Beaudry's Ghost Page 6

  Taylor’s eyes narrowed. Everyone knew that Stephen Powell’s horse would break its heart trying to jump the moon if he asked that of it. But Zachariah Harris…he’d lash out at anything and anyone who didn’t bend instantly to his will. A chill ran down her spine.

  Time bubble.

  The phrase floated back to her mind. She remembered Troy telling her about his own experience with it during a re-enactment of the Battle of Murphreesboro. He’d been charging through a thick stand of cedars, under heavy Union cannon and musket fire, and he’d thought himself transported back in time. A part of the real battle, not a re-creation of it. The men running by his side had looked the same, but had sprinted forward like men possessed.

  Taylor shuddered. She’d heard of it happening to one or two men. Maybe. But not to an entire unit. And that still didn’t explain Beaudry’s presence. He claimed to be a man long dead, making him, God forbid, a ghost.

  His body jerked as another wave of pain gripped him.

  Taylor swiftly decided that, whoever or whatever this man was, he wasn’t going anywhere without her help. Fighting a rising panic, she hauled on his arm with less gentleness than she intended.

  “Come on! Get up!” Glaring up at the two soldiers, “Jack, Bill, snap out of it! This has gone far enough!” The two men stared, then looked at each other, one of them raising an eyebrow and circling his index finger near his ear.

  Something inside her snapped. She dropped Jared’s arm and he sank directly back to his knees. “That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m getting out of here. You can tell Stephen, or Harris, whatever, to kiss my—”

  Jared suddenly straightened, his chest expanding deeply on a breath, his eyes focusing on something Taylor couldn’t see. He ground out one word.

  “Troy.”

  Taylor froze. “What did you say?”

  “He’s…”

  Another maddening pause. Taylor spun around, looking for whatver he was looking at, finding nothing. She dropped to her knees in front of him and sank her fingers into his collar.

  “He’s what?”

  The soldiers tore Jared out of her grip and led him away.

  *

  The moon sailed high overhead, and the distant storm crackled on the edge of the eastern horizon by the time Gulley risked leaving the ranks to tend to Taylor’s head wound. Taylor sat still under his ministrations, accepting the unspoken apology apparent in his awkward act of kindness.

  “Good thing I pulled my punch, boy,” he grunted.

  Taylor laughed, and flinched away from Gulley’s huge hands as he dabbed at the gash and goose egg on the side of her head, just above her right ear.

  “If that was a love tap, Leon, remind me to stay out of your way when you get really pissed off.”

  The unit moved south quickly and quietly under the cover of darkness, guided by the light of the moon. Taking advantage of the low tide, they took the smoother, faster route along the beach. The only sounds were the whuffing breath of horses, the subdued muttering of men, the crunch of feet, hooves and wheels on hard-packed sand, the sea… and the wind. Always the wind.

  Lt. Harris, mounted, led the procession with walking infantry, followed by two wagons and a small group of packhorses, and trailed by the remainder of the men who marched in formation at the rear.

  Private Gulley sat with Taylor on the back of the rearmost wagon, having only the light of the moon to see by. The same meaty hands that had dealt the blow now moved with amazing gentleness, reminding Taylor of a time a few years ago when he’d done a similar service to her finger after she’d cut it with a butcher knife.

  “Besides, Leon, there’s no hard feelings—ouch—I know you were just following orders,” said Taylor, testing, watching Gulley’s face out of the corner of her eye.

  Gulley shook his head and turned aside briefly to spit. “Lt. Harris is a hard man, boy. Even a cruel one. But I ain’t never seen him like this.” Satisfied the bleeding had stopped, he placed a wad of clean cloth over the cut and wound a strip around her head, securing the ends in a knot over the pad. Then he unceremoniously plopped her hat back on her head. “Looks like you’ll live. I seen worse after any decent Richmond bar fight.” He watched as she gingerly adjusted the hat so it wouldn’t touch the bandaged wound. “Don’ know why you keep callin’ me by my granddaddy’s name, boy,” he muttered. “Mine’s Elijah. Folks call me Lije.”

