Saint Saviour’s church loomed up ahead of her, standing guard over the town just as it did in 1980. The tall steeple and high arched windows bore a fresh coat of white paint which stood out starkly in the early dusk.
It looks so new, she thought. It can’t be any more than a year old. I wonder what it looks like inside. She shook her head, and hurried on past the church. There was no time to go in right now. Another time, perhaps, she’d come back and explore the Barkerville of 1870. Right now, though, she had to keep going.
The main street of Barkerville looked much the same as it did in 1980, but some of the familiar buildings were missing. I suppose they haven’t been re-built yet after the Great Fire of 1868. And look at all the saloons! There must be twenty of them!
She noticed that the Kelly Hotel was missing and so was the small one-room school house. But down the road she recognized the Theatre Royal, and the new fire alarm bell already in place on its tall steeple, ready to sound in the event of another great fire.
She passed the Wake-Up Jake and smiled to herself. They certainly didn’t serve cokes and milkshakes there now, just hearty meals for Barkerville’s residents.
The main road seemed to be in terrible condition, much worse than modern Barkerville’s road. Even under the layer of packed snow, she could see the large ruts and potholes threatening to break the legs of pedestrians and horses alike. It looks as if no one bothers to repair the streets at all, she thought. I think I’ll try the boardwalk.
The boardwalks, the raised sidewalks that were a feature of modern Barkerville, were just as important in old Barkerville. The Judge had told her that the sidewalks and buildings in the town were raised for a very simple reason: Williams Creek had a habit of flooding its banks and pouring into the town once in a while. But it looked as if every store owner on the main street had constructed his building and boardwalk without considering the heights of those on either side. No two were the same height off the ground; uneven steps led up and down from one walkway to another. She smiled to herself as she thought of the problems this must cause the patrons of the town’s many saloons.
Elizabeth knew where she was going. Steve had told her that the store his family owned was in the centre of town, on the main street, and that their home was directly behind it. She could already see the sign, Baker’s Emporium, ahead of-her. Now she had to find an alleyway that led off the main street to the houses behind.
The sound of voices startled her. Two men in tall hats and long black coats stood talking on the walkway, almost directly in front of her. They must have come out of one of the hotels or saloons. So far she had seen no one else. Barkerville seemed deserted this early Sunday evening, and she had assumed that the dinner hour had drawn everyone inside.
Although she knew that the men could not see her, she worried that she might not be able to get past them. Would she be discovered? Or would she be pushed off the narrow boardwalk? I may be invisible, she thought, but I don’t want to risk a fall from this height. My bones would probably break just as easily as they would in my own time.
She edged closer to the buildings. Perhaps, if she stayed right by the wall, she could get by the two men safely. She hoped that no one would choose that moment to emerge from a doorway beside her, forcing her away from the safety of the wall. Although she was pretty sure that a person would pass right through her, it was a feeling she didn’t particularly want to experience.
One hand on the buildings beside her, she moved slowly towards the two men, keeping as close to the storefronts as possible. The wall was solid; she could feel the rough texture of the wood with her hand. Obviously she couldn’t just glide through walls like a real ghost. She had to obey the laws of her own time and enter houses through doors, climb stairs, and be careful not to fall off the boardwalks.
People can’t see me or touch me, but the ground and the buildings feel solid and real. What kind of a ghost am I, anyway! She promised herself that she would think this whole thing through later.
She was closer to the men now, creeping slowly along the front of the stores. They laughed, and she jumped at the sudden noise.
“Yes, Your Honour, I’ll make sure that those arrangements are completed before your next visit. You can depend on it.” Shaking hands, the two men separated; the one called ’Your Honour’ turned and began to walk directly towards her.
It was Judge Begbie! Elizabeth stood still and stared. He looked just like Evan –the tall, upright stature, the carefully trimmed and waxed moustache, and the grey beard with the distinctive streak of black down the centre. It could be Evan himself standing in front of her.
She pressed herself closer to the wall as he moved towards her. Hey, Judge! she thought. If I called out, could you hear met What would you think if a voice from nowhere suddenly wished you a good evening? She giggled, putting her hands in front of her mouth. She wasn’t sure if anyone from 1870 could hear her, or if her voice was as insubstantial as her body, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
Judge Begbie stopped in front of her, a puzzled expression on his face. He rubbed his hand over his eyes then stared directly at her. But he can’t see me, she thought. What is he looking at?
