notes - success and thoughts

WOO! And with that, folks, 50k has been achieved.

The late Thanksgiving this year nearly did me in - luckily, I'd built up enough buffer through the month that I was alright taking a day off, and sneaking in a few hundred words here and there between some family time. Yaaayyyyyyy.

So! Echoes in the Garden now has 84032 subplots! And some backstory sorted. A few new characters. But mostly, some plot, which it desperately needed.  Year 1 it got a setting and some pretty, year 2 it got a lot of characters, year 3 it got some storyline.  Well, moments of drama at least.  If I get them strung together a lil more nicely in the editing, I should be able to wring a plot out of them. ;)

I also didn't have to revert to too many dirty tricks to get the word count going - only a few passages of description-heavy nonsense, and way fewer song lyrics, ha.

Obviously, no, the story doesn't have an ending yet - wasn't planning to get to it this year anyway, since I still need to re-construct the elements into a better plotline before I can sort out what its resolution is going to be.  But I do have a few ideas on that front at least.  Which is major progress, ha.

Yaaaayyyyyyyy.

Part 30

          "Well.  Over here, you'll see I have a collecti---"  He freezes, silent, and a moment later I realize why: the crunch of heavy footsteps on fallen leaves and bracken outside.
          Avery motions for me to be quiet, and blows out the candle.  We wait, motionless, straining to hear what's going on outside.  Is he worried he'll be in trouble for being out here?  Or just loathe to give away the location of his 'secret' clubhouse?
          I'm still trying to decide if it's two sets of footsteps or just one, when they stop a short ways away.  There's the sound of something being dumped on the ground - garbage pile, maybe?
          "There.  Now that's done, will you tell me?"  A man's voice, but muffled by the wall of the hut and a slight distance from us.
          "Well.  You know I really oughtn't to - and mind, I have this information second-hand.  So it may not even be true, but the boy I learned it from was pretty certain it was."  A woman's voice, older, a little nasal and "country" sounding.
          "You don't have to tell me gossip is gossip, and it's not as though I'm going to confront the Missus or Master about it."
          "I should hope not!  Well, as I said, I heard it from Jacob, that serving boy the other Master Mason had with him when he visited.  He didn't mean to let it slip, but the two older children.  You know how they don't look much like the Master at all.  Did you notice the resemblance between Master Avery and that Mr. Harris that was asking around at the carriage house last week?"
          There's a long pause, and the air in the little fort suddenly feels very thick and ominous.  For Avery to be hearing this kind of rumor--- but I can't exactly clap my hands over his ears, he's heard enough already.
          "Well now.  I reckon there was a bit in common between them."
          "And you saw how fast he took off when Master's carriage came 'round the bend."
          "I would too, if it wasn't him that paid me!  He's doesn't exactly have many friends, especially in this town."  There's something a little familiar about this voice, and I wonder if it isn't Joseph, the stableboy. Or, man, I suppose, at this point in time.
          "Well.  That Jacob once told me that his Master couldn't father any children on his Missus, may she rest in peace, and that he was awful surprised our Master had so many children, them supposed to be brothers and all.  And then later on, he had this letter from what I bet was that same Mr. Harris, addressed to the Missus, but when he took it into the house, Master was in the room with Missus, and he let out such a roar!  That little Jacob came running out white as a sheet, and said Master'd torn it up and thrown it into the fire, saying he wouldn't have any of her old lovers come courting under his nose like that."
          "Well, now, maybe he's just an old beau of hers, then, before she met the Master."
          "Now how can you say that, when those two children of hers don't look a bit like him?"
          "Looks don't always run true in a family."
          "Ah, but blood will out.  Always does in the end.  You just wait until that Avery's grown, and see if he isn't the picture of that man Harris."
          "Well.  I'm not so sure on that - and anyway, what good would it do anyone for word to get out?  It would only hurt everyone in the family.  You have better have not even told me, I hope you haven't gossiped it around any more."
          "Well!  Didn't you just keep on me 'til I told ye?"
          "...I didn't know it was such a troubling bit of gossip.  But I'm glad to know it's out there at least.  I try and look out for those little ones when I can, you know, so the more I know about what's said, the better I can do it."
          "That's true enough.  But come along back with me now, it's gotten quite dark and I've still some cleaning to do in the kitchen.  Your eyes is younger than mine, help me find this path back to the house."