  Taylor resisted the urge to snap her fingers in front of Gulley’s face. But the truth could not be denied. Her whole unit was caught up in this nightmare, their bodies inhabited by the spirits of the dead, locked in a sort of time bubble containing a legendary ghost. She alone was not affected.

  Then she remembered the turbulent blue eyes of the man called Jared Beaudry and amended her thinking. She damned sure had been affected. She was on this wagon heading south, rather than in her truck headed for home.

  “That rag better be clean, Lije,” came a slightly rasping, mildly sarcastic voice from behind the wagon.

  Taylor wrinkled her nose as Gulley sent a stream of tobacco spit toward the Yankee’s feet, forcing Beaudry to do a quick two-step to avoid the wet projectile. The Yankee now trailed the wagon at the end of six feet of rope, flanked by Blaine and Vernon. Even in the dark, Taylor could make out the lift of Jared’s cheekbones as he smiled that dangerous smile.

  The man just didn’t know when to quit.

  Lije swiped at his lower lip with his sleeve and didn’t smile back. “Clean as lye soap and water’ll make it, Bluebelly. Don’t worry, I saved the ripe ones for you. You cross Lt. Harris agin, yer gonna need ’em.”

  Jared’s answering chuckle sounded forced. As if he was doing anything to stay awake and on his feet.

  “Bleedin’s stopped, now, boy. Reckon you better ride awhile, though.” Lije hopped down from the moving wagon and shouldered his musket.

  “But, Le…uh, Lije… Lt. Harris… Maybe I’d better…”

  “Never mind Harris. You’re in charge of our friend here. I’ll keep watch, and if the good Lieutenant starts back this way one of us’ll holler.” Lije’s large form faded into the darkness, and Taylor caught just a glimpse of the flask he withdrew from inside his coat. Like bloodhounds lifting their noses to the scent, Blaine and Vernon slowed their steps and fell back into the darkness after the promise of refreshment.

  “Le… Lije, wait a minute. What’s that in your hand?”

  “This?” Moonlight glinted off the dull, silvery surface as Lije raised the flask and sloshed the contents. “Just a little Smoky Mountain Sweetwater.” And the night swallowed him.

  Well, that corked it. Taylor knew good and well Leon Gulley was a recovering alcoholic. And that this unit had, a couple years ago, declared itself an alcohol-free zone.

  *

  An hour later, Taylor shivered, the cool of the early spring night seeping through her sweat- and mist-damp clothing. Fortunately, this re-enactment had been planned for this relatively warm time of year, rather than mid-winter, when the actual Battle of Roanoke Island had taken place. Otherwise, she mused, mass hypothermia would have been on the menu along with dried beans, salt pork, hardtack and very, very bad substitute coffee.

  Grimacing at the beating her rear end was taking on the hard bed of the moving wagon, she sagged wearily against a pile of tent canvas, rested Troy’s musket across her lap.

  Her head spun and pain stabbed behind her eyes. Groaning, she drew up her knees and dropped her forehead onto them. Long-ago memories of past encounters with ghosts flooded her mind—vivid visions of long-dead spirits, all floating closer and closer, mouths working soundlessly as if struggling to tell her something, hands reaching for her. Taylor trembled, trying to suppress the horrible feeling that if she ever allowed those spirits to touch her, they would pull her out of reality and into their nightmare world.

  Through the years she had learned to shut out their voices, to elude their clutching fingers, but now Jared Beaudry had slipped past her defenses. She had touched him before
she’d known what he was, and now his nightmare ensnared her, as well as all her friends.

  Taylor pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets.

  Troy, I need your help. I’m scared. Really scared. Worse than the other times I’ve seen a ghost, and you know how it was for me even then. If you were here, you could tell me what to do. Damn it, Troy, why aren’t you here? Every other ghost on the Outer Banks seems to be at this party. Why not you? And how did Beaudry know your name?

  Thoughts of her brother, dead almost a year, brought on the tears she had sworn she wouldn’t shed. She curled her body into a miserable knot and let the swaying of the wagon lull her senses.

  *

  Jared watched Private Taylor sink into a heap on the back of the wagon, and took two long strides to go to her. Then he remembered Troy’s warning.

