19
Fort Daniels, 26 February 1871
He held out his arms, but she stayed where she was. Her legs wouldn’t allow her to move. He was a ghost. It meant he was dead, and she would pass right through him. Her mother had lied to her. So had her aunt.
“What happened?” she asked.
“They said I couldn’t handle it,” he said with a sad shake of his head. Now he rubbed his own arms. “The guilt. Over what happened. But I had help coming to this state.”
The memory felt so close, like a leaf fluttering from a tree overhead, and if she just sat where she was, she could catch it. If she moved, grasped too hard for it, the motion of the air would make it elude her.
“What happened to you?” she asked. “To me?”
“If you don’t remember, dear girl, it’s a mercy. You were so…” He shook his head, his eyes squi
