut-job, he chides. Bryce brushes his head, trying to dispel the residual effect of something hitting it. He rubs his eyes, embarrassed, and glad no one’s around. Well, if this is the living history Jane talked about, I don’t want any part of it.
“Sure as shit is enough of this place,” Bryce brushes off his shorts and picks a dust-bunny off his new polo shirt. A cold beer is sounding pretty good about now. Maybe two.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Dearest Mother,
I have but a few lines to communicate at present. We are taken to New York, Governors Island. A dreary, hapless place from the first. Upon our arrival, we bore the hearty manner of local ruffians, who gathered on the wharf to shout out ‘I wish I was in Dixie’. The men make light of it now, but at the time it weighed heavy.
One becomes accustomed. Presently we occupy barracks at Fort Columbus. To our good fortune, we are delighted to find domiciled here Colonel Avery and accompanying officers of the 33rd North Carolina. They are all pleasant gentlemen with whom we affiliate readily and are soon on the footing of old friends.
The officers are allowed privilege on the island between reveille and retreat, but within rigorously enforced limitations. We each have a small soldier’s cot, mattress, and a soldier’s rations; ample for sustenance, yet lacking in preparation I fear.
As you may be uneasy about my personal condition, I will inform you wholeheartedly that I am enjoying good health. I might add the general health of the prison is less desirable. Now then, I have run on much longer than is my intention and I will have to draw my le
tter to a close.
With best love and regards to all,
Matthew H. Hopkins,
Adjutant,
1st Vol. Reg. of Georgia
Post Script: Most regrettably, communications are slow to take hold and I have no word from the outside. I hope and pray you, our little Clara, Susan, and the twins are well. Have you received word from Father? I wonder, how does Miss Peterson fare. You must always know my heart and thoughts turn to family and home.
Except for the ticking pendulum of a clock and a background scraping sound made by someone working in another part of the house, the room is quiet again. Anna stares at her letter for a minute and, with a feathery sigh, rests it in her lap. She and Jane are having their afternoon tea. A ritual she much enjoys. Jane has been a pleasant diversion and wonderful comfort to her during such a troubled and bleak time in her life. How this child should find her way to her son and then here is left to God and his infinite wisdom.
“Well, that’s that.” Anna repeats an idiom Jane had used a number of times. She had shared the letter aloud on her second time in reading it.
“Ha! Works for me! It looks like Matthew is doing all right. I know you miss him.” Jane takes a sip of her tea. She has learned to slow down since she’s been in 1862. A lot. Something she didn’t know was possible. “And your husband has also written you he is doing well and has seen Susan’s husband. Everyone close to you is accounted for. You must be pretty stoked about it.”
“If you mean happy or encouraged by the news, then yes, my dear, greatly so.” Anna is learning to interpret some of Jane’s strange use of words. “Though, my heart will not be whole again until they return home to me.” She sighs, folds the letter back into its original shape and slips it gingerly back into its cover. “Now! What is all this nonsense about working for Richard?”
Jane forever marches to a different drum and Anna worries about the example she is setting for her Clara, who is totally smitten with their guest. Jane had shown an interest in her Clara from the very beginning, helping to improve her daughter’s attitude towards her studies and filling her head with possibilities. Jane had expressed wholeheartedly that a woman should obtain a good education, and never be afraid to pursue her dreams or be discouraged from creative thought.
During her stay, Jane taught Clara several poems. Clara especially favored one about a character called Sam-I-Am, written by a doctor by the name of Seuss. Jane told them she knew more songs than poems and she thought songs sometimes made great poetry. Clara chose Somewhere Over the Rainbow and Yellow Submarine as two more to work on. The two girls practiced hours together and in the evening, Clara would recite what she had learned to Anna’s utter amusement. Startlingly, Jane is able to offer a few fascinating details on submarines. Anna once heard her husband speaking with some other gentlemen about these vessels that floated just below the surface of the water, but where on earth does this child gain such knowledge? Why must she exhibit a capacity for or even trouble her mind with such things outside the realm of a well-bred young lady?
One day when they were writing letters, Jane made Clara what she called an airplane by folding a sheet of paper into a distinct shape and sailing it through the air. It took to the sky like a bird, light as a feather, lifting up and circling round. With a couple more sheets Jane masterfully created a crane and a rabbit with clever combinations of odd angles and folds. Jane said a good friend had traveled the world and spent time in Japan where she learned this art form.
All very curious indeed! Such broad knowledge. Such imagination. So many things Jane seems to know that are unfamiliar to those around her. These representations, although delightful, generate in Anna mixed feelings. One is of stimulating discovery and revelation and the other, troubled confusion and concern it will ignite fanciful behavior in her impressionable daughter. Anna has little time to ponder as her thoughts are broken by an expected retort from her young companion.