  Leave her alone.

  He slowed his steps. This road he traveled was dangerous. If he had only himself to consider, that would have been fine with him; but now he knew with heavy certainty that his impulsive act—borrowing a man’s body for his own purposes—had foolishly placed the lives of forty men and one woman in danger. And God knew who else, before it would all be over. Beaudry sighed inwardly, damning his own impetuous nature that apparently hadn’t improved since 1862. Damning himself for selfishly using Troy’s name to keep Private Taylor by his side when he’d sensed she had been about to run away.

  He should have kept his mouth shut and let her go.

  “Smooth move, Beaudry.”

  Jared jumped out of his tracks. “Son of a bitch, Troy, I’d dearly appreciate it if you would quit doing that.”

  “I told you to leave her the hell alone.”

  Jared twisted around to see if any of the nearby soldiers had noticed Troy’s presence. They hadn’t. He glanced at Private Taylor—still curled on the wagon bed with her arms shielding her face.

  “She can’t see me,” Troy reminded him. “I won’t let her.” He frowned and studied Jared closely, as if to gage how the body-possession process was coming along. “So now you know what I meant when I said dangerous.”

  Jared jerked his chin toward Taylor. “She saved my life back there. You know that.”

  Troy’s eyes narrowed. “I know. And I told you to leave her out of it.”

  “I tried.”

  “The hell you did. You used my name to keep her here when she had a chance to get out.”

  Jared didn’t deny it. A spark of pride warmed him when he thought how Taylor had planted herself between him and certain amputation. Then wondered at those feelings, springing up so strong and unbidden. “I think you know as well I as I do she wouldn’t have run.”

  Troy smiled grimly. “She always did have her own mind. I should have known she wouldn’t turn tail.” He sighed in resignation. “So, Beaudry, how does it feel to be alive?”

  “Like I’m hanging onto the end of a very thin branch over a very deep hole,” Jared muttered.

  “Hmm. Not as easy as you thought it would be, is it? Taking charge of another man’s body?”

  “I would have appreciated a little instruction before I tried it. As it is, I’m in here, but so is he.” Jared winced as a voice inside him shouted, “You’re damned right!”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried it myself, but I’ve read my share of Stephen King novels.”

  Jared would have stopped cold if the wagon weren’t still moving. “You’ve never done it?”

  Troy shrugged. “Like I said, it helps if you have cooperation. So I’ve heard.”

  Jared’s fists itched with the urge to throw one of them at Troy’s face. “If I let my guard down for only a moment, he’ll toss me out of this body like a flea on a catapult.”

  Surprise lifted Troy’s blond eyebrow. “Whoever he is, his spirit must be very strong. Most people would be too frightened and confused to fight back.” He grinned. “Looks like you chose the wrong man.” He paced along beside Jared and fell silent, deep in thought.

  Jared glanced at Taylor’s huddled form and the powerful pull between them surged in his belly. He wondered if the stirrings low in his body had their source in his own psyche, or in the man whose body he’d borrowed. He also wondered why he should be attracted to a tall, skinny woman with chopped-off blonde hair, wearing a baggy grey uniform. Not exactly a simpering, voluptuous Southern Belle. Nevertheless, he briefly let his new body savor those nearly forgotten sensations until Troy’s hand on his shoulder brought his thoughts back into line.

  “All right, Beaudry.” Irritation was heavy in his voice. “I swore I’d stay out of this, but thanks to you Taylor’s up to her neck in danger. First, I want you to try to talk to your host and see if you can get him to back off and let you have his body unopposed for a few days. If he won’t, then there’s one other option, though I can guarantee you he’s not going to like it.”

  Troy paused, his face going blank. Suddenly his gaze flew to Taylor, who stirred and raised her head, blinking slowly.

  Troy cursed. “I forgot I can only keep this up for a few minutes at a time. Look, Beaudry, I gotta go. Talk to the guy, then we’ll go from there.” He closed his eyes and his lips moved as if whispering some incantation. In the next instant, the space to Jared’s left was empty.

