Requiem for the Bone Man Read online

  Wait a minute, he looks familiar. Where have I seen him before?

  She tried to shoo him away, gently at first then more insistently. But he was clueless! The more aggressive she got, the more he persisted. The club had assigned him to this canoe for the race, he kept repeating.

  She apologized to her friend and, almost snarling, climbed into the canoe as Geek face joined her quickly.

  I think I’ll teach him a little lesson in canoeing.

  She forked her paddle into the water and began a rapid and powerful stroking action that threatened to unbalance the vessel. But surprise! They were moving swiftly, faster and faster, ahead of the others as the unexpected annoyance proved to be as adept as she was.

  Maybe it won’t be so bad after all. I just wish he would stop staring at my hair.

  So it began.

  There were more canoe trips, more competitions they won as a team. And slowly he began to talk! Yes, he was one of those odd people who played with gadgets and never stopped taking things apart and putting them back together. He was a technical engineer for Ma Bell and lived and breathed electronics. But slowly his shell was cracking, and he turned out to be a really nice guy.

  They began to meet for meals and she soon realized that this one-hundred-twenty-pound beanpole could eat more than six normal people. He was bottomless!

  There was that day at the bank where she worked as a teller when she saw and then heard a florist’s messenger bound into the lobby carrying a huge bouquet of red flowers and, horror of horrors, begin to call out her name!

  Customers and coworkers started to laugh as the messenger spotted her scarlet-red face and immediately headed toward her, and then they clapped as he completed his delivery.

  Then came the clincher—that July day in 1965 when he asked her if she would like to accompany him on a trip to the Great Lakes. They would drive up through New York, cross into Canada at Buffalo, head northwest across Ontario, skirting the lakes then drop back down through Michigan’s Upper Peninsula to Mackinac Island. He had picked out a bed and breakfast there where they could enjoy the simultaneous beauty of Lake Michigan and Lake Huron.

  That unforgettable day, when she heard him speak those fateful words, they had been sitting together holding hands watching the sunset.

  “Nancy, will you marry me?”

  The words still echoed in her head, because it was the beginning of forever for them.

  Nancy stared out into the early dawn light from their room at the B&B. She normally didn’t get up this early—especially after last night! She grinned at the thought. But something was nudging her, making her get up from that wonderfully comfortable bed before sunrise.

  “Bob,” she called out, “are they having any reenactment ceremonies at the fort this morning?”

  She looked over at her husband-to-be, pajamas drawn up and scrawny bare legs sticking out of the blankets.

  Edison shook his head sleepily. He wasn’t a morning person, barely moving from his spoon-shaped position, facing her pillow and holding it like a favorite stuffed toy.

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Let’s ask when we go down for breakfast … later.”

  She continued to stare out the window. A soldier stood on the lawn—Civil-War-era uniform with sergeant’s stripes on the shoulders, handlebar mustache, and grizzled red-gray beard—and seemed to be staring right back at her.

  Nancy watched as he slowly raised his left arm and waved, not in greeting, but as a call to follow. Then he turned and headed down one of the forest paths.

  “I think I’ll take an early breakfast, Bob.”

  She heard only snoring in reply.

  Good, she thought. Sandy’s on duty for the breakfast shift. The young college boy had come down from Nova Scotia to earn school money and was the best and most friendly of the hotel staff.

  “Good morning, Sandy.”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Edison.”

  She flushed.

  Not quite yet, but it did have a nice sound to it.

  “Does the fort have a reenactment ceremony today?”

  “No, ma’am, why do you ask?”

  “I saw a soldier out in the courtyard this morning. He was dressed in a Civil-War uniform and he waved at me before heading down one of the paths.”

  The boy looked at her intensely.

  “Did he have a beard and were there sergeant’s stripes on his uniform, ma’am?”

  “Yes, do you know him?”

  “Ah! You saw old Angus, Angus Urquhart of the clan Urquhart, as he would say.”

