Stories of Ghostly Romance
by: Marcia Rice Fleetwood
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Elizabeth White and the Soldier's Ghost
(Continued from page 1
The vision's dress was not as she had pictured in stories of Southern History. Whereby his clothes were not at all tattered and torn from recent battle. His shoes not held together by pine tar and rags.
Elizabeth stood as still as she could possibly manage, 'cept for the rhythmic jerking from the pounding of her heart. Oddly aroused with unintimidated curiosity and mesmerized by his appearance, she studied him.
The soldier stood as a proud and brave man would. Keeping his dull blue eyes fixed on her expressions as she inspected him. He wore boots as black and as shinny as a chunk of Kentucky coal. The uniform he so boldly wore looked neatly starched and pressed, as though it was fresh from the day of issue. Golden buttons and knots enhanced the dignity of his double breasted coat. A sword sleeve with a bright, silvery handle grip hung limp at his side. At this time so hung his arms...at his side...as if at full attention in the presence of his commanding officer. The characteristic Confederate cap sat with confidence on the top his head. Strands of honey colored hair hung to barely reach his splendidly broad shoulders.
Her eyes came to fall on his face, chiseled with the ruggedness of youth and unmarred by war. His gaze fixed with a cool stare, as he were nothing more than a statue made of plaster and paint.
Then he moved, a movement so subtle that it caused her no fear. A blink of his eye, then a kindly and concerning smile. As if he were reaching from beyond time to greet her with a fond hello, his ghostly fingers outstretched to gently touch the softness of her cheek. She calmly allowed his touch. It felt strangely cool against her flesh, yet warmed her by the profound sincerity of his intent.
Elizabeth smiled up at him. "Who are you?" She asked in a whisper.
In return he answered her request in a low tone. "I am Private Joshua Isreal of Reisen, and who might you be?"
"I'm Elizabeth White...this is my home." She added, not wanting to be the one to inform him that he was out of his element in case he didn't know. "I inherited from my Uncle Edward."
"Baker?"
As he assured her that he knew quite well of the house having changed hands, Elizabeth started for the intricately carved oak borough for a gown to cover her nakedness. His eyes never left her. She encouraged him to continue by asking him if he knew how he came to be in the house.
"Yes...this was my parents home, built in 1841 and given to them by my mother's father as a part of her wedding dowry." In the same sentence and tone he added that he had found great pleasure in atching her bring the house back to life. He referred to the renovation as a resurrection.
"This was your home?"
"Indeed...I was born, and grew to adulthood...all here, under her roof. When the first shell rang out in Virginia, my Grandfather and I together joined the Southern Troops. You see...my grandfather was too old to tend the operations of the plantation by his own hand, and I too young. We joined the volunteers in order to protect our home and family from the advancing Northern armies, but it was my father, Sirus Isreal who stood his ground with the Federals and saved our house from ruin.
In an effort to bring about an admission of his ghostly existence in the house, Elizabeth begged him to tell her what had become of them. To her amazement, he had a full recollection of the events that had taken place.
"Grandfather served the Southern Militia well, advancing to the rank of Sergeant after the first battle and surviving the many that followed. My Father, a true hero, braved the battle at the home front, and won victory in keeping our property from the Union torch. My mother died of a broken heart." He stated sorrowfully. "When she learned of my death she flung herself from the balcony window...yonder." He pointed towards the only visible corner of the side ell.
"...and what is it that became of you?" She urged. "How did you die?"
Momentarily, he paused...his clarity becoming dim. "I must go."
"Go where?"
"I really don't know for sure...I think that I leep."
"When will you return?" She begged.
Again Joshua pointed out of the window. This time, however, it was to bring her attention to a grove of Georgian Pines standing as tall spires at the farthest end of the groomed lawn. "When the moon sits directly above the tall pines." He whispered, "When I awaken from my sleep, I will return to you." As he continued to fade away with her last breath, he reached out to her, calling, "I will return to you, E-e-e-l-i-z-a-b-e-t-h."
That night, and with good reason, sleep did not come easily. Her mind going over again and again the events of the evening...lingering on every spoken word. By the time morning arrived, she was as exhausted as if she had never slept.
When the sun warmed rays of the new day streamed into her sleeping room, much to her surprise and bewilderment, it had taken on a renewed light. For sometime during the fit filled night the paper had managed to be hung with the accuracy of a master.
No doubt she would have to offer a tremendous thank you to the Soldier's ghost for being so helpful.
Though Elizabeth would have much rather just turned her face away from the light of day, she had made the Brewer's the promise of joining them for Church service. As she passed by the dressing mirror, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of herself. She was still wearing the pasty remains of the evening prior along with a tell-tale sign of a lover's passionate suckle on the column of her delicate neck. Camouflaging the rosy mark wit make up and a high concealing collar, she readied herself for a morning of warship.