          Avery and I listen in silence as the two sets of footsteps recede.  When it's clear they've gone, I kneel down next to him and look into his eyes as best I can in the faint light.  "Avery.  I want you to understand, that was just gossip.  She doesn't know for sure it was true.  And even if it is... well, family's more about the people who take care of you all your life.  That's what's important, and what real family is."
          He sniffles a little, and I do put my arms around him this time, holding him close as his shoulder shake for a few minutes.
          "But... she's right, I just know she is."  His voice is muffled into my shoulder, and trembles a little - but there's a strength under the surface still, a confidence to his words.  "Father doesn't really care for us at all, he never has.  He can't hardly stand the sight of Evelyn and I.  And Calvin... well, I don't know about Calvin, but he upsets both Mother and Father, and I don't know why, it's something different I think.  I don't know.  But we don't look anything like him, and Mother... well.  Mother stays in town with her friends an awful lot."  There's an edge of coldness to his voice at this last, and I wonder again if he's older now than I'd at first guessed - or if it's just the world-weariness that some children gain far, far too early when the life they've been living hasn't been quite that of a child.  It's clear he takes his duty to protect Evelyn seriously - probably, I fear, more seriously than the adults do.

Part 28-29

"I had Joseph get me some matches of my own when he had to buy some for Father, and I have them safe and waterproof in here--- oh!"  I see his figure stumble ahead of me in the shadows, and I dart forward to him.
          "Are you okay?"
          "Yeah, I'm fi--- ow, no, my leg."
          "Did you hit it, or cut it, or--"
          "Cut it. And hit it. But I think I'm okay."
          I give him an arm, and he stands up.  The shadows are deepening, but I only see him wince a little, so I don't worry.  Much.  "You didn't scrape it on a nail or anything, did you?"  Not that I'd know what to do about that, given that tetanus shots probably won't exist for awhile yet.
          "No, I just ran into the brick edge there.  I'll be all right.  Here, come inside, let me show you!"
          And now he's back bouncing around cheerily, so I duck my head and follow him into the dark space.  A moment later, there's a flare of light and a smell of sulpher, then a candle is lit in a tarnished old holder.  Everything looks a little eerie, caught between dark shadows and the flickering flame light, and again I'm reminded of the night of the fire.
          "This is where I keep all of my curiousities," he begins, dropping his voice to add to the sense of mystery and intrigue.  "My secret treasures, and strange things that would frighten the ladies of the house.  But, tell me if you get too frightened, and I'll stop the tour for you."
          I grin, gesturing him to lead on.  "Let's see how brave I am today."
          "First is the natural history section."  He starts us off walking along the wall to the left of the door.  The interior space is only about five feet square, and the roof of planks and branches is low enough that I can't stand upright.  But he's either brought in old bookshelves or made them himself from extra wood (it's hard to tell in the faint light), which run around the perimeter, almost every inch covered with some little object or another.  He holds the candle close to each item in turn, moving it slowly along the length of the shelf so I can see what he's displayed.  A jar with some sticks and leaves (and presumably bugs of some sort) inside, a few large pinecones, some water-smoothed stones, a large conch shell, the bleached skull of some small animal I won't try to identify.
          "Did you find all of these around here?"
          "Mostly!  A few things were presents - Father brought me the conch shell from one of his trips, though he never did tell me which ocean it came from."
          So secretive even with his own children...
          "Here is my apothecary, so if you need medicine for anything, I can give you something.  This bottle is for stomach aches, this one is for tooth aches..."  He points in turn to half a dozen bottles of different sizes and shapes, each with a fading label covered in the elaborate typography of the day.  To my relief, I see that they're all empty - I'd hate to think what kind of horrific ingredients might have been in them originally.  I shudder involuntarily, remembering the bottle I found under Cora's bench, a bottle that wouldn't have been hidden if it had been empty.  So many sad stories around this place, can't I even spend a few minutes with this charming little boy without it being tainted by some darker thing?  (Maybe not so little, now that I've been paying closer attention, I'm thinking he's closer to eleven or twelve.  He's short for his age, but his speech and bearing indicate otherwise.)  And then I realize I'm not the only one thinking darker thoughts:
          "...wish I had something to help Cal though."
          "Your brother, Calvin?"
          He nods - I can see his silhouette against the glow of the candle, but can't see his face clearly enough to make out his expression.  Though his voice makes his depression evident enough.  "He's sick so often, and he's so very small - just a baby. When he coughs, it shakes his whole body, and I don't... I don't know if he's strong enough to fight being so sick all the time."
          Oh you poor child... You've spent all your life trying to protect yourself and your sister, and now you have a little brother too, and you know you should protect him too but what can you do?  "I know... there are some things no medicine can help," I say softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.  "But you can still love him, and encourage him.  It's his spirit that you can always help, even if there's not much you can do to help his body."
          "But he's so little... will he even know what I'm saying?"
          "He will.  Babies can't answer very well, but they can tell when someone loves them and wants to protect them.  And he won't always be a baby.  He'll be looking up to his older brother, to learn how to talk and how to act.  So just be yourself and spend time with him when you can.  He'll understand, and be happier for it."
          "Yeah... I guess you're right."  He sniffles a bit, and wipes his arm across his face.  All I want to do is wrap him into a hug, but I can see that he's trying valiantly to bear up and "be a man", and what he wants right now is the strength to bear up.
          "So.  What else is here in your room of curiosities?"

