On the last verse, Frank sped up the tune into a jig, then slowed it down dramatically, invoking a reverent mood as it transmuted into his rendition of the soprano solo from Mozart’s Coronation Mass, Agnus Dei. “Agnus Dei qui tollit peccata mundi. Lamb of God who taketh away the sins of the world.” Perhaps this was his prayer, the best he could do for Gus, that poor, lost soul.
Beside him, Mona, holding the cedar box, was hesitating as Alice urged her in mime to open the lid. She took a garden scoop out of her pocket, and, trembling, began to scoop and sprinkle the ashes around the standing stone. At some point, she relaxed into the ritual, and Frank sensed her movements, graceful and slow beside him as he played.
Mona felt it like a dance, his playing, her spreading the ashes of Gus. She moved back and forth and behind the stone, lifting the scoop and sprinkling the soil, raising it high and letting the particles float in an arc of dawn light, falling on the stone and sliding to the ground, as Frank watched, making the music surround her, drawing her ever more into the dance. Hence, Gus returned to the earth, and became one with his sacred circle.
Maybe Mona was doing this for Johnny, too, for all the love and joy and pain and violence of his life—but still a life, and one that could be marked. With Gus’s ashes, she was letting go of Johnny, too. Two men, two different eras of her life; her own past, honored and let go.
When the scoop was empty, Mona laid down the box and faced the people as the music continued, the violin like a voice, a voice that rent the heart with sorrow and beauty, so moving that as she wiped a tear from her cheek, she saw that Heather, and even Roz, were crying, too. Alice gazed up to the sky with a rapt expression, and the yoga women, as she thought of Iris and Brandi, were on their meditation benches, maintaining their prayer positions. Cappy, uncharacteristically wearing a suit, stood motionless and straight-faced in the rear. Beside him, Luke, tall and dignified in a black dress coat, watched Alice, the corners of his mouth cracked into a smile.
The sacred circle. What was sacred here was not the stones, but the people. The people who had set aside their bickering and hostility to come together, to mark the death of one of them. What was it about death that allowed people to simply drop these walls and barricades? Perhaps it was the understanding that this was their fate, as well, that all of us will go back to the earth. In death, we are brought together. Gus had been right. This was the sacred circle.
Alice paused, eyes closed, arms outstretched with her palms facing up to heaven, backlit by the rising sun like some medieval painting of the archangel of justice. The people waited, and finches and warblers trilled into the silence.
“Now,” she said, “I invite you to come forward with your stones and lay them at the base of the solstice stone. As you do, name something you remember about Gus, or say a prayer for him.”
Pauline Perry looked dumbstruck at this and raised her hands in a helpless gesture, looking around for confirmation from someone else that this really was too much to ask. She caught Charlie’s eye, but he shrugged and stepped forward. He raised a stone to show the group, a gnarled-looking black stone—probably volcanic, Mona thought—then put it down in front of the standing stone, his long beard touching the ground. “Crazy as a loon,” he said in a deadpan voice, and nervous laughter bubbled up from the crowd.
Acheson Levy came next, and lay down a small stone glittering with white quartz. When he stood up, he faced the group, pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, and cleared his throat. “Maybe you knew him as crazy,” he said, “but Gus was my cousin. We were kids together, and yes, he was an odd boy, but we had our happy times. I remember when Gus got his first puppy. He named her Darling, and every dog since has been Darling.” He whistled. The little white terrier trotted up to him and sat beside him. Mona exchanged a look with Frank. Thank goodness Darling had been found.
Others came forward with their stones and put them down—most silently, some mumbling or muttering a prayer or a few words. Mona lay down the pyramid-shaped stone with the knob on it that she had brought from home, and came back to stand with Frank.
