The Road Home (25 page)
CHAPTER 26
“I
t makes sense,” Sam insisted. “Amos and Thomas were lovers. Tess was their cover. Nobody would have thought it was odd that Thomas lived on the farm, too. It was the perfect situation.”
t makes sense,” Sam insisted. “Amos and Thomas were lovers. Tess was their cover. Nobody would have thought it was odd that Thomas lived on the farm, too. It was the perfect situation.”
“Then how do you explain Peter Woode?” asked Burke. “And the fact that Tess had at least two children?”
“The children are easy,” said Sam. “Amos fathered both of them. Tess was pregnant when he died, which is why she married Peter Woode so quickly. That way everyone would think Grace was his daughter.”
“But
how
did she get pregnant? You know, if Amos and Thomas were gay?”
how
did she get pregnant? You know, if Amos and Thomas were gay?”
“Maybe they used a ladle,” Sam said, grinning. “I don't know. Maybe Amos wasn't the father of either of them.”
“Which brings us back to Peter Woode. Explain him.”
“Okay,” Sam replied. “Now just go with this. Amos befriended William Holburne during the war. Maybe William saw something in him, or the other way around. It doesn't matter. Then Amos found out William was really Elizabeth Frances Walsh. He's gay, right? So he understands not being like everyone else. He also knows the infantry is no place for a young woman. They stage William's death. That wouldn't be difficult. Then Amos sends William to live with Tess and Thomas. Only, he can't be William anymore, in case someone recognizes the name. That's when Peter Woode is born.”
It took Burke a moment to work through the twists and turns of Sam's story. When he got to the end, he said, “I still don't get why Tess married Peter.”
“Maybe she was a dyke,” said Sam. “Maybe she just wanted other men to leave her alone. Maybe she loved him and didn't care what was between his legs. It doesn't really matter.”
Burke rolled the window next to him down farther, letting in warm summer air. It smelled of hay. In the field that ran along the road, clover grew high, the purple heads bobbing in the breeze.
“Well?” Sam said after several minutes had passed.
“It makes sense,” said Burke.
“You don't sound totally convinced.”
Burke shrugged. “It's just that we can't
prove
any of it.”
prove
any of it.”
“Why do we need to prove it?” Sam asked.
“It's a mystery,” said Burke. “Mysteries need to be solved.”
“Not always,” Sam rebutted. “Isn't it enough that we've figured it out? It's an amazing story.”
“I guess,” Burke admitted.
“You like things you can see,” said Sam. “Things that are solid, right? You don't like unknowns.”
“Who does?”
“I do,” Sam told him. “I don't care if I can prove any of this. I just care that it might have happenedâthat it probably did.”
“But don't you want to know that you're right?”
“It would be nice,” Sam admitted. “But only because then we could tell the story to other people. And we can do that, anyway. Think about it. The story would make a great book.”
“There's one thing I still don't understand,” Burke said. “Why did Cain Hague run away? And why would he take his parents' wedding rings?”
“Why do teenagers do anything?” said Sam. “Maybe he was mad that his mother was remarrying. Maybe he loved his dads and didn't like Tess. We don't know how much of a mother she was to him. It's just another part of the puzzle.”
“This means Peter Blackburne killed his uncle,” Burke realized. “You know, if Grace and Calvin were sister and brother.”
“But they never knew it,” said Sam. “More tragedy. Practically Shakespearean.” He pulled the car to a stop in a small parking lot beside a row of shops. “Here we are.”
The Colton Beresford Gallery had a large plate-glass front window. In it hung a very large paintingâabout five feet on each sideâof a German shorthaired pointer dressed in a black antebellum gown and holding in her paw three long ribbons that were attached like leashes to the necks of three identical red-haired little girls.
“It's called
Mrs. Humphries and Her Grand Champion Old-World Children,
” Sam told Burke.
Mrs. Humphries and Her Grand Champion Old-World Children,
” Sam told Burke.