Part 27

          "I know you do so much for her though - she's lucky to have a brother like you."
          "Well.  We're unlucky enough in other things," he mutters, kicking a fallen apple off into the shadows.
          And what can I say to that?  Telling a kid he'll grow up someday and can be on his own is like telling someone life is better on the moon.  It's just not a tangible reality.
          "Building a fort in the tree?"
          "Huh?  Oh.  No, not really.  Mother would be cross if I did anything to spoil the es-tet-ic effects of the lawn.  So I'm building one out in the woods.  Would you like to see it?"
          "Sure!  ...if it won't get you in trouble or anything, it's starting to get dark, will someone be looking for you?"
          "No," he replies, and my heart sinks at such darkness in the tone of one so young.  "They won't."  Then he darts forward and grabs my hand, and his face takes on a completely different aspect as a smile spreads across it.  "Come on - if we don't start now, it will be too dark for you to see it properly."
          I grin.  "Lead on, captain!"
          I follow him as he leads us around the side of the house - the side with the bedrooms, not the tower-side.  There are lights in several of the windows, but the tower is a blaze of brilliance, giving me an eerie reminder of the bright flames I've seen billowing inside it.  We keep to the edge of the yard, moving from shadow to shadow, as though we're playing spies.  Maybe we are - though I guess it would be Civil War spies, rather than the Cold War spies my sister and I played as kids.  Once out back by the gardens, we take a white marble path that glows faintly in the dim twilight.  The place smells amazing, the air heavy with rich honeysuckle, spiced jasmine, luxurious roses, and other things I can't identify.
          "...is it safe to talk?  Or will you be in trouble if you're caught?" I ask him quietly, when we're in a particularly dense bit of shrubbery.
          "I don't want anyone else to know the way to my secret hideout," he replies in a stage whisper.
          "Right.  Did you build it all yourself, or is it Evelyn's too?"
          "Uh-uh.  It's mine, I made it myself, and no-one else is allowed there.  Well, not without my especial permission, that is.  Evelyn doesn't even know it's there, she's too little anyway."
          I get pretty turned around as we weave our way through the gardens in their full summer lushness, so I'm not actually sure where we are when we come out through the edge of the garden and head into the woods.  I'm a little concerned - will I slip back to my own time if we cross out past the Mason property line?  But no, my apartment seemed to be within that area, so we have a good bit of buffer still.
          "You know your way back alright if it gets really dark?"
          "Of couse - I've been out here a hundred times.  Sometimes even at night.  Anyway, the moon should be bright enough tonight."
          I guess I'm glad the kid has a bit of a refuge he can run off to if he needs to get away, but... I just don't understand, why have kids if you're not going to love them?  Obviously Cora didn't have access to birth control pills or anything, but counting the days and things, you can get a pretty good idea.  Though - I wince a little at the thought - maybe Azal didn't always take no for an answer, despite any protests on her part.
          "Now. You've got to close your eyes, you can't see its exact location."
          "...isn't it dark enough that we can skip that step?"
          He looks around gravely.  "Well.  I suppose it might be.  Though you've got to swear on your life that you won't divulge its location to a living soul."
          I grin wryly at his choice of words, he has no idea what a giant loophole that gives me. "I swear."
          "Good.  Now, you come through the main gate here," he begins, as he leads the way beneath an ancient low-hanging grape vine.  I have to bend over awfully far to clear it - Avery's maybe eight or nine years old now, and not exactly my height.  "Then across the draw bridge here," he continues, balancing easily as he walks across a plank of wood set over what I suspect is a big puddle after a heavy rain.  Once across, I lift my eyes from the treacherous ground, and look up as he gestures with a flourish toward a murky shape among the trees.
          I'm actually pretty impressed.  The front wall is actually brick for about the first two feet - it doesn't look like they're mortared in place or anything, just stacked, but solidly so.  From there, the walls are outlined with planks of wood, though in places there are gaps he's filled in with dense pine branches.
          "Let me get the candle lit, and I'll show you inside," he says excitedly.

