Everything changed the day that Harold Whitley returned home from the war. Seeing his mother shift from her expected demeanor of joyful and welcoming to frightened and grim as Mabel arrived with the Casey Girls, was unsettling to say the least. Annabelle's interests also shifted; from looking after the younger girls to remaining at Harold's side until his injuries inevitably claimed him. But it was not her lack of attention that caused Mabel to leave that day. Instead, it was reliving her father's final days in the form of the young man's suffering.

Mary's whispers as she visited each room that contained the soldiers who arrived with her son, reminded Mabel of how Jake and Giselle would discuss her father's condition when they thought she wasn't listening. The expression of poorly concealed sadness in the old woman's eyes as she spoke to Annabelle haunted Mabel. Yet, there was nothing quite so painful as the hope that Annabelle seemed to cling to in Harold's final hours. It was that same naivety that Mabel possessed day after day until she returned from school to find that her beloved father, motionless and cold in his quiet room.

At first, she left the Whitley's home on an errand. Mary had given her the means to purchase supplies for the night and asked that she speak with Reverend Chelsea in Waterford so that he might visit the injured soldiers before their souls departed. She rode swiftly towards town as had been discussed on a chestnut mare that Thomas had favored during those afternoon rides that seemed so long since passed. But Mabel, as ever, strayed from her intended path and found herself approaching the scorched ruin of the farmhouse that Thomas had grown up in.

A humble grave was all that had been left behind in his remembrance. She'd visited Thomas only once before with Annabelle by her side. Unlike his mother, he had neither a headstone nor an epitaph. Just a small wooden cross that his father had quickly made in what was left of his workshop before abandoning the property for good. She sat on the ground in front of Thomas, shuffling the leather pouch full of coinage that was to be used to purchase bandages and medicinal herbs that wouldn't do any good in the grand scheme of things.

"You're growing up much too fast," a voice, hushed and light as a feather traveled past her on the breeze. Before Mabel could inquire, the sentence was repeated with more weight. She recognized it immediately as the voice of a young man fighting to speak lower and sound grown up. Although her face flushed in discomfort, the faintest smile graced her lips. Her godmother had a "ghost" who she would speak to when Mabel was busy visiting her father's grave. Her heart grew warm to know that Thomas had found her, just like Henry had for Giselle.

"Where are you?" She searched the space, but found nothing. At least until she felt his presence in the form of a windy embrace. "I can feel you." Without a second to spare, the confession that she made to him only after he was gone, spilled from her lips, "Thomas, I never hated you. Never! I just get so angry sometimes and become someone I don't like." Mabel could feel the shape of his hand forming upon the platform of her one open palm. "Who did this to you?" She was disappointed when he gave no answer. "I must know if I am going to avenge you!"

"Spirits don't applaud vengeance. Peace is our gospel and I am at peace when I am with you."

"How can you possibly be at peace with someone who said such terrible things? And content with knowing that whoever murdered you in cold blood is still out there? The Thomas I know-" she could feel the breeze wash over her, in an attempt to bring comfort and lessen her distress. "You're holding me. Aren't you?"

"You gained a mother in Annabelle. Now, you have a ghost of your very own. And your father… do you still blame me for what happened to him?"

Mabel could feel her strength failing and knew she was on the verge of tears. "I was foolish to do so. Seeing as he is here. Alive and… somewhere. Perhaps even in those woods." She looked up, seeing the dark, twig-like foundation of what was once a barn.

Mabel understood that her father was a tyrant during this time- she even knew of his affinity for burning buildings, but she hadn't made the connection that his was the hand that opened fire on young Thomas Martin. The justification for saving Tommy from the schoolhouse was still beyond her. Furthermore, Thomas hadn't seen his killer. Nor did he have any way of identifying him as Colonel Tavington. This cruel irony only worsened as Thomas continued his explanation of this "haunting" to Mabel.

"You are on the verge of something, my beautiful Mabel. A change in your life. I cannot see everything that lies before you with clarity, but I know that you are about to embark on a thrilling yet dangerous journey."

Her smile widened. "And you're coming with me!?"

"Spirits walk the earth in very brief intervals," the voice of Thomas said darkly, "but I will never be far off. I will never stop watching you and protecting you." The changing winds rustled the overgrowth along the fence and beside his mother's grave. His words were comforting and surprisingly wise. Mabel's heart grew heavy. The Thomas from her memory was humorous and playful. Could he have lost those traits alongside any worldly desire for vengeance? As if on cue, the spirit's voice lightened, "You're sitting in the mud again. What will Reverend Chelsea say when he sees you?"