Suddenly, like an awkward dervish, Sierra stepped into the open space between Alice and the congregation, all in black, with some kind of black lace thing on her head. She had a broom, and started sweeping the ground in a circular path around the clearing. Various expressions of confusion or amusement crossed the faces in the crowd, and Alice, looking nonplussed, reached out as if to stop her, then pulled back her hand and smiled. This was obviously not part of her plan, but she had decided to accept it. When Sierra completed the circle, she placed a stone on the ground, then took a piece of paper out of her pocket. She read in a trembling voice,
We all come from the Goddess
and to Her we shall return
like a drop of rain
falling to the ocean.
We all come from the Horned One
and through Him we are reborn.
Corn and grain, corn and grain,
all that falls shall rise again.
Alice stepped out to retake the stage and recoup the ceremony, dismissing Sierra with an enigmatic look, and raised her arms. “Pagan, Christian, whatever religion, we are all part of this great drama of life and death, as was Gus. And now we pray for blessings on his spirit and on us all, and may he go in peace to be with God.”
Back on the trail, with the sun peeking in and out of the gathering clouds and some crows making a ruckus nearby, Mona breathed a sigh of relief. Public spectacles, performing and all of that, were definitely not her thing. And this tugging at the emotions, bringing up the sadness and the loss—this was not her normal mode of being. But there had been something about that ceremony, something that had gone deeper than emotion. She reached back to take Frank’s hand, and they stopped on the path. “Something happened up there today,” she said.
“Alice did a beautiful job.”
“Yes, but I mean with the people. Even people who hardly knew Gus, or used to laugh at him.” She fingered the end of her braid, and listened to a crow cawing on the branch of a nearby tree. “And I suddenly realized, what does it matter if we’re on different sides of everything? We’re all just human beings.”
“Some kind of healing.”
“Yes. That’s it. Healing.”
“That’s what Gus said about the place. It’s a healing place.” Frank paused and listened as another crow joined the first one; they cawed back and forth, as if talking to each other. “Gus was a big part of my life. Funny that I didn’t know it until he died.”
“How do you mean?”
“At first, it was about living off the grid. And then I saw that he still had that dream, the dream we all had, of living with integrity, stepping lightly on the earth. He reminded me of it.” Frank gazed up at the treetops. “Just living in the woods, building your own house, no electricity, recycling everything, not using up the resources, but renewing them—”
“You’d still like to live like that?”
“Not as extreme as Gus, but yes, using the power of wind and fire, the food from the garden. And I realize, too, that when you simplify like that, you get more in touch with your spiritual life. That stupendous sense of spirit, or God, that Gus found up there. I keep thinking of a phrase from the Bible: ‘On this holy mountain.’ The mountain was the place God spoke to people.”
“Hey, Dad.” Erica strode around the bend from the path behind them, with Jake following. In their sleek black outfits, they looked more alike than usual today. She turned to Frank, then Mona, a question in her eyes; opened her mouth, and then shut it. Seeming to change her mind, she said, “The music was lovely, Dad.”
Jake stepped out from behind her. “What will they do now about the fire?” he asked Mona. “Just drop the arson question?”
Mona sighed. “I don’t know. Luke is right up there.” She waved her arm in front of her. “Why don’t you ask him?”
The two young people squeezed past them on the narrow path and began to jog down the trail. Whe
n they were out of sight, Frank opened his arms and Mona let herself sink into his warm body, laying her head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat.
Pulling back, she gazed up at him, his graying beard, the curls in his hair, his eyes, and saw in him that quality that she used to think was recklessness. But now, it didn’t seem like recklessness—it was just Frank’s way of exploring the world. This open-eyed alert-ness—this was his way of throwing himself into life to learn what it was all about. And something had happened in her today. The rising sun, the music, the people at peace. Maybe she was the one who was more at peace. Yes. It had been healing for her.
A sound behind Frank made her start.
“Hi, Mona.” Sierra, in her long black coat and black mantilla, came around the bend and glanced shyly at Mona and Frank. Standing quietly, she lowered her head, looking like a supplicant at some chapel in Spain. A far cry from her witch’s dance, or whatever it was.
