The Road Home

by Michael Thomas Ford

  “I do,” Burke said. “I don’t know any authors personally. Wait. I take that back. I do know one, but nobody likes him or his books.”

  “You don’t know that you’ll like my book, either,” Sam said.

  “If I don’t, I won’t say a word,” said Burke.

  Sam rinsed the last dish. “Then I’ll never know if you’re telling the truth or just being nice.”

  “You’ll just have to trust me,” Burke told him. He paused a moment. “I really like your friends,” he said. “I’m envious.”

  “I’m sure you have a lot of friends,” said Sam.

  Burke shook his head. “I have a lot of people that I know,” he said. “I’m not sure I’d call them friends.”

  “‘Your friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you,’” Sam said quietly. “Elbert Hubbard.”

  “Who?”

  “American writer, after a fashion,” Sam explained. “My favorite quote of his is, ‘There are just two respectable ways to die. One is of old age, and the other is by accident.’” He laughed nervously, putting his fist to his mouth as he choked.

  They looked at one another, neither speaking. Burke suddenly felt awkward and searched for something to say. His heart beat loudly in his ears. Sam seemed not to know what to do with his hands. Finally, he shoved them into his pockets.

  “Sam!” Colton’s voice seemed to echo like canon fire in Burke’s ears, startling him. “Nan just said tiddleywinks sucks. Get in here before it gets ugly!”

  “We should go,” Sam said quickly.

  Burke nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We should. Before something happens.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Gaither Lucas lived in a Victorian house as stately and well preserved as the queen herself. As Will pulled the truck up to the curb in front of it, he whistled. “That paint job cost him a bundle,” he said. “There must be five different colors on there.”

  Burke would rather have paid Gaither Lucas a visit with Sam accompanying him. But fifteen minutes before they were to leave to make the journey to Burlington, a water line in the library’s seldomused men’s room had decided to burst, flooding the bathroom and threatening to dampen the carpeting in the main room. Sam had been able to turn the water off but had to stay there to await the arrival of the local plumber. Burke would have canceled, but Gaither Lucas had been very insistent that Tuesday afternoon was the only time he could meet with them. And so Burke had called Will, who had been only too happy to offer a ride.

  “Only one old guy lives here?” Will asked as he helped Burke out of the truck.

  “As far as I know,” Burke answered, starting up the manicured walk to the front porch. His leg was hurting him after the long ride, and this only added to his bad mood. Also, Will had resumed the discussion about possibly visiting Burke in Boston, and for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint, it annoyed Burke that Will was speaking as if the two of them were developing an actual relationship. He wished he could ask the boy to wait in the truck.

  Will knocked on the door before Burke could point out the button for the doorbell. “Oops,” Will said when Burke nodded at it. He reached out and pressed the button, and a soft clanging came from within the house.

  The door opened almost immediately. A very tall, very thin man with snow-white hair peered out at them. “No need to do it twice,” he announced in a firm voice. “My hearing’s as good as my sight is. I’m Gaither Lucas, and I’m guessing you’re Burke,” he said, correctly identifying one of his visitors. “Which means you must be Sam Guffrey,” he said to Will.

  “Sam couldn’t come,” Burke said quickly. “An emergency at the library.”

  “Emergency?” Gaither said. “At a library? What happened? Someone keep a book out too long and the law had to be called in? I’ve never known books to raise a ruckus. Mostly, they just sit there.”

  Burke suppressed a smile. “A water line broke,” he explained. “This is Will Janks, my . . . friend.”

  Gaither looked at Will for a moment, then moved his small, dark eyes back to Burke. “I see,” he said. “Well, come on in before Antoinette breaks her neck.”

  “Antoinette?” said Burke, not understanding.

  “Antoinette Couteau,” Gaither replied as Will and Burke came inside. “My neighbor. Has to know everything that goes on. She’s too short to get a good look out the window, so she stands on a stool. And she’s got cats. One of these days one of them is going to get between her feet, and she’s going to fall over and do herself a mischief.” Stepping outside, he waved at the house next door and called out loudly, “Watch those damn cats, Annie!” He chuckled as he shut the door. “Let’s go into the parlor,” he said.

