Revelations

by CamRose

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

As the early morning mist lifted, the small group of mourners made their way to the Barkley burial ground. The small, grassy plot had been established by the Barkley family after Tom Barkley's death. The family had purchased the land and then buried him where he died, after the fight against the railroad's hired guns. Since then, the only other person who had been interred at the private site was Elizabeth Barkley, wife of Jarrod Thomas Barkley for all of nine days.

Today, the damp ground waited to receive its next occupant, Victoria and Tom Barkley's son.

The family and friends of the deceased man stood quietly, as the minister from the Barkley's church began to recite the burial service over the coffin, which rested on the soft, green grass in front of the mourners. The Barkleys huddled together in a group, providing solace to each other in their grief, while their friends surrounded them, offering silent support. Off to one side stood Silas, the family's faithful retainer, as well as Duke McCall, the Barkley's longtime foreman; both were considered to be more family than servant or hired man by the Barkleys, and thus were in attendance. Behind them stood the men that the minister had brought with him who would lower the coffin into the ground and fill in the newly-dug grave at the completion of the ceremony.

Unnoticed by the gathered mourners, a silent figure joined them halfway through the service. The observer watched and listened along with the others as the minister offered up prayers for the deceased. In particular, he watched Victoria Barkley closely as she leaned on her daughter's arm for support, and when she appeared to grow pale, he began to make his way over to her. However, her son standing next to her on the other side also saw what was happening and moved even closer to her, supporting his mother with an arm around her waist as she steadied herself. Seeing that his help wasn't needed, the observer stayed where he was and resumed his silent vigil.

As he completed his recitation, the minister gestured to the men who stood behind Silas and Duke to come forward, so he could direct them in their task. Uncomfortable with what was about to happen, the observer moved away from the mourners and wandered over instead to the grave of Tom Barkley. Behind him, he heard the sound of wood against dirt as the men lifted and moved the coffin over the ground, closer to the large hole dug in the soft earth. This was accompanied by soft weeping and the quiet, comforting murmur of men's voices. He turned his attention to Tom Barkley's head stone, reading the dates and noting the traces of moss that ran along the base of the granite. As his gaze moved downward, he saw that a portion of the faded, white fence that surrounded the grave was pushed out of place. Squatting down and reaching out to straighten it, he felt a light touch on his shoulder. Startled, he pivoted on his feet and looked up into a face that he had never expected to see again.

Thomas Barkley stood directly behind him. He smiled down at him fondly.

"Hello, Son."

* * * * * * * *

Tom Barkley's son stared up at his father in shock, his mouth hanging open. Seeing this, the specter of Tom Barkley chuckled.

"Son, out of all the reactions I imagined I'd receive when we met today, you being speechless wasn't one of them." He studied his son with amusement as the man finally found his voice. "Fa ... Father? How did ... Why are ... ? His son shook his head as if to clear it and tried again. "How can you be here?" Tom Barkley only smiled at him and laughed again.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, boy."

His son looked back at the group of people behind him; not a single person was paying attention to them. He turned back to his father, and not knowing what else to say, he asked the obvious. "Well, aren't you?"

Tom shook his head, serious now. "No, Son, I'm not. I took this form so you'd be able to recognize me."

His son stood up then and faced his father. "I don't understand." His mind was foggy, playing tricks on him. He knew he should understand what his father was talking about, but the thought refused to coalesce in his mind.

Tom took his boy gently by the shoulders. He spoke gently, the way one would talk to a horse that was about to bolt. "Son, what's the last thing you remember?"

The young man thought back. Hot...he remembered being hot, so hot that it felt as if his body would burn through the sheets he lay on, to the bed below. Yet, at the same time, his limbs had felt deadened and numb, like the cold he experienced that one time when he had gotten lost in the snow all those years ago.

