Here and Again (21 page)

“Take Penny—” She stopped. Where was she supposed to take Penny?

“I’ll follow Mr. Rogers and the mules,” Bea said and veered left out the stall door.

Christian kicked the door again.

“Hang on! Pushy, Christian. You just wait to see what’s in store for you now,” Ginger said as she lifted the stall’s handle. Opening the door, she found the horse’s head on top of hers, pushing his way out of his stall. “You just wait!” she said through gritted teeth as she grabbed his halter with her left hand. With her right, she lifted his leader rope from its hook by the door. Forcefully, Ginger pushed Christian’s chin down into his chest and with a stubborn reluctance he backed up into his stall. “Some Christian you are,” she hissed, attaching the lead to his harness.

“Virginia Moon?”

Ginger turned around and found Samuel leaning against the wall. When he saw her, he jumped to attention.

“There you are!” she declared. “I saw you today in town.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide and turning moist.

“What’s wrong?”

Slowly he stepped forward, motioning with his hand around his own head.

“Oh.” She giggled. “Yeah, I cut my mood hair. Hey, I saw you in Woodstock today. Couldn’t you see me? I was right there. I called your name.”

He stopped in place, his jaw moving, mouthing her name
over and over. Ginger thought if a ghost could grow pale, Samuel had done so.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated. The hay elevator’s noise grew distant, as did the rustling above her head from Dijan Little and his buddy’s efforts. The blue skylight beyond the door dissipated into white as if a great fog had spread like a blanket over heaven. Even Christian’s earthy scent faded away.

“Ginger moon,” he whispered. A tear ran down his cheek.

“Yes?” Ginger shrugged, shaking her head. What had gotten into the man?

Stepping forward, he reached for her face, passing his hand an inch over her right cheek and following his index finger over the single curl that rested upon her neck.
Ginger Moon
, he mouthed, his eyes moving around her face as if he were memorizing every small wrinkle, every tiny curve.

“Samuel?” Ginger whispered.

He recoiled, pulling back suddenly.

“Oh,” he said and then he disappeared.

July 11, 1862

Upon the Shenandoah

My love, Juliette,

I cannot write. I cannot think. I can only look in wonder at my photograph. My entire understanding of God’s creation has slipped beneath me like—like mercury beneath my finger. I cannot breathe.

I was granted a short leave and a horse last Friday. Peter, my sister Ann’s husband, has been always of weak constitution. I received a pressing letter from Ann that he is bedridden with a fever. Their baby, Ezra, is but a month old and has been sent to the Reverend’s house for care lest he contract his father’s illness. My father endeavors to keep the crops and cows and Ann reports he, too, is coughing even as he works. She worries for him, for Peter, for herself.

So I rode hard and entered Woodstock on Saturday, hoping to reach home and see my father, leaving time enough reserved for a visit with you in Strasburg. I stopped and thought to have my photograph taken—a gift to you upon my arrival and a remembrance when I leave again from your side. I sat for the photographer and what emerged has sent me lost, uprooted from my purpose and duty and blowing around the valley like a wind with no direction.

The photographer was in awe, seeking to explain the picture away with reason. He thought perhaps the plate had been used before. But he admitted he never before photographed the like and he knew his plate was clear prior to my sitting.

Juliette, I sat, deciding whether to hold my musket or not, when I heard the call
of my name—Samuel? It was a question—like the question in the fog. I held still—
Samuel?
The question once more, yet louder, imperative. I whispered,
Yes?
And again. Samuel?
Yes
, said I. And then, Samuel, it is me.

The flash, smoke, and silence. But as the photograph was given to me the next morning, there, standing behind me, was a woman—a spectral being with her left hand resting upon my right shoulder. She is a spirit seen through the lens of a machine, caught by the eye of man. It is no less an omen and I have been unable to continue home, lest she follow me there.

I send the picture to you, Juliette. See you her dress? It is loose with arms bare. The hair, held by a ribbon, has let loose a single curl upon her neck. She appears to me from another time, as if from my grandmother’s days. I have seen the like of ladies painted in the days of Edwardian England or even those of Napoleon’s court, with ancient Greece as the measure of fashion and beauty. But how is she in my photograph—now?

So here I sit, dangling my feet in the tiny creek which trickles into the slow flowing Shenandoah on this hot summer’s eve. I rest my back upon this large, misplaced boulder and the moon rises before me, orange and full and round; I see it as the moon of October—the moon of harvest. The moon, the boulder, and I are out of place and I have now come to believe, as I scratch this letter, there is a purpose unknown to me here and I cannot understand what it portends. I shall not be returning to Laurel Creek. Ann and my father shall do as they can. I must return to the Valley of Death, to war, for only at its end will we have our future. The ghost calls my name, whistles to me as I fight but I seek not to understand her. My farm, my children, my love—this is my future.

