Sarah sat on the floor watching her mother labor on their one, small bed. She understood her mother was hurting, but Sarah didn’t understand why or from what. When her mother got a short reprieve from the labor pains, she looked at Sarah and smiled.

“It’s okay, love. It’ll be over soon enough.”

Sarah smiled back at her and nodded, somewhat relieved, but still with no understanding. She pulled at a loose thread on the hem of her threadbare dress, running it through her thumb and finger until they began to feel raw. Her mother had often admonished her to not pull on the threads, as there was precious little holding the thinned fabric still together, but it was a nervous habit that soothed her. And as her mother was preoccupied with the pain, she felt it was safe to indulge herself in the habit. 

They used to live in a big house called “The Candy Kitchen” with several other women. The storefront looked like a confectioner’s shop – and actually sold some confections – but that was not the chief business of the place. What the storefront did provide, though, were heavenly smells that wafted throughout the entire building and the occasional stolen treat. She had lived there her entire life, was told she was born there in her mother’s bedroom.

Most of the women there were kind to her. The ones not kind were simply indifferent. She liked the indifference and the kindness, and she missed both. She liked how the kind ones would sneak her treats with a wink when her mother was occupied with a gentleman and they were not. Sometimes she was handed a hard candy, sometimes a cookie, sometimes a scrap of sausage or bread, once it was a cheap bracelet of colorful beads that was too big for her wrist. In her world, all these things qualified as treats. It was a life she had enjoyed.

But their time there abruptly ended when the man in charge decided that Sarah, at six years old, should be entertaining men also. Upon this announcement, the indifferent ladies shrugged and walked away, uninterested as usual. The kind ladies disagreed vehemently and loudly, scolding him with obvious disdain.

“She’s just a child, you greedy bastard! She’s got no bi’ness entertainin’ men! She’s meant for better things! You should be ashamed of your damned self!”

He swung at them indiscriminately, intending to connect with any of them in an attempt to assert his authority. But they were too young and fast and ducked and ran down the hallway, away from his swinging fist. They did not fear him nearly as much as he desired.

“Filthy whores, I’ll do as I please! Don’t you have men to tend to? Get back down to the parlor!” They scattered but were not appeased.

For the next few days, while her mother spent every spare moment finding a room for them elsewhere, the kind ladies hid Sarah, moving her at intervals within and throughout the house to keep the man confused as to the child’s whereabouts. Their plan worked, and only three days after his announcement, the two said their quiet, tearful goodbyes to the women who had gathered to see them off. They left in the early morning hours while he slept, carrying everything they owned. Several of the kindest ladies, including her mother’s best friend, Ruthie, had pressed what money they could into her mother’s hand as they hugged goodbye.

Her mother had made sure to impress upon Sarah that they must be very careful to take only those things that truly belonged to them and nothing more. Sarah nodded and looked through her small stash of things, acknowledging the cheap bracelet as one of her most precious treasures.

“We can’t have him thinkin’ we owe him anything. That could be dangerous. We don’t want him comin’ to find us,” she spoke in a serious, worried manner. It would be difficult to make it out on her own with a young child and another on the way. She had yet to tell anyone that she was once again with child, and she dreaded the extra strain the baby would put on her ability to feed and clothe them all.

Sarah watched as her mother groaned, held onto her big belly, and turned on her side. Very slowly and with much difficulty, she moved from the bed to squat on the floor. Leaning back against the side of the bed, her mother let her head tip backwards in her exhaustion and Sarah saw a vein in her throat pulsing in time to her labored breath.

“Baby, go and fetch me those clean cloths,” and she motioned to their one, lopsided cupboard.

“Yes ma’am.”

Sarah didn’t know why her mother needed clean cloths, didn’t understand anything of whatever was happening, but she loved her mother and would do anything for her. She came back and handed them over.

“Should I go get Ruthie?” She asked very quietly, afraid it was bad enough for her mother to say yes, but also not wanting to imply that they might need help. Her mother had always been adamant that she could take care of Sarah, and that they didn’t need anyone else’s interference. Her mother smiled at her, trying to reassure the child even through her pain.

“No child, we’ll be fine.” She ruffled Sarah’s hair the way she often did, and Sarah was comforted by the familiar gesture. Then the pain started again and her mother put her hands back under her belly. Sarah couldn’t understand why her mother gripped her belly so fiercely, but it seemed to be from where the pain emanated. Suddenly, water splashed onto the floor underneath her mother, and Sarah couldn’t figure out where it had come from. Her mother mopped it up with one of the cloths.

“Okay, baby, it’s about time to push, I think.”

