Authors: Arlene Sachitano
"Please join me in a round of applause for our young historians,” he said. When the noise had died down, he continued. “Thank you for attending our inaugural event. We hope this will start a summertime tradition for all of you as well as the merchants of the Foggy Point Business Association. The shops and restaurants downtown will be open late tonight for your post-battle enjoyment.” He glanced at his notes. “Let the battle begin,” he finished and raised his arm to ring the bell and signal the armies.
"Is it me, or was that rather clumsy?” Mavis asked.
"I'd have to say he's not a natural emcee. I guess we should be happy he didn't attempt a joke. I've had the misfortune of witnessing that pitiful activity,” Harriet replied.
"Well, we need to consider getting a professional master of ceremonies next year—if there is a next year."
The Union soldiers took the field, complete with drum-and-bugle corp. Ranks of soldiers marched stiffly past in precise rows. While all attention was focused on them, a thin ribbon of Confederates began winding through the forest, just becoming visible as they reached the tree line.
When they had a line of soldiers that reached from one end of the field to the other, one of the “invaders” gave a rebel yell, and the rest jumped out of their concealed locations. Just as it seemed the Union soldiers were getting the upper hand, a troop of Confederate cavalry came thundering out from the middle trail and momentum shifted.
"Wow, that Confederate bunch is sneaky,” Harriet said. “Look, they have men on the other trails waiting for an opportune moment to join the fray."
At the end of one path, about a dozen men were lining up, waiting their turn. On the trail closest to the broadcast booth, a lone man lay partially concealed by a tree stump.
"Where?” Mavis asked, and Harriet pointed to the two locations.
"I'm not sure that single guy is a Confederate. He doesn't look like he's wearing a uniform."
"Maybe he's supposed to be a farmer or something,” Harriet suggested.
"Or maybe he's just an observer who wanted a better view."
They turned their attention back to the field, where the battle was heating up. The action shifted to the edges of the field, isolating a quartet of mounted soldiers who proceeded to put on a display of swordsmanship and riding, finally ending with the mock death of the Confederate riders, who made dramatic falls from their mounts.
When the “bodies” had been carried away, several cannons were wheeled onto the field by the Union Army. These were fired with a great deal of noise and an even greater amount of smoke. As the smoke cleared, the audience could see that the battleground was now filled with the prone bodies of gray-clad soldiers. The Union had carried the day.
After a few moments, the northern army organized back into their marching units and retreated to the soccer field, followed by the mounted soldiers. The audience clapped enthusiastically.
When the victors were gone, the defeated rose from the dead to take their bows. The crowd cheered even louder.
Mavis and Harriet stood and cheered along with the rest of the audience.
"Look,” Harriet said, and pointed to the path where the lone farmer had been earlier. “It looks like the farmer got caught in the crossfire."
"That's kind of harsh,” Mavis said. “I mean, we know farmers probably got killed, but this guy didn't look like the homegrown farmer-soldiers you see in history books, going to battle with their pitchfork as a weapon."
"You're right—he doesn't look like he even has a weapon. He's sure playing it for all it's worth, too. Look, he hasn't gotten up yet."
"Maybe he fell asleep while he was playing dead."
The two women sat back down and waited for the people below them to exit the bleachers. Mavis chewed on a piece of johnnycake.
"Do you have any honey, Honey,” she said with a smile at her own pun.
Harriet pulled a small plastic honey dispenser in the shape of a bear from her lunch bag.
"Don't tell Aunt Beth,” she said and handed it to her friend. “I couldn't figure out how they carried their honey around in those days, so I smuggled the bear this morning."
"Come on,” Mavis said after a few bites. “I think the crowd has thinned enough that I can make it down the stairs without tripping on my skirt or someone else's. We need to find something to drink with these bricks."
Harriet stood up, and her gaze wandered to the forest edge.
"It looks like something's wrong with our farmer,” she said. “He's still lying there. Having a dramatic moment is one thing, but the rest of the people have left that side of the field and he's still in the same spot.” She watched intently for a few moments. “He's not moving.” She started to go down then glanced back at Mavis.