I see thee, my love, with my Child’s Eye. In the ginger light of this full moon, your eyes seek for me even now. They pour a warm glow into my heart, my soul, and rest as full and soft upon me even as the ginger moon rests upon the horizon. You are here with me, Juliette. You await me just over the horizon. You are my love, my Ginger Moon, and I shall meet you over the river. Please keep this photograph and let me ride—ride to release this spirit from me.

Your devoted,

Samuel

The Chickens Come Home to Rooster

C
hristian threw his head, lifting Ginger off her feet. If her attention had been distracted before, it was now fully present in the stall with Christian. She jerked the lead, growling as she shoved his chin into his breast. The horse whinnied in protest, his eyes wide and focused on the open stall door. If given half a chance, Christian would force his will upon whoever held his tether or rode his back if an open gate or door was within sight. At this moment, the door was more than within sight. It was within six inches.

“There are no bloody apples, you nasty horse,” Ginger yelled. “It’s March!”

“Problems?”

Christian stopped all movement and in his sudden stillness Ginger was tossed forward by the motion of her own effort. She hit the doorpost with her shoulder. Looking at Ed Rogers standing just beyond the stall, she winced as she gained her balance and realized the man had the same effect on beasts as he did on people.

“Now you know why you need the mules,” he stated.

“He just wants the apples.”

“There are no apples. It’s March.”

Just for a second, she saw the fixed demeanor of his eyes change. They narrowed a little and brightened a lot. Then they were fixed again and focused on Christian’s large, round eyeballs above her head.

“Yes, thank you for that,” Ginger replied with a harrumph and dragged Christian reluctantly out of his stall and toward Ed Rogers.

“The harnesses and collars are set up out in the corral.”

“Are they?”

“They are and Bea is already finished brushing down Penny and is working on Agrippa. You need to move. We don’t have all day.”

She could see only his profile, but his left eye was bright again.

“All day is exactly what we have,” she replied.

A crack of a smile rose on his lips and then disappeared.

Looking ahead to the corral, Ginger spotted several farming implements. “We working on those?” she asked. “They look like great instruments of torture.”

They did for sure. There was a jumble of accoutrements that looked like metal disks and poles and rakes that would be pulled by a tractor. Beside these were two flatbed wagons that rested near a little red two-wheeled cart with a bench on top of it.

“Not today. We’re finishing the storage barn today and those—”

“A storage barn? Where?”

“Behind the big barn there.” Mr. Rogers pointed. A group was clearing and leveling a large square of ground fifty yards from the back of the barn.

“Is anyone in class today at VMI?” Ginger asked.

“If they all could have come, I believe they would have done.”

Ginger stopped before the corral gate. “Ed, this is way too mu—”

“Henry’s Child is worth a lot more, Ginger.”

“Hay and horses and mules and storage barns and equipment and—”

“It’s a fair trade,” he interrupted, gazing into her eyes. “I mean to make it fair.”

“And help,” Ginger finished.

“Henry had more than one child, Ginger. And he was as dear a friend to me as any. I am tied to VMI through the blood of generations and he is tied to me and so . . . we are come here to stand for Henry’s child.”

Tears threatened as she watched Ed Rogers swallow hard.

“We’ve got work,” he said and opened the gate.

As Ginger pulled Christian into the corral, she watched Bea, who was standing on a large wooden crate, settle the large collar on Agrippa’s neck with Jacob’s help.

“Jacob, did you lift that?” she asked, pointing to Agrippa’s collar.

Jacob gazed at her with the same round, wide-eyed look Christian had given Ed Rogers in the barn.

“You are not to lift anything. That must have been the doctor’s orders—am I right?” she added.

Jacob nodded.

“He didn’t lift it,” Bea replied. “Mr. Wheldon did before he had to go help Henry and Oliver with the cow. The goat won’t go away and it’s scaring Oliver. Mr. Wheldon also brushed Augustus for you, Mom. You need to brush Christian so his tethers and collar won’t rub the dirt against his skin and make scratches.”

Her daughter must have received that piece of information from Ed Rogers because her tone was exactly like his. Ginger chuckled as she obediently reached into the bucket and pulled out the rubber brush.