“It's brilliant,” proclaimed Burke. “Who did it?”
“An artist named Sarah Higdon,” Sam said. “She specializes in anthropomorphized animals. It could easily be too cute, but what she does is comment on human society by turning us into animals. Wait till you see her other stuff.”
As they entered the gallery, Colton appeared from somewhere in the back, dressed in black jeans and a black V-neck cashmere sweater with a white T-shirt beneath it.
Eyeing him, Burke couldn't help but remark, “It certainly
looks
like a New York gallery in here.”
looks
like a New York gallery in here.”
Colton laughed. “You can take the boy out of New York,” he said.
Burke was already looking around the space. First, he headed toward more paintings by the artist whose work hung in the window. As Sam predicted, it was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Most of the canvases were large, and most featured cows, rabbits, or pigs.
“They're oddly moving, aren't they?” Colton asked, coming to stand beside Burke. “See how the cow is naked and the pigs are waving Bibles at her? Sarah says she's the cow and the pigs are the people who told her she was evil for not conforming to what they thought a good girl should be. It's titled
Judging Venus
.”
Judging Venus
.”
“You see more in them the longer you look at them,” Burke said.
“That's what good art does. Come take a look at these.” Colton led him to another wall, which featured a dozen intricately constructed religious icons. They were made of pieces cut from food packagingâmostly candy wrappers and breakfast cereal boxes. Although the pieces were small enough to resemble mosaic tiles, there was enough of the original lettering and design visible to make identifying the brands fairly easy.
“Religion as a consumer product,” said Burke, looking at a particularly beautiful Madonna and Child made from Froot Loops boxes, bubble-gum wrappers, and the silver foil from a Hershey bar. “Clever.”
“Pop art, Vermont style,” Colton joked.
The rest of the art in the gallery was equally interesting. In addition to paintings, Colton was showing pottery, glass art, and even several large sculptures built out of old machine parts. Although Burke couldn't picture a lot of the things in a New York gallery setting, it wasn't because they weren't good enough. It was because they were in some ways too good. They didn't try too hard, and they didn't make the
viewer
have to try too hard.
viewer
have to try too hard.
“So?” Colton asked after Burke had wandered through the gallery's four large rooms. “Shall we do a show of Burke Crenshaw photographs?”
“I still don't know,” said Burke. “Not that I don't like the gallery,” he added quickly. “It's great. The work you have here is fantastic. I just don't know that I have anything to say.”
“Just keep thinking about it,” Colton told him. “If you get inspired, you know you have a home for your work.”
“The images from the farm are interesting,” Burke said, thinking out loud. “But they're not enough. Something is missing from them.”
Colton patted Burke on the back encouragingly and turned to Sam. “Are you going up to Destiny this weekend?”
“I think so,” Sam answered. “I haven't been in a while, and they're doing a full-moon circle.”
“And just maybe you'll have a repeat with Pussy Willow?” Colton said.
“It's Dandelion, and for your information, he happens to be a very nice guy. He's a social worker in New Hampshire.” Sam looked at Burke and quickly looked away. “But no, I'm not expecting him to be there.”
“Sam dragged me to one of these things,” Colton told Burke. “You have to see it to believe it. All of these fairies singing and dancing to drums around a bonfire. Half of them naked. It's crazy.”
“Fairies?” Burke said. “Isn't that kind of anti-PC?”
“Radical Faeries,” said Sam. “It's what they call themselves. Basically they're pagan men. Some women, too. Some trans. They don't really define themselves in any particular way, so it's hard to explain.”
“Like I said, you have to see it for yourself,” Colton said. His face brightened. “You should go,” he said to Burke.
“I don't know,” Burke said. “I'm not sure I'd fit in.”
“If
I
can fit in, you sure can,” said Colton. “I'm a nice Presbyterian boy, and nobody tried to sacrifice me to the Horned God or anything.”