"You go ahead,” Mavis said. “I'll catch up,"
Harriet hiked her skirt up and held it bunched in her fists as she hustled down the risers then continued toward the stage and the forest beyond.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?” Carlton asked as she brushed past him.
"One of the re-enactors looks like he's been injured at the edge of the forest,” she said without stopping.
"I'll come with you,” Carlton said and glanced at Bebe, who was standing in the shade of the stage, fanning herself with an ornate plastic-ribbed ladies fan.
"I'm not wearing this into the forest,” she said and glanced down at her pink satin confection.
Carlton was obviously torn for a moment.
"You go ahead, baby,” she said. “I'll keep your spot cool."
Harriet was already crouched over the man when Carlton arrived.
"He doesn't look too good,” he said. “How is he?"
The man hadn't moved. He was wearing jeans and a plaid flannel shirt and was lying on his side, his back toward her. She reached out to feel for a pulse in his neck, and when she touched him he flopped onto his back, startling her and making Carlton jump back a few steps.
The quantity of blood soaking the front of the man's shirt seemed to be more than a person should be able to lose and still be alive, but Harriet checked for a pulse anyway. He was dead.
"Carlton,” Harriet said.
Carlton didn't move. He was frozen in place, staring at the body, his face white.
"
Carlton
,” she said again, more firmly this time.
"What?” he asked in a flat voice, still staring at the body.
"Listen to me. We need the police and the paramedics here immediately. I don't have a phone with me, and I assume you don't, either. I need for you to go back to the park office and ask them to call for the sheriff. The paramedics are in the parking lot, go get them."
He hesitated.
"Go!” she shouted and finally got through to him. He went back toward the stage.
Harriet turned to the body at her feet. A slight breeze gently ruffled his hair, overlaying the coppery scent of blood with the damp smell of pine trees and earth and briefly giving him the illusion of life. She didn't recognize him, but he looked vaguely familiar. Maybe he went to Aunt Beth's church, or drank coffee in the shop she frequented.
She was still looking at him when Mavis came up behind her.
Harriet turned toward her friend.
"Don't come any closer,” she said. “There's been an accident."
It was too late. The blood drained from Mavis's face, and she crumpled to the ground, her full skirt billowing around her as she fell.
"Mavis!” Harriet grabbed at her, breaking but not stopping her fall. “Help!” she called.
A man dressed in the gray of the Confederate army was picking up debris left from the battle when he heard her call. He ran over and helped her ease Mavis onto her back.
"I'm a doctor,” he said as he started loosening the bodice of her dress. He felt for the pulse in her left wrist. “Her pulse is strong.” He continued loosening and checking. “Are
you
okay?” he asked Harriet as he straightened Mavis's legs and ran trained fingers along her shins to make sure she hadn't broken anything in her fall.
The doctor looked over at the man lying a few feet away.
"He's dead,” Harriet said before he could ask, and the doctor refocused his attention on Mavis.
Harriet held Mavis's hand. The older woman's lips began to move; at first, no sound came out.
"It's him,” she said finally in a garbled tone.
"What?” Harriet asked.
"It's Gerald,” Mavis said, and tried to get up.
"Ma'am, you're going to need to lie down for a few minutes until the paramedics get here with their equipment and we can run a couple of quick tests.” The doctor turned to Harriet. “I can't find any sign of injury, and I don't think its heat-related.” He felt Mavis's forehead with the back of his hand again. “She's not hot enough for that. She just seems shocky.” He looked back toward the body. “What's going on here?"
"I don't know. We were coming down the bleachers and noticed this guy hadn't gotten up when the rest of the re-enactors did. I came over to check it out and found him lying there with no pulse."
I know dead when I see it, Harriet thought. Her husband Steve had died five years before her return to Foggy Point—she'd crawled into bed after a late movie “night out with the girls” and rubbed her foot up his cold, dead shin. It took several years of therapy for her to just be able to sleep in a bed again—most of the time, anyway.
Yes, she knew dead.
"He has a chest injury, and there's blood everywhere."
"Will you stay with her and make sure she doesn't get up while I check him?"
"Of course,” Harriet said and rubbed Mavis's hand again.
