Tomb With a View

When he was done, he took a step back and blinked, like he was trying to process it all. “If you see fit to pull some sort of antic on me, young lady,” he said, “you should know that it is neither amusing nor suitable.”

“No, it’s not funny at all.”

Convinced I was serious and that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, the president stepped forward, the better to see the paper in my hands. He read it over again, talking it through as he went. “It is a treaty. Between the United States of America and Federal Dominion of Canada, dated September 15, 1881. It sets forth to say that in exchange for the sum of fifteen million dollars in gold . . .” He paused, his head cocked. “That was a great deal of money in those days,” he commented before he went back to reading. “It says that in exchange for those fifteen million dollars, the United States would sign over to Canada all the lands of the Montana, Dakota, Idaho, and Wyoming territories. There is room there at the bottom where my signature is meant to go. Thank the good Lord . . .” His eyes bright, he looked up at me. “It is unsigned!”

“You got that right. And this . . .” I waved the paper, but carefully. After all, even I knew a document of historical significance when I saw one. “This is what Studebaker was really after, not your letter to Lucia.”

The president’s forehead was creased with thought. “But who could have done such a devilish thing?” he asked, and I didn’t need to supply the answer. I knew exactly when he figured it out. His eyes flew open. His face flushed. He threw back his shoulders and thundered into the darkness. “Jeremiah Stone! Your president needs you to attend him. Now!”

Oh yeah, Stone showed up, all right, and I don’t think I was imagining it: behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes were troubled. But then, I bet he’d never seen anyone as pissed as the president was. James A. Garfield’s broad shoulders trembled. His jaw was so tight, I thought it might snap. His eyes flashed as he stood as straight as an arrow and listened to Stone.

“Mr. President.” Jeremiah Stone bowed slightly. The overhead light gleamed off the part in the center of his hair. “We are not scheduled for another cabinet meeting until tomorrow, sir. Yet you sound as if you need my help on a matter of some consequence. We shall certainly attend to it, sir. But first . . .” He was carrying his leather portfolio. Of course he was carrying his leather portfolio. This was one ghost on a mission, and he intended to carry it out. Even if it took him more than a hundred years. “There are some papers that require your signature, sir, and—”

“Papers!” President Garfield was a sight to behold! Remember how I once said that if I was casting a Biblical epic, I’d give him the starring role as God? Well, this was an Old Testament God, all right. Furious, and raging like Lake Erie when a sudden storm kicked up. He closed in on Stone, who by this time, was shaking in his boots. The president poked a finger at Stone’s chest. “You are the blackguard who engineered this infernal treaty with our Canadian friends to the north.” The President poked him again. Stone backed up another step.

“You are the one who sought to profit by it.” Another poke. Another step.

“You knew in those last days I was not thinking clearly. You fully intended me to sign the paper without knowing what it was I put my name on and I have no doubt you intended to profit from the perfidy.” He poked yet again, and by this time, Stone’s heels skirted the edge of the shadows that surrounded the dais. “Even after all these years, your diabolical deed haunts your wretched soul. That is why you still insist I put my signature on the treaty. You have sought, over and again, to make me a partner to your despicable deed. You, sir . . .” The president pulled himself up to his full height, and I swear, in the play of light and shadow, he looked bigger and more imposing than that statue of him nearby.

“You are a vile and pathetic devil, and I want you out of my sight.”

With a little yelp, Stone folded in on himself. “But sir, I thought . . . I thought . . .”

“I neither know nor care what you thought then or now, Stone. I know simply that you are a traitor to your president and to your country.” The president pointed into the darkness beyond the shadows. “Leave my sight. Now and forever. There is no more cowardly or mean-spirited creature upon the earth than a man who betrays his nation.”

“But Mr. President, I—”

“Be gone!” Like a lightning strike, the command shook the foundations of the memorial, and Stone had no choice but to obey it. He slunk off into the darkness, and just as he stepped into the shadows, I saw him pop into nothingness. I knew I’d never see him again.