Ghost Town (12 page)

Josh sighed. He missed Sergeant Holter. An older ghost, with skin as weathered as pine bark, the sergeant had been strong and tough, yet kind enough to take Josh in hand when he arrived after his fatal accident with an oxcart. The sergeant taught Josh how to survive on his own and had been the closest thing to a parent Josh had known.

Sometimes Josh would watch the families who came to tour Texas's Fort Griffin State Historical Park, and he'd wonder what it would be like to be alive again, to have a mother and a father and be part of a real family. Once, he'd told Sergeant Holter how much he wished—even ached inside—to be a real boy again and have a family to love.

“I don't remember my mother, who died when I was two. And I was ten when my father was killed,” he'd said.

After Josh had let the words spill from his heart, he'd wished he hadn't. He'd expected the sergeant to gruffly tell him that nothing could come from wishful thinking.

But instead Sergeant Holter had cocked his head and looked thoughtful. “Bide your time,” he'd told Josh. “Be patient. If luck looks your way, some day you may find yourself part of a family.”

“How?” Josh had asked.

“Keep your eyes open for the right opportunity for a trade-off,” Sergeant Holter had answered. “Luck means being prepared when the right opportunity comes along.”

Josh had been puzzled. “What's a trade-off ?” he asked.

“It's an even trade between you and someone living. You trade your situation for his.”

“You mean I'd become him, and he'd cross over to this side and become me?”

“Only if he asks to make the change.”

Josh knew he must have looked as disturbed as he felt, because Sergeant Holter's voice had grown softer as he explained, “Trade-offs don't take place often, but they do happen. You look for someone who's discontented, someone whose body you wouldn't mind inhabiting, and be ready for the trade. No problem. You just have to keep looking for that opportunity and make the most of it.”

“But what if after he gets here on this side he doesn't like it and wants to go back?” Josh had asked.

“No going back.” Sergeant Holter had shaken his head. “However, if he wants to return to the living, he can keep his eyes and ears open, hoping to make a trade-off with someone else.”

Sergeant Holter had smiled, then explained the
ritual that Josh needed to know to make the trade-off happen. “Once the deal is done and payment is made, you must move quickly. Keep your head down and dive directly into the body. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Don't think about it.”

Josh had nodded, intent on what Sergeant Holter had said.

“Just keep in mind,” the sergeant had cautioned, “a trade-off has to be a mutual agreement, bought and paid for.”

“I will,” Josh had answered. Now, resting his chin on his broom, he thought once again about the deep smile lines that crinkled around the sergeant's eyes and gave a sigh. The opportunity had come for Sergeant Holter to take a trade-off and leave the fort, and he'd done it. But that was years ago, and Josh greatly missed his friend.

For a good, long time Josh had watched and waited, remembering what Sergeant Holter had told him, but so far the opportunity for a trade-off hadn't come.

Suddenly a boy about Josh's age stomped into the room, carrying a whiff of the pine-scented breeze with him. “Okay, okay, so now I've seen a powder magazine. Are you happy?” he snarled. He brushed
his dark hair out of his eyes and glared at the woman and man who hurried into the room after him.

“Marty Allen Lane!” the woman cried. “Just once—just
once
—can't you cooperate?”

The man kept his eyes on Marty but spoke to his wife. “If Marty would enter into the spirit of this trip, he might be surprised to find he could even enjoy himself.”

“Fat chance,” Marty mumbled.

“Thirteen.” Mrs. Lane sighed and rolled her eyes. She seemed to be speaking to herself. “Everyone told us thirteen was a difficult age, and they were right.”

Josh was puzzled. He was thirteen, too, but he had never heard anyone speak of thirteen as being a difficult age. At thirteen a boy helped around the home or farm from sunup to sundown. Maybe he would also have a job or be apprenticed to the blacksmith or the baker to earn extra money for the family while he learned a trade. And if there were a school and teacher nearby, he could look forward to at least another year of study. What was so difficult about that?

