The Road Home (22 page)
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.
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”âBurke tried to picture the family tree Caroline Ayres had madeâ“second cousin thrice removed,” he concluded. “Or something.”
“Tanya?” Gaither said.
“Tanya Redmond,” said Burke. “Tess and Peter Woode's great-great-great-great-granddaughter. 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
T
he 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.
he 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, âAnd the beautiful day passed well,'” Gaither told him. “And inside the other is written, âAnd 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.”
Gaither nodded. “It is a bit odd,” he said. He took the ring back from Burke and returned it to the box. “Which is precisely why Calvin's possession of them was taken as proof of his parentage. Also, he looked exactly like his father.” He looked at the rings a moment before shutting the box. “My mother told me that my grandfather pressed these into her hand and told her to run from the house the night it was on fire. They're the only things she took with her.”
“You said earlier that CalvinâCainâran away after his mother married Peter Woode.”
“I suppose he thought Tess was somehow betraying Amos by remarrying,” Gaither said.
Burke hesitated before continuing. Did he really want to tell Gaither Sam's theory regarding Peter Woode? Although Gaither seemed like an open-minded person, would he really want to know that Peter Woode might really have been Elizabeth Frances Walsh?
Then again, it's not as if he comes from that side of the family,
he argued.
Still, finding out your step-great-grandfather was a woman might be a little bit of a stretch.
It was a difficult call, and again he wished Sam were there to help.
Then again, it's not as if he comes from that side of the family,
he argued.
Still, finding out your step-great-grandfather was a woman might be a little bit of a stretch.
It was a difficult call, and again he wished Sam were there to help.
“Have you ever heard of a Thomas Beattie?” he asked instead.
“Tess's brother,” Gaither said. “He worked on the farm, I believe. My mother mentioned him several times. It was a bit odd, actually. She said her father spoke about Thomas only when he was drunk, which I gather was not an infrequent occurrence. In fact, the fire that killed my grandparents was eventually blamed on Calvin knocking over an oil lamp in a drunken stupor, although my mother swears he was as sober as a stone that night.”
“Have you been to the farm?” Burke asked.
“No,” said Gaither as he put the box back into the drawer. “Well, once or twice as a child, but only with my father. My mother refused to go back.”
“But you still own it?”
“I do,” Gaither confirmed. “After the fire my mother went to live with her mother's sister in Maine. She grew up there, and when she was eighteen, she was told that there was a great deal of money coming to her from her father, as well as the land where the farm was located. A year later she married my father, Bertram Lucas, and told him that she wanted to return to Vermont. They bought this house in nineteen thirty-two. As my mother wouldn't live on the land she owned, my father wanted to sell it, but my mother wouldn't allow it.” He paused. “It annoyed my father greatly,” he added, chuckling. “He thought he could get a great deal of money for it. I remember standing with him in the grass, looking at the ruins of the farm, and him muttering about what a damn fool my mother was.”
“And yet you haven't sold it, either,” Burke remarked.
Gaither smiled. “No,” he said. “I haven't. I suppose I keep it because I know it meant something to her. Silly, I know, but I've always been a sentimental sort. Derek used to say I would keep the snow from every Christmas if I could find a way to save it.”
“Derek?” said Burke. “Your brother?”
“No, no,” Gaither said. “I have no brother. Derek was my lover.” He looked at Burke. “I believe they call them domestic partners now,” he said. “Or is it husbands, now that we can marry?”
“I'm sorry,” Burke said. “I didn't mean to pry.”
Gaither waved away the apology. “I wouldn't have told you if I wanted to keep it a secret,” he said. “I'm too old to care what anybody thinks of me. And, anyway, if I'm not mistaken, there's something between you and that handsome young man who brought you today.”
“Well, yes, there is,” said Burke.
Gaither clapped his hands. “The old gaydar isn't on the fritz, then, after all,” he said. He looked at Burke with a smile. “I love that word. Gaydar. So clever.”
“I'm afraid mine is broken,” Burke said. “It never occurred to me that you were gay.”
“It's because I'm teeming with masculinity,” Gaither joked. He walked to the nightstand beside his bed and picked up a framed photo. “Derek said my mother made me a sissy and the army made me a man. Not very enlightened of him, but not entirely untrue.”
Burke looked at the photo, which Gaither had handed him. It showed Gaither standing beside a shorter, heavier man in front of a Nash Rambler. Both had crew cuts and wore dark suits.
“That was taken in 1955,” Gaither said. “I was twenty-two, and Derek was thirty-six. We'd been together about a year.”
“Where did you meet?”
“At a weekend party,” Gaither answered. “In those days we didn't have so many options for socializing. Very few bars and so on, particularly in this part of the country. Every weekend someone with a house in the country would host a party for ten or twenty of us. Sometimes we would drive for hours to get there.”
“It was all gay men?” asked Burke.
“Some lesbians,” Gaither said. “Half would dress in suits, and the other half would wear girly things. They'd pretend to be married couples for the weekend. The boys were less dramatic, although there were a handful of queens who put on the make-up and camped it up.”
“It actually sounds kind of fun,” said Burke.
