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.

The writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt fabric this week. This is still my story where the heroine can communicate with deceased people. Unedited!

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. She took her leave and closed the door behind her, stepping right in front of a man covered in blood and with ripped clothes. He also had on shredded jeans with road rash peeking through the fabric.

This man she remembered. He’d driven his motorcycle recklessly and went over the side of interstate I-110 near the Bayfront Auditorium. He’d clung to life for a few days, but eventually passed away from his injuries.

“You work here, right?” He asked.

She couldn’t pretend not to see this one. He was right in her face. “Yes, I do. I’m the charge nurse. I can’t talk here. Come to my office.”

Not taking no for an answer, she turned and strode down the hallway to her office.

As soon as she shut the door, he asked through it and sat in the chair in front of her desk. “I need your help. I want my mother to know how much I loved her. She always worried about me on my motorcycle and I was an idiot, racing through traffic and even popping wheelies on the interstate. As soon as I flew over the side of the interstate, before I even landed on the concrete below, I knew it was going to break her heart. She sat by my bed for days here until I died. She never once said she told me so and she never once cried—at least not in front of me. She kept positive and talked to me even though everyone said I couldn’t hear her. I could.”

“What do you need me to do?” Lu didn’t mind listening to his request and would assist him if there was any way she could.

“Go and see her. I want her to know I regret my behavior and that I should have listened to her.”

“I’m not sure that will help her. After all, she lost a son. Knowing he now knows she was right to worry about him, it won’t bring you back.”

“No, it won’t, but part of what I want you to do is talk to my brother as well. He’s worse than I was. Reckless and disrespectful to other drivers. He’s going to end up like me if he doesn’t slow down. I want you to talk to him too. I don’t want to see him brought in here like I was. I don’t want him to die.”

She picked up her pen and pulled a legal pad toward her. “All right. I’ll do it, but I’m going to need some details. Things only they would know. I’ve found the only way I can get people to listen when I have messages from their deceased loved ones is to have information only they would know. That I couldn’t have access to. What’s something I can use?”

This week’s word prompt for Tuesday Tales and its writers is annoying. This was a fun scene in my newest WIP.

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“On Sunday, the day of the arts festival, I fell down as I was stepping off the gazebo in the park. I did hit my head. And I woke up with the ghost of Andrew Jackson staring down at me.”

“What are you talking about? That’s nonsense.”

“What’s worse is I thought he was Thomas Jefferson. Boy, was he mad about that. Insulted him without intending to.”

“Speaking of mad, that sounds completely insane. Surely you were hallucinating.”

“I thought so too but things kept happening. More dead people speaking to me, asking me for help.”

Godfrey leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “What kind of help did Old Hickory need from you? Battle plans to share with Laffite and his brother?”

“Ha-ha very funny. Of course not. He’s very oriented to time and place just as we are. He’s not some memory reliving his glory days. Even if I somehow think he’d love that.”

“So you’re best buds with a dead president? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Certainly not. More like acquaintances.”

He roared with laughter. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Hey, you found Max right where I said you would, didn’t you? That counts for something.”

“Something all right.” He leaned back and studied her. “I learned he worked in maintenance at your hospital. Did you know him?”

“Nope. Not until I saw him in the corridor last night. I went down to the old nurses’ station so no one would see me talking to him—Can’t have them thinking I’m carrying on a conversation with myself.”

“Ah yeah, God forbid.” He touched his chest as if appalled. “Can’t have that.”

“You do know how annoying you are, don’t you?”

“That’s why I make the big bucks.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word lip. My heroine is a nurse and is assisting with the police in the search for an abducted child. Two were taken, one got away and this conversation is with the father of the child in the hospital.

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“Well you sure helped my daughter. Your cop friend did as well.”

Lu’s laughter bubbled out. “I wouldn’t call him my friend.”

“Oh, sorry. I thought he was. He spoke very highly of you.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” I had no doubt Malcom Godfrey had words to say about me. Whether or not they were good was debatable.

“I’m serious.” Emily’s dad stood. “Anyway, I asked the nurse assigned to Emily about you. You said you got off at three a.m. and I wondered if you were off for the weekend. She said you were so I wanted to seek you out to thank you and to also thank you for bringing Detective Godfrey by as he’s really made Emily feel better about Grace and the possibility of survivor’s guilt if Grace isn’t found. I was worried about that.”

