Chapter Four

"Come to the bar with me," Janice begged Francine once the two women were settled into their apartment the next day.

Francine shook her head, "I'm tired," she replied. "I'll stay in, look over the notes, write down what else the ghost said and listen through the tapes. I have to get my article done by tomorrow and I have a lot of work to do with all the information we gathered the last month."

"Now I feel guilty," Janice whimpered with a pout as she slid into her barely there little black dress. "Should I stay and help you?"

Francine settled back on the worn out, but heavenly soft couch and shook her head, "This isn't even your job and you've done enough already. Go ahead and have fun. I can manage on my own."

Janice nodded, "I'll finish up what you don't get done tomorrow morning."

"Go have fun. The article is for my job not yours."

"You should call Gregory and let him know you're home," Janice urged. "Maybe he'd come keep you company."

"He's away on business. We have a dinner date Friday," Francine replied.

Janice rolled her eyes as she pulled her hair up and secured it with a clip, "He's always away on business. Honestly I don't know why you waste time on that man."

Francine simply shook her head at her friends usual complaints about her boyfriend and began looking through the folder full of notes and stories they had collected, "He's a good man," she muttered distractedly.

"No, he's not. He won't even introduce you to his family and he doesn't want to meet yours. He doesn't believe that you have the special gifts that you do when it comes to ghosts and he won't let you talk about your job around him because he thinks it's foolish. He's a rich, snobby jackass with bad hair and big teeth," Janice argued as she stuck her dangling, faux diamond earrings in her ears.

"That's mean," Francine scolded and then she looked toward the kitchen. She would have sworn she saw movement but there was nothing there. Probably just her eyes playing tricks on her because she was exhausted.

"The truth hurts," Janice replied as she slid her feet into her four inch bright red heels. "How do I look?"

"Like a movie star." Francine assured her as she looked at her best friend. Janice really knew how to play the sexpot role when she wanted to. Francine looked down at her own blue flannel pants and oversized gray t-shirt and sighed.

"You sure you don't want to come?" Janice asked again.

"I'm sure." She had always been a homebody. She had never cared much for going out.

Janice shrugged and kissed her cheek before winking, "Don't work too hard and don't wait up on me. I plan on having fun."

"Please be careful and call me if you need me."

"Yes, mom," Janice waved her hand as she walked out the door and shut it behind her.

Francine decided that there was no point sitting out here on the couch while listening to the tapes that Janice had recorded. She might as well do that while enjoying a nice hot bath. She grabbed the tapes and headphones and walked to the bathroom. She laid them on the floor beside the tub and started the water. After adding some cinnamon spice scented bubbles to the water she walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.

It might be more common to enjoy wine during a relaxing bath but Francine lived on a beer and chips budget not champagne and caviar. She grabbed a cup from the cupboard. It looked like a fancy glass but really it was made of plastic and she and Janice had bought a set of them on New Years Eve to sip their white grape cider out of.

Francine made her way back to the bathroom and slipped out of her clothes. She slid her body down into the water, gasping as the heat shocked her skin at first but then began to ease her tired muscles. She put the headphones on, pushed play on the tape player and then sank down to her neck in the bubbles and water. She listened through the first tape which was from a captains quarters at Fort Sumter. It was empty just as she had figured it would be. She opened her eyes to choose a new tape and screamed.

Wyatt nearly fell backwards off of the indoor outhouse he was sitting on at the sound of her scream. He held his hands up and stood quickly, "Calm down." he pleaded, doing his best to sound soothing.

Francine naked body sank further into the water and she said a silent prayer of thanks for cinnamon spice scented bubbles, "What in the hell are you doing here?!" she exclaimed.

Wyatt grinned sheepishly and picked at the towel hanging from the wooden rack on the wall, "I uh.. I rode back with you from Vicksburg." Francine rolled her eyes, "I figured that much." she said dryly. "I meant what the hell are you doing in my bathroom while I take a bath!"

