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.

Part 23

          As much as I'd like to talk with them... this is not a moment I can intrude on.  For the millionth time with this family, I wish there were something I could do.  Sighing heavily, I sit back on the tiled pathway, and lean back on my hands.  It's so beautiful and peaceful here, it's not fair that it should have seen such sorrow.
          "Can I help you, miss?"
          I jump half a mile, whipping my head around toward the unexpected voice.  It's a young man - not Jacob, sadly - tall and slim, maybe eighteen or twenty years old, with strikingly bright blue eyes.  Surprisingly long light brown hair, and an awfully gorgeous face.  (What is it around this place, that everyone's so attractive? ...alright, genetics mostly, and then discriminating when hiring staff, but still.  In the middle of nowhere?)  He looks a little familiar, but I can't place him...
          "Uh. No, I'm uh..."
          He laughs, brushing his hair back from his face, and reaching down with one hand to help me up.  "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.  Were you here about the cook's position?  I'm afraid it was filled last week."
          "I... I'm sorry to hear that."  I'm a grubby mess from all my weeding earlier, obviously I'm not going to be taken for company of the master and mistress of the house!  (I'm a little amazed Jacob ever let me indoors on my other visits, to be honest.)  "It's such a beautiful place," I add, looking around as if for the first time - which it is, for this little section of the garden, at least.  "I'd love to be able to spend more time here."
          "Aye, it's quite a hidden jewel out here.  No-one around had heard of these folks a few years ago, but the minute I set foot on the grounds - which were already pretty well along even before the Missus moved in - well, I knew that even if the work was hard, the place would more than make up for it."
          "You're not the gardener, are you?"
          "Lord, no!  I don't think they'd have given that post to someone as young as me!  Old George takes care of the grounds, though I lend a hand when he needs a younger, stronger back to move something.  I'm in charge of the horses - and a beautiful lot they are, the master had already picked out a fine first pair before I got here.  White as snow, they are, though I'll admit it's beastly some days to keep them that way.  But here I'm going on, and I haven't introduced myself.  Joseph Standworth, at your service, miss."  He bows from the waist, and, alright, I'm a little smitten.  While I'd go crazy wearing some of the dresses I've seen Celestine and Cora in, I have to admit, there are some traditions and manners I wish lasted into my own day.
          "Kimberly Bennett," I reply.  And it occurs to me that I should curtsy, but I haven't tried since I first read Little Women at age eight, and anyway it would look ridiculous with me not being in a skirt.  So I make a clumsy little ducking bow, but Joseph doesn't seem to mind.  Joseph!  Horses!  It must have been him in that newspaper clipping I saw in the stable - though the image was so vague, I'm surprised I'm catching any resemblance now.
          "Well, I'm sure it wouldn't be anything like my place to invite you to stay - but I could give you a sort of meandering escort off the grounds, so's you could see a bit of the gardens while you're here."
"Oh, that would be lovely, thank you!  ...I apologize for looking such a fright, I'd stumbled on something just before you came up."
          "There's plenty of hidden little turns and odd corners around this place, I don't wonder that you'd get a bit lost trying to come in the back entrance and find your way to the house.  Though, I'll admit, I'm not sure you're dressed to quite what they'd expect for a young lady, even as a cook."  I can tell he's trying to say this as tactfully as he can, the poor kid.
          "...well, I wasn't really here about the position.  I was..." I'm racking my brain trying to think of a time a woman might conceivably maybe have been in pants in this time. "...on a ride through the woods, and saw the fence, then just had to see what was on the other side of it.  It's so unusual looking, and I didn't know anyone lived 'way out here.  And then, well, how could I help looking around in such an Eden?"
          He laughs and nods - we're walking back toward the creek, heading for the red bridge I think.  Though I'm not entirely sure, I'm seeing all kinds of smaller paths that have completely vanished in my time.  "Can't say that I blame you.  But you're not from town, are you?  I haven't been over there much this past year or so, but my folks keep me up to date on new arrivals when I visit."
          "No, I'm from Milltown, my family moved in just a month or so ago."
          "Bit of a long ride on your own, isn't it?"
          Oh my God, I haven't invented stories this fast... probably ever? Um.  "Not really.  I grew up further west, and there wasn't anyone around for absolutely miles, so my sister and I grew up taking pretty long rides on our own."  Substitute bikes for horses, and I'm not really lying.  Much.  Which makes it much easier to sound convincing.  But I need to get him off the subject of me, I'm not going to waste my short time here by lying to people.  "I've been in to Mapleton once or twice with my parents, but we're still pretty far outside of it here, aren't we?"
          "The Master and Missus really don't have much to do with the townfolk, no more than they can help.  When they're out for a drive, it's always out into the hills, I don't think they've ever had me take them into town.  They'll have visitors once in awhile, but not often, and it's always someone from far out of town.  All the way from New York City last month, even someone from Paris, oh, probably about a year ago now."
          "Such a long way!  They must have been family, to be willing to travel that far?"
          "Well, the Missus has had a bit of family out once or twice, though they're from somewhere else in the state, I can't recall the town.  But I've never heard a thing about the Master's folks, he keeps pretty well to himself.  Oh he's a kind and generous man, and a great artist, too.  But for all the learned things he can talk about at length, I've never heard a word about his family or more than a hint of his past, nor have any of the rest of the staff.  Which I guess isn't a surprise, I wouldn't expect them to sit down with one of us over a drink!  Maybe it's just that they're so new to town, most families here have known each other for generations."
          "You know, I don't think I've even heard, what's the name of the family that lives here?"
          "Mason," he replies.  "Though it's just the Master and Missus so far - but they're young yet, I'm sure there will be a whole little brood---" he stops mid-sentance, remembering the scene he must've caught a glimpse of just as I did.  "---well, someday, I'm sure there will be children around the place."
          "...I heard someone crying not far from me, but I didn't want to intrude.  It was Mrs. Mason then?  I think I've heard her name before, now that you've mentioned it."
          He nods, biting his lip.  "She's such a slim and delicate thing, it makes us all worry for her health.  One of hers was stillborn, the other came too early.  Such a kind and gentle woman, it's not right that she should have to suffer like that."
          "No, I can't even imagine how much that must hurt, poor thing."
          He lifts his head, looking behind us, and I suspect he's looking to see if Meres has returned yet, as he'd promised Celestine.  "Master tries so hard to please her, but there's just nothing a man can do in that case.  Not that he takes any comfort in that, he's as distraught as she is whenever she's the least unhappy."
          I refrain from snorting.  I remember hearing that kings often assumed the fault with their offspring or lack thereof was the woman's fault, guess that's an attitude that was a little more common than I'd have thought.  But then, the actual pregnancy and birth is all on the woman, so I can't entirely blame them for thinking so.
          We have, in fact, reached the red bridge, and it really is striking.  The geometric pattern on the tiles that run along the sides of the clear stream below are vibrant and bright.  There are flowers blooming all along the banks here, many spilling over to kiss the water's surface.  White irises and flowering grasses, and... well, an awful lot of things, most of which I can't identify at this distance.  And that's not--- oh it is, it's such a tiny little baby weeping willow tree at the bend!  My head swims a little - it's such a clear reminder of how many years lie between this time and my own.
          Joseph puts a steadying hand on my arm - we'd just taken a step onto the bridge, and I must've stumbled.  "Careful now - though I suppose if you fell in, it'd clear the mud from you," he adds with a sly grin.
          I laugh.  "True!  I should really pay closer attention when I'm walking, I'm so clumsy some days..."
          "But I hadn't asked you - which way did you come in?  I don't want you to get lost again, trying to get back to your horse."
          I start to scramble for an answer, what would be plausible, I don't even know where, or if, there are gates other than the main one.

