Spirit of the Revolution (8 page)

“Yes, I do.” Jo met Carolyn’s no-nonsense colleague several months earlier. The photo depicted a shot from her recent wedding. “They make a very handsome couple,” she said as she handed the photo back.

“Yes, well, that isn’t the point. A few weeks before their big day, they stopped off at the old Methodist Church, there on the outskirts of town, do you remember? We visited it once.”

“Yes, I remember the place, it’s quite lovely.”

“Uh-huh, and that’s where they chose to get married. Anyway, they wanted to discuss a few details concerning the ceremony with the minister. They were in his office, discussing those details when this beautiful organ music filtered into the office from the chapel. The minister seemed a bit perplexed because the lady who plays for the congregation left a few days earlier for a two-week vacation.

“Tamara said the woman’s ability impressed her, and she wanted to take a moment to compliment her. So, she and Glenn, that’s the name of her husband, and the minister walked down the hall and into the chapel. There at the organ, sat a woman dressed in nineteenth-century clothing. They could see the wall right through her spiritual form. She finished the hymn, turned toward them, smiled, and simply disappeared right before their eyes.”

“Oh,” Jo said, for lack of anything better to say.

“‘Oh,’ indeed. And that story, my dear, comes from three very respectable and credible people. No one would think to accuse them of mass hysteria, I assure you. Also, let us not forget, the large groups of people who have witnessed and then reported a Gettysburg battle re-enactment only to discover nobody scheduled one. You read accounts such as those in the paper quite often.”

“Seriously, Carolyn, do you think ghosts from two entire regiments still fight the Civil War? Do you realize just how many spirits would have to exist on that particular battlefield in order to accomplish such a feat? Or do you think they go and hang out in the bushes while waiting for the battle to begin yet again?”

Five men remaining in a familiar place seemed reasonable, but entire regiments on a single battlefield, fighting the same battle repeatedly, didn’t. What possible good would that do any of them?

“I don’t know,” she answered with a shrug. “Some men remain very loyal to their commander and would follow him into the very depths of hell and back again if he asked it of them. However, there are those who believe such a display is simply an imprint on time. A residual haunting is what they call it. By definition, this is a scene so traumatic, that it plays again and again. You know, like an old movie rerun.”

“Yes, I know about the theory of residual haunting. However, as you said, it’s more like a movie. The spirits aren’t really there,” Jo replied. “But what would compel a spirit to stay around in the first place? Why don’t they just pass on to wherever it is, they’re supposed to go?”

“From what I’ve read and or studied, the reasons are varied. Some ghosts died so quickly and unexpectedly, they don’t realize they’re dead. Then there’s guilt about something or other, unfinished business, fear of what’s on the other side, like believing they’re going to hell on account of past sins. I think that scenario especially applies to those who murdered someone, those who want revenge. The list can go on and on.” Carolyn picked up a chip, used it to scoop up a bit of dip, and popped it into her mouth.

“So, what then? You think earthbound ghosts stay here and never, ever cross over? Never find peace?”

“Not at all. I think the majority of ghosts, at least benevolent ghosts, find there way home in time. Sometimes it takes help from the living, though. Especially if the ghost has unfinished business he or she wants finished. There are murder victims that want justice before they’ll cross over. Then there are ghosts who want their bodies found, identified, and buried. Some need to understand and then truly believe, despite all past sins that a merciful God in heaven won’t thrust them into a raging inferno the minute they pass through the light. Except of course, for the really bad ones, who probably
are
going to hell for their heinous deeds and deservedly so,” she said with a firm nod of her head. “I can’t imagine brutal murderers being welcomed into heaven with open arms.”

“I see,” Jo murmured.

“Sometimes the living can keep a ghost here, as well, you know,” Carolyn said as she added some soda to her glass and then slid the bottle toward Jo.

“How would they do that?” she asked.

“Love,” Carolyn said. “The spirit loves the person or persons who loved him or her so much they stay behind to help that person deal with the grief of their loss. Despite their own desires to move beyond the light, they feel compelled to stay and give whatever comfort they can provide. Then, once they feel the loved one can finally cope without their assistance, they move on to their destination.”