Gaither nodded. “It was
enormously
fun,” he said. “You know, everyone now talks about how dreadful it was for us in those days, as if we were Anne Frank and family hiding in an attic in fear for our lives. But really we had some wonderful times. Some terrible ones, too, some of us, but mostly I have fond memories of those weekends. As I said, I met Derek at one of those parties. It was hosted by an old army buddy of his. The Major, we called him, although I don't know that he really was one.”
enormously
fun,” he said. “You know, everyone now talks about how dreadful it was for us in those days, as if we were Anne Frank and family hiding in an attic in fear for our lives. But really we had some wonderful times. Some terrible ones, too, some of us, but mostly I have fond memories of those weekends. As I said, I met Derek at one of those parties. It was hosted by an old army buddy of his. The Major, we called him, although I don't know that he really was one.”
“It sounds like you were all in the army,” Burke commented.
“Most of us were. Derek was in the Second World War, and of course, I was in Korea. It never occurred to us that we couldn'tâor shouldn'tâbe there. Not like today.”
“In some ways we seem to be going backward,” said Burke, handing the picture back to Gaither. “Derek is very handsome, by the way.”
“Isn't he?” said Gaither. “The first time I saw him, I nearly dropped my gin and tonic.” He stroked the glass on the photo. “I miss him every day.”
“How long were you together?”
“Fifty-three years. He died two years ago this December. We went to bed one night, and in the morning he was gone. He hadn't even stirred.”
“I'm sorry,” said Burke.
“As am I,” Gaither said, setting the photo down. “But fifty-three years is a long time. My parents had barely twenty when my father died of a heart attack, and of course, you know what happened to my grandparents.”
“I can't even imagine fifty-three years,” said Burke.
Gaither cocked his head. “Why not?” he asked. “In fifty-three years you'll be ninety-three, and Will won't be more than seventy or so.”
Burke shook his head. “I don't think we'll get that far,” he said. He could feel Gaither waiting for more details, but he didn't want to discuss his romantic failings. Instead he said, “Now I have something I want to show you.”
They returned to the parlor, where Burke opened his portfolio and brought out several of the photographs he'd taken at the farm. He spread them out on the coffee table for Gaither to look at. “At first I thought there was something wrong with the cameras or the film,” he began to explain.
“Ghosts,” Gaither said, picking up one of the shots and examining it more closely.
“Well, that's one theory,” Burke said cautiously.
“My mother used to talk about ghosts,” said Gaither. “In the last years of her life she developed Alzheimer's. She regressed to the point where she couldn't remember what she'd eaten for breakfast that morning but could describe in minute detail things that had occurred in her youth. The night of the fire, for instance. Many times she would wake up screaming, convinced she was back in that house. She thought I was her father, and while I tried to comfort her, she told me how she'd seen Peter Blackburne running away. It's why I believe so strongly in his guilt.”
“And she talked about ghosts?” Burke prodded.
“Yes. She remembered seeing them on the farm when she was a girl. Sometimes in the fields. Sometimes at the pond. Sometimes even in the house. She told her parents about them, but they didn't believe her. Eventually, she stopped speaking about them. She never mentioned them to me until her mind began to go backward in time.”
“Did she ever say who they were?”
“Amos Hague and Thomas Beattie,” Gaither answered.
“Why would they haunt the farm?”
“Well, Amos drowned there, in the pond. I suppose if you believe in such things, it would make sense that he would want to stay around.”
“I didn't know he drowned there,” Burke said. “Do you know how Thomas died?”
Gaither shook his head.
“Then I assume you don't know that they died on the same day a year apart and are buried next to one another.”
“No,” Gaither said. “I didn't know that. How very odd.”
“There's more,” Burke told him. “Sam has reason to believe that Peter Woode was a woman.”
Gaither raised an eyebrow. “It would be very difficult for her to be the father of Grace, then, wouldn't it?”
“I've been thinking about that. Tess and Peter married not long after Amos's death, which has always seemed a little strange to me. It's possible Tess was pregnant by Amos.”
Gaither thought about this. “If that's true, then Grace and Cain were fully brother and sister,” he said. “That makes the squabbling over the farm even more tragic, doesn't it?”
“It does,” Burke agreed. “And if Cain knew Peter Woode's secret, it might explain why he ran, and why the wedding rings were of such importance to him.”
Gaither leaned back. “It's all terribly gothic,” he remarked. “Like a Faulkner novel. Have we any proof of any of this?”
“Not really,” Burke admitted. “Sam is the one who pieced it together.”
“I look forward to meeting this Sam Guffrey,” said Gaither. “He has an interesting mind.”
“That he does,” Burke said. “And I know he'll love talking to you.”
“This is a lot to digest,” said Gaither. He looked at the clock on the mantel. “And as it is now a quarter past noon, I believe we are entitled to a drink to aid us in this endeavor. Shall we?”
Burke followed him into the kitchen. Burke sat at the table there, drinking from a glass of excellent merlot Gaither had poured for him, while Gaither prepared a light lunch.
“If Peter Woode really was . . . What did you say her name was?”
“Elizabeth Frances Walsh,” Burke said.
“Elizabeth Frances Walsh. If he were really she, does that mean Tess was a lesbian?”
“Don't ask me,” said Burke. “It took me a couple of years to get the whole transgender thing straight in my head, and now the kids are saying that we should get rid of labels and be whatever we want to be.”
“It's a brave new world,” Gaither remarked as he tossed a salad. “I fear it's leaving me further and further behind. It was so much easier when all we had to know was whether we were tops or bottoms.”
“Believe me, that one is still a problem,” Burke assured him.
Gaither set the salad on the table. “Are tops still scarce?” he asked. “In my day they were all bottoms. Fortunately, both Derek and I were ambidextrous.”
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