The Judge reached out a hand towards her. Elizabeth couldn’t understand what he was doing. What could he see? She looked down. She couldn’t see her hands, but she knew they were in front of her face. The gold ring! It floated in front of her, clearly visible in the fading light.
Hurriedly, she pulled her hands away from her face, watching Judge Begbie’s eyes follow the ring’s movement. She thrust her hands behind her back, but the Judge’s eyes still followed the ring.
Of course, she realized. He can see it right through me. I’m not hiding it at all!
Again Judge Begbie reached out his hand, stretching it towards the ring. Elizabeth panicked. If he pulled it off her invisible hand, how would she get back to her own time? Would she suddenly be drawn there, as the tetracycline pills seemed to have been, or would she stay in 1870 forever – an insubstantial ghost trapped in the wrong time?
She looked behind her. A large wooden barrel stood by the door of the hotel she had just passed. It probably held water in case of fire, but right now it was empty. Quickly, she stepped back towards it, watching Judge Begbie as he, too, began to move. She slipped her hand behind the barrel, using it to screen the ring from his sight.
The Judge stopped and again rubbed his hand across his face. He blinked his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I thought I saw . . .,” he began, then he turned away. “Perhaps I’m in need of a tonic,” he said as he walked past her. “A tonic – or something stronger. Yes, definitely this calls for something stronger.” He hurried away down the boardwalk.
Elizabeth knew of Judge Begbie’s liking for ’strong spirits’ and she had no doubt what the ’something stronger’ would be. Poor Judge, she thought. You’ll puzzle over this for years, wondering if you actually saw a gold ring appear and disappear before your eyes. When I get back home I’ll ask my Judge if he has ever read anything about Judge Begbie seeing apparitions.
It was almost completely dark by now, and she made her way cautiously along the uneven planking. Spotting a small alleyway that led between two stores, she climbed down to it. This would take her to the street behind Baker’s Emporium, to Steve’s house.
The sound of voices reached her as she turned the corner. A small woman, Steve’s mother, was standing in front of one of the houses, talking to a bearded man who carried a small black bag. She had found Steve’s home.
“Thank you for coming, doctor.” The voices carried easily in the cold air. “We’ve been so concerned.”
“He’ll be all right, Mrs. Baker. Just make sure he stays warm and quiet, and give him that medicine in a few hours. I’ll be back later tonight to check on him. Good evening.”
The doctor turned to go. Steve’s mother stood watching him as he made his way down the path to the street, and Elizabeth took advantage of the moment to slip through the open door of the house. Now she wouldn’t have to risk someone seeing the front door open, apparently all by itself, when she went in. Pressing herself against the wall, she waited until the woman walked past her. She hoped that Steve’s mother would lead her directly to his room.
Mrs. Baker walked down the hallway and paused before a closed door. She sighed and tidied a stray lock of blonde hair that had escaped from its tight bun. Then, straightening her shoulders and fixing a smile on her face, she pushed open the door and went into the room. Elizabeth followed, thankful that the ring hadn’t been noticed in the dim, lamplit hall.
“Steven? Steven, are you awake?” His mother spoke softly; her voice trembled slightly.
“Mother?” Steve’s voice was weak. He lay on a bed in the middle of the room. Beside him a large brass bucket full of hot water threw a faint mist into the air. He was pale, even paler than he’d been on the Sunday before.
His mother bent over the bed and touched his cheek. “Dr. Black says you’ll be all right, son. He will be back later to see how you are. Sleep now, and I’ll bring you your medicine in a while.”
“What time is it?” Steve struggled to sit up, his body twisting with a cough as he did so. “What time is it, Mother?”
“It is after dark, son. Nearly five o’clock. Lie back, now, and rest. Sleep if you can, or would you rather I sat and read to you?”
“It’s too late, then. She will have gone home. I’ve missed her, and I promised to be there. Oh, Mother, I should have gone outside today, for a short walk. I’m sure the fresh air would have helped me.”
“Now, Steven, don’t start that nonsense again. As sick as you are, you are not going anywhere for a few days. I do not understand why, suddenly today, you began insisting that you go outside.”
“It is Sunday, isn’t it?”
“Yes, son. It’s Sunday, December 21, and we want you to be well by Christmas. You must stop worrying and rest. Sleep, Steven. It’s nature’s way of healing.”
Pushing him gently back onto the bed, she drew the covers up around him, kissed him on the forehead and left, closing the door behind her. Elizabeth was alone with Steve.