A younger boy—Josh guessed he was eight or nine—stumbled over the threshold, steadying himself on the stroller he was pushing. Inside the stroller
sat a baby girl about eighteen months old. She smiled at Josh and wiggled her fingers. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” Josh answered, and smiled back.

The other members of the Lane family ignored him, but Josh was used to that. It hadn't taken him long to discover that only babies could see through to the other side. Someone as impolite as Marty Lane— if he could see Josh, too—would probably get scared and start yelling, “Ghost!”

The younger boy looked questioningly from one parent to the other and then to Marty. “Come on, Marty. Let's go,” he said. “I want to see the whole fort. I've got to write about it for my report, and I want to get a good grade.”

“Get out of here, Sammy. Go see your stupid fort by yourself,” Marty said. “You don't need me.”

Sammy looked wistful. “They've got a real herd of old Longhorn cattle,” he said. “Don't you want to see them, too, Marty?”

“A bunch of cows? Big deal,” Marty sneered. “I'm not interested.”

“Oh, Marty.” His mother sighed with exasperation and patted Sammy's shoulder.

Josh could see the hurt in Sammy's eyes, and he wished he could take a punch at Marty. What a roten
way to treat a little brother. What a rotten way to treat his whole family.

Sammy backed out of the room with the stroller. Mrs. Lane followed, but Mr. Lane paused, scowling at Marty. “Your behavior is unacceptable, son,” he said. “For two cents I'd turn the car around and take you straight home.”

Marty dove a hand into the pocket of his jeans and came up with two pennies. He smirked as he threw them at his father's feet. “Here's your two cents,” he said. “So do it. Let's go.”

Mr. Lane's face flushed red with anger, and it took him a moment to calm himself. “We'll leave when we're good and ready,” he snapped, and strode from the building.

Marty leaned against the wall and scowled. Josh, amazed at how little regard tourists had for copper pennies, carefully picked up the two coins. He thought of how he once would have used them to buy a loaf of bread or a paper twist filled with candy. He might still make use of them.

Josh trembled with excitement. Could he? Would the opportunity he'd been waiting for actually come? He'd have to plan carefully. He had the coins to buy the trade-off, and he'd learned how to do it from
Sergeant Holter. Quietly Josh placed the coins in a corner of the nearest windowsill, where he hoped Marty wouldn't notice them.

Marty leaned against the rough, wooden boards, intent only on himself. This allowed Josh to study him carefully. Even though they were close to the same age, Marty was at least four inches taller than Josh, and his shoulders were broader. He seemed strong and healthy and capable of a good day's work. But Josh was able to see the anger and bitterness within.

For a few moments Josh considered giving up his hopes for a trade-off, but he had felt the strong love the Lane parents had for their son. He liked Sammy, who obviously needed a brother to care for him, and he smiled as he thought of the baby sister who had greeted him.

Josh made his decision to give the trade-off a try. He took a deep breath, then stared intently at a center point in Marty's forehead.
Calm yourself
, he commanded.

Marty gave a shuddering sigh. “Why doesn't everybody just calm down and leave me alone?” he grumbled.

Josh studied Marty. Was he getting through to him? The key words seemed to be reaching Marty,
even if he didn't get the message straight. Before Josh tried to reach Marty again, he reviewed every step of the ritual Sergeant Holter had explained to him.

Mrs. Lane suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Marty,” she said, “Sammy's very disappointed that you aren't with us. Won't you come?”

Marty growled, “Everybody's always telling me what to do. All the time. I don't have to take orders.”

“I wasn't ordering. I was requesting,” Mrs. Lane said. She looked at her son and sighed. “Marty, dear, your family loves you.”

“All my family does is bug me. Especially Sammy. Especially you and Dad. You all drive me crazy.” He glared up at his mother and said, “I can't wait until I'm old enough to get away.”

Josh stood still… listening…hoping.

Mrs. Lane shook her head, mumbling, “Oh! For two cents, I'd …”

“For two cents you'd what?” Marty taunted.

