‘Ah! Here he is! Our nephew Elwyn!’ Timothy said, his jowls shaking with enthusiasm as he clapped his hands together. Piety hung back, looking at Elwyn with the same sort of reserve he remembered from his first day in Liberty. Boaz was scowling beside her.
‘Let’s get a family picture,’ said one of the photographers as Elwyn and the Blackwells were shuffled together. The camera flashed.
‘There’s so much national attention now. This could be on the title page of my book,’ Timothy said as Boaz was moved next to Elwyn and told to smile.
‘I wish you good luck on your tour,’ Piety said from the other side. ‘I understand you’re going directly from here. Someone came by to collect your things.’
Elwyn didn’t answer for a moment. He looked past the flash of the camera to the edges of the town square, where armed men on horses watched over the scene.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful,’ Elwyn said quietly. ‘I’m glad I got to know you. Despite everything. You meant a lot to me when I was young.’ The words felt grave, because Elwyn felt they might be some of his last. If nothing else, he felt sure they would be his last to her. ‘I don’t hold any grudge against you. We can’t control what we love or don’t love.’
Elwyn saw a change on his aunt’s face, but he had little time to consider her.
‘Now, smile,’ the photographer said. The light of the camera flashed again.
Elwyn was led to his chair onstage, his fingers tingling. Everything looked sharp and saturated. He could feel his heart pumping in his chest. Hestia and her mother were seated behind the podium, hair smoothed, clothes well-pressed. With a wave of applause, Rhoad rose and limped to the podium, beginning the speech Elwyn had heard so many times before.
‘Our nation was founded on principles of independence, freedom and, yes, separation. But it was a separation married to bravery. For too long, an epidemic of fear has pillaged this country. We no longer stay apart in order to build up new lives in accordance with our own principles. We separate ourselves because we are afraid of each other, afraid of the world. This fear has turned what was once our freedom into our shackles. This country, which holds all the marks of greatness, is reduced to an afterthought in the world. But not for long…’
Rhoad went on about industry, tools of the future unlocking the wealth and hidden potential in the land, hidden potential in us all. Elwyn watched the people as they listened. A hush had fallen over them; they were rapt, attentive. Even Boaz looked up at Rhoad. Elwyn’s mouth became dry as the speech neared its end. Soon Rhoad would call him up, and he would have to say what he came there to say.
Applause rang through the crowd when Rhoad finished. The sound rose into the dull sky, full of energy. Rhoad’s face was almost luminous. Elwyn had never seen him look that way, like a painting of a ship’s captain. When the applause started to die down, Rhoad started Elwyn’s introduction. He gestured to him and everyone clapped again. Elwyn’s legs felt weak. But he made his way up to the podium and shook Rhoad’s hand. The cameras clicked; lights flashed.
For a moment, Elwyn couldn’t find the words he had recited to himself so many times the night before – the words that were in the back of his mind while he ate, while he listened, while he read the words speech-writers had written for him. He stood silently, everything turning a bit around him. Rhoad cleared his throat. Elwyn looked at his clear, well-groomed face. Elwyn recalled other faces. The careworn face of his mother. Aelred in jail. Whim marching.
‘Cronus Rhoad had humble beginnings, like me,’ Elwyn said. His voice seemed to dissipate into the open square. ‘He worked his way to success by selling things. By chopping trees from the north and selling them in New Orleans. By using his earnings to build lumber mills, and using those earnings to dig lead mines, and using those earnings to finance this big campaign. He found potential in things around him and exploited it. This is how wealth is created. This is American success and the reason we want him at the helm of the Collective Homesteads.’ There was a light applause. Elwyn’s speech wasn’t as moving as Rhoad’s, nor was it meant to be. Elwyn was there to make people comfortable, to show that change wasn’t threatening, that it could be pleasant and mundane.
‘But that’s a story you have all been told already,’ Elwyn said. There was a hush when he spoke these honest words. ‘There are other stories out there. Ones from down on the underbelly of this country we’ve all been born into. Most of those stories will never be told, and the ones that are told will probably be forgotten. But I am going to tell mine anyway.’ Elwyn nodded to Hestia, who ran behind the stage and returned with a suitcase, which she opened to display the stacks of papers taken from her father’s office.