She dried her eyes and shot a quick smile to the empty space over her shoulder. "That's right, Reverend Chelsea. I don't know why I thought this errand would become less grim if I visited you…"

"You find me grim?" His voice rose to the same darling pitch that Mabel had been missing all along.

"A little bit. You are a ghost, after all. Grimness is practically a prerequisite... could you tell me more about this journey?"

He chuckled, sending a sharp draft of air across Mabel's shoulder. She couldn't decide if it was thrilling or terrifying.

"I'm afraid I'm not as informed as you believe me to be. You will get muddy, though."

The breeze pulled her closer, suspending her above the ground so that if she tried to fall backwards, she wouldn't be able to. "The muddier I get, the more likely you will be to visit me?" Mabel joked.

"I can almost guarantee it!" He produced another "laugh", this time it was more welcome. "It's funny how the loveliest girl I ever had the good fortune to know becomes even lovelier when she's covered in mud!" They both grew silent, sad. "First loves never die, Mabel," he tried to console her, but all that he received in return was silence, "I hope this is enough until we meet again."

"April Smith," she mumbled, tracing a spiral into the damp earth with her fingernail.

"Who?"

"Oh, my godmother, Giselle. She's a slightly insensitive woman. Fa had all of my mother's things packed away in the basement and after he passed, she broke into several of the boxes and exhumed her record player and played her April Smith album to death. It was good music, very catchy but the one really slow track said something along the lines of, 'if I cannot have the real thing, I'll gladly settle for your ghost', or something like that."

"It will all make sense in the end, Mabel. Would you believe me if I told you that you are here for a reason?"

She hesitated before giving a half-hearted nod. "If you had stayed with me, I eventually would have told you… this is all the result of a riding accident. Somedays, I think it's a bizarre dream. But if that is all that it is, why does this world seem so real?"

"You're here to find something that you lost."

"My parents," Mabel confirmed. "Correct?"

"I don't know. But if they come to your mind first, I have cause to say… yes, your parents."

Mabel collected her thoughts and tried to form a response, but when she finally achieved clarity, the breeze had departed and she was alone once more. "Wait!" She cried into the emptiness, "I still have so many questions for you, Thomas!" Silence. "When will I see you again?" The seconds turned to minutes- she must have waited for ten by the time that she realized he wasn't coming back. At least not yet. So, Mabel proceeded to Waterford as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The clouds overhead that had arrived with Thomas broke apart in the sky and the light from the sun filled in the empty spaces. This was the way of hauntings, as Mabel understood them. Over time, she discovered patterns, disturbances in the forecast, every time she and Giselle visited the cemetery. Clouds would often times mask the sun and although Mabel couldn't hear him, the occasional whispers of his name that escaped her godmother's lips assisted her in realizing that those visits weren't only for Mabel's benefit.

It is interesting to note that Mabel experienced a second haunting on this particular day. She didn't see it coming at first because the sun was shining just as clearly as ever, but the second that she noticed the hummingbird on her shoulder, Mabel knew that she had seen this guide before. The bright, iridescent patterning on the tiny bird's chest and wings combined with its conversational mannerisms had been locked inside of her memory for many years. In short, she was riding alongside Marigold Tavington.

Before darting off into the woods, the hummingbird bounced to and fro like a brilliant green pendulum and she showed little satisfaction until Mabel pursued her. The chase was on. What started off as playful, turned frustrating. The hummingbird taunted and teased her, much to Mabel's surprise, and the young girl's aggression fueled the "game" between them. Her horse's canter turned into a full sprint as she flew across the rugged terrain, urging her mount to leap over any obstructions that they found in their path. Deeper and deeper into the woods they rode, until Mabel was far passed anywhere she and Thomas had explored.

Despite her best efforts, the bird remained the victor. Even after she disappeared without a trace, Mabel continued on. When the horse showed signs of exhaustion, her verbal demands lessened, but the whips and kicks continued until finally, the little chestnut mare threw her into a shallow stream and raced off, riderless.

"Stupid horse!" Mabel spat, stomping her foot loudly against the smooth rocks. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Her tantrum was cut short when she slipped and fell back into the exact spot that the horse had tossed her. "Man, I'm a jerk," she mused after cradling her head for a moment or two. Her eyes, still ablaze with icy blue frustration, scanned the thick and leafy horizon. "And now I'm lost in the woods… awesome..."

A/N: The brief April Smith lyric is a real thing and I don't own it. If you can't tell, music plays a huge role in my " writing process" and the song that the lyric is from "Beloved" fit this chapter like a glove. The album its from, "Songs for a Sinking Ship" is probably my most recommended LP because at the end of the day… I'm just a Marigold. Highly recommended.