“Sierra, what is it?” Mona asked. Enough of the dramatics, she wanted to say.
“I’m sorry about Mr. Throckmorton.”
“That’s nice, Sierra.”
“I mean, I’m sorry because I heard Chief Spinelli and Chief Gold talking up at the stone circle.”
“Yes?”
“They say they’re just going to drop the case and let everyone assume Mr. Throckmorton set the fire, even though they don’t know.”
“Hmm,” Frank said. “We’re going to have to work on that.”
Sierra shifted from foot to foot and twisted the ends of her mantilla into little points, pulling it off to the side so that it hung at an angle on her face, making her look like a caricature of a Spanish lady. It occurred to Mona that the ragamuffin style, with all the mismatched earrings and clothes hanging this way and that—what all the kids were wearing—was Sierra’s innate mode. Unkempt. She’d be lost in an era in which you had to look kempt. “Well, there’s something else,” she said.
“What else?”
“Can I tell you in confidence?”
“I guess so. What is it?”
“Um, it’s about Grace.”
“Your friend Grace, with all the piercings?”
“Yeah. Grace might know something about it.”
“Grace might know something about what?”
“About the fire.”
“What?” Mona stared at Sierra, then at Frank. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, she was with her boyfriend Robbie. Well, he’s not actually her boyfriend, but I think they were hanging out there that night, smoking, you know.”
“Oh, God.” Frank sighed. “And?”
“Well, that’s all I know. Maybe they saw something, maybe they didn’t.”
“Why didn’t you tell somebody?” Mona asked. “Sierra, we have to tell Luke.”
“But Mona, really? Seriously?” Sierra pled. “I mean, do we have to ruin Grace’s life?”
“Ruin Grace’s life? Luke’s not going to arrest her just for smoking weed, if that’s what you mean.” Mona looked askance at her. “What are you not saying?”
Sierra’s shoulders slumped, and she hung her head. “I told Grace I wouldn’t tell, that’s all. She has another boyfriend, and she’s afraid he’ll dump her if he finds out.”
“I’m sorry, Sierra, but this is about doing the right thing.” Mona looked at Frank. “Luke needs to talk to those kids.”
They started down the path in single file, and soon heard raised voices.
Erica’s low tones projected above the others. “But you don’t have any proof!”
“We believe,” Luke said, adopting his most authoritative tone, “that the town wants to let it go.”
“So, because Gus is dead,” Erica’s voice cracked as it rose, “he’s a convenient scapegoat.”
Mona, Frank, and Sierra arrived in the midst of a silent pause. Luke’s head was bowed, and Cappy was looking off into the distance as Erica stood, accusatory, hands on hips. Jake peered expectantly at Luke.
“Well,” Luke conceded, “if anyone has any more evidence, I’m willing to look at it.”
Mona planted both feet firmly and stood up straight. “Luke,” she said. She turned around to face the cowering Sierra, took her elbow, and steered her out in front of her. “Sierra has something to tell you.”
40
FRANK SNAKED A WIRE ALONG THE GROUND and threaded it into a pipe. The rotating blade, with its three wings, was lying on the card table beside three solar batteries, the generator, and the control box.
“How much longer is this going to take?” Erica was sitting on a tree stump eating a sandwich.
“It’s a lot more complicated than I thought, but all I have to do now is connect the wire to the control box and the blade fixture. Then we can hoist it up.” He wiped his brow and sat on a stool beside Erica, reaching into the cooler for a sandwich.
“I’ve heard that windmills don’t always work so well,” Erica said. “Like if the wind doesn’t blow, then what do you do?”
“When the wind does blow, the energy gets stored, and then you use it later.”
“But this article I was reading said that in Vermont, you have to be up at least two thousand feet to get enough wind for energy use.”