  The inside of the house was as beautiful as the outside. Burke wondered if Gaither Lucas had had the place renovated or if it simply had never fallen into disrepair. Looking at dark wood floors polished by years of feet passing over them, walls plastered and smoothed by hand and not simply drywalled, and moldings featuring minor damage that could be caused only by a lifetime of use, he suspected it was the latter. Even the paintings and photographs decorating the walls had an air about them that suggested they’d been there long before Gaither had first passed through the front door.

  The parlor was large and surprisingly airy. Although definitely of a different time, the furniture was not as overstuffed as Burke would have expected in such a house. Rather than having the claustrophobic aura of a dowager’s sitting room, the parlor was inviting. Burke sat down on a Directoire-style sofa, which he was almost certain was a Phyfe. Across from it were two Sheraton armchairs, and between those was a lovely table, upon which stood an unusual lamp featuring three nude female figures holding up a large glass globe shade.

  “Is that a Nuart?” Burke asked Gaither.

  The older man glanced at the lamp. “Indeed it is,” he said. “It was given to my mother as a wedding present. She was a bit scandalized by the nudity, but not so much that she wouldn’t display it. She did, however, forbid me to turn it on or off. I think she feared brushing my fingertips against one of the ladies’ breasts might corrupt me.”

  Burke laughed. He liked Gaither Lucas. The old man had a fine sense of humor. He’s what I want to be when I grow up, Burke thought as he watched Gaither move around the room.

  “Would you gentlemen like something to drink?” Gaither asked. “I’d suggest cocktails, but as it’s only just ten o’clock, I think that would be in poor taste. Perhaps some iced tea?”

  “That sounds perfect,” said Burke.

  Gaither nodded and left the room. Will, seated in one of the chairs, looked around the room. “How do you know what all this stuff is?” he asked Burke. “And what’s a Nuart? Sounds like a porn theater I saw once, driving through Rhode Island.”

  “They made Art Deco lamps,” Burke said. “And I know about this ‘stuff’ because I’m interested in the history of design.”

  “Why?” said Will, looking genuinely confused by the idea.

  Burke pointed at the wall behind Will, which was covered by a wallpaper adorned with pale green vines with yellow flowers and small birds. “Do you know who designed that?” he asked.

  Will shook his head.

  “William Morris,” Burke informed him. “An English designer. He was part of the Arts and Crafts movement.”

  Will shrugged. “It just looks like some birds and flowers.”

  “That pattern is called ‘Tom Tit,’” Burke said. “A tit is a kind of bird,” he added quickly, seeing the grin that had started to cross Will’s face.

  “So the guy made some freaky wallpaper,” said Will. “What’s the big deal?”

  “It’s the idea behind the wallpaper,” Burke explained. “Morris and his contemporaries wanted to make interior design—architecture, textiles, furnishings, art, everything—more in line with the natural world. It was a major shift in the way people thought about design.”

  “So what you’re saying is that we’re sitting in a museum,” Wi
ll remarked.

  “It does sometimes feel that way,” agreed Gaither Lucas as he entered with a tray carrying three glasses and a pitcher of tea. “And occasionally I feel like one of the antiquities housed in it.” He set the tray on a table and poured tea into the glasses.

  “I don’t really know anything about this kind of stuff,” Will admitted as he accepted the glass Gaither handed him. “I’m more into things that move—cars, engines, that sort of thing. I guess I don’t have the artistic gene or whatever.” Before either Burke or Gaither could reply, Will’s cell phone trilled. He took it from his pocket and looked at it. “It’s my dad,” he said. “I’ll take it outside.”

  He went into the hall and out the front door, leaving Burke and Gaither alone. Gaither handed Burke a glass of iced tea and resumed his seat. “He seems like a nice boy,” he said, taking a sip from his glass.

  “His father and I went to school together,” said Burke. “He drives me around.” He nodded at his leg cast for emphasis.