  “So, he’s an actor working at the fort?”

  “No, ma’am, he’s a ghost.”

  “Bob, Bob, get up, now!”

  She was shaking his exposed right shoulder. No luck. So she started to tickle the bottoms of his size twelve feet and called his name with her face right at his ear. His whole body jerked and he sat upright on the edge of the bed, his eyes still closed.

  “Okay, no need to shout. What’s the problem?”

  “No problem, just … well, I saw a ghost this morning.”

  Edison opened one eye. He knew she didn’t drink.

  “Remember when I told you about the soldier outside?”

  “No.”

  She sighed and shook her head. He still wasn’t wide awake.

  “All right, tell me about it,” he said as he stretched back out on the bed, pointy-toed feet shivering without the comfort of the warm blanket.

  “I was looking out the window at dawn and saw him standing out there. He waved his arm as if he wanted me to follow him. I asked Sandy, the waiter at breakfast, about him. He said it was old Angus, the Fort Mackinac ghost.”

  Edison processed the thought.

  “Are you sure the boy wasn’t just kidding you?”

  “No, Bob, he was serious. He said others have seen the ghost over the past seventy years, including Mark Twain when he stayed at the Grand Hotel in 1905.”

  He was becoming more and more awake.

  If old Sam Clemens had seen him, then maybe…

  “Sandy said that Angus, Angus Urquhart of the clan Urquhart, was one of the last soldiers stationed here at the fort before they were shipped elsewhere in 1895. He was a Scotsman who had immigrated to the U.S. and made the army his home. He had no family, just the army, and had risen to the rank of sergeant. By all accounts he was a good soldier. The only trouble he caused was with some of the remaining Indians. He apparently liked to take his bagpipes and march around playing them in an area they considered their spirit ground. They were furious at his apparent desecration of their sacred area.”

  Now Edison was getting hungry, a powerful incentive for him to get up and get dressed.

  “So how come he’s a ghost? I mean, sure, if he was at least middle aged in 1895, he wouldn’t be around now in 1965.”

  “Sandy said that a few months before leaving for the mainland, his company was sent on bivouac in the forest. When they returned, Angus wasn’t with them. They searched for him but never found any traces. There was no reason for him to desert, and no way could he have done so without being noticed. He just disappeared. He’s still listed on the rolls as missing in action.”

  “So what can we do about it?”

  Nancy grinned.

  “I think a nice romantic walk in the woods would be a good idea!”

  Edison munched on some extra biscuits he had snatched up after hurriedly scoffing down part of what he had hoped would be an immense breakfast. Nancy was leading him toward the path where she had last seen the soldier.

  “Do you know where we’re supposed to be going?” he muttered.

  “I saw him go down this way. I bet we’ll know shortly if he’s a real ghost!” she replied.

  But they continued for almost an hour without result. Though the foliage was thick at this time of year, enough sunlight penetrated to make them build up a sweat. Fortunately the competing lake breezes served to moderate the effect.

  Suddenly Nancy caught a glim
pse of something moving off the path to the left.

  “There he is! That’s him!”

  She tugged at Bob who followed her off the path into the deeper woods.

  Then she saw him, her ghost soldier. He was standing by a tall Michigan Pawpaw tree. He looked at her with a piercing stare then smiled and disappeared.

  She grabbed Edison and pulled him along in pursuit.

  “Bob, did you see that?”

  “I see a big Pawpaw tree that we’re going to crash into if you don’t slow down.”

  “He’s here! I mean it must be where his remains are. Help me check the ground.”

  Both got down on their knees and used branches and hands to push away the forest surface cover of decaying leaves and twigs. They kept at it until Bob cried out, “What’s that?”

  Nancy reached over and pulled an object from the dirt. It was old, a corroded metal button. Could it be from Angus’s uniform?

  “Bob, go get the park rangers, quick! I think we found him!”

  She waited in the forest stillness while he ran back toward the park offices.

