Spirit of the Revolution (6 page)

Once again, Jo sat down in a quest to sort the whole thing out. The fact he remained in her presence and witnessed her inner struggle attested to the reality of ghosts. She supposed she could feel grateful she hadn’t lost her mind. She peeked over and contemplated the ruggedly handsome man standing across from her, a fact that eased the situation tremendously. If he looked like some diseased zombie from a horror movie, she would’ve already evacuated the house—probably even the state of Pennsylvania.

A thousand questions swirled around inside her head. Questions like, why did he look so solid, and how could he speak aloud when he had no tangible body and couldn’t breathe air? She could even see the stubble on his finely chiseled chin.

“How are you doing that?” she finally blurted out.

“Doing?” Her ghost appeared puzzled over the question.

“What I mean—” Jo took a deep breath and began again. “I can hear you. I see you as if you’re a living, breathing person. You look solid for heaven’s sake. How can you
do
that when you have no real body?”

A slight, crooked grin appeared as he shrugged. “Practice, my lady, decade after decade of dedicated practice. I couldn’t always express myself in this manner, I assure you.”

The deep dimples appearing on either side of his cheeks briefly distracted her line of thinking.
No, don’t look at that,
she silently commanded. She needed to stay focused—

Decade after decade did he just say? Just how long had he roamed this house all by himself. Who was he? The spirit had yet to budge from his position. She shook her head and released a short breath. “I find it a little unsettling to have you standing there, not moving a muscle, you know.”

Jo laughed a bit as she caught the slight rise of her ghost’s eyebrows over the ridiculous comment. “Sorry, please, I would feel much better if you sat down. If—if you can, that is.”

The spirit answered with a slight bow of his head, and then complied with her request. Jo found herself staring as he walked, blinked, and sat down as if he still possessed a solid body. Shouldn’t ghosts float above the floor, glide, maybe even hover a little? Of course, witnessing a ghost flying through the air would probably scare the tar right out of her, and she could only imagine what it would do to Nancy who freaked over the sight of a hideous bug. Jo settled at once on her sister’s upcoming visit. A ghost in the house would cause quite a stir—an unpleasant stir if Bob had anything to say about it. Nancy would probably never come back. She’d bar the kids from coming too.

“Feel free to ask your questions, Jolena, I can see you have them. Above all else, I don’t want you to fear me, since I’m assuming neither of us plans to vacate the premises anytime soon,” he said.

“Am I the only one who can see and hear you?” she asked.

“At the moment, yes.” He settled deeper into the chair without going through the cushions, rested his elbows atop the arms of the chair, and clasped his hands.

Silly thing to say. That much is already obvious. “I mean—I guess what I’m asking is, if anyone else entered this room, could they see you as well?”

“If I wished it,” her ghost said.

“Then, if you
wished
it, could I still see and hear you without anyone else in the room knowing it?”

“Yes. You needn’t worry about your visitors. I’ll make sure they don’t see or hear me if that’s your desire,” he said.

“Just who
are
you? Please. I would like to know.” The question encompassed everything at once. Yet, Jo would find satisfaction in knowing his name—thinking of him as “her ghost,” unnerved her.

“My name is Mathias McGregor. I am the firstborn son of Adam and Tamar Davies McGregor,” he said. “Late of Pennsylvania.”

“And, this was your house? You were born here?” Jo had so many questions she didn’t know in what order to ask them.

“This
is
my house, yes, meaning my family built the place in my youth. However, this isn’t the place of my birth,” Mathias replied. “That event took place about one mile north of this location, in a home no longer standing.”

“When? When were you born?”

“According to my mother, I entered this world on the fifth day of a very cold December in the year 1747.” Then as if anticipating her next question, he added, “And my mortal existence unexpectedly ended the sixteenth day of June in the year 1778.”

“Then you
did
live during the time of the Revolutionary War. You
could
easily fit into the time period of this painting then,” she said as she pointed first to him and then at the figure of George Washington.