Part 26

          "Alright.  So what else is in the pile?" I eventually manage to ask.
          "And you have reprints of this one for us, right?" Mary chimes in, nodding at the photo she's still gazing happily at.
          "Good things - and yes, because I knew you'd ask," Brandon says with a grin as he pulls out a sleeve from the bottom of his pile.  I see it has a small pile of reprints of various images, mostly of the Masons.  "I've got copies of all of the Mason images for you, Kimber, I figured you might want them?"
          "Definitely! Oh thank you, I appreciate it so much."
          He pulls a few out of the sleeve, then hands me the sleeve with the rest still inside.  "Some of them, I'm not sure if it's the Masons or not, but they're all taken on the estate grounds as far as I can tell, so I thought you'd be interested for that aspect even if the subjects are others."
          "Fantastic - I have a few images of the grounds, but not nearly enough, every inch of it was so gorgeous."  ...alright, technically I have more than "a few" photos, but I'm not going to count the full color digital shots I'm too chicken to try explaining.
          I pull the photos out of the sleeve, and I can feel my eyes positively lighting up.  Every one of them is a beautiful photograph in and of itself - I'd expect no less from Derick Reese - and there are nearly a dozen of them.  About half contain figures, and I see right away that there's at least one of the family in each of these images, though it's all Azal and Cora's family, nothing of Meres and Celestine.  Most are outdoors, set among the lavish grounds of the gardens in brilliant mid-summer sunlight.
          "Did I guess right on those, Kimber?"
          "You did!"  I fan out the images a bit, so the others around the table can see.  "Evelyn, obviously, she's about the same age as in that fountain image.  But this one is also her, I'm guessing not far from the time of the fire.  Her older brother Avery's in this shot, and Cora, Mrs. Mason, is in this group gathering - though I have no idea who the others are, I'd assume women from town?"
          Susan pulls the image a little closer to her, peering closely.  "You know, I think it's the founding members of the Temperance Union - Cora, of course, and then there's Sarah Houghton, Mildred Gartner, Rebecca Johnson... and I bet that's Mary Thomas, though it's hard to tell under that hat."
          "It was definitely taken in the Masons' garden, you can see the main fountain in the background here," I add, pointing to its small image in the distance.  "I know Cora liked showing them off, I'd imagine she'd host gatherings there when she could."
          Over the next hour or two, we pour over the photos Brandon's brought, identifying people and places, trying to determine dates from details in the images, with Susan taking notes whenever someone's fairly certain of something.  And there's not a dull snapshot among them, each photograph was taken with such care and forethought - though as Brandon points out, given how expensive and labor-intensive a process it all was, you really wouldn't want to waste the time or effort if you weren't certain of a great result.
          One by one, the members take their leave, until it's just Mary, Brandon and I, still chatting happily about the details we're finding in the photos of the old town.  Mary knows as much historical gossip as she does present-day, so is an endless font of great stories.  Eventually, I realize it's starting to get a little dark out, and that I'd better get going myself.
          "Next meeting is in two weeks," Mary reminds both Brandon and I.  "And you can't tell me no, you young'uns have been formally adopted into our little cabal now."
          "Kidnapper."
          "Abductress."
          "Guilty as charged. But, yes?"
          "Yes."
          "Alright."
          "Fantastic.  Now, Kimber, do you need a ride home or anything? It'll be dark soon."
          "I'm alright, I've got my bike, and it doesn't take me long to get back."
          "Are you sure?" Brandon asks.  "We could throw your bike in my trunk, it's no trouble."
          "Nah, that's alright, but thanks for offering."
          "...don't you go taking no for an answer, young man," Mary stage-whispers.
          I grab a pencil off the table and fling it at her.  "Meddler! Stoppit. I am a modern woman and perfectly capable of getting myself home, provided you stop holding me up."
          "Capable, yes, but awfully rude to refuse such a nice young man," she replies huffily.