Lu’s wanted to tell him she actually didn’t bring Godfrey by. The detective barged in uninvited but she did think Godfrey did the child a world of good so she decided not to be churlish. Let the man be complimented. No skin off her teeth.

“He really did seem to understand that concept and tried to head it off, didn’t he?”

Emily’s dad nodded. “Makes you wonder about his own experiences, doesn’t it? After all, we’re all a product of them. Like you with your Army service, right?”

It was sure something to think about. “Absolutely. I agree. Hopefully, good things are in the future for Emily as she assimilates this experience into her life.”

“Your lips, God’s ears, right?” He opened the door. “We’ll probably be checked out by the time you come back to work. I wanted to be sure you know how grateful we are.”

“Thank you for saying so. We often hear complaints but not praise.”

“I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks again.”

As soon as he left, Lu decided to make rounds again to check on the staff on her floor to assess the status of various patients and their charts. Truth be known, she wanted to keep on the move in case Godfrey decided to pop into her office again. Now that the sketch was done, she had a vibe he’d be on to her again. That old phrase about a dog with a bone came to mind. “No offense Aneto.”

Sorry to be a bit late this week. I went to see my grandson for his 2nd birthday party- where the local fire department was nice enough to come to the park where he had his party to show the kids the truck and let the firetruck-obsessed grandson revel in a little bit of fun and learning about firetrucks. The three firemen were super good with the kids and even gave them each a fire hat. The down side was the 7 hour each way drive- so I stayed from Friday to Monday and thus, am late with this.

I picked the cemetery photo since my story features ghosts. 🙂

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“I’m looking g for information on the yellow fever epidemics as well as a family called Moreno. They may have died in one of the epidemics. They had a child named Elizabeth, called Lizzie.”

“There’s a book on some of the early families in the area. There was definitely a Moreno family. Also some Gonzalezes. They may have been related to each other. I’m afraid I don’t have much on the yellow fever thing. There were a few epidemics throughout the colonial period as well as the era prior to and including the civil war era. Most of the information is general. I’ve never seen anything with a central listing of the victims or survivors. Have you headed over to St. Michael’s cemetery? I think some of the graves there are marked with the Moreno name. “

“I haven’t. That’s a good idea. If you’ll point me in the direction of the book on the early families, I’ll take a copy of that.”

He walked her over to the other side of the freestanding book case. The little girl spirit followed along, skipping beside Lu.

“By the way, I’ve heard lots of stories over the years about some of these buildings being haunted. How about this one? Any spirits?”

The little girl doubled over in laughter. “You’re fibbing to him. You see me. Why are you pretending?”

Lu couldn’t answer the child so she merely raised her eyebrows.

“There are stories.” The employee handed her a book with a pale tan cover. “This is the one.”

She didn’t even look at it. “Have you seen any spirits here yourself?” Hoping he didn’t think she was some ghost hunting nut, she smiled. “Just curious. I love old houses. It’s not that I truly believe in spirits or ghosts, but I like to hear the stories.

This week’s word prompt for the writers of Tuesday Tales is Eighteen. I had to fudge a little bit as I wasn’t able to figure out a way to actually use just eighteen so, mine has a date of the 1800s.

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The next morning, she got dressed early and headed to the genealogical library to see if there was any way to figure out who Lizzie’s parents were.

The librarian tried very hard to be helpful as they looked through some records on the Moreno family. There were a few Elizabeths but they all died as older women. None that passed away as a little girl. Lu didn’t have a clue about how spirits might present themselves, but she presumed if her Lizzie died as a grown woman, she’d present that way and at least know her parents’ first names.

Disappointed in not finding her housemate, she asked the librarian, “Is there a roll of people who died in the various yellow fever epidemics?”

“You might find that at some of the churches. They kept lists of parishioners, births and deaths so there may be such a list at one or more of the downtown churches, like Christ Church. I think they actually had a priest pass away who tried to nurse a lot of his flock.”

Lu wondered if it was one of the ones she’d seen in the park.

“Remember, the town was much smaller then so it wouldn’t be too daunting to visit the few churches that existed back in those days. Let’s see if we can find a record of the ones that were here from the seventeen-hundreds to like eighteen-fifty. Does that sound like your date range? The biggest yellow fever issue was in eighteen-o-two so we should be good to search that hundred and fifty year time frame.”

The woman worked tirelessly and Lu eventually left the library with a list of places to inquire. Who knew there were so many churches back then?