Then he remembered the feeling of slow suffocation and he heard in his memory the sound of his mother's voice, telling him to go. But go where? He was suddenly seized by panic. He couldn't breathe! Frantically, Tom's son twisted in his father's arms, trying to draw in a breath that wouldn't come.

Sensing his son's panic, Tom wrapped his arms around his shoulders more firmly. He spoke to his child in a soothing voice, with a tone used by all parents since time began.

"Take it easy, son ... relax ... ... everything's all right …" Tom calmed his son with his touch and voice.

Slowly, his boy's panic eased. Tom's son tried an experimental breath and felt his ribs expand. It seemed that he could feel each muscle as it moved; he had a sense of his body that he had never had before. Shakily, he asked his father, "What just happened?"

Tom eased his arms away from his child and spoke reassuringly. "Nothing, son. That was just an echo of life. It should be better now-How do you feel?"

Tom's son checked himself with the new sense he seemed to have developed. He did feel better, he decided; whatever it was, it had passed as quickly as it had come. But what was that his father had said?

"Papa," he whispered, suddenly afraid, but of what, he didn't know. "What do you mean, an echo of life?"

Tom Barkley gathered his son again in his arms and used an endearment his son had never heard from him. "Sweet boy," he said in a tender voice, "You've passed over."

* * * * * * * *

With a flash of fear, his son shook his head in disbelief. Passed over? If he had passed, that would mean he was dead ... which meant that the funeral going on behind him was ... … his. His fear was suddenly replaced by confusion, and he almost buckled in his father's ghostly arms. How could he be dead, but not be aware of it?

As if reading his mind, his father answered him.

"It's because you weren't ready to let go yet, Son. Just because your mother told you to go, didn't mean that you were ready to." Tom let him move back, but didn't let go of his arms. He addressed him again. "How did you get here, son? What do remember after your mother gave you permission to go?" Tom didn't push; he waited patiently. After all, they had all the time in the world now.

His son thought back, searching his mind ... did he even have one, he thought crazily, if he was dead? It didn't matter, he decided; he would do as his father had asked. There, in a corner of his consciousness, was the memory.

"Papa, I remember! I saw you!" His mother had told him that his father was waiting for him. In his vision, he saw his father reaching out towards him, as if from a distance.

Tom smiled at him now, encouraging him on. "Yes, Son, you did. Then what happened?"

His son focused in on the vision. He remembered a bright light and a sense of moving fast, faster than he had ever gone on horseback. The feeling was heady and a great peace washed over him. He had reached out to take his father's hands, when there was a sudden sensation of falling, out of control. When he had stopped falling, he found himself in a thick mist. Not knowing how he got there, he wandered, until suddenly there was an opening, which had led him to his family at the burial ground. It had never occurred to him that the funeral was his. He was just ... there, somehow, and back with his family.

Sorrow set in as he remembered the peace he had felt and then lost. He moved back into his father's embrace. "Papa, I was so close ... ... but something jerked me back." He cried invisible tears into his father's ghostly but somehow comforting shoulder.

Tom consoled his son. He remembered his own passing and the shock of seeing his body on the ground. His death had been violent, but away from his home and family, and although he regretted leaving his family at that moment, his movement towards the light had been unimpeded. But his son had died at home after a prolonged sickness, surrounded by his mother and siblings. The bonds forged by his family, and especially his relationships with his brothers, had exerted their pull on his soul, stretching but not letting go. And there was something else ...

"I know, Son ... that's why I'm here. I'm sorry I couldn't reach you before this, but now that we're together, we need to break the bonds that are holding you."

* * * * * * * *

"Break the bonds?" His son lifted his head from his father's shoulder and moved back to look at him. What he saw amazed him.

His father seemed to be fading as he watched. He could see Tom Barkley's outline but he could also see the sun shining on the grass behind him. He wondered if he looked like that.

