A tale of two cemeteries

... She was a ghost. He was a ghost. This was new territory for him but he was finally ready to accept the facts and move on. He had to find this woman. But how?

And Where?

And then he knew. Olathe Memorial Cemetery. “Wasn’t that where he had glimpsed her most often? Aren’t cemeteries places where spirits are more apt to roam about freely?’ he reasoned.

“Okay then, this should be easy,” he thought. This was his cemetery. He was interned in a plot in the newer section across the street from the elementary school that his two nieces attended. Several times he had floated across to the playground to play with them but they never seemed to see him or even know that he was there.

But he just knew that she would see him, now that he was of the same spirit-world. All he had to do was float around calling out to her. “Oh my brown-eyed , sloppy-faced woman, where are you?”, he whispered into the breeze.

“Over here in the oldest section, you moron,” came a wind-blown reply. “And don’t call me sloppy-faced. The smear on my face isn’t the sauce of barbecue that you seem to like so much. It’s the blood of men who have died on the battle field or on the operating table. Did you really think that I was eating all that barbecued meat when you spied me? Crazy fat man. Ghosts don’t eat. I just wanted to get your attention.”

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to be insulting. But, where are you now? I’ve searched this entire burial ground and can’t seem to find you.”

“Look down. My marker is only an old flat stone covered with rust and mold. Just keep moving and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

And suddenly, there she stood, on an old marker half-covered by grass, wearing a long dress protected by a blood-stained white bib-apron. Her hands were red-soaked with blood and on her forehead was a hole made by a bullet.

“Is that how you died? he asked, shocked. “Shot through the head?----Why?”

“I was trying to cut off this soldier’s shell-shattered leg when he grabbed a gun from the holster of one of the soldiers holding him down and he shot me dead-center in the forehead before anyone could stop him.”

“I died on the spot and he died on the operating table.”

“When did this happen and where?” he asked .

“It was after the battle of Westport and in the brick house, near the corner of Fifty Fifth and Ward Parkway, that had been made into a hospital for the Union Side. I was a nurse trained by my father who was a doctor. Because of his training, I was able to assist with many of the surgeries performed on those poor battered boys. I helped saw off many a gang-greened arm or leg. It was an awesome experience.”

“Good Lord, woman, that’s horrible,” he reacted.

“Gory too,” she replied, smiling. “It was my first attempt to do the procedure by myself. All of the doctors were busy so I took charge, before the man could bleed to death. He yelled that he didn’t want to lose his leg and I yelled that I didn’t want him to die. That’s when he grabbed the gun and shot me.”

“Holy Smokes!” Fred exclaimed. “That had to have happened over one hundred and seventy years ago. Why haven’t you gone on to a better world? Why are you still ghosting around? And, why did you appear to me so often?”

“First of all, smoke isn’t holy. Smoke is of the devil’s making and it frightens me.”

“Oh, sorry, that’s just something people say when they’re shocked. I won’t say it again, I promise.”

“Alright then,” she said with a shudder. “To answer your first question, ‘I can’t move on because the man who shot me hasn’t moved on. He wants his leg back before he seeks higher ground and he wants me to get it for him’.”

“Why you?” Fred asked.

“Because I’m the one who cut it off and he thinks I should be the one to find it,” she answered.

“But you died right after you cut off his leg and he shot you. How could you possible know what someone else did with the leg?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but I do know what we usually did with arms and legs that had been amputated. If the soldier died because of the surgery, we put the arm or leg in a wooden box with his body. Then we dug a hole and buried him. If he lived, we put the severed limb with all the other sawed off body parts, from that day’s surgeries, into a deep-dug hole and shoveled the dirt back, tamping it down solid so animals couldn’t get to the fleshy bones.”

“Well, there you have your answer!” Fred exclaimed. “The leg is buried with his body.”

“My soldier-patient swears that is not so. He claims that his severed leg is not in the box with the rest of his body.”

Fred pondered, thinking, then asked: “Why are you telling me all of these gruesome details? Why me? Surely you are not asking for my help in finding something that you haven’t been able to find in over one hundred and seventy years?”

“I’m not asking you to help me find it , Fred. I’m asking you to help me replace it.”

“And how on earth do you expect me to help you with that?” he ghost-yelled.

“Fred’” she coyly answered, let me cut off one of your legs. You were the same weight as my patient and near the same age he was when I operated on him. He’ll never know the difference when I give him your leg.”

“Are you crazy woman ?” he yelled. (but it only came out a whisper) . “I like my legs. I’m not about to let you cut one off.”

