Chapter 52: Probably Not a Ghost
James very nearly missed the entire affair because of a game of dice.
Three off-duty soldiers had cornered him in a tavern two streets from the harbor, convinced that a captain’s purse existed solely to improve their fortunes. He relieved them of eleven reales over the first two rounds before wounded pride demanded another game. James had long ago learned that pride took much longer to satisfy than empty pockets ever did.
By the time he escaped with most of his winnings and all of his good humor intact, the moon had climbed far higher than he’d intended. He sprinted the rest of the way to the household with his coat flapping behind him and his boots only half-laced.
He reached the gumbo-limbo tree breathing hard and leaned against the trunk while his lungs caught up. If a weeping ghost truly existed, it would make for a far better story than another evening of gambling.
That was all he expected from the night.
She appeared around the side of the house less than ten minutes later, and James quickly decided that stealth was not among the talents Pensacola bothered teaching its daughters.
Lucía crept forward on the balls of her feet with both arms stretched slightly out for balance, stopping every few steps to glance nervously back at the house. No windows glowed behind her. No one watched.
Twice she froze for reasons James couldn’t begin to guess, standing perfectly still like playing statue before cautiously moving again.
He couldn’t decide whether no one in town ever thought to keep watch, or whether so little happened in Pensacola after dark that no one considered it worth the effort.
Either way, he found the whole thing amusing.
She stepped beneath the tree’s shadow and stopped in front of him.
Moonlight suited her far better than she probably knew. Her dark, thick hair fell loose past her shoulders, and a narrow strip of red ribbon had been woven through one side since he’d last seen her that afternoon.
She’d changed out of her work clothes into her nicest dress. The blouse was modestly cut, but fitted closely enough that it left little doubt about the figure beneath. She was petite rather than strikingly voluptuous, but the dress flattered every gentle curve she had. It fit well enough to explain why the garrison soldiers always seemed to find excuses to stroll past her mother’s fence.
She’d even left her shoes behind. Bare feet peeked beneath her skirt.
James felt that was particularly endearing.
"Tú... viniste."
He spread his hands in satisfaction.
"Bueno. Muy bueno."
"Casi no vengo." Her voice stayed low. "Mi hermana no dejaba de hablar."
James caught hermana without trouble, recognized hablar a moment later, and pieced together the rest from context. Her sister had spent the entire evening talking at her. That certainly matched the expression Inés had worn when she’d walked away that afternoon.
He decided to risk another attempt.
"¿Tienes...?"
The verb slipped away from him at exactly the wrong moment.
"Tengo miedo."
Lucía blinked.
Then she burst into bright, delighted laughter, one hand flying up to cover her mouth.
"¿Tú? ¿Tienes miedo?"
"No, no." James laughed at himself, waving both hands. "You. Tú. Not me."
Still smiling, she answered too quickly for him to follow and started walking, leaving him no closer to knowing whether he’d accidentally confessed to being afraid of a ghost he didn’t even believe existed.
Still, it had made her laugh.
James had never regretted looking foolish if it earned him that.
They walked together through Pensacola’s dark streets. The settlement lay silent, little more than vague shadows beneath the moon. Beyond the tavern he’d left behind, no lanterns burned.
A low garden wall crossed their path only a few strides later. It barely reached James’s knee, something a child could have stepped over without slowing.
James stopped before it as though confronting a serious obstacle.
He squared his shoulders, lifted one leg with exaggerated care, climbed over, then turned with a dramatic flourish and offered Lucía his hand.
"Con permiso, señorita."
Her gaze drifted from the wall to the hand he offered, then back to him.
The faint crease between her brows suggested she couldn’t imagine why so much ceremony was needed to cross something that barely reached her knee.
Even so, she slipped her hand into his.
Gathering her skirts with her free hand, she stepped lightly over the wall with considerably less effort than he’d displayed.
By the time her bare feet touched the dirt on the other side, a bemused smile tugged at her lips.
A few steps farther on, the road became rough where roots had broken through the earth and wagon wheels had carved deep ruts into the ground.
Her hand found his sleeve and stayed there without either of them acknowledging it.
