The two soldiers stood and regarded each other like they did every morning, each over their own campfire, for the last two hundred years. They nodded quickly over their coffee, not even commenting on the weather. They wouldn’t encounter each other again until the following morning.
Thomas O’Reilly wore a faded blue uniform with high cavalry boots. His side arm and a sword slung low on his hip. He wore his broad rim hat back from his face when engaged in observation, and often utilized it as an eyeshade for napping. He was older than he looked, but if asked, which he wasn’t, he would admit to thirty-five. Fighting a war aged Thomas quick and lightened his hair to blonde and set his green eyes deep. He beard was camouflaged against his suntanned face, really non-existent, but still haggard. His people originally from Ireland, but for generation settled in Boston, weren’t hairy.
His counterpart, Adam Demaree, really didn’t wear a uniform, his conflict really couldn’t afford it, as long as he wasn’t wearing a red coat, and he was as good as any good guy. He had carried a musket for several decades, but finally left it under a tree, tired of its weight. Adam was an easy on the eyes 25. His eyes were hazel and his light brown hair was tied back with a green ribbon at the back of his neck. He wore a straw tri-corn hat.
For these two everyday was same, except occasionally, very occasionally, one of the living would see one of them walking across the meadow, or napping under a tree. They would try to get their companions to see Thomas or Adam, but they never could, because the gifted were few and far between. The gifted, didn’t generally travel in packs, though people who thought they were gifted often did.
“So, who are you?” one of the living asked Adam one afternoon. This had been decades ago, the era was turbulent, and both Adam and Thomas had heard rumors of war over seas from the living in the whispers of their picnics. This creature was watching him as he dozed against a rock wall off the beaten path under the shade of a tree.
He was startled and jumped to his feet, pulling his tri-corn hat from his head, and bowing.
“Oh, please,” she said, coyly. “I didn’t know your type were in need of rest, or apt to fright.” She shook her head gently and her shortly cropped red hair grazed her jaw line. The redness of it seemed unnatural to Adam. “I am Rebecca Rhodes, of the Long Island Rhodes.” She held out her gloved hand gingerly. “I do know what you are, Sir. However, for my own selfish purposes and records for prosperity, I would genuinely like to know your name.”
“Adam Demaree, Miss,” he replied, taking her hand.
Rebecca Rhodes of the Long Island Rhodes, then without a care, pulled up the hem of her short loose fitting dress and pulled a palm-sized book from under her garter. Adam was drawn to her actions and felt his face redden.
“My dear, boy,” she laughed. “It is just a leg, do get a hold of yourself.” She placed the lead of her pencil to her tongue. “And where are you from Adam Demaree? And how did you come to make this place your eternal home?”
“I am from Charleston, South Carolina,” he said. “I came to join the Continental Army after the redcoats barricaded Charleston Harbor and my family was nearly starved.”
Just then, a male voice called from about 50 paces. Adam dove back behind the wall.
“I’m almost through,” she called back. She sat on the grass next to Adam. “Oh, silly! Jeremy can’t see you, he is too uptight.”
“Then, what does he think you are through with?” Adam asked.
“Oh, dear, I almost forgot, I did have some business. Would you mind terribly finding another place to nap?”
So that was that, Adam had an idea what that business was, and he didn’t want to think such a beautiful creature was so crude, but he had seen so many changes. For all her forthrightness, he was glad to remember what it was like to have a conversation with another person living or dead. Miss Rebecca Rhodes of the Long Island Rhodes left him lonely. He allowed himself to dream about something he hadn’t allowed himself to dream about in centuries, his wife and his daughter.
There had been others before Miss Rebecca. There was a woman in blue so dark, it was almost black, bandaging soldiers from another conflict that had been in this meadow. She hadn’t spoken to him, but he knew she saw him, he could see the sorrow in her eyes. He had lingered around the camp for a few days and learned she was Mrs. Johannes, and she was volunteering while looking for her son. He was also curious to see if others would show up. There had been so much death on both sides; Adam thought for sure he would have companions.
The whole not living experience mostly left Adam feeling like a misplaced page in a book. He knew he wasn’t right here, but either ahead a page or back a page wasn’t quite right either. This was what he was pondering one morning over his watery coffee when he saw another small fire across the meadow, decades after the last generation that had torn up this meadow and had cleaned up their mess.
* * * * *
Thomas had been in the habit of going through his routine in the thicker trees surrounding the meadow. He knew of the other soldier, the one in the Revolutionary War get up. He had watched him from a distance for years, but the solitude was getting to him lately. He had noticed from the trees right away that the living could see Adam, and some were coarse enough to bother him. Thomas had made it his mission to avoid this disturbance right away. He would make certain there were no demands in his afterlife as boring or lonely as it was, this was as it was meant to be. Thomas did start breaking his fast closer and closer to the other soldier every morning, what harm could that be after all.
