"I was there in the winter of '64 when we camped in the ice at Nashville's door. Three hundred miles our trail had led. We barely had time to bury our dead. When the yankees charged and the colors fell, overton hill was a living hell. When we called retreat it was almost dark, I died with a grapeshot in my heart. Say a prayer for peace. For every fallen son. Set my spirit free. Let me lay down my gun. Sweet Mother Mary i'm so tired, but i can't come home til the last shots fired..." Trace Adkins "Til the last shots fired'
Francine swallowed hard several times as she looked at the man. 'No, ghost.' she reminded herself. He was not really a man. He looked like a man though. He looked just as solid as she and Janice did. Even in the old uniform it was clear that he was built like the toughest of war heroes. His shoulders were wide, his chest was broad and the leather strap that held his musket on his back cut across it, emphasizing his size. His waist and hips were lean and his legs were long.
But it was that face... She had known at ten years old that the 'juggling soldier' was handsome but now at twenty-five she could truly appreciate his looks. His chin was strong with a slight cleft in the center, his cheekbones were sharp, his nose was long and his lips were full and firm though his mouth was currently hanging open as he looked at her. His green eyes were wide with wonder, his dark brows were not overly thick and they had almost no arch as they raised in wonder to look at her. His skin was not pale as you would expect a ghost to be, instead it was tanned and rugged.
If he wasn't dead he could be a movie star with those strong masculine features of his. But he was dead and these thoughts she was having were completely ridiculous.
"Francine, what do you see? The camera is picking up a heat reading by that wall." Janice said, her voice shaky and excited all at the same time.
"Francine?" the ghost asked. His voice was deep and strong but still soothing.. Not the freaky kind of deep but just deep enough to add to his rugged toughness. Francine shook her head.
'Stop it!' she scolded herself. He is hundreds of years old and he is dead! She should be scared stiff of him and truthfully she was a little afraid but mostly she was curious, amazed and captivated.
"You can see me?" Wyatt asked as he took a step to the side as if testing to see if her eyes would follow him. She nodded.
"Yes, I can see you." she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she thought it did.
Wyatt couldn't believe it. Was this the same Francine that had come to this park fifteen years ago? Was she that ten year old little girl who had spoken to him and haunted his thoughts since that day? Was it possible that she came back? He looked at the woman. Her brown eyes were wide and rich in color. She had freckles on her full cheeks and her heart shaped lips were pink and looked soft like satin. She was definitely beautiful even though she looked different than the women had been used to courting back before the war.
Her hair was thick, wild and curly though it was pulled back on her head and her pants showed off her shapely legs. Most of all he was just shocked to finally be around someone who could see him.. Someone he could talk to! He wasn't about to run from her this time.
"What does he look like?" Janice demanded. "All I can see is a blob of heat!" Francine saw her friend pull out her tiny notepad and a piece of paper. The ghost took another step forward and Francine quickly stepped back.
"Don't come any closer to me!" she exclaimed. He held up his hands.
"I won't hurt you." he promised and he sounded sincere. "Do you know how long it's been since I've actually talked to somebody and had them talk back?" Francine shook her head and he smiled a heartthrob worthy smile that revealed lines in his handsome cheeks around his mouth. There she went again, thinking that the ghost was handsome... She decided that maybe she should speak to her therapist about this later.
"He's about six foot two." she replied as Janice began making notes on her notepad with the pen she had pulled from behind her ear. She had set the camera and headphones back down on one of the cots. "He's wearing full union soldier gear."
"Including the silly little hat." Wyatt added, remembering that that's what she had called it the last time they had met. Francine frowned.
"You remember me?" she asked and Wyatt nodded.
"Ghosts have memories?" Janice asked and when Francine nodded she beamed with excitement as she bounced up and down. "This is so great! Is he willing to talk to you about what his life is like as a ghost?"
"What do you want to know?" Wyatt asked only to remember that the blond couldn't hear him. He growled with frustration and looked back at Francine. "What does she want to know?"
Francine sat down on one of the cots and Wyatt sat down across from her. Francine quickly scooted back to put more distance between their knees. They had been way too close for comfort in the tiny space between the cots.
"What do you want to ask him?" Francine asked Janice. Janice placed her forefinger on her chin as she thought for a moment and then she smiled.
"Can he still get a hard on?" Francine nearly choked on her tongue and she flushed bright red as she stared at her best friend in shock. Janice laughed and her blue eyes widened innocently. "What? That's the kind of stuff people really want to know."
"What's a hard on?" Wyatt asked. Francine stood up quickly and walked several steps away as she laughed and threw her hands in the air.
"This isn't happening." she said out loud. "I am not having a conversation with a two-hundred year old ghost about whether or not he can get aroused. If you want an answer to that question, Janice, you're going to have to wait until you find your own ghost." Janice barked out a laugh as she made some scribbles in her notepad. She held the notepad up and Francine saw that she had drawn a very crude chicken which greatly resembled a goose.