They had nearly reached the exterior of the fort when a lantern swung around the corner ahead. Its slow, lazy rhythm belonged to a soldier with absolutely no interest in whatever duty he’d been assigned.
James reacted before either of them spoke.
He caught Lucía by the wrist and pulled her into the narrow space between a supply shed and a stack of crates.
The gap barely held one person.
It certainly wasn’t meant for two.
James pressed back against the shed, drawing Lucía in with him until there was scarcely room for either of them. She caught herself against his chest, one hand fisting in his shirt as her breath stirred the skin beneath his jaw.
The soldier wandered past close enough to touch.
He hummed tunelessly to himself.
He kicked a loose stone aside without looking.
Then, to James’s growing disbelief, he stopped no more than six feet from their hiding place, calmly produced a pipe from his coat, and took his own sweet time lighting it.
James stayed where he was, patient as stone.
Lucía’s fingers tightened in his shirt.
He could feel her heart hammering through the narrow space between them, and for one absurd moment he wondered if the soldier would hear the frightened girl heartbeat if he turned around.
At last the soldier finished with his pipe and strolled away as leisurely as he’d arrived, smoke trailing behind him.
James exhaled. "Reckon that’s the least dedicated watchman I’ve ever had the pleasure of nearly gettin’ caught by."
Lucía hadn’t moved.
She looked up at him from only a few inches away. Even in the darkness he could make out the heat rising into her cheeks.
After arduous effort, she stepped back and put a proper distance between them.
The well stood beyond the small gate exactly where promised. It was a squat ring of carefully fitted stone with a heavy timber beam overhead and a bucket hanging from a rope stained green by years of weather.
Thick scrub crowded around its base. Beyond it, the fort’s palisade rose dark and silent.
The gate itself was little more than a simple plank door built into the wall, unguarded and forgettable beside whatever grand entrance faced the harbor.
James found a low section of wall and leaned against it.
Then he patted the ground beside him.
"Aquí."
Lucía only stared.
James patted the ground again, then gestured between the spot, himself, and her.
"Aquí. Esperamos."
Understanding dawned.
She sat beside him, close enough that her shoulder rested against his arm. Folding her hands neatly in her lap, she waited as if sitting through church.
Nothing happened.
For a long while, nothing happened at all.
The night continued exactly as any other. Crickets sang from the scrub. Somewhere far away, some dog argued with unseen rivals. The watch bell inside the fort had rung long ago and fallen silent again.
James had endured longer waits for worse reasons.
Still, this one was beginning to wear on him.
He tried making conversation.
"Bonita noche."
Whether his Spanish had been right or hopelessly mangled, Lucía simply smiled and answered with something too quick for him to catch.
They continued like that for some time, exchanging fragments of conversation that neither fully understood. As the minutes slipped by, Lucía seemed to forget herself.
She leaned against him with an easy familiarity that hadn’t been there before, her shoulder resting lightly against his as though it belonged there. Every now and then she’d murmur something, stumble over her own words, flush, and laugh quietly at herself while James smiled along, understanding none of it except that she seemed happy.
Eventually the wait stretched long enough that James’s confidence began to fade.
"I’m startin’ to think yer ghost stood us up, lass."
He stretched out his legs with a crooked grin. "Poor manners, that. A man drags himself out at midnight for a hauntin’. Least she could do is make an appearance."
Lucía understood none of the words.
She laughed anyway.
For a brief moment, the evening became exactly what James had expected.
A pleasant story, nothing more.
It rose from somewhere beyond the palisade.
Low at first.
Then climbing.
Lucía reacted before he did.
She threw herself against him, wrapped both arms around him, and buried her face in his chest. Her whole body trembled beneath his hands as frightened breaths came in quick bursts against his collarbone.
James embraced her without consciously deciding to.
One hand rested against the small of her back.
The other settled gently into her hair.
Part of him was already thinking about getting her somewhere safer.
Another part simply stood still in stunned disbelief.
He had never truly believed the story.
Not really.
The ghost had only been an excuse to spend an evening worth remembering.
Nothing more.
The cry ripped through the darkness again.
And whatever James had expected when he’d left tonight...
It had not been this.