“But look at this exposure.” Frank swung his arm across the vista of the valley below. “And feel the breeze. It’s only twelve noon, and already, there is wind. I don’t think we’ll have any problem. It’s lucky that Granny MacFarland thought to include this hilltop when she bought the place.” Directly below them, the path wound down and disappeared into the woods. “And anyway, I’ve ordered two solar panels.”
“So, I guess you’re planning to stay here in Wild Mountain?” Erica said, munching on a corn chip.
“That’s the plan.”
“Does this have anything to do with Mona?”
Frank smiled. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
Erica laughed. “It’s not exactly a secret, Dad. When she’s around, you act like a five-year-old with a Christmas stocking.”
He was still smiling. “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty serious.”
Erica put down her bottle of Perrier and stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “So, how serious are you talking?”
“We’re talking about living together.”
“Shacking up?” She stood up abruptly. “My God, Dad, you practically just met her!”
This was beginning to feel like a tit for tat. Hadn’t Frank just said the same thing to Erica? “Not really. I’ve known her since she took over the store.”
“But she’s from a different world than you. I mean, a smalltime store owner, native Vermonter, uneducated—” Erica’s hands were planted on her waist and her voice had taken on that scolding schoolteacher tone that Patsy used to put on.
“Whoa, Erica. Mona went to college—”
“And look at all those girlfriends you’ve had, and none of them stuck. Remember Jean Mary? I really liked her. I thought you were going to marry her. Then, all of a sudden, ‘Oh, by the way, Erica, we’re not together anymore.’ And then there was Tania, and then Christine—” She slung her pack onto her back.
“Erica—”
She shook her head and started down the path. Before she disappeared into the woods, she called over her shoulder, “You’re not ready for this, Dad.”
Frank watched the empty path. Not ready? Okay, so he’d had a lot of women, but it wasn’t as if he’d wanted it that way. He wanted to find the one. Well, to be honest, for a while, he had enjoyed that lifestyle. Constantly on the move, new places, new people, new women. Maybe it had even become a bit addictive. But it was never what he really wanted. He picked up the end of the wire and brought it over to the control box, peeled off the rubber casing, and looked at the diagram. Two black cables and two white. He attached them to the back of the box. Now to attach the blade, then tie the rope onto the pipe and hoist it up. Goddamn, where was Erica now that he needed her?
The colors—the blue-green of the spru
ce and the almost-black of the hemlocks, punctuated by splotches of lime on the new maples—spread out like a soft carpet below the hill. Across the valley, the hazy blue mountains shimmered under a blazing sky. Maybe Erica hadn’t noticed, but he had changed. Especially in this last year, since he’d gotten closer with Mona. He was more than ready to settle down.
Erica was projecting. She was the one who wasn’t ready for him to settle down. Maybe he should have talked to her more about Mona, introduced it earlier, but then she would have told him what to do, given him advice. And she was controlling enough already; he didn’t need her butting into his love life.
And what about Mona? She hadn’t given him an answer. He twiddled the cable in his hand. Now that he’d finally made a commitment, was she going to say she wasn’t ready?
41
MONA WAS SITTING ON HER STOOP, contemplating the view. “So,” she said, “Gus is off the hook.” The daffodils had wilted, their stalks turned brown; the tulips nodded their blowsy heads in parched reds and purples; and Boris meandered back and forth, not even expecting her to throw the ball yet one more time.
“Yeah.” Luke Spinelli stood beside her, gazing down and across the river to the distant hills. Luke was wearing an old flannel shirt and beat-up jeans, and his hair had grown out so that his scruffy white curls touched his collar. He looked more like an aging Vermont hippy than a police chief. “Yeah. We found the arsonist.”
“Well, thank God,” Mona said. “It’s bad enough that people will remember him as mentally ill, but Gus wasn’t violent, and now that label won’t be stuck on him.” She halfheartedly threw Boris’s ball down the hillside, and Boris lifted his head from a pile of compost he was sniffing, then put his nose back down. “And it wasn’t Johnny?”
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