“How very sad,” Jo whispered. But at least that one she could understand. Many times over the years since her parents’ death, she wished they would’ve remained behind for a little while or at the very least, visited from time to time. The fact they never once showed themselves to her since the day they passed, gave credence to her belief in the nonexistence of ghosts.

“I guess,” Carolyn said as she picked up a carrot stick. “So, any more questions? I can e-mail you some awesome Web sites that have a ton of information, and it would really juice up that report. Some of them even have photographs and EVPs, if you’re interested.”

“No, I don’t have any more questions and yes I’m interested in those Web sites. So please don’t forget to send them,” Jo replied as she looked down at her watch. “However, it’s getting late and since I have a long drive ahead of me, and you have to get up at the crack of dawn, I guess I’d better get going.”

After they cleaned up, Carolyn walked her to the door. Jo turned, wrapped her arms around her friend, and gave her a quick hug. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thanks, Kay-Kay.”

Carolyn gasped as she stepped back, and clutched at her heart. “Don’t tell me, after all of these years, I’ve
finally
converted you?”

Jo laughed as she made her way out to the porch. “Maybe.”

During the drive home, everything Carolyn said swirled around inside her brain in a chaotic mess. She wondered why Mathias and his companions chose to remain. Did they have unfinished business of some kind? Did they fear going to hell? Could she do anything to help them? Better yet, did she really want them to walk out of her life so soon? But what a selfish thought, she chided—

All the troublesome worries fled Jo’s mind the minute she crested the hill and looked down at her house. The porch lights shimmered, as did the outside lights on the second floor. She drank in the lights glowing from the windows in her family room, and those lights sang out a welcome.

How very different from the many, many nights she returned home to an empty house or apartment and total darkness. Her gaze meandered over the property and then rested on the solitary soul, pacing along the veranda as if standing guard. Once she turned into the driveway, he halted his footsteps, gave her a courtly bow and the most charming grin she’d seen to date. Her heart skipped a couple of beats, knowing Mathias awaited her.

Chapter 6

“So, Mathias, according to this book—which by the way, is authored by a greatly respected historian—Morgan’s Rangers were known as a rowdy, disrespectful, and fiercely independent group of men. The book also states that because of their wild and unruly behavior, Washington wouldn’t allow the Rangers to camp close to the main army for fear of the negative impact they’d breed among his own soldiers.” That’s not all the author said about these honorable, stalwart men. But— “What do you have to say about that assessment? And do remember this book comes complete with sources and documentation.”

Mathias turned away from the large library window. He looked at her then, and for the briefest of moments, she glimpsed the Ranger that history revered. She caught her breath and held it as he shrugged off the claim. “Highly exaggerated.”

“Oh, come on. Did you or did you not address your commanding officers by their given names as it so states right here on page nineteen, paragraph three?” She held the book aloft and repeatedly tapped the passage.

“Certainly, just as they addressed us by ours. I see no disrespect in that,” he countered.

“I suppose anyone else might have been court-martialed,” she murmured. “However, did you or did you not simply stand at ease while the regular soldiers stood at full attention when so ordered by their commanding officer?”

“I believe we listened attentively to everything they said; therefore, what possible difference could our stance make in the outcome of things?”

No longer able to withhold her laughter, Jo looked up from the book and said, “Oh, Mathias, it’s so easy for me to see you and the boys in this light. In fact, I bet you found yourself in your element.”

“I’m assuming from the look of adoring admiration and respect in your eyes, you’re giving us a compliment?” He grinned wickedly, leaned toward her, and said, “I humbly accept it.”

Jo merely laughed and returned to her book. As she lost herself in the pages, she discovered the impressive history surrounding Morgan’s Rangers. Truly, the men earned the respect and esteem they received, despite the playful banter just exchanged between them. Even William Howe, the British general, stated they were the most dangerous regiment in the American army. High praise indeed, coming from one’s enemy.