But Sarah was no more enlightened than before. Push what, she wondered. She nodded at her mother, nonetheless. Her mother began to bear down, and Sarah thought it looked like when she was sitting in the outhouse. Then her mother would rest and catch her breath, closing her eyes as if she slept squatting there on the floor by the bed. These quiet intervals scared Sarah maybe more than all the noise had. She reached out at one point to rouse her mother, to see if she was okay. But before her hand met her mother’s arm, the laboring woman opened her eyes and her face turned a brighter red as she bore down and moaned with her efforts.

They heard the annoying neighbor next door bang on their connecting wall, demanding quiet in his loud, obnoxious voice. Her mother took one of the clean cloths and stuffed it in her mouth to dampen the sound, sinking her teeth into it. Sarah sat across from her mother and waited, worried.

This sequence continued for an unbearably long period. Sarah lost track of time. When next she looked over at their one grimy window, it was dark outside. Her mother had been doing this – whatever it was – all day. She looked absolutely exhausted. Sarah brought her a drink of water, but her mother refused it, too focused on the business of birthing a child. Sarah was afraid to ask again, but she was also afraid not to.

“Should I go get Ruthie, mama?”

She was trying to remain calm, but it was becoming more and more difficult for her to manage. She was begging more than asking, and they both heard that in her voice.

“I think something’s wrong, baby,” her mother was gasping for air, and Sarah noticed that there was blood on the floor. She had shifted several times in the last few hours, from squatting to the bed and back to the floor – once on her hands and knees on top of the bed – trying to find something closer to comfort.

“There’s blood.”

“I know. Go get Ruthie, baby. I think we need her. Run back to ‘The Kitchen’ and bring her, please. Be careful!” She was out of breath from speaking and then got back to pushing.

When Sarah left, her mother was bearing down and moaning into the wet cloth in her mouth. Sarah ran as fast as possible and almost collapsed with relief to find Ruthie unoccupied and able to follow her back to their boarding room.

When they entered the room, Sarah knew something was terribly wrong. Her mother was silent and still and there was blood spread across the floor toward the door. Her mother sat flat on the floor in the blood, leaned back against the bed, her head fallen forward. But there was no movement, no sound. Ruthie rushed to Sarah’s mother and knelt in the blood, but her mother was already gone. There was nothing to be done. The baby had never emerged. Sarah began to quietly cry, even as Ruthie cursed and yelled loudly about how unfair it was and how God had no goddamned heart to kill such a sweetheart. The man next door began banging on the wall again, but they didn’t notice.

.

Kay opened her eyes and looked at her client, ready to give her information. She was in the client’s house, and they were sitting at the kitchen table across from each other.

“I'm getting that this house used to be a boarding house. Did you know that? In the mid-1800’s.”

The client nodded. A few months ago, when they’d contemplated buying the house, she had looked up its history. It was one of the oldest buildings in town. She was proud to be living in such a historical treasure. She wasn’t so satisfied with the ghost they often heard weeping, however. The crying was so desperate and it went on and on. It sounded like a child.

“There was a death here – on the second floor – in your daughter’s bedroom.”

“Okay,” the client exhaled audibly as if she’d been holding her breath, “I guess that explains a few things. My daughter won’t sleep in there anymore. She says the crying is too loud,” and she leaned closer as if imparting a secret, “and she says she sometimes sees a little girl sittin’ on the floor.”

“Most times when people die, they don’t know they’re dead.” The client laughed. “Don’t laugh,” Kay teased her, “you won’t know it either when you die. There’s a young girl’s ghost in there. She witnessed her mother die while giving birth. It happened sometime around 1860, I think. She was probably six or seven years old. When she died – and she died years later as an old lady – she must have come back to this house and to the time that troubled her the most, which was her mother’s death. She’s stuck in a loop.” The client looked confused, so Kay continued, “A loop is where a ghost is stuck in a place and/or time and is replaying a part of their life again and again – usually a traumatic part. The child doesn’t know she’s dead, and she doesn’t remember that she lived her entire life and died as an old lady. She also doesn’t know she’s in a loop watching her mother labor and die over and over.”

“Oh my God,” the client gasped, “how horrible. Can you help her? Can you fix this? We don’t want to sell our house – we’ve only been here a few months – but it’s gettin’ so bad that we don’t want to be here anymore. We don’t know what to do. Sometimes the crying is just so loud.”

“Loops are horrible, I agree. I see it a lot, however – so sad. But, thank God, it is fixable. It may take a while, though, because when ghosts are in a loop, they tend to ignore me when I go inside to bring them out. They are so focused on what’s happening in the loop, they can’t see anything else. Let me sit here and work on it, and I’ll let you know when I’m done. Feel free to wander off and do whatever you need to. It’ll be pretty boring to watch,” she laughed, “because I’m just gonna sit here with my eyes closed and go talk to her.” The client nodded and got up and left the room.