"I wanted to see if you could still see me," he replied simply.

"Yes I can see you! And just how much of me did you see?"

Wyatt's green eyes narrowed, "What kind of man did you think I am?! I wouldn't peek on a woman when she wasn't decent."

Francine snorted, "Well you are sitting in my bathroom, on my toilet, while I'm naked and taking a bath! How much less decent can I get?!" Wyatt looked down at the cool, white thing he'd been sitting on, "This is called a toilet? I thought it was an indoor outhouse." he shrugged and then looked back at her, "Those bubbles got ya covered," he promised. "Do you want to know why I followed you?"

"Yes, but can we wait until I'm out of the bath?" she asked. "Go wait for me in the living room."

"Living room?" he asked as he raised one of his brows.

Francine was annoyed until she remembered that he was from another time period. She thought about what word she should use, "Sitting room," she offered. "The room with the long brown sofa."

Wyatt nodded and walked toward the bathroom door, "I'm sorry I scared you." he said and she nodded and waved him away.

Francine stared in shock as he walked straight through the wall. It was so hard to think of him as a ghost when he looked and sounded so solid and alive. She stood up and stepped from the tub, drying herself quickly with her towel and then pulling her flannel pants and t-shirt back on.

She looked in the mirror and debated letting her hair loose, or putting on make-up and then scolded herself for being ridiculous. The man was a ghost, did it really matter what she looked like when she talked to him? She walked out into the living room and tried to tell herself that she wasn't happy to see that he was sitting there waiting on her. Why had he followed her here?

"Do ghosts eat, Wyatt? Are you hungry?"

Wyatt shook his head and stood from the couch when she entered the room, "I don't eat." He motioned at the couch, "Please sit."

Francine nodded and walked around to take a seat at the far end of the couch. He sat down on the other end, "So why did you follow me?"

"Because you can see me and you can respond when I talk to you. It has been one hundred and forty seven years since I've had a conversation with anyone."

"You can't stay here," Francine argued gently, finding the sadness in his green eyes to be heart breaking.

"I know," Wyatt agreed with a curt nod, "It wouldn't be right of me to stay alone in a house with two unmarried women. There's an empty apartment next door, I'll stay there. I just want to be around someone who can see me."

Francine sat there quietly for a moment and then sighed, "I understand that. I want to help you Wyatt. I want to help your soul find peace."

Wyatt was uncomfortable with all of the soul at peace talk, "I don't think there is anything to put my soul at peace," he replied sadly. Then he looked down at the papers on the small end table. "So what are you doing here?"

Francine knew this was crazy. She should not feel comfortable with a dead man sitting beside her alone in her apartment but the fact was she did feel comfortable, "I have the rough draft of an article due tomorrow," she replied. "I work for a publishing company and I write a supernatural article for their newspaper. Janice and I were on a month long trip to different civil war battle sights learning stories and trying to find proof of spirits for our article and Vicksburg was our last stop."

"Did you all ever get to Port Royal?" Wyatt asked while looking down at the scarred up wood floors beneath his scuffed up black leather boots.

"No, we didn't," Francine replied. "Why?"

"My father was killed there. I hope he's not stuck like me." Francine wished there was something she could say to ease his mind but she knew there was not, "I really have to get all of this sorted out and get this article written. I'll be lucky to have it done by tomorrow."

"Where's the blond? Shouldn't she help you?" Wyatt asked.

"Janice? She went out. She doesn't work with me, she was just helping because we're friends. She's a waitress."

"Waitress?"

"She serves food to people at restaurants."

Wyatt nodded with understanding, "I thought she was a saloon woman. Good to know I was wrong," he said as he picked up a piece of paper about Gettysburg and read over it.

"Why in the world would you think that Janice was a saloon girl?!" Francine demanded as she folded her legs beneath her and grabbed her laptop to start on her article.

Wyatt looked at the computer as if it were some sort of alien technology completely foreign to this world and tilted his head, "Because of her clothes," he replied. "What is that thing?"