Mavis pulled her hand back and was trying to sit up when the paramedics arrived. A thorough evaluation proved she had suffered a substantial shock and fainted but was otherwise unharmed.
Dried grass clung to her skirt as Mavis rose to her feet. Harriet put her hand on her friend's arm, but Mavis pushed it away.
"I'm okay,” she said, her voice sounding stronger. “This is just a bit of a shock."
"Who
is
that?” Harriet asked, lowering her voice as she looked over Mavis's shoulder at the crowd that was gathering on the battlefield a short distance away.
"That is, or was, my husband Gerald."
"
What?
Are you sure?"
"Of course, she's sure,” Aunt Beth said as she joined them. “You can't be married to a man for thirty years and not recognize him, even if you haven't seen him in a while."
"A
while
?” Harriet said, quickly adding the numbers in her head. “A while like a twenty-year while? How can that be? Besides hasn't he been dead all that time?"
"Apparently not,” Aunt Beth said. She patted Mavis on the back. “Do you think you can bear a second look? Harriet's right. It's probably best to be sure. I agree it looks like Gerald, but it has been twenty years."
"I don't need a second look. He's grayer and a little fatter, but look under his chin. See the scar on the left side, right at the beard line?"
Harriet and Aunt Beth leaned closer and looked.
"He did that when he stepped on one of Gerry Junior's little metal cars. He stumbled and hit his chin on the corner of the tile counter in the kitchen."
Beth put her hand on Mavis's arm and gently led her away from the body that had once been her husband. Mavis pulled a tissue from the pocket of her skirt and dabbed at her eyes.
"So, where's he been for twenty years?” Beth asked.
"That would be the question, now, wouldn't it?” Mavis answered.
A man in khaki shorts and a green polo shirt walked up to the paramedics, who were standing next to the body.
"I'm the deputy coroner; Neil Drake.” He shook hands with all three. “What have we got here?"
Harriet drifted over to the group. A chubby paramedic with short blond hair and a sunburned nose answered.
"He was dead when we arrived. This here is Dr. Stahl. He was a participant in the re-enactment and heard this lady call for help. He can tell you the rest."
The paramedic stepped away and started gathering his tools and stuffing them into the large plastic box he'd carried to the scene.
"As the young man said, I heard this lady call for help.” Dr. Stahl gestured toward Harriet. “Her friend, the woman in gray over there...” He pointed at Mavis. “...was in distress. The younger lady pointed out the man and told me she'd found him like that. The older woman was in mild shock, and the paramedics verified her vitals were acceptable when they got here. As for him—he was dead when I came over to help the ladies. He appears to have a large, blunt-force trauma wound in the middle of his chest. I have no idea how he received the blow."
The coroner bent down on one knee next to Gerald's body. The blond paramedic returned and stood a few paces away.
Washington State uses a medical examiner/coroner system for death investigation. In smaller counties like Clallam, where Foggy Point was located, the prosecuting attorney is also the coroner, with deputy prosecuting attorneys also being deputy coroners. The larger counties have medical examiners or forensic pathologists who are medical doctors with specialties in forensics and death investigation.
It would be the coroner's job to decide whether Gerald's death was explainable or suspicious.
"Can you cut open his shirt for me?” he asked without looking up.
The blond paramedic pulled disposable gloves from his shirt pocket and put them on. He then plucked a pair of bandage scissors from a loop on the right leg of his pants. He bent down on the opposite side of Gerald and gently cut through the blood-soaked fabric.
"I don't see a bullet hole,” the coroner said, “do you?"
The blond tilted his head a little and looked from several angles, then gently probed Gerald's chest with his gloved fingers.
"There's no hole.” He was quiet for a minute. “There were a lot of horses on the field at the end. Do you think someone riding out of the woods could have knocked him aside without realizing it? Maybe drove him onto one of the big tree stumps?"
"Anything's possible, I guess,” the coroner said and stood up. “In the absence of a bullet wound or sword wound, it doesn't seem likely he was a victim of foul play. Did I hear correctly that you could see him from the bleachers?” he asked, looking at Harriet.