Well, the government saw fit to crisscross their meadow with paved paths going down the hill to the beachfront and to Historic Yorktown. They renovated some of the buildings, built a hotel, rebuilt some stonewalls, and even put up a monument. The soldiers watched curiously, but didn’t discuss the possibilities. They were familiar with automobiles and watched how they changed; they grew quieter and faster, then curiously louder again.
One morning the meadow was covered in canvas tents. The soldiers waited from opposite ends of the meadow to see what was going on. Thomas immediately recognized costumes from his era, and Adam was saddened to not see him again for nearly a week after the tent city had packed up.
Thomas hadn’t managed to escape though. The second night of the invasion a young woman in a calico dress kept looking up from her pot of beans. Her gaze went deep into the woods, and her eyes met those of Thomas, sitting on fallen tree. She stirred her pot once or twice more, and then walked to him, checking over her shoulder cautiously. She was beside him so quickly; Thomas didn’t have time to react.
“Is this your first time?” she asked. Thomas looked at her not understanding. “Your first re-enactment.”
“Yes.” Thomas stammered. He was safe, he thought, she thinks I’m alive.
“It’ll get easier,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I’ll get easier with time. It’ll hurt less.”
Thomas grabbed his hand away and groaned. She was one of those.
“Ma’am-,” he said.
“Julia,” she interrupted.
“Ma’am, I don’t need your help, I don’t want your help. In fact, I have had most of my fun around these parts avoiding your type. In fact, I’ve done a damn good job, why that Tory though, he gets accosted ‘bout twice a month.”
“There’s another?” she said. “Another lost soul?”
“There’s been so much blood shed on this piece of earth, there’s probably tons more, but a man couldn’t know them all, could he?” He was starting to feel uncharacteristically comfortable with this girl.
“But another? From the revolution?” Julia said, nearly squealed. “Oh, tell me, what is he like?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Thomas replied. “I haven’t had the occasion to talk to him.”
“Oh,” she said. She didn’t try to hide the disappointment in her voice.
“How do you know it gets easier?” he said, hoping to change the tone of the conversation, and maybe get some useable information.
“My family has been a part of the anachronism community since I was little. We usually go to Gettysburg.”
“Anachrome?” Thomas asked.
“Recreating important events in history. We try to wear authentic clothing and use authentic grammar and slang, manners, you know?”
“Oh, so you relive the worst days in some peoples lives?” he said. His words came out crueler than he had expected.
“You could say that,” she replied, undeterred. “We pretend to live those lives, so they can be venerated like heroes.” Julia smiled, and reached for his hand again. “Anyhow, I have a pretty good repoire with a soldier in Gettysburg,
I’ve been talking to him since I was, well, about ten, when I noticed I could see things other people couldn’t.” She laughed to herself. “Now, that takes some getting used to.” She played with a brown curl that had escaped from underneath her cotton cap.
“And he says he’s used to it?”
“No, having the tent cities a couple of weekends out of the year is getting easier. In fact, I even got him to come out of the closet last year.”
“What do you mean ‘out of the closet’?”
“I mean realize he was dead, and no amounting of wishing would get him not dead.” She looked serious, getting her thoughts together for a moment. “On the last night we always have a big shindig, and I finally got him to come into the camp and listen to the music, and watch the dancing. He must have gotten drunk on the music and pretty girls, because I didn’t see him again. I usually at least get to wave good-bye as we pack up.”
“Alright then,” Thomas said. The conversation was headed in a melancholy direction again. “Thank you-“
“My beans!" Julia jumped from the log, and ran through the trees.
Thomas was not going to have himself be a part of any shindig, dead or not, so for the next few days he found himself walking along the beach front, but soon found himself too scandalized by the sunbathers. He eventually found himself sitting on the railing of the hotel restaurant looking across the water until he was sure the tent city was gone. He thought of people that were long gone, his people.
* * * * *
Finally, their routine was normal again and the soldiers soon found themselves smiling over their coffee, though still at their own little camp. Thomas could only imagine that Julia had found the other and had a nice chat with him. Thomas found himself stepping towards the revolutionary, and the revolutionary stepping towards him as well. Their hands slowly went out to each other, but before the grasped the others hand, something shook the earth. They looked each other in the eye, but with drew their hands, seeing this as a boundary they must be crossing. They had existed for two hundred years without meeting, so they each in their own way decided not to push their luck.
Within minutes, what they recognized as an ambulance came flying through the meadow down towards the shore. The ambulance was followed by a news van, they knew this from various coverage the meadow had gotten on Memorial Day and Independence Day. They had never seen this pair together, and grew very curious at their arrival, even if they had only moved through the meadow.