“Working is not nonsense, Anna.” Jane has been on a first name basis with Mrs. Hopkins since she helped the twins recover from measles. Anna warned, but only in the privacy of their home.
“Jane, don’t you have everything you need here with us? You have been wonderful to our family and can remain here as long as you like.” She reaches over to rest her hand on Jane’s sleeve. “Besides, I have grown very fond of you and your company.”
Anna can’t possibly imagine why Jane would hire herself out. It also grieves her the young woman is yet unable to share her past. Some deep dark secret hangs over her like a heavy cloud. While she is refreshingly open and spontaneous in all other matters, Anna just cannot fathom why Jane will not let her help with this part of her life as well. Such a pity.
“Well, having a job is no big deal really. In fact, it does a woman a lot of good to work. I would like to be independent and totally able to take care of myself one day.”
“But why on earth would you want to do that?” Anna never knows what will come out of Jane’s mouth next. “A woman’s place is in the home, my dear. We are destined to take our rightful place as wife and mother. It’s our God-given mission. We are the guardians of decency, ensuring our homes are a haven of comfort and quiet,” she spouts her tangible point of view with great meaning and commitment.
“Really! No disrespect, but I can’t believe you buy into all that. Women have so much more to offer this world. Oh, we can be doting wives and fantastic moms. At the same time, however, we can also work as equals alongside our husbands, and with all men in general. I know this concept may not be socially acceptable now, but maybe it will be one day. And since I’m single and it looks like I’m going to be around here for a while, I would feel so much better making some contribution. It’s only right. Besides, Doctor Arnold told me his hospital is shorthanded.”
Anna has learned patience and takes great care with Jane when she talks like this, giving her all the room she needs for expression. It perhaps will give Anna more insight into Jane’s constitution.
The fact of the matter is Richard had already talked to Anna, saying he could use Jane’s services at the hospital and out of respect wanted to address the subject with her first. Appealing to her compassionate and charitable nature, the good doctor told Anna in no uncertain terms they were dreadfully short on helpers. Their hospital’s alarming number of casualties mounted almost daily.
Most doctors and their attendants have been conscripted into military service. Only because of their advanced years had Richard and one other colleague been left in Savannah to work miracles. Anna will not forget Richard’s words, articulated to make his point clear, “These are unusual times, Mrs. Hopkins. The trials of war must, no doubt, provoke our sensibilities in all things and justify that which has remained, until now, unjustifiable.”
Richard also added that Jane had personally broached the very idea upon their first meet. He laughed when he told Anna, that Jane had surprised him further by proposing there be compensation. A salary, of all things! Of course he had reminded Jane, they were at war, but he would see.
Anna was gently coaxed to consent to Richard’s proposition, but she stressed only if it was what Jane wanted. God had visited upon this young woman exceptional intelligence and talent, more impressive than anything she could have imagined. Anna had no claim to possessing worldly knowledge. She would leave that up to her dear husband. Her instincts standing on their own accord, however, told her Jane clearly offered something unique. She felt much, as of yet, is undiscovered. Who was she to stand in her way? Who was she to hold her back?
To Jane’s relief, Anna finally asserts, “Well, my dear, I would like to become better acquainted with this place you say promotes independence and equality among women and men. Please feel free to pursue your calling, with my blessing. Doctor Arnold is a goodly man and I trust he, and you, will take great care, and discretion.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
My dear Miss Peterson,
I gladly take pen in hand to answer your letter received this morning.
Its cheerful tone drives away all ominous thought. Would that I could get such letters every day. Your stories about Clara, Susan and my nephews have entertained and filled my heart. One’s family is held in great esteem and your words are comforting. Have you considered your family, Miss Peterson? My dear mother has not mentioned a word and I fear she may have hidden motives. She speaks so highly of you, I am afraid she may want to keep you all to herself.
I am rejoiced to learn that my letters afford my dear family much solace. I wish I could say as much for this particular correspondence as it bears warning of a silent enemy that has made a swift attack. Some of our men have fallen dreadfully ill, leaving mind and limb robbed of strength and spirit. Even with quinine as a bitter friend, there has been little hope for some, with bodies ravaged, a cough that racks the soul, and a greater fatigue than anyone has ever known. This foe has visited many of our officers in Fort Columbus. One fellow, an older gentleman who held a robust gift of conversation, was so seriously laid up that we all demanded his release as his only chance for recovery. But release came at too great a price. It required that he take the oath of allegiance and desert his flag. This alternative, he spurned and thus, died. I must confess it was an honorable death for the brave soldier remained true to his principles. He will be deeply missed.
I regret this news is terribly gloomy and would prove too great a tax upon my dear family. If I should ever fall victim to these set of circumstances, I trust you will be at hand, and fittingly so, for your kindness in action and deed have left a deep impression upon us. I am forever grateful and, once again, happily and most contently in your good care.