"This is called a laptop computer. You can write on it and you can talk to anyone anywhere in the world or learn anything you want to learn with the press of a button," she informed him distractedly. "What about Janice's clothes would make you think she was that kind of woman? She's a very nice person."

"I'm sure she is," Wyatt agreed, "Most of those women are. So how does it work? Does it run off of electricity?"

"Yes and it has something called the internet which is run off of cable which is a system of wires and satellites and things."

"Satellites?"

"In space."

"Space?"

"Oh never mind!" Francine exclaimed with exasperation. "I'll have you know that Janice is not a whore and that prostitution is illegal nowadays in this country."

Wyatt seemed more surprised and confused by this than he had been the computer. "Really? That's surprising. What other jobs are there for women?"

Francine glared at him and then forced herself to remember that he had lived and died long before women's rights movements, "Women can work pretty much any job a man works now. We can vote too and have our own land and property and we never have to get married if we don't want to. We don't even need men to have children anymore."

Wyatt's eyes widened at her last statement, "Well how in the hell did you all manage that?"

"Science," she replied simply. She was in no hurry to have the sperm, egg, test tube discussion with this man right now.

Wyatt harrumphed and leaned back against the couch. Francine knew that all this work was going to take her all night. She might as well take advantage of the civil war heroes presence since he insisted on being here.

"Would you help me with all of this?" she asked.

Wyatt smiled. He would definitely help her. Just for talking to him he would give her the moon and the stars if he could manage to grab them, "Of course I will. I have some hands-on expertise in all of this paranormal ghosts of the civil war business," he replied with a wink.

Francine smiled and flopped all the folders down on the couch between them, "Then start reading these to me, soldier boy."

***

It was hours that the two of them sat and worked on Francine's article. Wyatt told her stories of the hardships of walking on foot from battle to battle. He told her that while he could pick things up, or pass through them at will, he couldn't touch other people and he couldn't truly feel anything.

She had seemed really saddened by this news so Wyatt had quickly changed the subject and told her stories about how he had tortured tourists and park guides over the years. She had laughed and it had been the best sound that Wyatt had ever heard.

Now she was sound asleep with her laptop in her lap as she lay sideways with her head on the arm of the couch. Wyatt pondered this mystery woman who could see and hear him when no one else could. She was much different from the women in his day. She was independent and had a good job. She could vote. She had strong opinions and wasn't afraid to share them. She was twenty-five, unmarried and not bothered by that fact. When he'd been alive if a woman was twenty-five and unmarried she was an embarrassment to her family and considered to be an old maid.

Francine was beautiful but in a different way than any woman he'd found beautiful before. She didn't seem to care much about the clothes that she wore and she didn't paint her face like so many other women did. Her beauty was natural and pure and innocent. If only he wasn't a one hundred and seventy-three year old ghost... If only he could touch her and have her feel him and be able to feel her as well.

He sighed and stood up from the couch. There was no point thinking thoughts like that. They would only lead to more depression and sadness and the Lord knew he didn't need any more of that. He would just be grateful that he had finally found someone he could talk to.

He laid all the files and papers on the table and grabbed her laptop from her. He pushed it closed and laid it on the table as well. He thought of waking her so she could go to her bed but she looked so peaceful and tired that he didn't want to. If he wasn't a ghost he would pick her up and carry her to the bed but he was so that also was not an option.

Wyatt grabbed a small blanket off a chair in the corner and draped it over her, careful not to touch her. If he didn't touch her he could almost convince himself that this was real. That he was a real man and she was his woman and he was tucking her in after a long night of laughing and talking.

Laughing and talking... It had been so long since he'd done either of those things and he had never done them with any woman other than family members. Women had only been for one thing back when he'd been alive. He bent over her and kept his face an inch from hers, pressing a kiss to the air above her forehead before turning and walking through the wall and into the empty apartment next door.