As she cleaned up Christian, Mr. Rogers, Bea, and Jacob completed collaring and tethering Agrippa, Penny, and Augustus. Then slowly and methodically, they all taught Ginger how to collar Christian and set him in team with Augustus. It was slow going, as there were so many lines of leather and chain, each with a different name and each with a specific way of sitting on the horse so as not to unduly rub the skin and cause injury. Ginger was more than happy that Bea seemed to be picking it all up so quickly, as she felt certain she wouldn’t remember ninety percent of what was being told to her by tomorrow morning.

Having the two teams now standing side by side, Bea held the four leads for Penny and Agrippa and Ginger held on to Christian and Augustus.

“Okay,” Ed Rogers said. “We’re simply going to practice starting and stopping.”

“Shouldn’t we be attached to a plow or something?” Ginger asked.

Jacob shook his head with great concern. “Mrs. Martin, first you need to figure out how to get the horses going. Then how to get them to pull. Then how to get them to plow. And you’ve never plowed. I’m not sure this is all going to work.”

“I know how to plow,” Bea said and shook her reins. She made no sound whatsoever, and with just that little shake Penny and Agrippa moved forward. Bea walked behind, pulling away from her mother, Ed Rogers, and Jacob. Christian whinnied loudly and pulled. Ginger lurched forward, losing Augustus’s left rein.

“Whoa!” Jacob said, but he didn’t have the reins and so the horse felt no obligation to listen. As Ginger bent to pick up the rogue rein, Christian leaned into his collar hard, pulling Ginger to the ground.

“Holy shi—” she yelled but the last word was cut short by a mouthful of dirt. She rolled over as she was dragged forward, twisting the reins and gazing up to the blue sky.

“You better get up, Mrs. Martin,” Jacob said. “I’d help but you told me not to lift anything.” He laughed and walked forward, following Bea.

“Christian!” Ginger spat as she rolled over on her stomach. Augustus, who had walked just one foot, now leaned back against Christian’s pull, allowing Ginger to get to her knees. The horse was still leaning into his collar and as Ginger peered up the reins, trying to figure out how to untwist them and rise to her feet at the same time, she watched the mule turn its head to the left and nip Christian on the shoulder. Startled, the horse backed up, rearing a little as it did so. The reins loosened and Ginger took the opportunity to scramble to her feet. She yanked on the knotted reins and yelled, “
Whoa!
”

Through the small dust cloud she had created by rolling around in the dirt, she could just make out Augustus’s right eye looking back at her. He seemed to have a look of pity and as he turned his head forward Ginger could swear he shook it just as Jacob had done moments before. Ginger spat again.

“That’s why you have Augustus always with Christian,” Ed said as he leaned against the snake-rail fence. “Look at Bea.”

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Ginger gazed over and saw her daughter trotting behind the horse team. She looked so small compared to the beasts in the lead but a soft “
Whoa”
floated across the corral and there was no question who was in control when
obediently they stopped. Jacob slowly caught up to the little girl and said something to her.

“I’m thinking that Bea takes Christian and Augustus,” Ed Rogers said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I didn’t think so, either, but she knows what she’s doing.”

Bea came around and headed straight and then turned and stopped right next to her mother. She squished her nose in disgust.

“Your mouth is muddy, Mom.”

“I think Bea should take Mrs. Martin’s team,” Jacob said as he hobbled up.

“Amish kids do a lot of the plowing,” Bea said, handing her reins to Jacob. Gently, she took the twisted mess from her mother’s hands, whirled the reins around, and having straightened everything out, shook the leads gently. Augustus pulled, with Christian following and clearly not in charge. As Jacob moved to follow, he handed over Penny’s and Agrippa’s reins to Ginger.

“I think maybe you’ll be able to do this, after all,” he said, pointing to Bea and smiling as he followed the little girl.

Bea made another loop around the corral, and when she finished, Ed Rogers combined all four beasts into one team, handed the reins to Bea, and off she went, circling the corral without one hiccup.

Taking Ginger by the elbow, Mr. Rogers led her to the little red two-wheel cart with a bench on it. Together, they pulled the cart into the corral, and when Bea stopped, they attached it to the horses.

Bea jumped on the cart and took the reins.

“Come on, Mom!” Bea called excitedly.

Ginger climbed up and sat down next to her daughter.

“Come up,” Bea said and the animals pulled forward.

“It’s not ‘giddyup’?”

“Mr. Rogers said not for these guys.”

“Ah.” They veered right as they circled the corral.

“It’s quiet, huh, Mom.”

“It is,” Ginger agreed.

