Ghost Soldier (6 page)

The boy kept firing until his hand reached for a cartridge and came away empty. He froze for a second, then looked down at the man beneath him as if to say good-bye. He reached for his ramrod and shoved it into place under the barrel of his musket, then grabbed the metal object from the dirt. Now I could see it was a long bayonet with a deadly three-sided blade. The boy twisted it onto the muzzle just as a wave of blue uniforms swept over the eastern wall of Fort Stedman. He charged toward the officer leading the attack, a high, shrill yell of defiance coming from him. The officer stumbled back, pointing. Five or six of the men in blue threw their muskets up to their shoulders and shot the young soldier.

The explosion deafened me.

Then I heard the soft patter of distant clapping.

*   *   *

I sat up. There was no mud, and the jagged trenches were only soft grassy depressions in the sunny battlefield park. I felt tears burn my eyes, the relief was so strong, and then the sense of loss hit me. Unsteadily, I got to my feet. I could hear footsteps, and I scrambled out of the sunken ground I'd slid into and back onto the path before the guards and the tourists who had been watching the living history demonstration got close enough to see me.

Why had that boy asked for my help?

Somehow I'd shattered the window through time and fallen into the past, and it was worse than anything I had ever imagined.

Chapter Five

P
RIVATE
R
ICHESON
F
RANCIS
C
HAMBLEE

“You missed it all!” Carleton shouted, running into the fort. “There was this big cannon—POW! And then they did it again—POW! And the blue soldiers charged out like they were chasing the grey soldiers all the way home!”

“What's with you?” Nicole asked. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

I jerked a little, and she smirked.

“Or maybe that delicate stomach of yours is getting ready to throw up your breakfast. Good—do it out here instead of in the van.”

I turned away. I did feel kind of clammy and sick, and I didn't know how to hide it. I thought I'd wanted to see ghosts again, but that was before I'd had minié balls whizzing over my head and cannon going off by my ear.

“Are you okay, Alexander?” Mrs. Hambrick asked.

“What's wrong?” Dad asked, hurrying over.

I shook my head. I sure couldn't tell him I'd seen more ghosts. “Nothing—I'm just a little hot after hiking over to Colquitt's Salient, that's all. I'm going to sit in the van, in the shade, okay?”

Mrs. Hambrick gave me the keys, and I walked back to the parking lot. I unlocked the van and climbed into the middle seat, leaving the door open so some air could get in. It was cool in spite of the heat outside. In fact, it was chilly. After sitting in the sun in the parking lot, the van was strangely cold.

I turned around, feeling my throat tighten. The boy stared back at me from the rear seat, his black eyes huge in his thin, pale face. He was lean and hard—I hadn't realized how thin he was during the fighting in Fort Stedman, maybe because all the soldiers looked nearly starved. He floated a little way above the seat, as if he were sitting on a cushion of air, half propped against the roll of blankets strapped to his back. A small canvas knapsack lay beside him, the strap dangling from his shoulder. He held a tall musket, the sunlight running down the steel of that long, three-sided bayonet fastened onto the side of it. The blade came to a sharp point.

“Hello, out-of-timer,” the boy said softly, and his voice sounded tired.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I mean—here it was, a real ghost! I should have been thrilled he was actually talking to me. I should be pounding him with questions. But I stared at that musket with its bayonet and remembered the sound of the bullets, and I couldn't say a word. He was just too real. Seeing the Indians and De Soto's men had been exciting—because they hadn't seen me. But this ghost was here with me! What if the Union soldiers followed him through the window?

“No,” I finally managed to say. Staying on the outside—watching an echo of something play itself out after it was all over and done with—that was one thing. But being right in the middle of it, getting shot at—it wasn't
my
war! “Go away,” I whispered unsteadily.

He shook his head slowly. “My name's Chamblee,” he said in a low drawl. “Richeson Francis Chamblee, Private Chamblee, in D Company of the 49th, pleased to make your acquaintance. I have been waiting a long time for an out-of-timer to see me. Now, what's your name, friend?”

“I'm not your friend!” I practically shouted. “I'm not seeing this.”

