WHO Colonel Christopher Brandon and Eliza Williams’ ghost WHERE The Library WHEN June 2, late afternoon WHAT Eliza has some advice for him. STATUS Complete Narrative WARNINGS Mention of death
The library was supposed to be a quiet and relaxing place. That was where he had found his solace, needing a reprieve away from the bustling activity that he still was not accustomed to at Summerview Park. There were many things that had been clouding his mind - needing his attention - and though he wrote letters home often to check on things at his estate, the letter that he wished for never came and he was left still idly wondering. At what point had he gone wrong? Where was his miscalculation? His misstep? He had done all the right things, and he had led a dutiful life. How far had that truly gotten him? Of the eligible ladies here at the Park, of which there were many of grand accomplishments and beauty, he wondered if he could truly make any of them happy. Was he capable of such a thing?
A gentle sigh nearby caught his attention, but it was the voice that sent something of a chill and a bolt of lightning down his spine all at once, “Oh, Christopher…” The voice was somber and melodic… beautiful in all the ways that he remembered. His book had been open, but he hadn’t really been reading it. Now, he stared at it, refusing to look up at what certainly was a trick of his imagination - and a deeply cruel one at that. Another small sigh, this one a little exasperated, “Come now. Won’t you even look at me, Christopher?”
Against his better judgment, he did. He glanced up, and she was sitting just a few feet away on the very same couch. She did not look strange or rotted, as he might have expected. The last time that he’d seen her, she had been gasping for air that she could not manage to grasp, dying of consumption and the bitter end of that illness was not a sight he had been able to forget. He thought maybe she would look like that… pale and thin and so terribly weak. Instead, she looked…young and vibrant, as she’d been when they had attempted to elope together. She was at the peak of health and vibrancy, from wherever she’d been in the great beyond.
“This is an unkind trick,” he said softly, not necessarily even to her, but to the lady of the house who was becoming well-known for her wish for amusement even at the expense of her patrons.
“It is not a trick. It is a gift,” she insisted, though she seemed to sense that she needed to be gentle with him, so she pressed, “I am not here to be a reminder of what you have lost, dear Christopher. I am here to remind you of what you should have already figured out quite some time ago.” His name sounded strange upon her lips. It was familiar in the way she said it… he could remember her saying it, but it had been so long since he’d heard his name without Colonel or Brandon attached to either side of it. He had let no one become familiar enough with him otherwise to utter the name and often forgot the kindness of even referring to himself by familiar terms within his own mind.
“What may that be, Eliza? Tell me what I have been too blind to figure out,” he insisted, hoping that once her spirit said its peace, real or entirely made up, that it would dissipate and leave him to whatever new grief this may dredge to the surface.
“Love,” she said simply, “Do you remember it? How it felt? How to give yourself over to it?”
He finally snapped his book shut, lying it aside and letting his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. He did not answer.
She had the audacity to laugh at him, though when his eyes flashed open angrily, she’d leaned forward on the couch and was so near him that he actually felt her presence nearby - his skin pricking with the sensation of that closeness, “You cannot ignore me. You never could. I am not here in any attempt to rekindle your love for me.” He still regarded her warily, but did not move away as she spoke.
“We did love each other once… before the world showed us that it can be harsh in a thousand different ways. We did love - you loved me well - but it is time for you to stop loving me. Well, no, that’s not quite right. That love, ardent as it was, has set cold now for so long that it is a shadow now. Christopher… it is time for you to let go of the memory of the love we had. You may always savor it, but you cannot use it as a comparison. You cannot hold yourself bound to promises you made to me that we were never allowed to keep. I am gone, Christopher, but you can still have a full life if you will give yourself permission to do so.”
“Your life was ripped from you. All happiness you could have had - we could have had - was stolen from --”
“Stop it,” she whispered almost harshly, and stuck her finger to wave at him scoldingly, “I know better than anyone - even you - what was taken from me.” Even in spirit, she was as feisty and unforgiving as he remembered. She took a breath and smoothed her hands down over her skirt.
“Forgive me, Eliza…” he shook his head softly, but those words… were not ones he’d allowed himself to utter when she was living. He’d been making amends now, necessary or not, for well over a decade; for not successfully eloping with her, for not being able to prevent her marriage to his brother, for the way that she had been treated, for their divorce and her subsequent abandonment, for the fact that he had been unable to save her from a horrifically painful death and destitution… and now that he’d somehow lost her daughter, too.
“In spite of love, Christopher, I was never your responsibility. You have done far more than any other man ever would have. You have fulfilled duties that were never yours to bear. I never blamed you. If you require my forgiveness, you have it,” she assured him, seeming to read his thoughts, and at this she actually did reach out and take his hands in her own. She felt warm and real… solid, even in this impossible state.
“Do you know then… Beth…”
Eliza smiled somewhat sadly, “She will write to you in her own time. She is alive, and you mustn’t blame yourself for her running off.” He wanted to ask for more, but she seemed closed off from the subject. It was a relief to know that she - at least - was alive if this figment of his imagination was to be believed.
“I asked so much of you when I was alive, but I never intended for you to spend your life alone. You must know that. Christopher, you have a heart that was built to love. Won’t you allow yourself that chance?” her eyes were imploring, and he gave a somewhat rueful smile.
“That’s what I’m here for, is it not? Summerview Park came with the promise of a wife,” he pointed out, though she tsked him a moment later.
“Yes, a wife. A companion and confidante, but you must open yourself up to more than just idle friendship. You must speak truths and allow yourself to heal. The world has been unkind, but you are not. Women usually want for more than just kindness, though, Christopher. Whomever you dedicate yourself to as a husband deserves to have all of you. She deserves your honesty and your love, and if you cannot give her that, then you should be sent home,” Eliza insisted, frank and outspoken to the last, “Find your heart again. Rediscover trust. She will be worth it.”
She took his hands in her own and brought them gently to her lips, which felt cooler than her hands, her breath cold and icy. “Her name is --” He could see her lips move, but her voice - melodic and sweet - faded away to nothing, just as the vision of her and the tangibility that she had melted away, shimmering to nothing more than the dust filtering into the light pouring through the windows, as if she’d never been there at all. He blinked a few times, wondering if it had been real at all or some very strange dream, but he picked up his book and there amongst the pages on a scrap of parchment was Christopher, written in her handwriting, as though the universe had known that he needed a sign to remind himself that the experience was real and true.
He sighed, staring at the small scrap of parchment pinched between his thumb and forefinger, “I hear you, Eliza. I will try.”