"My...how beautiful you look today, Miss White. I see you're still with us."
Elizabeth turned around from her pew to see sitting directly behind her was a handsome and fully suited Charlie Snow. He was perched at the edge of his seat, leaning forward, in an effort to keep their conversation as a private matter between them.
"...and why wouldn't I be?" She snipped, scolding herself silently for having given him the opportunity to respond. "I see your ghost hasn't yet thrown you out."
"Don't start this with me, Mr. Snow. It's utterly ridiculous." she stated boldly before turning to face forward and away from his glare.
The last note of the final hymn was still lingering in the air when Elizabeth quickly made her way to the doors to escape him. She had no intentions of being intimidated by his comments.
As the day progressed into evening, She found herself questioning her sanity and the reality of the ghostly form that had visited her bed. Though the thought had occurred to her that the entire episode could have been only a dream with the exception of a strawberry colored marking as proof that it could not have been passed off as imaginary.
When night fall came, Elizabeth waited anxiously peering out over the lush green lawn from the window overlooking the majestic pines. The moon shone with autumn brilliance through the dense branches of the Georgian evergreens, raising it's head ever so slowly with the turn of the earth until it topped the trees like the halo of an angel flighting atop a festive Christmas tree. She caught herself holding her breath in the same excitement as she did when she was a child, awaiting with anticipation the magical arrival of Santa Clause.
With a rush of cooling and crisp air from a closed window, the bluish mist began to fill her room, bringing with it the form of a proud young man dressed in confederate fine. He appeared searching for his lover in the darkness of a sudden awakening.
"Elizabeth?" He asked gently.
"I'm here." She whispered, feeling no fear of him and standing in a bath of moon light flooding through the window glass. Her simple white linen gown was nearly transparent in the eerie glow. "Here." She repeated, dropping the gown to the floor. Slowly she stepped forward as if surrendering her body to the gods.
The gentile touch of icy fingers were welcomed by her flesh, though a chilling rush ran wildly down the length of her slender body. Her breasts stood full, nipples erect by the cool excitement.
"You are cold." He whispered, "Let me warm you." With this he went through the motions of pulling her close to him and rubbing his palms briskly up and down her bare arms. Responding to her startled expression Joshua encouraged, "I am not of human flesh, my dear, sweet love. Close your eyes and feel me with your thoughts."
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth, surprisingly enough, felt only a tender sensation of him against her, as if his touch was softened by rich velvet. With only her mind's imagery to guide her response to his movements as if there were truly something there of substance. Provoked by the fascination of it all, yet hindered by the law of reality. She had hoped he would have materialized into a more substanate being.
Joshua's kiss felt as a hushed sigh against her wanting lips. Her lungs bathed him with the heated breath of her life. His clothes peeled away into sheer grey nothingness, revealing a broad taught chest and, for certain, well established manhood.
"Tell me of your dreams." He whispered.
"I dream that you make love to me during my sleep, Joshua."
He confirmed her suspicions, "It is true, Elizabeth, I came to you while you slept for fear the knowledge of my existence would only have frightened you. I wanted you. I needed you."
Wrapped in ghostly arms, her back pressed against the window for support, she giggled delightfully. "I'm not frightened...make love to me while I am awake. Love me here, now."
The ghostly soldier pressed into her sighing, "Tell me, what do you feel when I love you?"
"Warm." Elizabeth whispered. Curious as to what sensations his illusionary form could experience, she inquired, "What is it that you feel when you love me."
Joshua's flavorful answer was somewhat riddled with obscurity. "I feel the power of the earth and the moon playing a childish game of push and tug, as if the Lord and the devil were fighting over the poor souls that have died this day and I am caught up somewhere between the light and the dark -- the heaven and the earth."
"What became of you?"
Joshua Isreal lowered his brow in reflection, perhaps of his life as well as of his death. "It was at first battle and before I could even fire the first shot. I was struck by a minnie ball from somewhere behind me. It was an accident, I'm sure, unintended by the frenzy of untrained, inexperienced, and frightened boy soldiers. Friendly fire. I died then...quickly...and without agony. I have no pain and until you came along I had felt no joy."
Looking beyond her and into the moon light Joshua sighed heavily. A deep breath that shed no warmth. "I will vanish from your sight soon..."
"Don't leave me." Elizabeth begged.
"Never..." He said softly, caressing her flushed cheek. "I will return to lay with you while you sleep this very night, but I will not be visible to you."
"Why not?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I am not privileged to know the answers to your question, but I will stand before you each night when the moon rises and near you in spirit as it sets. When the moon rests, so will I."