The final chapter began with an historical document. She fixed her gaze on the passage. “Mathias—this book has a letter, originating from General George Washington’s headquarters in Middlebrook, dated June 13, 1777, which mentions the Rangers. Do you want me to read it to you?” Then, as she looked up from her book, she found herself surrounded by the rest of the boys. They gazed at her with anticipation.

“Go on then, lass,” Sam encouraged as he plopped down on the edge of the desk. “Let’s give a listen to what General Washington had to say in his letter.”

“All right.” Jo returned to the book. “The letter begins, and I quote—

“‘
Sir:

The Corps of Rangers, newly formed, and under your Command, are to be considered as a Body of Light Infantry and are to Act as such; for which reason they will be exempt from the common duties of the Line. At present, you are to take a Post at Van Veghten Bridge and watch, with very small Scouting Parties (to avoid fatiguing your Men to much, under the present appearance of things) the Enemy’s left flank, and particularly in case of any movement of the Enemy you are instantly to fall upon their flanks and gall them as much as possible, taking especial Care not to be surrounded, or have your retreat to the Army cut off.

I have sent for Spears, which I expect shortly to receive and deliver to you, as a Defense against Horse; till you are furnished with these, take care not to be caught in such a situation as to give them any advantage over you. It occurs to me that if you were to dress a Company or two of true Woods Men in the right Indian Style, and let them make the attack accompanied with screaming and yelling as Indians do, it would have very good consequences especially if as little as possible is said, or known of the Matter beforehand.’”

Jo glanced up for a moment and said, “The book goes on to say that just eleven days later, Washington ordered some of his officers and guardsmen to—”

“Meet up with Colonel Morgan’s men,” Sam finished for her. “And do all in our power to impede Howe’s army there in New Jersey. I remember that order. The suggestion to play Indian calls to mind the battle at Short Hills, doesn’t it lads? And the general didn’t even have to ask.”

The comment ignited the now familiar snickers from her boys. Sam nudged Jedediah and winked. He laughed in return. She put the book down on the desk and sniffed. “Okay, guys, you can’t leave me hanging like that,” she said. “You have my full attention now, so—tell me about the battle.”

Mathias said, “Well, that particular battle ensued because of Howe’s desire to draw Washington’s forces away from our encampment at Middlebrook. You need to understand the Redcoats greatly outnumbered us at the time. Not only were we smaller in number, most of our men had the barest of necessities. As you can imagine, our armaments for such a battle were sadly lacking. Hence, the reason Washington said he would send us some spears.

“On the other hand, the Redcoats had fine weapons and ample supplies, provided by King George. Therefore, Howe hoped he could force our side out on the open plain. If successful, we would suffer a defeat under his hand that would further demoralize our army.”

“Yes, indeed,” William cut in. “But of course, Howe’s plans didn’t dupe General Washington. He countered by sending part of his elite guard and part of our company to harass the enemy and cut off their retreat. At that time we served under Lord Stirling’s command and he assigned us the duty of guarding Washington’s left flank.”

“In going about our duties, our unit happened across a body of Redcoat grenadiers, resting beside this little stream,” Alexander said. “Mathias wanted to round them up before they caused any trouble. So, he had Jedediah smear some mud on his face, arms, and chest, run through the bushes at full speed and whoop it up just as his Indian friends taught him. The tactic worked like a charm.”

While the lads laughed over the shared memory, Jo looked at each of them and shook her head in confusion. “Mathias, you had the blue-eyed blond, the fairest among you, play an
Indian?
Wouldn’t
you
have been the better choice?”

Mathias shrugged. “Jedediah could handle the job better than all the rest of us put together. Believe me when I tell you, his wicked war cries can scare the darkest devil out of the most seasoned warrior. Trust me. The Redcoats didn’t take time to assess his heritage.”

“While Jedediah performed his patriotic duty, which you would really need to see in order to fully appreciate,” Sam said, “the rest of us laid down ropes about ankle high. When the Lobsterbacks ran for cover, we laid them down flat. The trick is an old one, but one that worked as intended.”