"Cluck cluck." Francine said dryly. She looked back at the ghost who was studying her with interest.
"Hard on means arousal?" he asked and Francine blushed blood red and stared down at her feet. She needed to repaint her toenails, they were getting a little chipped. Wyatt wondered why the blond would ask such a question. Maybe she was a saloon whore. If so he sincerely hoped that Francine wasn't one. He still couldn't believe that she had come back and in his eyes she was an angel, if only because she could hear and see him.
"What is your name?" Francine asked, deciding to keep the conversation a little more G-rated. Janice made a big show of yawning behind her hand and Wyatt chose to ignore the blond (she annoyed him) and focus instead of Francine.
"Wyatt Montgomery, ma'am. And I'm not two hundred years old. I was born in 1837 so I'm one hundred and seventy-three." Francine nodded.
"His name is Wyatt Montgomery and he was born in 1837." she said for Janice's benefit and Janice quickly made some notes on her paper.
"How was he killed?" Janice asked and Francine looked over at Wyatt and waited for the answer. He stood from the cot and removed his hat. He ran his hand through his thick dark hair, which fell carelessly back across his forehead.
"I was shot to death by a Johnny Reb back in 1863." he said, though he hated talking about what had happened that day, he would tell Francine anything just as long as she kept talking to him.
"He was shot by a confederate soldier." Francine told Janice.
"Did it hurt?" Janice asked as she chewed on the tip of her pen and Francine rolled her eyes.
"Well I'm sure it didn't feel good." she replied and Wyatt laughed and was so shocked by the sound that he stopped quickly and put his hand on his throat. Francine looked at Wyatt and smiled.
"Humor her." she said. "Answer her question."
"I died pretty quick, ma'am." he said as he pulled his hat back on. "But yeah, it hurt." Francine found herself staring into his green eyes. This amazed her. She had never had a ghost seem so alive before. She wondered if maybe she could reach out and touch him. She took a step forward and reached a tentative hand toward his arm but he quickly moved away and out of her reach.
"I don't like to be touched." he said apologetically. In truth he was enjoying feeling like he was alive again. Talking to Francine and having her look into his eyes gave him that. But if she tried to touch him and her fingers slipped through him it would be a harsh reminder of reality.
"He um...." Francine shook her head as she took a step back. "He said he died quickly but that yes it hurt. And he also doesn't like to be touched."
"Touchaphobe." Janice said as she scribbled in her notebook. 'Got it."
"Your friend says weird things." Wyatt said to Francine and Francine smiled.
"Yes she does. That's why I love her." Wyatt nodded but looked confused.
"What did he say about me?" Janice demanded.
"That you're weird." Francine replied and Janice snorted.
"He does realize that he's an old dead ghost wearing a silly hat right?"
"She looks like one of them birds in them clothes of hers... A ... what are they called.. Oh yeah, a parrot." Wyatt replied. Francine laughed lightly.
"He says to hush because you look like a parrot." she told Janice and Janice readjusted her tube top and shrugged. Francine looked at Wyatt to find that his eyes were watching Janice's movements as she adjusted her ample chest in her shirt. Francine rolled her eyes. Even in death men were pigs. She sighed and crossed her arms over her much smaller chest.
"Are there any other spirits that linger around here?" she asked. Wyatt shrugged and turned his attention back to her.
"If there are then they're as invisible to me as I am to the world." he replied. Francine could sense his sadness and it made her sad for him.
"Why are you stuck here? Why didn't you pass on?" she asked. Wyatt picked up a fake box of matches that decorated one of the tiny tables and tossed it up and down.
"Wow." Janice gasped as she followed the up and down motion of the matchbox with her eyes. Wyatt smiled a sad half smile when he looked back at Francine.
"That, ma'am, is the ten thousand dollar question." he replied. Francine looked outside and saw that the rain had stopped falling.
"Do you think you could show us where you are buried?" she asked. Wyatt nodded.
"I can show you my stone. I have no way of knowing for sure that's my body down there below it."
"That's okay. We'd like to get some pictures of it." Wyatt shrugged and headed for the door.
"Come on then." he said. Francine motioned for Janice.
"Come on, he's going to take us to his grave." Francine watched Wyatt reach out and open the door.
"Can't you pass through them?" she asked and he nodded.
"But you can't and I was raised to open doors for a lady." Francine rolled her eyes.
"Look at that, chivalry isn't dead after all." then she frowned. "Actually I guess it is."
"Yes, ma'am, it died back in 1863." Wyatt replied with a grin and Francine laughed.
"You seem to be having fun with the dead guy." Janice said as she grabbed Francine's arm and pulled her back a few steps behind Wyatt, who continued to lead the way across the wet grass.
"He has a sense of humor that I find entertaining." Francine replied.
"Is he hot?" Janice asked. Francine rolled her eyes.