Again, his father read his mind. "No, son, you don't." He gestured back to the group of mourners, who were watching now as the grave was being filled in. "No one can see you, except me. I came in this form so you would recognize me and not be afraid. I wasn't sure if you understood exactly what was happening to you, and didn't want to risk losing you."

At his son's confused look, he continued. "Right now, you are a disembodied soul. You haven't completed your passing, so you're thinking of yourself as having a body still. That's why you panicked, thinking you were suffocating. But the truth of the matter is you have no lungs to breathe with. It was an echo of life, something that made you feel as though you were still living. The problem is, the longer you remain in this state, the more likely it is that you will become a ghost, doomed to walk on the earth always but not to be a part of it." He paused, waiting to see what his son's reaction would be.

To Tom's relief, his son nodded his head in understanding. It made sense somehow. But there was still something he didn't understand. "Father, if you're not a ghost, what are you? And why couldn't you reach me until now?"

"I guess you could say that I'm a spirit or an angel ... it depends on your point of view. And the reason I couldn't reach you before was that you had to be at the right place and time. A spirit can return to Earth on only one day of the year and only to the place where it died. This is the place and today is that day." His son still didn't understand, so he continued. "Today is All Saint's Day."

* * * * * * * *

They sat together now, watching as the minister completed the final blessing over the grave. How sad his family looked, Tom's son thought to himself. He felt sorrow that he had caused his family such pain. He had never meant to; he had always tried to protect his mother and siblings as best as he knew how. But as his father had explained to him, it was another reason why he hadn't been able to complete his journey to the other side. He hadn't given up his obligations. That was why he had been drawn to join his family at the funeral.

He watched as his brothers hovered protectively around his sister and mother, and realized with surprise, that he no longer felt the need to protect his family. He knew, with certainty that his family would watch out for each other. He turned to his father.

"Mother told me that the family would be all right, and that it would persevere. I believe that, Father."

Tom Barkley's spirit responded. "As you should, Son. After all, your mother has never lied to you, has she?"

"No Sir." His son stood abruptly. "Father, you said that the bonds between me and the family need to be broken in order for me to go with you." He started to take a deep breath, and then stopped himself, giving his father's spirit a rueful smile.

"I'm ready."

Tom's spirit smiled back with understanding and pride. His boy had always been brave. "All right, Son." He floated to his feet.

"Will it be painful, Papa? For them?"

"No, Son. In fact, it'll be just the opposite for them ...you'll see." He came around to face his son. "Now be still."

Tom reached out towards his son and gently laid one transparent hand on his head. Then, with the other hand he reached through his son towards his heart and made a subtle gesture with his other hand. He withdrew his hands slowly and turned his son around in the direction of the grieving family.

"Look, sweet boy."

His son watched in fascination as streams of what he could only think of as ribbon drifted loose from his form. Each ribbon was different, with colors so unusual and vibrant that he couldn't even put a name to them. As he watched, the ribbons slowly drifted apart from each other; it was only then that he realized that each strand was attached to a member of his family. He looked to his father's spirit with wonder.

"Seen and unseen..," was his father's only response. As he watched, his father's form grew less distinct and began to glow. "Keep looking, son ... You don't want to miss this."

Enthralled, he looked back at his family. The ribbons of color were slowly wrapping themselves around each family member. As he watched, each strand slowly dissolved into his mother, sister and each brother until nothing remained. But there, inside of each and surrounding their hearts was a faint sheen of color, a remnant of each bond.

"There will always be a part of you within them now, which will see them through any difficulty, starting today. And when their time comes to join us, you'll know them, and them, you." His father's voice seemed to come to him from a distance now. Looking away, he stared in awe at the intensely bright light of his father's spirit. It reached out to envelope him.

"It's time to go, Son." Involuntarily, he took one last look back at his family; he loved them so. But with his father's next words, his soul took flight and merged with his father, the essence of both passing through the veil.

"Beth has been waiting for you, Son."

Jarrod Thomas Barkley finally knew peace.

THE END