  Good thing he’s so thin. He’ll get through the woods fast.

  The forest noises suddenly ceased and she looked up from where she was sitting. The apparition stood before her, smiling again.

  In her mind she heard him.

  God bless ye, lassie! Ah’ve lain here al’ this time and nay un has helped. Ye mus’ do a thing fer me so ah can rest easy. Do ye ken?

  Nancy nodded.

  Tell me what to do, Angus.

  He pointed at the ground in front of her with his right hand.

  Ye mus’ remove tha’ which hols me here.

  He now pointed to the left side of his chest.

  She didn’t quite know what to make of those words, but she dug with her hands in the soft forest loam and suddenly felt something. She scooped more dirt away and the outline of a skeletal rib cage appeared. Gently she moved the soft soil away from it and saw the spear point lodged between the fourth and fifth ribs.

  She looked up at Angus. He appeared pleased, nodding his spectral head up and down. Slowly she reached in and tugged and twisted until the point dislodged from the remains.

  She heard heavy running footsteps approaching. Bob appeared first, followed by two park rangers. She was standing by the Pawpaw tree, humming to herself.

  “Nancy, are you okay?” Bob asked, regarding her with a worried gaze.

  “I’m fine and so is Angus,” she replied.

  The two park rangers looked at her smiling face, then at each other.

  “Ma’am, the mister here says you found something important.”

  “Yes, very important,” she heard herself say. “A lost soldier has been found.”

  They stood and watched while the remains of Angus Urquhart of the clan Urquhart, Sergeant U.S. Army, were buried with full military honors on the grounds of Fort Mackinac. As the rifles fired off, she heard that familiar voice once more.

  Lassie, I kenna leave less ah warn ye. Ye and yer laddie mus’ go now! Ye have stirred up pow’rful forces, the same uns thet held me here.

  “But Nancy, we have two more days here.”

  He didn’t want to go back to work.

  She couldn’t give him the real reason, but she knew they had to leave.

  “Bob, I’m worried about my mother. She wasn’t feeling well before we left.”

  She crossed her fingers behind her back, so it wasn’t a lie.

  “Okay, today’s last ferry leaves in three hours. That should give us enough time to pack and check out.

  She knew he was upset, so she added the sugar coating.

  “By the way, the State Park Authorities have picked up our tab because of what happened. Isn’t that great, Bob? We can put the money toward the wedding!”

  It was a while before their embrace ended. He smiled at her, looked at the big four-poster bed and whispered, “We still have three hours.”

  They boarded the ferry and settled down. The peaceful voyage to the island was now replaced by wind-chopped water, roiling the boat back and forth.

  They reached the mainland dock and returned to their car just as the sky darkened with storm clouds.

  “Strange, I checked the 2 Meter Net and there was no storm indicator.”

  Even here he can’t be without his Ham radio.

  “Good thing we left when we did,” she replied.

  She turned on the car radio and listened to the local station newsman proclaim sunny good weather for the next two days just as the heavy storm-driven rain began to ricochet off the windshield.

  They headed north and then east, Nancy encouraging Bob to travel as quickly as possible. She knew there was something out of the ordinary about the change in the weather. The radio continued guaranteeing fair weather as the winds picked up in intensity. Then she saw the funnel … no, funnels! Tornadoes! Here and at this time of year!

  They raced along the highway, finally crossing back into the United States at Buffalo. As they did so the weather seemed to break, the clouds thinning out to admit the sunlight once more.

  Ye made it, lassie. God be wit’ ye and yer laddie. Sa’day Ah’ll pipe fer ye.

  ...

  They were still peering down at her, those people in the masks and gowns. Where was she?

  Then she saw him, in their midst. He was wearing his kilts and holding his bagpipes over his left shoulder.

  Angus, are you here to pipe for me?

  Nay, lassie, ah play fer the wee-un.

  “She’s coming out of it. Get her over to Recovery. I’ll go talk to her husband.”