By this point Elwyn had expected to be stopped by Rhoad, but Rhoad seemed frozen in place. By what, Elwyn couldn’t contemplate or understand. Perhaps it was a calculated step, or maybe it was just surprise. Elwyn knew he had to keep talking as long as he could, ride his luck as far as it would take him.
‘In this stack of papers are deeds of land that belonged to me,’ Elwyn said. ‘That belonged to hundreds of people like me. The land had shaped us and our lives for hundreds of years, just as your land has shaped all of you. It has been our livelihood and the life’s work of generations.’ He paused. ‘This summer, Cronus Rhoad took this land illegally. Forced us from our homes.’
The cameras clicked furiously. Elwyn’s voice felt stronger. ‘Cronus Rhoad likes to tell you that he is a man who can see the potential in this country. He says he can use this land to create wealth for us all. But what has he has ever done but exploit things? Exploit people? Rhoad might see himself as a man of vision, but he’s really just another person who builds things to suit himself without worrying about the cost to others. Today it’s my people. Tomorrow it could be anyone.’ The crowd murmured. Elwyn turned to glance at Rhoad. The man was just sitting in his place, purple-faced.
‘Greed didn’t begin with Rhoad, and it won’t end with him,’ Elwyn said, turning back to the crowd. ‘Nothing we can do will root it out. But we have to protect each other from it. And from our short-sightedness.’ Piety’s brow was furrowed, and Elwyn thought he saw a dampness in her eyes, on her cheek. For a moment, it was just the two of them, eyes locked on each other. The crowd was silent. Elwyn’s speech was over; he was never good at endings. His words just hung in the air. Then Piety began clapping. The rest of the audience joined in with some hesitation. ‘Thank you,’ Elwyn said. The journalists began to speak over each other, shouting out questions. Hestia stepped beside him on the platform.
‘We have proof of what Elwyn said, along with several other illegal deals from the past decade,’ she yelled over the noise. ‘He is using a loophole to seize people’s land by claiming that the current use is a threat to national security. This is blatantly false and has been padded by bribes to many local and national officials, whose names are listed here,’ she said, handing some papers out to a journalist. ‘My father’s actions are not only illegal, but set a dangerous precedent. We need you to hold him accountable.’
Her voice seemed to knock Rhoad out of whatever spell held him. He stood and limped quickly towards her, but she jumped away, handing out more papers to the journalists as she went. They scrambled for what she gave them as chaos began to grow in the crowd. The security guards whistled.
‘We need to get out of here.’ Hestia grabbed Elwyn’s arm and pulled him off the stage. They got back into the car, but this time Hestia sat in the driver’s seat. She started the engine, looking exhilarated and afraid.
‘You know how to drive?’ Elwyn asked.
‘Just well enough.’
The car lurched forward, and as it did, hands pounded on Elwyn’s window. He jumped in his seat, but seeing who it was, yelled for Hestia to stop. He opened the door.
‘You’re going home? Home to Badfish Creek?’ Piety asked quickly, her face flushed.
‘I have to,’ Elwyn said, thinking she meant to tell him to stay. But she didn’t.<
br />
‘Let me come with you.’
CHAPTER 31
You Can’t Return
HESTIA, ELWYN AND PIETY drove through the back hill roads along the river, which was dark as though it had swallowed the clouds. The streets near Liberty were well kept, clear of livestock and stray branches, but the ride felt bumpy to Elwyn, and they seemed to be going very fast. Any pleasure in the novelty of car travel had vanished with the urgency he felt in getting back to Badfish Creek. He held onto his seat. His heart was in his throat, and he kept turning around to see if they were being followed.
Even when they were far from town and got on the main road east from Liberty, Elwyn was looking behind them. They passed many little places where gasoline or a sandwich could be purchased, but they didn’t stop. There were two tins of fuel in the back, and as for their stomachs, adrenalin was still flowing in their veins. For a while there was an energy in the car, but none of them spoke. There was just the sound of the engine, wind, and gravel crunching below them. Elwyn could hear his own heart pumping. Then the wink of a smile appeared on Hestia’s face.