“But you
are
seeing me, Red,” he told me, his eyes going up to my hair and his mouth curving into a faint smile. “That's how I know you were sent to help me. And I truly need your help.”

I slid off the seat and out of the van.

“I wasn't ‘sent' to help anybody,” I muttered. “I've got my own problems.”

A cool shadow fell across the corner of the parking lot where I was standing.

“Then perhaps we can help each other.” Private Chamblee stood beside me, floating an inch or so above the pavement, one hand gripping his musket.

“No!” I shook my head and jammed my shaking fists into my pockets. “I can't help you. I'm sorry! Just go back to Fort Stedman!”

“But that's not where I belong, Red,” he said, his voice harder. “I never belonged up here in Virginia! I belong at Two Stirrups. That's why I need your help.”

What kind of a crazy name was Two Stirrups? I didn't want to know. I remembered him lunging at the officer with his bayonet, and my eyes slid away from the sun reflecting off the blade on the musket he still held tightly. “Then—go back to Two Stirrups if that's where you belong!”

“Two Stirrups is gone now,” he said. “Burned by the Yanks. I should have been there, not here. I should have stopped Sherman's raiders!”

I saw Carleton running toward us. Dad followed a little way behind with Mrs. Hambrick. “Look—just go away before they get here!” I told him.

The ghost laughed, a dusty laugh that didn't sound as if the boy found anything much funny. “Why?” he drawled. “Those other out-of-timers—they can't see me. No one has, since the War. You're the only one, Red.”

I shivered and swallowed hard, almost pleased for an instant, even though I wanted him to leave me alone.

“Are you going to throw up?” Carleton asked, suspicious.

The ghost chuckled.

“No!” I snapped. I was saying “no” to the ghost, too, but he didn't seem to care.

“Good,” said Carleton, climbing into the van.

“Okay, we've seen Petersburg,” said Nicole. “Can we go now?”

“Is that your sister?” the ghost asked, with a strange emphasis on the word
sister.
“What's her name?” He'd stopped asking for help—now he sounded almost envious.

“No,” I muttered.

“Who put you in charge?” Nicole said, glaring at me. The ghost was right—they couldn't see him. But they could sure hear me talking to him!

“Is she promised to you, then?” The ghost sounded respectful—but now I really did want to throw up. Me and Nicole?

I closed my eyes and clamped my mouth shut, refusing to answer anybody.

“Come on, kids,” said Mrs. Hambrick, coming up. “Back in the van—let's see the rest of this battlefield! May I have the keys, Alexander?”

“Ah, Alexander,” drawled the ghost. “So that's who you are, Red. I'm pleased to know you. And is this lady your mother?”

I'd opened my eyes and held out the keys to Mrs. Hambrick. Now I practically shouted, “No!” The keys fell from my hand.

“What?” She stepped back, surprised.

“I meant—” I shook my head. “I'm sorry I dropped your keys! I didn't mean to do that.” I stooped, grabbed the keys, and put them in her hand. “I'm really sorry,” I repeated, feeling the flush burning my ears.

I'd meant to keep my mouth shut, but I couldn't let that ghost think Mrs. Hambrick was my mom. I climbed into the rear seat, not meeting Dad's eyes when he settled down in the front of the van and glanced at me. I just wanted to get out of here and leave the ghost behind in Fort Stedman.

“Red—Alexander—you've got to believe me!”

I heard the pleading in his voice, but I stared outside and refused to look at him.

“What is it? Why are you afraid of me?” I tightened my lips, not wanting him to know how scared I was. I could see the reflection of him clutching his musket in the window, and his hollow, grimy face looked confused. He studied his own reflection in the glass for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Is it this?”

He reached for the bayonet, and I felt my stomach lurch. Then he twisted the long triangular blade, pulled it off, and slid it into a scabbard on his belt. “I'm not your enemy, Alexander,” he said quietly. “But I do need your help.”

He looked less dangerous without the bayonet on his musket, but I still didn't want him there. Ghosts should stay on the other side of the window through time, where they belonged. I thought as hard as I could,
Disappear!