          The ride home is really lovely - the evening breeze is cool, and a gentle charcoal-colored dusk is just settling in among the tree-lined streets.  I breathe in deeply, feeling the chill prick at my throat and lungs, mingling with the faint scent of sun-warmed asphalt and flowering gardens and green leaves.  It would be a gorgeous night for a walk, and the moon was pretty full last night...  On a whim, I veer off from my usual route home, taking a side street that will lead me closer to the Mason place.  Just a short walk through the gardens, before heading home and settling back into the dull routine of washing dishes, packing a lunch, and getting to sleep for an early shift tomorrow.
          At first, I think I've had a really bad idea - I'd forgotten just how dense the woods are at this time of year, hardly any light at all filters down to the ground, so I stumble on roots and am snagged by branches and vines.  But once I make it to the ruined foundations, there's more than enough light to see.  The sun's almost completely down, but still giving a little ambient light, and I can see the moon coming up just shy of full.  Breathing deeply in the cool night air, I tilt my head back and look up into the darkening sky.  The first stars are just beginning to show.  I have the same view Evelyn would have had, all those years ago... I wonder if she knew where to find Orion and Cassiopeia?  Somehow, I suspect she did - or if she didn't, had her own patterns she looked for among those distant lights.
          As I step through the old front yard, looking up at the stars, my view is unexpectedly blocked.  I brush my hair back - but it's not my hair in my eyes, it's leaves above - but there wasn't a tree this far from the--- Looking down to spot the unexpected tree trunk, I see brick walls before me.  My heart jumps up in excitement and happiness, as it always does now.  ...funny, that I should feel so happy and welcome here, I've seen just as many heartbreaking moments as I have good ones.  Yet, I'm connected to these people somehow, and not knowing when or if I'll ever see them or this beautiful place again, knowing that I can't control my chance encounters with them, every moment I have here is precious to me.
          The going is much less treacherous now that I'm back here - I don't have to worry about stumbling across stray bricks or unexpected plants, the yard is neat and tidy, as well-kept as everything else.  It's an apple tree whose branches hang above me.  There are apple trees in my own time too, but they've shifted, as new ones grew up after this original one died.
          I step a little farther back under its branches, looking around, realizing it's going to be a little awkward if someone looks out of a window and sees a stranger prowling around in their front yard.  I wonder when this is, and who it is that's inside the house?
          I hear a branch snap behind me, and I jump, spinning around to see what it was.  I'm expecting, you know, a squirrel or something, maybe a raccoon at most, but my heart pounds for a second as I see it's a much larger figure, sitting up in the apple tree.
          Then I relax a little, realizing it's a kid - a boy, I think, but I can't be sure.  Not Calvin, too old, but Avery? or Jacob? or someone else?
          "Hey there," I call softly.  "...I won't get you into trouble, but, I do see you there."
          There's a resigned sigh, and a scuffling sound.  A moment later, he drops to the ground in front of me, and I can tell right away it must be Avery - this is the first time I've been this close to him, but the resemblance to Evelyn is definitely clear.  His hair's a little darker, and not curled (though I can see where a few rebellious waves are fighting to break free), but his face is quite a bit like hers.  They both take after Cora a good deal though, I really don't see much of Azal in them at all... though Avery does, as I've noticed before, have awfully fierce eyes, even as a kid.  A lot of strength, and stubbornness, and resiliance, which, unfortunately, I think he's needed to have, living under his father's less than gentle hand.
          "Who are you?" he asks warily, staying close to the trunk of the tree, as if he'll swarm back into the safety of its branches if I prove to be a cause for concern.
          "My name's Kimber - you're Avery, right?  I've met your sister Evelyn a few times before."  I'm not actually sure how many times at the moment, I'm a little slow on the math between his age and hers and what age she's been at each of my visits.  (Because of course my visits couldn't happen in chronological order. That would make--- well, alright, nothing would make this normal or straightforward! But it would certainly be more convenient.)
          He's still wary, but his interest is clearly piqued.  "Kimberly?  Ev's told me about you.  She said you helped her get out of trouble with Father a few times.  I should thank you for that - I protect her as best I can, but I don't always get there in time."  He sounds so regretful at this last, and my heart breaks for this young boy trying to bear so much responsibility.