Part 22

But he's distracted anyway - dropping to one knee, he swings the camera up to his eye with the grace of a motion made a thousand times.  Waits, motionless, for a moment, then I hear the shutter snap, and he's standing back up with an apologetic smile.
          "Sorry.  Butterfly landed perfectly on that blue flower there."
          "Flax.  It means 'I feel your kindness', or, alternately, 'fate'."
          He looks at me a little puzzled.  "Flowers have meanings?"
          "Apparently it was a thing in Victorian times.  I read somewhere that Meres - the one who built the house and planted the gardens - was pretty into arranging the flowers so that their meanings would all work together nicely.  Like... well, take this with a grain of salt, because each book I find gives different meanings, and I'm not exactly a pro at flower identification yet.  But right there, you've got flax, bachelor's button, sage, with a lilac bush behind.  Which is..."  I fish around in my bag and pull out the pages of my handwritten flower-meaning list.  "I feel your kindness - or fate... hope in love... esteem... first emotion of love."
          "So this is the 'I've got a crush on you corner'?"  He grins as he asks this, and I force myself not to blush at this.
          "Guess so!  Or, it could be symbolizing the early part of Meres and Celestine's relationship.  I wonder... I hadn't thought about it before, but I wonder if walking the paths in the right order progressively tells a story or something?  Or, would have, I'm sure most of the flowers have died or been crowded out over the years."
          "You think there'd be enough left to reconstruct it though?  I've seen a handful of photos of the garden - obviously not covering any inch of it or anything, but I wonder if going off of those, and what's still here, and maybe filling in the gaps with things whose meaning makes sense?"
          "You know, I bet that would work!  But I suspect Jeremy Mason doesn't care enough about the place to have it done..."
          "He the one who owns it now?"
          "Yeah.  All the way out in Nevada, I don't think any of the family's been back here in generations, if at all after the fire."
          "Huh..."
          We lapse into silence, and it would start to feel awkward, except that we're both so taken with the place, its history and its beauty, even now that its glory days are long-gone.  He takes a few more photos, and I jot a note in my sketchbook about the path idea.  He seems to spot something interesting on the opposite side of the fountain.
          "Nice meeting you - there are some shots around the foundation I want to take while the light's still right.  I'll see you at the historical society meeting, right?"
          "I suppooooose," I sigh with exaggerated acquiesence, then laugh.  "If you have pictures of my Masons, you bet I'll be there."