Quickly she moved to his bedside. “Steve, Steve, can you hear me?”
Steve’s eyes opened and he looked around the room. “Bess?” he said, puzzled, “Bess?”
“I’m here, Steve, I’m here! I’m right beside you.”
“Bess?” he said again, “I can’t see you.”
Elizabeth held up her left hand. The ring glowed in the light from the small lamp beside the bed. “Look, Steve. You can see the ring. I’m here!”
His eyes widened as the ring seemed to float in front of his face. “Oh, Bess! You came to find me when I couldn’t come to the graveyard to see you.”
“I was worried, Steve, when you weren’t there. I had to make sure you were all right. You are going to be all right, aren’t you? You aie getting better?”
Steve tried to laugh, but stopped as he began to cough. “The doctor says it will pass. Don’t worry. But I’m as weak as a new-born kitten.”
She put her hand on his cheek. “You’re so warm, Steve. You must have a high fever. Can you feel my hand?”
“No.” He smiled. “Only the ring. It feels cool against my face. But I can hear you, Bess, and I know that you are with me. I wish I could see you –” He coughed. The cough sounded different: deeper and drier. He seemed to have barely enough energy to raise his hand to cover his mouth.
“Oh, Steve. You’re sick, very sick!”
“I have a strong constitution, Bess. I’ll recover. Did you bring me the magic medicine from the future?”
“No. I tried to, but it disappeared once I left the graveyard. It doesn’t belong in your time and it couldn’t have done you any good.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, resting her hand on his pillow. She told him how she had gradually faded away, all except the ring, and of her walk through his Barkerville. He laughed at her story of the meeting with Judge Begbie.
“Oh, Bess, he’s a stubborn man. He doesn’t believe in ghosts – not even ghost rings!” They both laughed, Steve trying to hold back a cough.
“Steven!” The door swung open. His mother stood there, silhouetted against the light from the hall. “Steven, I heard voices. Is someone with you? What is the matter, son?”
Steve tried to sit up, but fell back on the pillow. “I was. … I was thinking. I must have been talking out loud.”
“I thought I heard another voice. And laughter.” She came to his bedside and Elizabeth quickly moved to the foot of the bed. “You are flushed, son. Perhaps I should call Dr. Black. You must have been dreaming, or having hallucinations.”
“No, Mother. I’m all right.”
Elizabeth sat down carefully on the foot of the bed, her left hand resting on the thick quilt. Steve’s mother stood beside the bed, her face drawn with lines of tension. She looked down towards the foot of the bed and her face suddenly lit up.
“Steven! That’s Amy’s ring! Where did you find it, son? I thought it was lost forever.” Bending down, she reached out to pick up the ring.
Elizabeth sat still, too frightened to move. She had forgotten about the ring being visible. Now, if she took her hand away, Steve’s mother would see it move. But if she left her hand where it was, the ring would be pulled from her finger.
“Ring?” With a great effort Steve sat up, moving his feet as he did so. Taking advantage of the motion of the blankets, Elizabeth slipped her hand down behind the bed, hiding the ring from view.
Steve grabbed at the blankets by his feet, closing his hand as if he had picked something up. “Yes. I want to keep it under my pillow, Mother. It comforts me.” He lay back down and slipped his hand under his pillow.
“I’m glad you found the ring, Steven.”
“I am, too. Mother. Very glad. Now . . . now I would like to sleep.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to stay with you, son? Would you like to talk?”
“No, Mother. But thank you. I think I’ll sleep now.” Again a cough shook him. “I seem to cough less when I sleep.”
“Very well, then. I’ll be back in a while. Call for me if you need anything or . . ..” She smiled, and left the room.
“Bess?” Steve whispered. “Bess, where are you?”
Elizabeth sat beside him, placing the ring on the pillow so that he could see it by turning his head slightly. “I’m still here, Steve. Right beside you.”
“Oh, Bess, I feel so weak. I have to sleep. Will you stay with me for a little while? Sit there and be with me? Soon I’ll be stronger and we can talk again, but my voice fails me right now. Stay with me, Bess.”
“I’ll stay, Steve. I’ll stay.” She touched a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead, amazed that she could feel him while her touch was no more than empty air to him.
“My Bess. My love. Stay with me. Don’t leave. Stay . . ..”
His eyes were shut, the thick lashes lying against his cheeks. His breathing was ragged: a long deep breath followed by a series of short, panting ones. Elizabeth settled down to wait.