Part 25

          Susan, John, and Ed all have piles in front of them now, though they're also swapping many of the photos back and forth, exclaiming over interesting views or subjects.  Mary and I are still waiting, looking eagerly at Brandon.
          "Welllll?" Mary asks, raising an eyebrow.  "You have a small pile left there.  Are you going to appease us yet?"
          "Well, I mean, I don't know if this is really what you're looking for, but..."
          Brandon holds up a single photo, eyes sparkling.
          Our jaws probably drop at the same moment, though neither of us could possibly have noticed, given how glued our eyes are to the photo that Brandon gently slides over closer to us.
          It's Meres and Azal, together.  And the first thing we notice is that they're half-naked and drop-dead gorgeous.  Just to get that out of the way.
          Their hair looks longer here than in some of the other photos, falling just past their shoulders, nor is it stiffly slicked and combed back in the style of the day.  Dark hair - though Azal's is somewhat darker, and Meres' has a hint of a wave to it.  And seeing their two faces together like this... it's clearer than ever to me that they're not brothers, but have led similar lives, that depth of experience and pain in their eyes is the same, though the planes of their faces differ so.  Azal's skin is more tanned than Meres' as well - this must have been shortly after his arrival from the Middle East.  Neither is exactly bulging with muscles, but their mostly bare chests are perfectly formed, with toned muscles that hint at power far beyond the trim appearance of their bodies.
          Azal is crumpled on the ground, on his knees and one elbow, torn remnants of a shirt barely clinging to his torso.  It looks as though there's a tattoo of some sort on his back, though the angle he's at doesn't allow for a clear view.  His eyes look dark and empty, almost hopeless in their dispair.  But he's lifted his face, his hair spilling back across his cheek, and lifting one hand - tiredly, I can almost see it trembling - upward.
          Meres is on one knee, a loose shirt unbuttoned and falling away from his chest, reaching a hand out toward Azal.  And his expression is no less pained, but he seems to have gathered just a little more strength, just enough, to try and take hold of Azal.  And maybe they'll both fall into the abyss that threatens them, but at least they'll fall together.  His other hand is clenched but not closed, as though he's holding it back from making some other motion, or maybe as though there's so much flowing through his body that he can't help but be physically moved by the emotions that wrack him.  They are in such pain, but are so devoted to each other despite - or maybe because of - that pain and sorrow.  As two people who have lost all else, and have nothing left to hold to in this world but each other.
          It's difficult to look away from the intensity of the two, but when I do, I see that they're in a ruined ballroom... and at first I'm unsure if it's a painted backdrop or an actual location, but on looking closer, I realize it's a painting after all, likely oil though it's hard to be certain.  And suddenly I wonder - did Meres paint this?  It doesn't look at all similar to the backdrops I've seen in Derick Reese's other images, and the rich sense of light, the color palette both rich and yet somehow muted, shadowed... I think it is Meres'.
          The floor is covered in bits of debris and dark dust, but beneath this are slabs of marble.  It's impossible to make out the overall design, but the carefully cut edges that are visible clearly hint at some kind of grand pattern.  A deep burgundy velvet curtain spills along one side of the image, behind Meres, while beyond Azal and between the two figures, a larger space can be seen.  Darkened gilt baroque ornamentation covers every possible surface, except for those painted in rich colors, hinting at scenes of Bacchanelian delight.  Marble columns are draped in gold swathes of vines and fruit and cherubs, the decorations all intensifing as they approach the ceiling, which vaults impossibly high above.  Several balconies are set high along the walls, but the ceiling arches away into shadows, too high for the light to reach.  A broken chandelier hangs precariously off-kilter, half of its crystals having come loose, and falling in a frozen shower toward the floor.  Shadows lie heavily around the space - there is light enough to see, but it falls eerily across the deserted space, highlighting spots of the golden accents just enough to make clear the contrast against the moldy and dust-coated rest.
          It's a staged image, clearly, and yet... and yet there's something very raw about it.  The emotion in their faces rings absolutely true, as though they're re-living a real moment they shared long ago.  The backdrop alone would tear at my heart, there's such a sense of beauty lost in that image, of pleasure turned to pain, of the sorrow in fading memories of better days.  I remember those disjointed images I saw at the art gallery from Meres.  They were too rapid and brief and specific for me to put together any kind of story - a face, trumpet flowers, a stormy ocean, other faces, smaller things like a rotting feather, a withered rose bush, writing I couldn't read, words I couldn't recognize, and that wrenching pain...  And I know Meres has suffered some great loss, Azal must have gone through whatever it was with him.