  His heart ached for Taylor as she let her head fall back on the piles of tent canvas. Clenching his jaw, he forced his thoughts inward toward confrontation with the man whose spirit he held prisoner.

  He didn’t have to wait long for a response. The man flung himself against the bars of his spiritual cage with enough force to make Jared stumble.

  “Damn it, release me and go back to wherever the hell you came from!”

  “Hell’s exactly where I’ve been, and where I’ll be going if I let you go. The sooner you stop rattling your cage and let me do what I must, the sooner this will all be over and you can have your body back.”

  “Sure, with a few vital parts missing, if your performance a little while ago was any prediction. Let me out!”

  “You don’t understand…”

  “I understand plenty—”

  “A hundred years ago Bloody Zach Harris stole a number of my body parts from me, along with my honor. I died at his hands, and have no qualms about doing so again, but I have no intention of leaving this earth as half a man. If it works, I can finally leave this nightmare behind and get on with my death. I need your body to do it.”

  “And this is honorable?”

  The words stung. He ground his teeth and dug in. “I was shot in the back by a murderer. History will record nothing else about me except that I died with my back to the enemy. I can be forgiven for at least attempting to regain my parts before I go to hell.”

  “You can’t guarantee anything. Even if you succeed, do you even know what happens after that? How do you know you aren’t wasting your time and mine?”

  “I don’t. But at this point it would be more dangerous for me to stop.”

  “How do you figure that? And how many lives are you willing to risk? Mine isn’t the only one. Hell, mine’s the least of your problems. What about the rest of the men in this unit? What about the woman? I refuse to rot in this cage and watch while you ruin forty lives to save your own ass.”

  “Damn it, this isn’t just about me anymore. Don’t you understand?”

  “Let me have my body back and I’ll take your place. I’d rather take my chances with my own body than sit by and watch”

  “I can’t do that. Even if I leave your body, there’s no guarantee the other spirits will leave as well. These people could be in even more danger. I know what Harris is going to do next—you don’t.”

  “NO!”

  “All right. You leave me no choice. I have a plan, but you aren’t going to like it.” Actually, it was Troy’s plan, but Jared hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long to find out the details.

  “Oh, now there’s a surprise. This should be good if your other ‘ideas’ are any indication. Hold it…now who is
this dude? What the hell is he…”

  Jared’s eyes flew open, as did his mouth in a desperate attempt to draw air into his lungs. He couldn’t. There wasn’t room. Inside this one body there were, for the moment, three spirits, and two of them were locked in hand-to-hand battle. As his vision dimmed from lack of oxygen, Jared endured what felt like two large cannon balls battering him from the inside. He concentrated on keeping his feet under him for just a few more seconds. Then a few more.

  “It’s done,” gasped Troy, once again re-appearing in step beside Jared.

  Jared drew in grateful gulps of air, and wished his hands were untied so he could wipe the sweat from his eyes. For the moment he refused to consider the moisture might be tears of relief.

  “What did you do with him?” he wheezed, glancing at the young soldier at his side. Troy looked a bit worse for wear from the struggle, but in the end his superior training had won out.

  “You’ve officially traded places. You’ve got his body, he’s got what’s left of yours.”

  Jared could only stare at Troy in shock. “You must be joking.”

  “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  Sickness washed through him. He opened his mouth to call a halt to this whole crazy plan. Then he glanced at Private Taylor’s huddled form, and a tug at his gut made him change his mind.

  “Thank you,” he managed to squeeze past his pounding heart.

  “Thanks, nothing.” Troy’s eyes flashed in irritation. “This amounts to soul stealing, and it’s rather frowned upon. I could get in major trouble for this, especially if you screw it up and I have to return this guy’s body to him in pieces, or worse, dead.”

  Jared set his jaw. “You won’t,” he promised.

  “The affect is only temporary. I hope,” Troy continued.

  ‘You hope?”

  “You’ve got about two days, best I can figure.”

  Jared nodded mutely, horrified by what his single impulsive act had set into motion. Suddenly the hair rose on the back of his neck, and he instinctively glanced over each shoulder, scanning the darkness surrounding him.