"He's dead, Jan." she replied. Janice shrugged.
"Minor setback." she said. "Is he hot?"
"He's.... nice... to look at." Francine replied, though that was probably the understate of the century. Janice laughed and Francine glared at her best friend and then quickened her pace to fall into step beside Wyatt, though she noticed that he stepped to the side to keep a few feet of distance between their bodies.
"Did you have a family, Wyatt?" Francine asked and he nodded.
"I joined the army with my father. He was killed early on in the war. I kept fighting for my mother and my three little sisters."
"What happened to them after you died?" Wyatt shrugged and she could tell that he didn't want to discuss that any further. They had entered the cemetery and to Francine the rows of stone all looked the same but Wyatt seemed to have a particular destination in mind.
"There it is." he said, pointing at one of the thousands of white stones. Francine and Janice both stood before the stone and looked down at it. Janice pulled out her phone and took several pictures.
"Hey you!" An angry voice shouted out. "You're not supposed to be in here! This park is closed!' Francine and Janice looked up to see a security guard coming toward them.
"Forgot about him." Wyatt said simply when Francine gave him an accusing look.
"We were doing some research." Janice said with a one hundred watt smile lighting up her face. The security guard was a middle aged man with balding gray hair and a pot belly and clearly he wasn't used to attractive young women smiling at him.
"Well ma'am, I'm afraid the park is closed." he said much more politely. "Why don't you two come back in the morning?"
"I think we've got all we need." Janice said and Francine nodded. "Could you escort us back to our car?"
"Of course. It's getting late out here. You have to watch out for the Ghost of Vicksburg."
"Really?" Janice asked as she and the guard began walking away. Francine followed and realized that Wyatt was walking beside her.
"Yes really, a dangerous ghost. Deadly really." the guard replied. Wyatt chuckled.
"I threw a rock at him once." he replied. "Ever since he's convinced that I'm evil."
"Why did you throw a rock at him?" Francine whispered.
"He sat on my cot and was eating crackers. It just seemed rude so I threw a rock at him. Not like I could politely ask him to stop."
"I heard the ghost could juggle." Janice told the guard and he laughed.
"Who told you something so ridiculous? He might juggle severed heads but that'd be about it." Wyatt made a face. That was just disgusting. He scanned the ground for a rock. He saw a small one and stooped to pick it up.
"Don't you dare throw that." Francine scolded. The guard looked back at her and gave her a puzzled look.
"Throw what?" he asked. She blushed and picked at her shirt as she shrugged.
"Nothing. I didn't realize I spoke out loud." she said quickly. The guard shrugged and turned his attention back to Janice.
"We have to go, Wyatt Montgomery. I hope your soul finds peace." Francine whispered. Wyatt felt panic set in as he stood back straight without the rock. She couldn't leave him... Not again!
"Where do you live?" he asked. "Is it close? Could you come visit me now and then?" he added with desperation.
"No..." Francine replied, frowning at the odd request. She wasn't about to tell the ghost where she lived. The last thing she needed was a dead union solder showing up on her doorstep.
Wyatt frowned and then disappeared before her eyes. She looked all around for him but he was gone. She couldn't explain the strange ache she felt in her chest and she shrugged it off. Surely she was just feeling a little sad because she was saying goodbye to the ghost she considered 'hers'. He had been her solider man since she'd been ten. At least now she had some proof that he existed. Between the heat camera's, the notes and hopefully sound the recorders had caught no one would be able to tell her she was crazy for talking about the soldier ghost again.
888
Wyatt watched from the barrack window as the two women climbed into the beat up automobile. His heart literally ached with loneliness at the thought of Francine leaving. He enjoyed talking to someone. He enjoyed being seen. Could he live without it? That was a stupid question he supposed since he wasn't alive to begin with but the thought of losing what connection he had with Francine filled him with an ache so strong it made getting shot seem easy.
He could go with her... Couldn't he? He'd never tried to leave the park before. He had never seen a point in leaving the somewhat familiar surroundings for something new. He closed his eyes and transported himself outside of the fence, hiding behind one of the trees. Hiding was something new for him but he didn't want Francine to see him.
Now he knew he could leave the park if he chose but could he choose to leave it behind? This had been home for one hundred and forty seven years. But as the automobile fired to life with a roar Wyatt knew it couldn't be home anymore. He wanted to be seen. He wanted to be heard. The only place to do that was wherever Francine was. He closed his eyes again and transported himself into the back of the beat up automobile. He curled up the best he could in the very back between the back row of seats and the back door. He was careful to make sure not to let any body parts pass through the walls of the automobile. Surely that would cause some unneeded concern if Francene saw arms and legs hanging out of the car.
Filled with a new hope for his future, Wyatt decided to close his eyes and get some rest. He could hear Francine and Janice talking up front and it comforted him. For the first time since his death, Wyatt Montgomery was not alone.