          Is this why Meres didn't lash out at Azal for the loss of the house and gardens? Or even for the rape of Celestine - if Meres had ever found out about it, that is, I have no idea.  Had they gone through something so much greater, that everything else seemed trivial to them by comparison?  But what could they have suffered, they didn't look that old... and I can't believe that Meres would take the wounding of Celestine so calmly.  There's no way he couldn't hold onto anger over that, it's been so clear just how deeply he cared for her, and wanted to protect her.
          "Ohhh my..." Mary breathes, and I'm pulled back to the present.  Almost.  It's going to take awhile for the spell of the image to leave me.
          "...yeah..." I add vaguely, not quite willing to leave these two.  "What an image, there's..."
          "Yeah..."
          Brandon chuckles quietly, nodding in agreement.  "It looked like an interesting shot even on the plate, I could tell it was something unusual.  But when I got it printed and a little larger, I was blown away.  The detail in that backdrop alone is incredible - and it's got to be a huge painting.  Sometimes, images like this would've been pieced together from two different plate exposures, super-imposed together when making the print.  But that wasn't the case here.  And those poses and their expressions..."
          "Yeah..."
          "I have to think Derick was trying to really make a statement, with this, and other pieces he did.  There was a huge debate early in photography's history, over whether it was a valid artform or not.  Traditional painters were really up in arms about it - probably because they felt threatened, recreating images had been something only they could do before.  But with photographs, anyone could capture any image with, so they claimed, absolutely no skill needed.  This is partly how the impressionist and abstract painters picked up steam, realism could be achieved so much better with photos.  But the early photographers wanted to show their images could be just as aesthetically pleasing as paintings were - so there were a lot of carefully arranged still life images, women in Grecian drapery or nude carefully posed, compositions mirroring as nearly as possible the paintings popular at the time.  I suppose it wasn't until exposure times dropped, and pictures could be taken of briefer, less posed moments, that photography really came into its own...  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off on such a tangent!"
          "Not at all - I had no idea photography had been such a contraversial thing!" Susan interjects, looking up from the photo in her hand.  "It's so commonplace now, I can certainly see why painters would have worried they'd be run out of business.  Who commissions a painted portrait nowadays?  We just run to the local department store and drop fifty bucks for a family Christmas photo."
          "Yeah, that's exactly the kind of thing they were worried about.  I think traditional mediums and approaches are starting to make a little bit of a comeback now, but I think there's also something really important about the immediacy of a photograph.  Even an image like this one," he says, setting out the photo of Evelyn at the fountain.  "Now, while a painter could certainly capture the light falling on her hair, he'd probably have to make up a lot of details later, there's no way you could get it all at once, the light would have changed by the time you moved from one section to the next, let alone another area of the painting.  And the water - these cameras couldn't catch the droplets in midair, of course, but I think it gives an even better sense of movement this way, with the light reflecting off the blurred water in motion."
          I look up from the photo to Brandon.  "You had a class with Kenton, didn't you."
          He laughs.  "I did.  Can't say my pathetic drawing skills were improved much by his class - though that's not his fault, I'm just horrible at it - but those daily critiques really helped me nail the artist-speak."
          "I used to make a game out of trying to come up with highfalutin artistic rationales for the most ridiculous things.  But after a few years as an art major... I came to the unfortunate conclusion that I could actually have been right."
          "Did you have an explanation for that weird lumpy arch thing by the ampitheater?"
          "You mean the Gates to Macaroni Hell?  That was clearly a statement about the pitfalls of consumerism.  The pipe-bits were obviously shaped like macaroni noodles, and the vivid orange color of the entire piece made it clear it was a reference to Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, with its distinctive unnatural coloring and content.  Kraft Mac'n'Cheese is a symbol of American consumerism and commercialism, with the evening meal being bought at a store rather than made within the family home, out of chemicals and ingredients processed to the point of unrecognizability.  By walking through the arch, you show your tacit acceptance of the..."  I wave vaguely, unable to keep a straight face any longer, and join in the laughter.