“But you’re dead, Fred. You’re a ghost. You won’t feel a thing. You don’t need legs. You just float around anyway,” she countered. “ Besides, he was a war hero. You were only an accountant. You’ve got to help me move this brave man on to a higher lever.”

“This is ridiculous,” Fred screamed, flaying his hands through the air. “Where is this guy buried anyway? Are his bones here in Olathe Memorial with us?”

“No,” she replied. “The reason I’m interned here is because this ground used to be my uncle’s farmland. When he heard of my death, he came in his farm wagon, claimed my body and hauled it back here to bury it. My soldier-patient is buried in Union Cemetery, off of Twenty Seventh and Main Street, in Kansas City, Missouri. Most of the dead heroes from the battle of Westport are in graves in Union.”

“Your uncle must not have liked you very much. This had to be the middle of nowhere one hundred and seventy years ago. And he used such a small stone for a marker.”

“You’re right,” she moaned. “He constantly reprimanded my father for training me to be a nurse-doctor. He said that we were both a disgrace to the family.”

After a brief pause, she continued, “ Be that as it may, Fred, we need to get a move on before you change your mind. We’ll float over to Union Cemetery and I’ll cut your leg off, right over his grave. We’ll leave it there for him to find later. But first, I have to stop off at a near-by ital to borrow one of their surgical saws.”

“Whoa! Just a holy minute! I haven’t agreed to anything,” Fred cried.

“You haven’t exactly said,’No’, she cried back at him. “You can’t let me down now. Not after I’ve waited so long for you to die. The man won’t let me move on until I’ve given him a leg. Help me Fred,” she pleaded. “I’ve waited over one hundred and seventy years for the perfect replacement to come along and you’re it.”

“You can’t do this to me,” he sobbed. “I don’t want to float around with an empty pant leg.”

“Please,” she begged. “I won’t hurt you. I’m very good at cutting legs off. You won’t even miss it, I promise. Remember, you’re just a ghost.”

Fred hung his head in despair.

“Come on man, let’s float over to Union Cemetery right now and I’ll show you his grave. He’s got a really big headstone that his wealthy family placed there after the war ended.”

“I guess it can’t hurt to look,” Fred croaked. He floated along near her, enjoying the sight of the beautiful metropolitan area that lay beneath them. Near mid-town, she disappeared but was soon back, floating something along beside her, wrapped in a towel.

Suddenly, “There it is!” she yelled, pointing to a spot in a grove of trees. She turned to smile at him and then did a nose dive , landing on the very spot. Fred nose-dived after her, never having realized that he could move so fast.

When he was on the ground, standing next to her, she instructed him to look around. “Isn’t this the most beautiful old cemetery you’ve ever seen? “ I guess so,” he replied, looking around, “but it sure is surrounded by a lot of apartment buildings and town houses . They’re pressing in so close they’re chocking the cemetery out of sight.”

“That’s not our worry right now, Fred,” she reprimanded. “We’re here on a mission, so let’s get on with it. You are standing on the very grave of my soldier-patient. I want you to lay right where you stand. That will make it easier for me to cut the leg off and leave it here for him to find.”

“Wait a gosh-darned minute!” Fred yelled , refusing to lay down. “I haven’t agreed to this.”

“But you will,” she cooed. “Orderlies! She commanded. “Lay this man down and hold him fast.

“No!” Fred screamed, but,.in the blink of an eye, he found himself flat on his back, unable to move. Glancing down his mound of stomach, he saw her sitting on the ground, beside him. She had a saw in her right hand and was busily moving it back and forth across his lower leg.

“No-no-no,” he blubbered.

“Okay men. You can release him now,” he heard her command.

The next instant Fred was hovering over the spot with one empty pant leg flapping in the breeze. Looking down he could see his leg and a saw laying on the grave. The next second , the leg was gone and only the saw remained. Then, his brown-eyed , sloppy-faced woman stood before him, wiping her bloody hands on her very blood-streaked apron. “ Could you take that saw back to Trinity Lutheran ? I won”t have time. Just leave it on the counter in the lobby.”

“Wait!’

“Please Fred, you can see I’m in a hurry. I’m free to move on now but I must make haste before the gate closes and the light no longer shines.”

“Oh, my! Here I go! BYE!”

“Wait! Take me with you!”

At that moment he was confronted by a soldier wearing the union blue. “You can’t move on, Sir,” he informed Fred.

“Why ever not?” Fred snapped back.

“Because, Sir, you left the living world with your body fully intact. To go through the gates, into the light, you must appear as you did when you died.”

Fred was stunned, speechless.

“Here, Sir,” said the man in blue, “ hover still for just a minute and I’ll pin that empty pant leg up so it won’t blow around so much.”