Thomas was the first to make his way down to the beach. The ambulance was one of many emergency vehicles littering the road, many parked on the sidewalks and even on the beach. There were several groups of men in the water, they were approaching something that was submerged, something that hadn’t been there during Thomas’ retreat. He ran down to the water, it was obvious there had been an accident of some kind and someone was hurt really bad. He was up to his chest before he realized Adam was right next to him.
“What are we supposed to do?” he yelled over the sirens. “What can we do?” He didn’t wait for answer, he followed the other men’s leads and dove into the water. The water got darker and darker, when he reached what they were looking for, it was what he had seen so many time in the sky over head. He could only guess they was someone inside, if there were ambulances on shore, but how many people would be inside.
He banged on the glass, hoping they would bang back, but there was silence. His eyes adjusted a little and he did see someone, he banged again, but still nothing. He took the hilt of his side arm and hit the glass, but nothing. Thomas hit it harder, and he heard a slight pop, the glass had cracked. He immediately hit it again, and the crack spread, the pressure difference sucked in the glass and water started pouring in. Thomas reached in and grabbed the body, but it was stuck, strapped in. He saw light reflecting off the glass and knew the others weren’t far behind, but not close either. He grabbed his sword and sliced through the shoulder harnesses with one pass. He pulled the body out and dragged it to the surface.
No one at the scene asked too many questions, because everyone knew there weren’t enough answers to go around. The pilot was on here way to the hospital and the Navy was coming to fish out their airplane. Thomas stood, slowly drying, next to Adam, who stood disbelieving just like the others, watching everything get packed up. When the excitement was thoroughly over Thomas and Adam slowly made their way back up the hill to their meadow.
* * * * *
The next morning, was the same as every other morning for the soldiers, however they stood side by side, looking across the meadow to the road leading down to the beach. Thomas sighed, and Adam sighed in response. Thomas turned to extinguish his campfire, and Adam started to groan.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he stammered. If he had known Thomas’ name, he may have been too frightened to use it. Thomas eyes followed the finger Adam was pointing in the direction of the road to the beach. Thomas recognized the figure as the person in the water, but Adam couldn’t have known that and continued to stutter. Thomas was almost relieved to not have spoken to this gentleman after all this time, not if he has such problems with speaking.
The figure was tall and thin, wearing green pants and a green blouse that neither started nor ended where they might have. The bottoms of the pants stopped at the top of boots to high to be of any real use, but to short to be calvary boots. The figure was wearing what appeared to be a hat, but it was bulbous, with a mask around the face. The oddest thing of all was the figure was walking straight towards them, not merely to them, but clearly at them.
They were both stunned when the figure waved at them. When it was only a couple of yards away, it removed its absurd head gear.
“Good morning!” hollered a female voice. The soldiers looked at each other, and knew their peaceful existence would be no more.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, reaching her hand out to Thomas. Confused, Thomas allowed his hand to be shook. “You saved my life.”
“I’m sorry, you must be awfully confused,” Adam said. “My fellow here, didn’t save you.”
“Oh, but you see he did,” she explained. “I’m actually in a coma resting comfortably at Bethesda.”
“Bethesda?” Thomas asked.
“A hospital, top notch, too, the President is seen there,” she said.
“Ah, I see,” Thomas said. Adam nodded in agreement.
“Anyway, I guess I’ll be hanging out with you until I wake up,” she said. She dropped her helmet on the grass. “By the way, I am Lieutenant Abigayle O’Reilly.” The soldiers stared at her, each feeling there own distinct connection.
“Sorry, I am Major Thomas O’Reilly.”
“And, I am Adam Demaree. Pleased to meet you, Miss, and you as well, Major.”
“Anymore coffee?” Abigayle asked, sitting on the ground.
“Oh, please have mine,” Adam said, offering his nearly full cup.
* * * * *
And so, it was the two soldiers would enjoy their coffee while they watched Abigayle trek up the hill, then they would share a cup while Abigayle had her own.
“So, I’m guessing neither of you is in a coma somewhere, right?” Abigayle asked one morning. “So, why are you hanging around?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas said.
“Me neither,” Adam agreed.
“What do you do all day?” she asked. She scanned the meadow.
“Mostly avoid the living,” Thomas laughed. ” They can be awful grating.”
Adam laughed, but he didn’t completely feel the same as Thomas. He felt an occasional encounter with the living helped him to remember what is was like to be alive and how tiresome it was to be dead. He knew there was more than this. There was more than this for him, and it couldn’t possibly be him lying in a coma someplace.
“So, what do you do hang out together all day?” she asked. “Wait, no…” She thought for a minute. “You met for the first time when you met me.” She looked from one to the other. “How is that?”
“We just never had occasion to meet,” Adam said.
“Two hundred years, and never an opportunity?” Abigayle laughed. “Men are astounding!” She laughed to herself.