Mrs. Hambrick started the van and backed it out. In front of me, I saw Nicole curling the ends of her hair around her fingers. “Is it cold in here?” she asked.

Mrs. Hambrick frowned. “It does feel chilly, doesn't it?”

“It's a nice change from the heat at the living history show,” Dad said.

That set Carleton off describing every detail of the cannon demonstration and silenced everyone else.

In the back, I shivered and rolled down the sleeves of my flannel shirt, wishing I had my old sweatshirt with me. Come on, I thought, willing Mrs. Hambrick to drive faster and get us out of the Fort Stedman area. I was sure I'd feel warmer once we got farther away.

We drove past more earthworks on the right, and then past the next Union fort. A wooden bridge led across the earthworks to a shadowy clump of pine trees. Artillery pieces pointed back toward Fort Stedman and the Confederate line beyond.

I could still feel the cold. I rubbed my arms through the flannel sleeves and tuned out the conversation as Carleton babbled on about the cannon and rattled off so many questions that nobody could get in a word to answer them. Why could I see ghosts? Any ghosts? Those Indians, or De Soto's men, or these Civil War ghosts? Why me? And why could that boy—Richeson Chamblee, or whatever he called himself—why could he see me?

The road sloped upward, and we drove past a ruined brick chimney on the right. I turned away from it and looked at the trees through the left-hand window. Beside the shadowy image of my own face in the glass, I saw another face. It flickered a little, but I recognized the black hair and those hollow eyes staring at me. And then it hit me. I was still cold because the ghost hadn't stayed behind at Fort Stedman. He was here in the van beside me.

I felt sorry I'd done such a good job of making Nicole and Carleton leave me in the rear seat alone. Right then, I wished I were sitting right up front, as near my dad as I could get.

As if he could read my thoughts, the ghost smiled slowly. He said in his soft drawl, “I'm sticking with you, Alexander, like a burr on a horse, until you help me.”

I shook my head, just a little, so no one would notice—none of the live people in the van anyway.

The ghost sighed. “I stood on a siege line outside of Petersburg for nearly four months, Red. I guess I can lay siege to you if I have to.”

I closed my eyes as the van jounced over some railroad tracks and headed to the last stop in the driving tour. I refused to look at the determination in the boy's face any longer. The sun was hot as I climbed out of the van and followed the others along a row of monuments and commemorative chunks of rock, but it was all I could do to force myself not to shiver, because the ghost walked beside me, every step of the way.

Chapter Six

H
AUNTED

“Are you feeling okay, Alexander?” Dad asked when we got back to the Hambricks' house. “You keep shivering—are you coming down with something?” He looked worried. If I got sick, it would spoil his visit with Mrs. Hambrick.

That almost sounded like a good idea—but if he thought I was sick, he'd call a doctor, and no doctor would be able to diagnose a haunting. I'd be the boy with the mysterious chills, poked and prodded by everyone in the Duke University Medical Center. Bad idea.

“Just a little tired,” I told him. “Maybe I ran too far this morning.”

“Why don't you turn in early?” Mrs. Hambrick asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe I will.”

We'd stopped for fast food on the road, but I'd only picked at my chicken nuggets. It was one thing for ghosts to be a special secret between me and Mom—it was another thing to have a ghost following me around that no one else could see. I'd closed my eyes in the van to avoid seeing his reflection in the window, but I still felt a cold draft on my neck. At least he'd toned it down so the others didn't seem to notice the chill as much.

I wondered if I'd still feel cold upstairs. I could get into bed, though, and maybe he wouldn't bother me while I slept.

He climbed the stairs right behind me, trailing his musket, which made a ghostly thunk as if it bumped each step on the way up, even though it floated above them. “You've got a fine home, Alexander. Overgrown garden, though—why don't you and your family tend it better?”

I went into Carleton's room and closed the door behind me. “It's not my house, and they're not my family,” I said, even though I didn't want to talk to him.

“Who are they, then?” he asked, standing at the foot of my bed. “Where do you live? You're not at all like the other out-of-timers—your traveling here cannot have been by accident.”