Part 24

Looking around from side to side, I rub at my eyes, as if trying to determine which way I'd come before - and then I realize, no, I'm actually rubbing at my eyes because they're blurring.  Damnit!
          "Oh, there it is, I can see my way now," I say hurriedly, starting off in a random direction, hoping to save at least one person here from wondering if they've gone crazy---
          But he's already gone, and I'm standing smack in the middle of a giant patch of burdock.  And it's just late enough in the season that the flowers are turning into burrs that'll take an age to painfully pull out of my hair.

          I step into the cool air of the library, looking around for the meeting.  I approach the already-populated table a little sheepishly, but Mary spots me at once and waves me over cheerfully.
          "Kimber!  Thank goodness. I was afraid some handsome ghost had swept you off your feet and absconded with you forever."
          "...and could you blame me, if it was Meres doing the abducting?"
          "Did I imply blame? Because it was wistful longing on my own behalf that you should've heard." She clasps her hands and puts them to her cheek, sighing dreamily as she looks far away.
          This earns her a mixture of giggles and groans from the group around the table.  I spot a print of our favorite picture of Meres on the table and scoop it up, waving it gently in the air in her line of sight.  She nabs it out of my hand, and gazes happily.
          "Boy, that Ralph's sure got some steep competition, doesn't he?" John comments.
          "Ha! He's not even in the running and he knows it."
          "Then why'd we see you sitting with him at the Methodist spaghetti dinner?"
          "Oh, that?  Pity."  She waves her hand absently, eyes still on the photo - but I see the glimmer in her eye and the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips.
          "Alright, so what new goodies have you all got for me?"  I look around the table: Mary, John, Susan, Ed the map guy, Brandon, and a guy about my dad's age that I don't recognize.
          "Now just you sit down and wait!  Brandon's in charge of this meeting, they're his photos," Mary proclaims, pushing out the empty chair beside her for me.
          Brandon looks a little embarrassed at this.  "All I did was make the prints - the quality of the images is all to Derick Reese's credit."
          "And yours for being a miracle-worker and letting us see them," Mary interjects.
          "Well, maybe a few minor miracles."
          The guy I don't recognize laughs, shaking his head.  "More than a few, and more than minor!  I've done plenty of work with images this old myself, you know, and even the most careful preservation of the plates won't keep them in that pristine of condition over that much time.  You've got quite a talent for this work."  He looks over at me then, smiling welcomingly.  "I'm Dan Reed, by the way - Mary's told us you're doing research on the Mason place?"
          "I am! Kimber Bennett.  And you did all the books with old photos of the towns around the county?  Those books are amazing, I didn't even grow up here and I'm a little obsessed with looking at them."
          "Obsession is a word we're pretty comfortable with at this table!" he comments with a laugh, but is obviously pleased at the compliment.
          "And on that note - I'm usually a very patient person, but Brandon, you've already kept me waiting for daaaaays.  Do you have any new photos of the Masons, or the grounds?"
          "Maybe."
          "Oh come on! Please?"
          Mary sighs exaggeratedly.  "Well, so much for my hopes of being a matchmaker.  Instead of a Romeo and Juliet, I've brought together two bickering siblings."
          I turn beet red, and am incapable of looking at Brandon to see his reaction.  The rest of the table chuckles at this.
          "Oh, now Mary, stop your meddling, there's enough gossip in this town without you having to invent new tales!"  Susan scolds, leaning across the table to smack Mary's arm.
          "You know," Ed begins, his voice calm and laid-back but his eyes sparkling.  "I bet these kids haven't heard the story of Mary and the flag pole yet."
          "Edward Josephson, you shut your mouth or I'll tell the story of little Eddie and his first-grade class photograph."
          "Now, Mary, you can't threaten me with that - that's just public knowledge, I came to terms with that one long ago."
          "You think I haven't got more?"
          "And who are the bickering siblings?" I ask sweetly.
          Susan laughs at this, and throws crumpled wads of paper at Ed and Mary simultaneously.  "Come on.  As secretary, I'm calling all of y'all to order now.  First order of business: you new folks have been introduced to everyone now?"
          Brandon and I nod dutifully.
          "Oh good.  Second order of business: the art gallery show went over very well, and I think we might have actually made a little money.  Brandon, you were a huge help, thank you again."
          "Oh, anytime!  Like I've said, it was an honor to get to work with those plates.  And I'm always glad when my pet esoteric interests turn out to actually be useful."
          "Third order of business: do we have a plan yet for the Farmer's Festival next month?  I know we've paid the booth fee already.  Manning it in shifts last year worked pretty well.  But are we going with a theme this year, or just putting out whatever we've got that's new?"
          They spend a few minutes throwing ideas around - doing a few "then and now" displays, some bits on the town founders, the upcoming anniversary of the town hall building... I zone out a bit, and peer intently at the pile of photos in the middle of the table, trying to see if I can make anything out.  The pile isn't perfectly neat, and though the pictures are all in plastic sleeves that are the same size, the prints in them aren't, so I can see a few tantalizing corners...  Finally, Susan calls everyone back to order again.
          "Alright, clearly, that's still under discussion.  We have some time yet, but everyone give it some thought.  And remember - we want something that normal people will find engaging."  She gives Ed a withering look.
          He shrugs and puts his hands up in a "you got me" gesture, chuckling good naturedly.  "We did have a pretty good response the year we had that satellite map out."
          "And now every kid has Google on their phone.  Afraid we can't give that one a repeat.  Let's see, next order of business..."
          Mary raises her hand.
          Susan raises an eyebrow.
          Mary bounces a little in her seat, waving her hand.
          Susan sighs.  "Yes, Mary?"
          "Can we please skip to Brandon and his photos?  I think the meeting will go a lot smoother if we all know about any hot men that are in that pile."
          Dan coughs, Ed chuckles, and John straightens his shirt collar.  "Now, Mary, isn't there enough eye candy for you in this room already?"
          "Brandon?  Can you just tell us if there are any more pictures of this fellow in there?"  She indicates the photo of Meres, which she's hung on to.  "Asking for a friend."  She quickly slides the photo over in front of me and acts innocent.
          He chuckles, and looks to Susan.  "Should I just go ahead?"
          She replies with a long-suffering sigh, but her eyes make it clear she doesn't actually mind.  "Oh, go ahead, she won't stop 'til we've appeased her."
          "Well, there are a couple I'm sure of, and a few I'm not.  But there are definitely some of the Mason estate, and what I'm assuming are the children - Kimber, I'm guessing you'll be able to help ID them?"
          I grin happily.  "Most likely!"
          "Plenty of other shots around town too, of course, some buildings you might not have a record of yet, Mr. Reed, and plenty of people I'm sure the rest of you can put names to."  Brandon starts sifting through the pile, which seems to be somewhat categorized already, pushing photos toward people he thinks might be interested.  "A few public events, and a couple of studio shots - but much fewer than I would have expected."
          "Oh, we have loads of his studio work already," Mary puts in.  "Most of that had, of course, been stored in the studio itself, and that collection was given over to us years ago.  This batch was found in storage with one of the family members, so we had a hunch it would be more candid shots."
          "And most of them are!  Well, comparatively candid, anyway, the technology didn't exactly allow for the kind of instant capture we're all used to.  Most of the images are outdoors, and the composition and lighting in some is really striking, the man was such an artist."
          "He certainly was," Dan says, already looking through a pile of buildings around town that Brandon passed over to him.  "Most people would have just taken a shot straight-on to the front of the building, but just look at this one of the old Presbyterian church."  He sets a photo in the middle of the table where we can all see - and it really is striking.  It was taken near one of the corners of the church, with the camera tilted up at an angle, just as you'd be looking up if you were standing beside it.  The narrow Gothic spires rise high into a pale clear sky, their sharp tips just barely visible as they fade into bright sunlight.  I realize my eyes are squinting a little as I look at it, as if I'm really looking up into a bright sunlight sky.