‘We did it,’ she said. And so they had. They had let the world know about Rhoad. Records had been handed over to the press. Elwyn had told his story. Slowly, feeling came back into Elwyn’s limbs. Hestia’s face was flushed, her eyes on the road ahead glistened. And Piety wore an expression Elwyn had never seen before. She had a dishevelled glow, like a smothered fire uncovered. She wasn’t smiling, but she looked happy, and the look deepened as they drove on, farther and farther from town.
In the car, the world passed by quickly, but time moved slowly. The river wound out of view and the road became dimpled with holes. After a while the trees edging fat barley fields became more numerous, wilder, and then they swallowed the farms altogether. The smells of the forest crept in through the walls of the car, rich smells of loam and bark in humid air. Elwyn realised for the first time in his body – not just his mind – that he was going home. The eagerness he felt was almost painful.
‘I remember the first time I came into the woods,’ Piety said, interrupting Elwyn’s thoughts. He was sitting beside Hestia in the front, and Piety was in the back, stretched across the seat and staring out the window. ‘I was taking the train to tell your mother about Father’s death. I had never travelled by train alone before, much less out into the woods, but I was devoted to the idea of duty, then, and that made me bold. People think of dutifulness as a meek, submissive thing, but just as often it’s the opposite.’ The road was very bumpy, now, and Hestia shifted gears to go slower; the shadowy branches passed more slowly overhead. ‘I remember so clearly the moment the train passed from the fields into the forest. I became very nervous and wrung my gloves so much I damaged the seams. It seemed like a place without safety, and it scared me. The birds, the trees, the animals all appeared sinister. But everything looks different now.’
‘Why did you come with us?’ Elwyn asked.
Piety was quiet for a minute before she answered, looking out at the passing shadows. ‘When you were a child, I sent you those letters because I thought I could help you. People my age are always thinking they are the ones who need to help everyone, fix everything. But you become afraid as you get older. Not in the way children are afraid – of the dark or monsters or spiders. People my age become afraid of the stupidest possible things some-one can be afraid of. And when I saw you on that stage, you reminded me what it’s like to be fearless.’ Piety paused. ‘And you reminded me of the things I always loved about my sister.’
‘So you’ve come for some personal journey? To make yourself feel better?’ Hestia said.
‘You have every reason to be cynical,’ Piety said. ‘But the things that serve you when you are young are no good if you can’t let go of them.’ Hestia’s eyes narrowed on the road. Elwyn was also looking straight ahead. All he could think about now was getting back to Badfish Creek, to find his family, to Whim. It seemed self-evident to him that you had to burn down old versions of yourself, like forests and fields sometimes needed to burn to make room for new growth.
But as they travelled deeper into the forest, the familiar smells, the movement of trees in the wind, stirred up feelings Elwyn couldn’t ignore. Elwyn had often imagined the day he would return home. He’d be a little taller, handsomer, and very well dressed. He’d carry a sack of gifts over his shoulder. Gifts for everyone. Expensive ones. His mother would be proud. Girls would be after his attention. He’d have a whey-fed pig sent by rail, and they’d roast it over the coals for everyone, his mother getting the best cut. And all along the way, Elwyn would put generous tips into people’s palms.
That was how it should have been. Instead, he was coming back with nothing but the tailored clothes on his back, their colours dimmed in the dull light. The pleasure of vanity was gone and so was the pleasure of pride. All that was left was his town. All that was left was to do was the right thing.
The three of them grew quiet, and the clouds in the sky thickened. The road through the woods was cheaply made – straight east with no attention given to the little Forester towns that dotted the landscape. Elwyn knew that they would eventually pass a mile or two south of Badfish Creek. How long it would take for them to reach this place, though, none of them knew. They had been driving all morning into the afternoon, and couldn’t tell if the sun was getting lower or the clouds were getting darker, when a plink was heard on the windshield, and another and another. Then all at once, the rain fell in earnest, in sheets of heavy grey. Hestia slowed the car. They hardly moved, as Hestia squinted.