  “Yes,” Gaither said, “I noticed that you’re a bit . . . impaired at the moment. May I ask what happened?”

  “Car accident,” said Burke. “On my fortieth birthday.”

  Gaither raised an eyebrow. “Forty?” he said. “I think I remember forty. It was a very long time ago.”

  Burke already knew that Gaither Lucas was seventy-seven. Sam had found the birth announcement from 1933. He’s almost twice my age, he thought. And I’m twice Will’s age. Will could be his son, and Gaither could be his grandfather. For some reason he found this unnerving.

  The front door opened, and Will returned to the parlor. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “Dad needs my help with a calving. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh,” Burke said, taken aback. “Okay. Well, maybe we can do this another time?” he asked Gaither.

  “Why don’t you stay?” Gaither said. “Will here can go help his father and come back for you later.”

  “It’s an hour back,” Burke said.

  “And this could take a while,” said Will.

  Gaither shook his head. “You can stay here tonight,” he told Burke. “I assume you don’t need any particular looking after, other than perhaps some help up the stairs?”

  Burke shook his head.

  “And I’m sure I can scare up the necessary toiletries and such,” said Gaither. “It will give us more time to talk, and I’d be happy for the company.”

  Burke looked at Will. “Would you mind coming back tomorrow?” “No,” said Will. “It’s no problem for me. I like the drive.”

  “Then that’s settled,” Gaither said. He stood up and reached for Will’s hand. “It was lovely meeting you. Tomorrow you must stay for lunch or supper, depending on when you arrive. My regards to the calf and its mother.”

  Again, Will left them alone.

  “You’re sure this isn’t an imposition?” Burke asked Gaither.

  “I have no relatives,” Gaither answered. “My friends are scattered around the globe. Believe me when I say that I’m happy to have the company. Now, I believe you wanted to talk about Amos and Tess Hague.”

  “Yes,” Burke said.

  “You said that your interest has something to do with a project about the Civil War,” Gaither continued.

  Burke cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely forthcoming in that regard,” Burke admitted. “I’m a photographer, and I’ve been working on a project of a sort that began with a book about the Civil War.”

  Gaither regarded him without expression. “And now we come to the part where you have not been entirely forthcoming, I take it?”

  “I didn’t intend to be,” said Burke. “It’s just that things have taken a sort of . . . peculiar turn.”

  Gaither sat back and crossed one leg over the other at the knee. “Peculiar? In what way?”

  Burke was apprehensive about proceeding. He realized now that he’d been hoping that Sam would handle this part of the conversation. Now that the responsibility had fallen on him, he wasn’t at all sure he could ask the questions to which he was seeking answers. He had brought with him some of the photos he’d taken at the Hague farm, and they sat in a portfolio beside him. But now he couldn’t imagine showing them to Gaither Lucas.

  “Mr. Crenshaw, I assure you that I have experienced many peculiar things in my lifetime. I believe there is nothing you might want to know—or say—about my family that would upset me.”

  I wouldn’t be so sure, Burke thought. He took a breath to calm himself. “I’m curious about Amos and Tess Hague,” he began before he could talk himself out of it.

  “That’s hardly peculiar,” Gaither assured him.

  “We haven’t gotten to that part,” said Burke.

  Gaither took a drink of tea. “I assume what you really want to know about is how the Hague farm came to be the Wrathmore farm,” he said. He didn’t wait for Burke’s answer before continuing. “It’s a sad story, and one very few people know.”

  “All I know is that in 1911 Calvin Wrathmore claimed ownership of the Hague farm. What I haven’t been able to find out is how he claimed ownership.”

  “Calvin Wrathmore—my grandfather—claimed ownership due to the right of inheritance,” said Gaither.

  Burke shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Before I continue, do I have your promise that you will publish none of what I tell you?” asked Gaither.

  “Of course,” said Burke. “I’m simply curious.”

  “For reasons you in turn promise to share with me,” Gaither added.

  “Yes.”