.

Kay closed her eyes and sent her mind out again. She stepped into the child’s loop and looked down at her sitting on the floor across from her laboring mother. Kay knew the child’s mother’s ghost was not present; she knew this was the child’s imagination at work, so she didn’t worry about distracting the mother.

“Hi,” she spoke softly, “my name is Kay. Want’s yours?” She was surprised when the child immediately acknowledged her presence. It usually took a lot more work to get their attention. Sarah was visibly startled to see Kay in their room – and someone dressed so wrongly, so like a man.

“You’re wearing trousers,” in her shock, it was the first thing that came out. Kay was accustomed to the this. She did it on purpose to get their attention.

“I am. What’s your name? Mine is Kay.”

“Sarah,” the child eyed her warily. “I don’t know you. Go away. You don’t belong here.”

“That’s true, but neither do you, Sarah. I’m here to help. Let me take you Home.”

“I am home. You don’t belong here. Go away.”

The child’s mother continued to labor across from them. Kay had divined enough to know that at some point in the loop the child would leave to fetch a woman. She tried to use this to an advantage.

“Let’s go and get someone to help your mother, okay?”

“She said not to – said it’ll be over soon.”

“But she’s having some problems, isn’t she?” Kay spoke kindly, not wanting to start an argument. She’d learned the hard way that ghosts that had been stuck in a place for decades could be horribly stubborn – and rightly so. They didn’t know any better. They didn’t know they were dead, didn’t know they’d been stuck for years. The girl nodded, her eyes on her mother. Kay took this as a good sign.

“I can go with you, and we can go find the lady that you trust. What’s her name?”

“Ruthie.”

“Yes, that’s it. Ruthie. Let’s go get Ruthie, okay?”

“Mama said not to.” But Kay could tell she was wavering.

“We’ll be quick. Let’s go,” she let her voice lilt into a hopeful, matter-of-fact, let’s-get-going tone.

Kay watched as the young girl made her decision, saw it on her face. She got up from the floor and held out her hand to Kay. Kay took her hand and they turned to leave. The child looked back once, opened the door, and they walked through. Kay used this transition to exit the loop. And as she had hold of the child’s hand, the child was pulled out of the loop also. Kay knew the child was expecting to see the second-floor landing, and she felt Sarah’s surprise and confusion when it was not. The child stopped and pulled backward and tried to take her hand from Kay’s. But Kay held firmly.

“It’s okay. I know it doesn’t look right, but we can still find Ruthie.”

Kay closed her eyes and sent her mind out to Ruthie. After a few seconds, when she’d found her, she quickly apprised her of the situation. She knew Ruthie would be willing to come and help the child, because she already knew the entire loop – indeed, the entire lifetime of the child whose hand she held. She knew Ruthie had taken Sarah in and protected her and raised her as best she could. Ruthie loved the child as her own. She also knew Ruthie would look exactly as Sarah remembered her, just as she had looked when the girl had gone and found her that night decades ago. Kay felt the child relax when Ruthie appeared in the distance and began walking toward them.

Will you take her to meet her mother, Kay asked Ruthie wordlessly from inside her mind. Ruthie indicated she would. Kay drew Sarah forward by the hand and propelled her toward Ruthie, who was smiling. Sarah walked into Ruthie’s hug and began crying. Kay smiled her gratitude over the child’s head and watched as Ruthie picked her up, turned, and began to walk away. Further in the distance, Kay saw Sarah’s mother. She was holding a tiny baby in her arms. Kay closed her eyes.

“I call upon the Angels of Escort," she paused to wait for the Angels to appear, then continued when she sensed them nearby, "and ask that you take these souls Home, please. I ask that you remove any and all darkness from them – all distress and sadness, all illusions. I ask for their healing and wholeness. I ask that you remind them of who – and what – they truly are: bright, shiny, powerful beings of light. Thank you for your help. And Godspeed."

She opened her eyes and watched until everyone disappeared together into the distance. She sighed. It was always the same. Kay didn’t know where or what “Home” truly was, she just knew it felt fantastic and was always in the distance. Never right here, she thought. The feeling of Home was so comforting, so welcoming, that she had many times been tempted to start walking and join the departing souls. Not my time, she thought with another sigh, and turned to go back.

.

Kay opened her eyes and looked at the clock. She’d been gone about an hour. Funny, she thought, time is so weird when you’re out and about. It seemed to her that she’d only been gone about five minutes. But she was long accustomed to the bendiness of time. It amused her. She smiled and called to the client.