Without another word his mother whirled and stalked out of the building.

Josh took a deep breath as a ray of sunlight touched the pennies on the windowsill. Could he do it? Could he manage it? Silently he picked up the pennies and stood directly in front of Marty, waiting for him to say the words.

Marty's lower lip curled out, and he scowled. In a mocking tone of voice he muttered, “For two cents I'd get away from them right this minute and be on my own and never come back.”

Josh smiled. Here it was. A mutual agreement. The deal was done. He dropped the two pennies into the pocket of Marty's shirt. “Here's the two cents,” he said. “You're paid off. You can go now.”

Josh quickly dove into Marty's body. The last trace of Marty was ejected with a whoosh. A flurry of dust flew up at the doorway, whirling outside as it was picked up by the breeze. The room was left in complete silence.

Josh took a couple of deep breaths, delighted at the trade-off. He wasn't worried about Marty. Sooner or later Marty would find someone to teach him the ritual of trade-offs, and by that time his attitude toward the people around him was bound to have improved.

But there was one more thing Josh had to do.

At the edge of the field where the longhorns were kept, Josh found Marty's family leaning on a rail, watching the cattle. He took a deep breath, enjoying the familiar, pungent fragrance of the grass in the hot sunlight.

“Mom…Dad?” he said. He liked the way the
language that had been stored in Marty's brain slid across his tongue, and he wasn't afraid to use words that were new to him.

“When the trade-off happens, it will all come natural to you,” Sergeant Holter had said, and he'd been right.

“I'm sorry for the way I acted,” Josh told the Lanes.

His new father's mouth dropped open, and his new mother's eyes widened with surprise.

“I've been a jerk,” Josh said, “and I'm sorry. I'm not going to act that way again. I promise.”

Mr. Lane clapped a hand on Josh's shoulder. He gulped, too overcome to speak.

Tears came to Mrs. Lane's eyes, and she whispered, “Oh, Marty, we love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Josh said. He reached over and ruffled Sammy's hair. “I love you, too, pest,” he said, and grinned at the joy on Sammy's face. “What else do you want to show me?”

“They've got a living history program,” Sammy shouted. He grabbed Josh's arm and tugged. “It's down at the museum. Come on!”

As Josh left with Sammy, he heard his father ask his mother in a strangled whisper, “What just happened?”

“I don't know,” his mother answered. “But it doesn't matter. Just enjoy it.”

Josh wished he could tell them, “From now on you'll have a son who will make you happy, and I'll have a real family to love me. Marty…well, Marty will be on his own, just as he wanted. Don't worry about the trade-off. We're all going to like it.”

He looked around at the other groups of people who were touring the ghost town. Were any of them trade-offs, living in someone else's body? Could be. As Sergeant Holter had told him, “Trade-offs don't take place often, but they do happen.”

Fort Griffin was located on a military reservation established by the United States Army in July 1867. It was one in a chain of forts designed to protect post–Civil War settlers from attacks by Plains Indians.

On a meadow that lay below the fort, the town of Fort Griffin began as a satellite of the army post. Because of its location on the flat land, it was nicknamed The Flat.

During the 1870s, The Flat had more transients than citizens. It soon became a lawless place, filled with gamblers and fugitives from justice. For a while the commander of Fort Griffin put the town under government control and expelled the troublemakers.

But Shackelford County was established, control of The Flat was taken out of the commander's jurisdiction, and the bad element quickly returned.

Buffalo hunting brought hunters and skinners. And the Western Cattle Trail, which led to Dodge City from Texas, passed close by. Cowboys enjoyed stopping off for a break in a place where they could be as wild as they wanted and had to answer to no one.

Because of The Flat's reputation for lawlessness, gunmen, thieves, and people on the run from the law took refuge in the town. Indians from the nearby Tonkawa tribe were heedlessly sold liquor, and some people in The Flat bragged that it had more saloons than any other town. Murders were frequent, and lynchings were common. Shopkeepers, blacksmiths, barbers, and other working people and their families lived in constant danger.