‘We’ll have to wait for it to pass,’ she said, turning off the engine.
‘Maybe we can drive through it. We can’t be far away,’ Elwyn said.
‘I can’t drive even a little ways in this weather.’
‘Maybe I can.’
‘We’ll need to wait for it to pass.’
Elwyn’s fingers drummed the leather siding. His stomach was empty, but he hardly noticed; it seemed hunger had defined his summer. He saw no value in patience. Every minute they sat unmoving in the car was another minute he wasn’t home. He looked back at Piety. She had fallen asleep.
Then, Elwyn opened his door, and the sound and feel of the rain poured in.
‘What are you doing?’ Hestia asked, concern and scepticism in her voice.
‘I’m going to take a look around. I can’t get a sense of anything sitting in this car.’
‘If you wander off, you’re going to get lost.’
‘I’m just going to take a look. I’ll be back soon.’
He stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him and walking off the road into the woods. It felt good to be moving. Even through the thick leaves, the rain fell hard. Elwyn had trouble keeping it out of his eyes. Through his blurred vision, he thought he saw a trio of familiar trees in the distance, but when he neared, he was no longer sure.
Thunder growled overhead, but there was no visible lightning. Elwyn’s fine, wet clothes clung uncomfortably as he pushed his way through the brush. Wild raspberry vines, their fruit now shrivelled, scratched his skin and poked holes through the cloth. Elwyn decided to turn around and go back to the car, but when he attempted it, he found Hestia was right: the rain had him all turned about. The sky was darkening, and the thunder deepened. He didn’t know the way.
That was when he saw the clump of ripe elderberry bushes. It was one of the patches Whim used to visit, the one that made a perfect semicircle. It was a little far from town, but it was familiar. Elwyn was surprised by the effect it had on him, the way his knees felt weak. He set out, heart in his throat and tears in his eyes that he wiped away with the rain.
He pushed branches and brambles aside, moving so quickly, he didn’t see the mud-slicked tracks until he was shoe-deep in them. The rain was letting up, but the sky was dimming into dusk. In the distance, he could see a grey strip of sky where the trees stopped. He thought he had gone the wrong way. A clearing meant a lake or pond. Elwyn
decided he’d go there and get his bearings before trying to find his way back to the car.
But when Elwyn got to that clear place, there was no pond. Only a pile of felled familiar trees and the rubble of several houses, including his own. His heart pounded. He ran as well as he could over the slick earth, leaping over trunks and branches to the homes left standing, the homes he had visited so many times before. They were filled with people sheltering from the weather, the sounds of rain and the dampness of the air covering them. House after house was filled with people who hugged him, people he cried with. His sisters embraced him and, talking over each other, cried while telling him everything that had happened. But they didn’t know where Whim was. Elwyn couldn’t find who he was looking for.
CHAPTER 32
The Girl and the Drake
WHIM WOKE THE NEXT MORNING in the grey dawn with the first birds. Their chattering was confused, faded. They, too, had lost their nests. But their voices were beautiful nonetheless: the sweet cedar waxwing, conversational orioles, busy robins.
Birds, Aelred had often told Whim, can tell you something.
Whim turned on her side, towards the creek. When the rain started yesterday afternoon, she had taken shelter under a wide fallen log and chose to spend the night there on the bare ground rather than return home. The Moone house was still standing, but she couldn’t bear to enter it. Her father’s presence filled that place. On the ground, she was sore and damp, but at least she could breathe, open and shut her eyes. It felt good to be alone.
Along with her father, two of the workmen had been killed. The rest had fled. It was quiet, now, and on the creek, mallards were paddling in the early light. The sounds of the birds said nothing to Whim, least of all the mutterings of ducks. She felt, then, that the world itself had nothing to say to her. And even if it did, why should she listen? It had taken the things she loved from her. The ducks began to squabble over something or other, and a drake was chased out of the water, flying right over Whim’s head. In that minute, she remembered something she had almost forgotten, a story March Wilder had once told her. She had been ten, and March was trying to amuse her while her father and Janie haggled over the price of sugar.
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