“Yes, I suppose I could have.” Mathias nodded as his gaze traveled to the painting. He tilted his head to the side as he studied its subject. “However, I didn’t accompany General Washington’s army to their encampment at Valley Forge. My assignments took me elsewhere.”

Her mouth dropped and as she gasped, she placed a hand over her heart. “You
knew
George Washington?”

“I didn’t know him intimately, of course,” he said, meeting her gaze. “But I did have the honor of speaking to him on a few occasions when our paths crossed during the war. He’s a great man, an admirable man, and we were honored to have served under his leadership.”

“Did you serve with one of the Pennsylvania battalions, then?” asked Jo.

“In the early days of the war, I served very briefly with the First Battalion militia. Soon thereafter, Colonel Daniel Morgan recruited me, along with some of my friends, to serve with his army of Rangers. Then toward the end of our lives, Colonel Morgan assigned us to work with Major John Clark,” Mathias replied.

“You served as a Ranger? I didn’t know the Rangers even existed during the Revolutionary War.” She wondered if the Rangers from his era bore any resemblance to the elite Rangers of today. Perhaps she should do some research. Mathias McGregor, late of Pennsylvania, shrugged in response.

“Is that how you—how you died? Fighting as a Ranger during the War?” she ventured.

Mathias returned a single nod. “Yes. Unfortunately, many good and noble men on both sides of the war lost their lives for what they passionately believed. However, those of us who considered ourselves patriots regarded dying as a necessary evil if men and this country were ever to gain independence and freedom from oppression and tyranny.”

The words said with quiet dignity and respect compelled a subject change. They could discuss the war and his part in it, a little later perhaps.

“So, Mathias McGregor, firstborn son of Adam and Tamar Davies McGregor, how many siblings did you take pleasure in bullying around?” She had no idea why such an absurd question popped into her head. Perhaps having a ghost made her a little batty after all.

Mathias chuckled as he leaned forward with his hands still clasped together. “What makes you think I bullied any of my siblings, Miss Michaelsson?”

“Oh, just call it woman’s intuition,” Jo replied as memories of her brother’s merciless teasing, stormed her mind.

Mathias answered each question she asked him. She learned he was of Scottish descent and second-generation born American. He told her he had ten brothers and sisters, none of which he bullied—much. Finally, she learned his father enjoyed success as a merchant, which of course, explained the existence of this beautiful home.

In an effort to avoid the subject of war and death, she sat across from a ghost and casually questioned him about his mortal life and ancestry. She may just as well be conducting some sort of an interview for an historic documentary. At that very moment, she pictured herself sitting primly on an elegant sofa, with notepad and pen in hand. She would adjust her black-framed glasses and say, “So, can you supply me with documentation for the exact dates and locations to each of these events, Mr. McGregor, and would this be a primary or secondary source, sir?”

The whole scenario struck her as funny and it made her laugh. As Mathias assumed a puzzled expression, she laughed all the harder. “I’m sorry.” Jo put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggles. “It’s not you or your family or anything you said, really. It’s just that all of a sudden this whole thing seemed so funny. I mean I’m sitting here talking to a
ghost
about his ancestry, of all things. I’m pretty sure this topic would never be broached with another soul in my same situation.”

Mathias smiled broadly, catching her humor. “No?”

She shook her head while seizing control of her mirth. “Nope. Definitely not.”

“What then, do you suppose they would choose for a topic of conversation? Curiously, I have never stopped to consider such a thing before,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know, something deeply profound and philosophical would be my guess.” Jo nibbled at a nail, dropped her hand, and shrugged. “They might ask you about the death experience itself, what happens as you leave your body, and the changes you encountered. Perhaps they might ask about life after death—how it differs from mortality. There are many people who try to prove life does go on, you know. Let’s see, I think I remember once on a TV show that featured a supposed haunting—

“This guy ran around from room to room with his tape recorder, asking the ghost why he haunted the place. He asked if the spirit needed help from the living to accomplish a specific task so the entity could cross over to his proper plane. He wanted to make an EVP I think they called it—an electronic voice, something or other. Anyway, the device is supposed to capture the ghost’s vocal response to the questions.”

