Seems my whole life started with once upon a time. The first I heard of the ghost soldier was at Randolph's Store. I was standing by the big glass jar filled with hard candy. I was plunging my hand in and out rustling the candies to and fro. No one was paying me any mind; they had more important things than me to worry about. "Yeah," said Mr. Randolph as he sliced a few thick slices of boloney and wrapped it in brown paper, moving it across the weathered counter toward my dad. Not much else was said for a few minutes. I drifted toward the Nehi orange sodas barely hearing their muffled words. As soon as I heard ghost soldier I moved stealthily back toward the grown ups. Mr. Randolph said, yeah again and then, "I heard tell he only wanders about on the new moon." Daddy said he thought that was probably just an old wives' tale. My Moma (not included in the conversation) shot a menacing look in the direction on the menfolk. That caught my attention as much as the ghost soldier.
Again, silence.
Then my dad said no telling how much suffering took place up there.
Mr. Randolph said, "how many they got buried up there?" Daddy started quoting the words etched on the obelisk but it didn't mean a thing to me. I wanted to know about that ghost soldier.
It was not to be revealed on this day or for many days thereafter. Mom gathered the few items she needed and Mr. Randolph said, "Joe, you and your woman have a good brood." I thought that might be a good thing but as soon as we hit the dirt path toward home, my moma said, "I could wring that old codger's neck." I knew all about wringing necks, Moma could wring a chicken neck in record breaking time. Daddy kinda smiled but he didn't say another word. I kept thinking about that baloney. The next time I heard about the ghost soldier was at twilight. My aunt Willie decided we needed to go to the barn to check on an old setting hen. I was terrified of setting hens. Willie got her walking stick and we headed toward the barn.Â
One of the big doors was opened, the other pulled closed. The inside of the barn was almost pitch black. As we stepped through the barn door, Uncle DH rattled the closed door from behind. Aunt Willie flung her walking stick in the direction of the noise thinking it was a raccoon. Uncle DH said, from behind the door, "it's the ghost soldier." Willie said he might near scared us to death. Uncle DH was a gentle soul with a gruff exterior. He sensed my terror and said, "you don't need to be afraid of that ghost soldier, little girl. He laid down his life for this farm. He stayed on to look after all of us."
I guess we forgot all about that old setting hen because we headed back to the old house and DH made me a peanut butter cracker and a glass of spring water. When I got home I asked Moma about the ghost soldier. She said, "all I can tell you is I wouldn't go wandering around after dark." That didn't help much. I was still scared.
Next time I was walking home from Caney Fork School. I preferred to walk by myself. Sometimes I would cut through the fields, sometimes I would skirt along the edge of the creek, sometimes I would march right straight through the sawmill. I loved the smell of freshly sawn wood and those gigantic hills of sawdust.
Sam Mounce worked there and had lost a finger in those big old saw teeth. He looked my way as I walked by not saying a word. I heard the words ghost soldier. I slowed down. Sam Mounce was nearly deaf so when he spoke it was in a loud, clear voice.
"I hear tell he walks around old man Perry's house about every night."
"Has he ever been seen around the pump house?"
"Not that I ever heard of."
"He ain't never bothered nobody."
"He's been out most nights since the war."
War! I knew all about war. Uncle DH talked constantly about THE WAR. I had the snippet I needed. DH and the soldier were in the war together. Uncle DH would surely be my resource for the ghostly comings and goings on Dutton Hill. A curious child, such as myself, would be bold enough to ask. However, grownups were not prone to having long conversations with kids. Uncle DH was no exception. He encouraged me to stand my ground with my older brother and gave me a nickel rather often but conversations, almost never.
But Aunt Willie loved to talk. I liked sitting nearby as she waxed on about the olden days.
Sometimes I would make up stories in my head with little pieces from her memories. We had finished watching Queen for a Day on the wavy black and white tv and Willie was nodding off in her rocking chair.
My chirpy little voice startled her but she adjusted her glasses and answered my query. "The ghost soldier, is that what you want to know about?"
Yes.
"Well, I used to see him all the time up by the wild plums. He was a handsome young man. You know I had some suitors in my day." I didn't know a thing about suitors. Not one thing. I was trying to figure out suits on a soldier. So I asked if the ghost wore a suit. Daddy had a suit.
Aunt Willie said, "well not a dress suit but a soldier's suit. A UNIFORM!" Uni-form un-e-form. I forgot all about the ghost soldier as I wallowed that word around in my head.
Long, long after my childhood I chanced upon the ladies that owned the Virginia and Kentucky theaters in town. I cannot, for the life of me, remember their names. They paid me five dollars and a free movie pass to come to their house and wash their long silky hair. As I was gently combing the tangles out of the older sister's hair, she suddenly told me her mother knew the family of the ghost soldier. They had returned to the battlefield when she was a small child and her mother had helped them find the obelisk. Seems the menfolk didn't last long as the mother was widowed and so was the youngest sister. The older sister never married. These women knew many, many details of my family, the Civil War and the young men buried on the hill. The elderly ladies both insisted the ghost soldier could be seen in the vicinity of the old oak tree on the night of the new moon!
Life trudged on and all the fairies, ghosts and daydreams were all but forgotten.
The old folks are gone. The oak tree is gone. The old house is gone.
The obelisk stands.
The ghost still roams.
PS: I haven't seen a doodlebug in years.