“I like the clicking sound of the horse hooves. You can hear the dirt, too, as you ride around on it. Much better than the tractor.” She turned and smiled at her mother. Bea actually looked happy.

“So, Bea. Umm . . . You are okay letting go of Henry’s Child?”

“I already did, Mom. That’s why everyone’s here.” Bea swallowed her last word.

“We could change our minds if you want to.”

“Nope. We’re going this way. It’s why Samuel’s here.”

Ginger nodded. “You seem to have this horse thing pretty much down.”

“Can’t wait to go to the field,” she said. “I plowed a lot with Daddy. I miss that.”

“Yeah. Uh, what da ya think about staying home and working and schooling here?”

“We all know that’s what we’re doing. Samuel kinda told us we needed to.”

“He did?” Ginger frowned. It wasn’t for Samuel to say anything.

“Need to stay home to make home if you’ve lost your home,” Bea said. She looked over at her mother.

“Have we lost our home?” Ginger stared into her daughter’s eyes.

“I thought we did. But it’s been here all the time. I couldn’t
see it because we kept doing things like we did when Daddy was around—like nothing changed. It was like we kept waiting for him to come back.” Bea looked ahead and added, “But he isn’t coming back.”

Ginger sat still, the click of the horse’s hooves beating like the small, gentle heart of her daughter, distant and silent for so long. “No, he isn’t, Bea.”

“I’ll miss school. So will Henry. But Oliver won’t.” Bea gave her mother a half smile. “Maybe our friends can come over and help. It’s not like we’re moving to Seattle or anything.”

“That’s true.”

“Whoa.” The horse stopped and Bea grinned. “I like it when the sun’s about to come up and the birds have just finished their morning song and there’s nothing but the smell of dirt and the sound of wind in the grass and trees. That’s how it was starting the day with Daddy.”

“Was it?”

“Then the tractor started and ruined everything.” Bea burst out laughing.

Ginger brightened and said, “That’s what your daddy said, isn’t it?”

Bea nodded, still laughing, and managed to say, “He loved Henry’s Child but he hated Henry’s Child.”

“I didn’t know that,” Ginger replied.

“You never plowed with him.” Bea stood and stretched a little. “Here, Mama. You try.” Bea handed the reins to her mother and with quiet instruction from her daughter Ginger circled the corral again.

“Mrs. Martin?”

It was so difficult to answer whoever was calling her, for she had just had more with her daughter than she’d had in the last
year and a half and she didn’t want to be anywhere else. Shaking her head, she looked over and found Mr. Schaaf leaning against the corral with Mr. Whitaker, James Creed, and John Mitchell.

“Ah,” she said, climbing off the bench. “Sorry for the traffic.”

“You really gonna farm with horses?” Mr. Schaaf asked.

“Yes, sir. We really are,” Ginger replied, nodding in her daughter’s direction.

“Oh,” the man replied. None of them said anything, but by their stance she could tell they thought this was a daft idea. She couldn’t blame them. What was she? An emergency room nurse. They had been farming all of their lives and this—this was a bit nuts.

“I know it sounds crazy but we have help here.” She motioned to Mr. Rogers and Jacob. “We’re starting on a new road.”

“Let’s hook Bea up to the drill and have her start,” Ed Rogers said.

“What’s a drill?” Ginger asked.

“A grain drill,” John Mitchell replied. “For planting.”

“Ginger, open the gate all the way. Bea, take yourself out to the northwestern end of the field. I put the drill out there.”

As Ginger pulled wide the gate, she found Samuel standing to its left. When Mr. Whitaker came to help, he nearly stepped on the ghost’s feet.

“Watch out!” Ginger declared, looking at Samuel.

“What?” John Whitaker asked, gazing around.

“I’ll go with Bea,” Jacob said, hopping onto the cart.

“No lifting,” Ginger replied.

Bea smiled at Samuel as she passed him on the cart, so small behind the horses and mules. He bowed as Bea passed.

“Let’s go to the garden. We need to talk about what plants now,” Mr. Rogers said.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” It was James Creed directing the question to Ed.

“Uh . . . no.”

“We’ll tell her what she needs to plant in them beds,” the old farmer announced.

“That’ll do. Well, then,” Mr. Rogers said with a shrug. “I guess I’ll see how the equipment barn is coming along.”

After shutting the gate, Ginger followed the four old farmers. Mr. Schaaf seemed smaller than the rest of them though he was two inches taller. He had a limp in his right leg and Ginger touched his arm and was about to mention she should take a look at him, but the old man shook his head, brushing her away.