Jillian Chantal

Happy Tuesday Tales day. This week, we are writing to the word prompt red. This is my ghost story. I am using some real people buried in my hometown as some of the characters. Dorothy Walton was married to a signer of the Declaration of Independence, George Walton and she moved here when he passed away. Her son was actually on staff for Andrew Jackson when he was governor of the territory here.

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The two EMTs raced over with a stretcher. She knew one of them and he grimaced as he recognized her. “What the hell happened to you, Lu?”

“Missed a step. Luckily, the ground stopped my fall.”

“Deflecting as usual, I see.” He turned to his partner. “She’s the charge nurse on the orthopedic floor. Makes those poor souls who work under her march to her tune like they’re in the military.”

“I was in the army you know.” She glanced at his companion. “If he worked on shift for me, he’d already be in trouble for not providing timely patient care.” Lu smiled to take the sting out of her words. She knew her reputation as a taskmaster but in a war zone, seconds could be minutes and after serving her twenty years, it was hard to turn off the learned discipline.

Andrew Jackson let out a bark of laughter. “Women in the army? Nonsense.”

A woman in a long calico skirt and red and white collared blouse who Lu presumed wasn’t real since she’d walked right through the EMT Lu didn’t know, said, “Mr. Jackson, a lot of things have changed over the years. Even I am aware women serve in army units now.”

“It does not make it proper. Not at all. In my day we had camp followers, but nothing ever prepared me for such a thing to be acceptable.”

Their discussion continued as Lu was loaded on the gurney.

The woman let out a deep sigh. “While I agree it is difficult to believe women should be in the army, I was a prisoner of war myself, you know.”

Jackson shook his head. “Yes, yes, Dorothy. We all know. You were taken to the West Indies. You survived that and never let any of us forget it. And we are also not allowed to forget your husband signed the Declaration of Independence.”

“Why do we always have this discussion? You should leave it alone. It makes you appear jealous of my George.”

“I am not jealous of George Walton. Remember, I was president of the United States.”

The gurney was moving now toward the edge of the curb where the ambulance was parked on Government Street.