I
can fit in, you sure can,” said Colton. “I'm a nice Presbyterian boy, and nobody tried to sacrifice me to the Horned God or anything.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Nobody sacrifices
anything,
” he said. “Stop giving him the wrong impression.”
anything,
” he said. “Stop giving him the wrong impression.”
“Not true!” Colton objected. “There was that guy who threw the doll thingy into the bonfire.”
“It's called a poppet,” said Sam. He looked at Burke. “It's a figure made out of branches and leaves and flowers and whatever else you want to use. You put your intention into it and burn it to release your charge.”
“Of course,” Colton said. “How silly of me for thinking it was a doll.”
“You don't have to come if you don't want to,” Sam said to Burke.
Burke was about to thank Sam for giving him an out, but suddenly he heard himself say, “Actually, it might be nice. If nothing else, it gets me out of the house.”
“It's pretty rustic,” Sam said. “Cabins. Outdoor showers. A lot of walking. It might be bad for your leg.”
He doesn't want me to go,
Burke thought.
He doesn't think I can handle it. Or maybe he's embarrassed.
Whatever the reason, the usually unflappable Sam seemed nervous. Again, Burke was surprised to find that this made him more determined to go.
Burke thought.
He doesn't think I can handle it. Or maybe he's embarrassed.
Whatever the reason, the usually unflappable Sam seemed nervous. Again, Burke was surprised to find that this made him more determined to go.
“I think I can manage,” he said. “That is, if you don't mind.”
“No,” Sam said a little too quickly. “I don't mind at all. Okay, then. We'll go. It will be fun.” He smiled brightly.
“Take your camera,” Colton told Burke. “You might find that inspiration you're looking for.”
On the car ride home Sam said, “You don't have to come to Destiny this weekend if you don't want to.”
“No, I do,” said Burke. “It sounds . . . interesting.”
Sam scratched his beard. “About the camera,” he said. “It's considered bad form to take pictures of people without their permission.”
“Don't worry. I'm not going to play
National Geographic
photographer.”
National Geographic
photographer.”
“I didn't mean it that way,” Sam replied. “I know you wouldn't do that. It's just that sometimes people treat these gatherings like they're freak shows. Not often, but enough that it can be a problem. The Faeries are pretty much anything goes, and if you're not used to it, it can be a little bit much. But everyone respects everyone else's boundaries.”
“Got it,” said Burke. “So, are you a Faerie?”
Sam took a moment to answer. “Sort of,” he said. “I'm more of a garden-variety pagan. But I like the Faerie energy, and they put on really good gatherings.”
“Explain the pagan part. I mean, I have a basic idea, but what exactly does it mean?”
“To me?” said Sam. “Because again, every pagan can have a different idea of what it means.”
“To you, then,” Burke said.
“To me, it means living my life in a way that allows me to be everything I can be.”
“Didn't the army use that line?” Burke joked.
“We had it first,” said Sam, smiling. “To me, it also means helping others become the people they're meant to be.”
“Like Freddie Redmond.”
“Like Freddie Redmond,” Sam agreed. “It's really a way of approaching your life more than anything else, or being connected to the world and the other creatures in it. There can be other things, depending on your particular approach. Magic. Deities. Rituals.”
“Magic?” Burke said, thinking that Sam was joking.
“We're not talking Harry Potter,” said Sam. “It's more a way of working with energy to effect change.”
“So there are gods and rituals. Unless I'm missing something, it sounds a lot like all the other religions.”
“No,” Sam said. “Not really. There's no one deityâsome pagans don't follow any deity at allâand nothing about having to be saved from sin. Most religions are concerned about what happens when you die, about going somewhere better than here as a reward for faithful service or whatever you want to call it. Paganism teaches that being here
is
the reward, and that we need to make the most of it and leave the world a better place.”
is
the reward, and that we need to make the most of it and leave the world a better place.”
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