An expression of confusion crossed her face, remembering the contractor, his workers, and the handsome Charlie Snow had all witnessed a ghostly presence during the light of day. "If you are at rest during the daylight hours, who is it then that frightens the contractor and his workers?"
A joy filled smile crossed his face. "That would be my mother."
"Your mother?"
"Yes...you see she adored this house and all of it's memories. It's care meant all the world to her. As a matter of record, the wall covering that you have found to use in the room below was the same she had chosen many years ago. When the war began the order was mislaid and later forgotten to other, more important matters. She is most pleased that you are using it and helps you undertake the hanging of it."
Elizabeth interrupted, "I was under the impression the specter was angry of sorts?"
"She is concerned that the contractor may be cheating you and his laborers are haphazard in their work. She watches to see that they are honest. You have no cause to fear her. You have brought back the beauty and the joy to her house."
Joshua's glare became fixed, his voice wavered. His form appeared translucent as a water color being washed away. "I must go now." He winked. "Save for me a pillow beside of yours."
"I will." She called to an empty room, "Always."
Elizabeth was awaken by the sharp rap of the roofer's hammer and the sobering sounds of the construction below. Stretching, she stood up beside of the bed. To her surprise, Charlie was standing quietly at the doorway, as if watching her in silence. He wore tight black jeans and a t-shirt with it's sleeves cut away to reveal the thickness of his upper arms. His smile clenching a sprig of mint. His bronze skin hard and glistening from the sweat of labor.
"A bit bold of you to charge into my room!" She screeched, grabbing for her robe.
"We have to talk."
"I'll be down in a bit." She snapped.
"Now!" came his rude remark.
Seeing he had no intention of giving her the courtesy of dressing, Elizabeth gave in reluctantly. "You have my attention. Talk."
Without hesitation Charlie invited himself beyond the doorway. "I worry for you." He offered gently, finding a seat on the side of the iron worked bed.
"You've no right and no need to worry about me, Mr. Snow...I'm a big girl." Though she had plenty more words of ire to sling at him his next remark silenced her.
"Because of my fondness of you, I came around last night to check on things. I saw you at your window seducing the shadows with your provocative dance."
Elizabeth squirmed. "My imagination is robust, and though I do not feel I owe you an explanation of my fantasies, I will assure you it is perfectly normal and harmless behavior for a healthy woman with no interest or attitude for a real romance to have them. In the future I would appreciate it if you would kindly maintain your distance. I have no need for a watchman and no desire for your attention."
"Elizabeth, you will have no future unless you allow me to help you." He said shaking his head in frustration. Pointing to her neck he added, "...and there. Is that the bite of your imaginary love? Don't you know your love for him is forbidden by all that is real?"
"What do you know of him?" She questioned, sitting beside of him at the edge of the feather mattress.
"Suspicion was all...until now. It's no secret in Georgia that the souls of the innocent dead return to their place of birth to find some sense to their senseless demise. In their confusion to find peace they often latch themselves onto the living for comfort or to enact what their untimely deaths caused their lives to miss out on." Charlie reached out for her silken hand and was politely denied. "I am alive, Elizabeth." He whispered, "I can break his unnatural hold on you if you will simply reach out for me and say my name. Let me love you."
The displeasure of Charlie's presence had somehow vanished. Elizabeth found herself studying his face to find not an arrogant man at all, but a kind and concerning one. His demeanor was pleasant and friendly. Rescinding her denial, she offered to him her hand in friendship. "Charlie, I can appreciate your concern for me, and I do have an attraction for you as well. I know, from past experiences with the men of this world that I can not settle for desire without love nor trust. At last I have found a love that is not complicated by the temptations of our time. I'm sorry, but I'm not in need of your help. I prefer that you go."
"Don't send me away, Elizabeth." He pleaded. "Don't give up on the living in favor of romancing the dead."
Again she repeated her demand as if afixing her decision forever. "Please go."
Fifty years have passed to date. The beautiful house at Reisen stands as stately as it did when it was first built before the civil unrest between the North and it's Southern neighbors. An old and matronly Elizabeth White, still among the living, glides up and down the intricately carved stair wells in charge of the splendid manor. Neither time nor the wrinkles of age on her lovely face has faltered her ghostly lover's night time attentiveness, when the moon sets high above the Georgian pines.
And down below her sleeping room window, a still hopeful, Charlie Snow, whose hair is as white as his name, hides among the shadows of the night. He lurks in silence for a glimpse of the woman he adored in life, awaiting her to call out to him. Though he knows in his lonely heart that she never will -- for her young lover's velvety touch is more real than the hard, warm flesh of a living man.
The end
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