“Did he receive an answer?” asked Mathias.

Jo shook her head, crossed a leg over her knee, and began swinging her foot in little circles. “Not that I’m aware of. Apparently ghosts don’t like to perform on cue.” Horrified over what she just said, Jo’s hand flew to her mouth as her wandering foot stopped mid-circle. Mathias simply chuckled in returned. Thankfully, he didn’t take offense.

“No, I suppose we don’t,” he said. “I know we never once considered complying with the wishes of our living guests. To do so seemed a bit beneath our dignity, if you understand my meaning. Especially when they wanted us to
prove
to their visitors, we existed by moving an object or closing a door. We found such a request demeaning.”

Mathias shook his head in disgust and looked away briefly before he met her eyes once again. Did he notice her discomfort? For he leaned closer still, and it looked as if he wanted to take hold of her hands. She found herself inching them away.

“What is it?” he asked.

She gave him a side-ways glance. “We?”

“Oh. You needn’t fear any of them either. Although they are patiently awaiting your consent, the lads would like to make your acquaintance now. If you think you’re ready, that is.”

“The lads?” she repeated as her fingers traveled toward her throat. More ghosts lived inside this house? Mathias somehow put her at ease. As absurd as it sounded, he made her feel as if they’d known each their entire lives and simply picked up where they left off. Once the shock of meeting a real ghost rescinded, she discovered she enjoyed his company and conversation. But could she deal with—

“Four of the best men who ever lived on this earth, take my word for it,” he said, steadily meeting her gaze. “Together and for a specific purpose, the five of us formed a special unit. These men fell alongside me during our last battle. I believe this is the reason we’re all together now. Do you think you’re up to meeting them?”

Something tugged at Jo’s heart when he mentioned the boys in connection with his final battle. The memory of it seemed a sacred thing. She found herself wanting to meet the men who served and died with Mathias McGregor. However, the words didn’t want to hurdle the lump in her throat, so she merely nodded in consent. Then as Mathias rose from his chair, she followed suit. She didn’t quite know what she was supposed to do—

“Samuel,” Mathias called over his shoulder, though all the while he retained possession of her gaze.

Straight through the bookshelf emerged one of the men from Jo’s dream. He wore the same type of Daniel-Boone-backwoods-mountain-man clothing Mathias wore, his light brown hair also tied back in a queue. His hazel eyes danced with mischief and at once, he made her feel comfortable in his presence. He bowed low at the waist in a grandiose sort of way and smiled broadly.

“My very dear lady, I’m so very happy to finally make your acquaintance,” he said. He made a play as if to kiss her hand, making several attempts in the process, yet his own hand slipped deliberately through hers. She smiled in response to his antics.

“This buffoon is Samuel Fraser, my greatest friend from clout to breeches,” Mathias stated as the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “I think I know more about the man than what his own mother could divulge. So perhaps he ought to take that in consideration before playing the fool?”

“Ah, Mathias—” Samuel chuckled wickedly as he turned his gaze toward him. “Perhaps you might consider the tales that I, in turn, could reveal about you.”

Their easy banter, honed over a lifetime and beyond made Jo laugh. She wondered for a brief moment about those tales to which they referred before she said, “Hello, Samuel, it’s nice to meet you too.”

“William,” Mathias called out the name with all haste. To advance past Sam’s threat, perhaps?

The ghostly form of William made his way through the door and halted a few paces in front of her. He stood about as tall as Sam did, possessed golden-red hair and gentle green eyes. She could also see a smattering of light freckles across his nose. He revealed a single dimple on one side of his cheek when he smiled.

The ghost dipped his head in greeting and said, “Hello, Jolena, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she said, returning his nod.