  “Very well,” said Gaither after a moment. “I may be a foolish old man, but I believe you. The answer to your question is that Calvin Wrathmore was not my grandfather’s given name.”

  “What was it?”

  “Cain Hague,” said Gaither.

  Burke heard himself inhale sharply. “Amos and Tess’s grandson?”

  Gaither shook his head. “No,” he said. “Their son. Born in 1869.”

  “Now I’m really confused,” Burke said. “I didn’t know they had children.”

  “My grandfather ran away from home in 1884,” said Gaither. “Shortly after the marriage of Tess Hague to Peter Woode.”

  Wait until I ask him about Peter Woode, Burke thought. He might find that peculiar. But for the moment he kept that secret to himself.

  “I was told that my grandfather did not approve of his mother remarrying,” Gaither continued. “At any rate, he left home at the age of fifteen and apprenticed himself to a carpenter. He also changed his name, to Calvin Wrathmore. Poetic, isn’t it?”

  “And he never spoke to his mother again?” asked Burke.

  “Not to my knowledge,” said Gaither. “She died around the turn of the century, I believe.”

  “In 1903,” Burke said. “So why wait until 1911, after Peter Woode’s death, to make a claim on the farm?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Gaither replied. “My mother never knew. As you’ve obviously done some research on the matter, you know that my grandparents were killed in a fire set by Peter Blackburne in 1920. Only my mother survived.”

  “But I understand that Blackburne was acquitted.”

  Gaither nodded. “He was. Nonetheless, he was guilty. My mother saw him running from the house.”

  Burke didn’t contradict the statement. He was hardly going to suggest that Gaither’s mother might have lied, or at the least been mistaken. Anyway, there was no point. He was more interested in the revelation that Calvin Wrathmore was actually Amos and Tess’s son.

  “That means that Grace Woode was Calvin’s half sister,” he said.

  “It does,” Gaither agreed.

  “Which means that Tanya is your”—Burke tried to picture the family tree Caroline Ayres had made—“second cousin thrice removed,” he concluded. “Or something.”

  “Tanya?” Gaither said.

  “Tanya Redmond,” said Burke. “Tess and Peter Woode’s great-great-great-great-gr
anddaughter. Her mother had a picture of Tess and Peter Woode.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with that branch of the family tree,” Gaither said. “After Peter Blackburne killed my grandparents, relations understandably cooled a bit. There were no annual reunions or holiday get-togethers.”

  Burke smiled at the joke despite the grimness of it. “But Blackburne didn’t know he was related to Calvin Wrathmore, anyway, did he? I mean, how could he if he didn’t know Calvin was really Cain Hague?”

  “But he did know,” said Gaither. “That’s how Calvin claimed ownership of the farm. He revealed his identity to the court. There was a record of Cain Hague’s birth, of course, and he also had supporting evidence.”

  “What was that?”

  Calvin smiled. “The wedding rings of Amos and Tess Hague,” he said. “Would you like to see them?”

  CHAPTER 23

  The rings were gold. Gaither kept them in a blue velvet box in the top drawer of his bureau. Rather than bring them down to Burke, he had brought Burke up to his bedroom on the second floor. Like the rest of the house, it was beautifully appointed with antiques and thick rugs on the floor. The windows were closed, and the air held the smell of lavender.

  “Very ordinary, aren’t they?” Gaither said as he took one of the rings out and laid it on Burke’s palm. “That one was Amos’s.”

  Burke held the ring between his fingers. It was indeed a plain gold band, unremarkable except that it had once been worn on the finger of a Civil War soldier.

  “Now look inside,” said Gaither.

  Burke brought the ring closer to his eye. On the inside of the ring he could just make out words engraved in the metal. He tried to read them, but they were too faint.

  “It says, ‘And the beautiful day passed well,’” Gaither told him. “And inside the other is written, ‘And the next came with equal joy.’ Both have the initials AH and TB in them as well.”

  “That’s unusual for that time, isn’t it?” Burke asked. “They didn’t generally engrave rings, I don’t think.”