  “June, let me help. I’ll talk to him.”

  She looked at her old classmate from medical school.

  “Thanks, Bill.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Middle Ground

  Time is a one-way street. We are born in a scream of life, not realizing that birth is the overture of death. Meanwhile Fate permits us the conceit that we have some sort of control over our brief existence, then laughs as our best intentions go south, tragedy strikes out of a clear blue sky, and our most foolish endeavors produce wonderment.

  Galen was older now. He had begun cutting back on the more strenuous activities in his career—less hospital work; no more traveling to present papers to colleagues. He even found himself entertaining thoughts of what had seemed an anathema to him in the past: retirement.

  As usual, he rose at 4 a.m. and took his morning walk before the first rays of the sun appeared in the east. He completed his two-mile jaunt, returned home and examined the appointment book. A light schedule so far, he thought, as he glanced out the window.

  The fourth crescent of summer began brilliantly that day. Azure blue skies lit by a poached-egg sun raised the thought of flying. Maybe, just maybe, he could get out to the airport for the afternoon.

  Flying always seemed to bring him closer to Leni and Cathy, just as gardening did. Air and dirt, sky and earth, they were the only activities he truly enjoyed.

  He ate his usual light breakfast of blueberries covered with wheat germ in a bowl of milk.

  Yes, maybe some time in the Piper.

  He washed down breakfast with a cup of Bi Lo Chun tea. Savoring its flower-bud aroma, he carried the cup into the waiting room and turned on the radio to WBJC, Baltimore’s classical station, as he scanned the morning papers. Then, as always, he paid homage to the gods of continuing medical education by spending two nice solid hours reading through the research journals.

  Mirabile dictu, no early calls. In retirement, every morning could be like this.

  Just before 8, right on schedule, he heard Virginia, his secretary, pull into the parking lot behind the modest suburban home that also served as his office. She had become a fixture there, beginning part-time over twenty years ago after her husband died of cancer. She also was something of a fixture in the D.C. area, where she had lived and worked since before World War II. Many times she talked about the days when the city still w
as a sleepy town, when you could walk up to a president who was strolling boldly down the city’s sidewalks and shake his hand. And she remembered when many of the landmarks were erected, including National Airport and the Pentagon on the Potomac’s marshes.

  “You ought to take the day off,” she said as she efficiently began re-arranging the stack of leftover papers on her desk.

  “Why, do you want a day off, too?” he laughed.

  “It would do you some good to get out of here more often. You’re not getting any younger.”

  Ouch!

  She didn’t speak her unspoken thought.

  You ought to start planning for retirement.

  But he felt it, nevertheless, that arrow sting of truth. Maybe he should cut back on his government consulting and just do aviation medicine. What would it be like to have free time, to work only when he wanted and not worry about the rest?

  By 9, he already had seen three scheduled patients plus three walk-ins when another came running up the walk, shouting as he entered.

  “An airplane’s hit the World Trade Center!”

  Galen noticed the music had stopped on the radio. He turned it off and turned on the small television in the waiting room. Every channel was showing the same image: New York City’s World Trade Center North Tower wrapped in flames and smoke. And then he gasped as the TV cameras showed another plane smash into the South Tower.

  Before anyone could even begin to fathom the magnitude of the event that was unfolding, the news arrived that a third aircraft apparently had crashed into the Pentagon.

  By then, the Federal Aviation Administration had ordered every aircraft flying over U.S. airspace to land, and thousands of air traffic controllers across the land watched nervously as one by one the blips on their radar screens disappeared. For the first time in many decades, America’s skies were empty.

  The group in his waiting room stood in stunned silence, unable to speak or move, their eyes glued to the small screen.

  In apparent slow motion they saw the South Tower of the Trade Center collapse, followed soon by the North Tower, each disgorging a giant plume of smoke and dust that forced its way through the narrow corridors between the buildings of Lower Manhattan as bystanders on the ground fled for their lives.