          I look down at my sketchbook again, but watch out of the corner of my eye as he walks away.  Nice enough guy.  (My sister's voice insisting I get a boyfriend echoes in my head - but I got pretty good at ignoring her as needed when we were still kids.)  And I bet he does have new shots of the Masons, why else wouldn't he tell me  straight out, just insist I come to the meaning?  (Nope.  Still ignoring Alison.)
          I lean down to gather up my pile of weeds - I've started making a little compost pile of them in an out-of-the-way spot where nothing's really growing toward one edge of the garden.  But as I look down, I spot a small red flower peeking out from behind a burdock leaf.  I can pull out one more stupid burdock plant.  As I do so, I realize there's are a few small bushes of the little red flowers, and covering the ground beneath the burdock (somewhat choking the red flowers) is a spreading patch of blue-violet vinca.  I kneel down to pull some of the vinca away - I know it's pretty tenacious stuff, half my grandma's yard was always covered in it.  I'm sure this was originally a much smaller plant.  Looking under the spreading shrubs nearby, I realize it's covering a pretty huge area now, so ripping out some of it here won't make much difference.
          If I remember right, Vinca is also called periwinkle, which I know was on one of my lists, I wonder what the meaning was?  When I've got a good foot cleared out around the red flower, I sit down on the path, brush off my hands as best I can, and pull out my copy of the flower-meaning list (which is getting pretty rumpled anyway, I should really just type it up and print new copies as needed).  Periwinkle... "sweet memories".  Aww.  Other sources listed blue periwinkle as "early friendship", and white periwinkle as "pleasures of memory".  That's sweet.  I wonder what the red flower is?
          Without much hope, I pull out the small wildflower guidebook that I've tried to keep in my bag.  It hasn't helped much, but it's the only flower book I have that's small enough to carry around without driving me crazy.  And sometimes there are wildflowes that are grown intentionally, or are in the same genus or species, close enough in appearance that I can figure out what I'm looking at.  Luckily for flower-newbie me, the book is organized by color, so I start flipping through the red pages.  Ha!  And there it is!  Adonis annua, pheasant's eye.  According to the map in the book, it's not usually found in the wild here, though it is in Kentucky and Tennessee, which aren't far off climate-wise.  And that means it's more likely its ancestor-plant was put in by Meres and Celestine.
          The name pheasant's eye rings a bell, and sure enough, it's on my list too: "sorrowful memories".
          Sweet memories and sorrowful memories, in the same place?  The vinca could have just invaded this spot unintentionally, of course, and I'm sure if things re-seeded themselves they'd have come up in different places.  But I wonder...

          Nope. They were planted here together on purpose. I rub my eyes, trying to hurry them clearing back up (though I'm pretty sure the blurring is the changes in light waves hitting them from the outside, not something internal).  My pile of weeds is gone, the overgrown shrubs and things are gone.  I focus intently on the spot in front of me - then realize, happily, my bag had still been on my lap from taking out the flower-meaning lists.  I grab my camera and take a few shots of the area immediately around me, to use as reference when I'm back in my own time.  Definitely no goldenrod that's supposed to be here!
          And then I hear a woman's voice, and it's very near.  She's speaking softly, and... and crying.  Looking around, I realize there's a gravel path that's not there in my time, that loops around just on the other side of the area I'd been clearing away.  The pheasant's eye, which was set pretty far back from the path on my side in my time, is closer to this other path, with the vinca running as an edging along the path.  Peering through the leaves of a shrub, I can just make out a figure on that other path, kneeling with skirts spread out wide around her.  I can't tell yet if it's Cora or Celestine - Cora's hair color was similar to Celestine's when she was young, and her face is both bent low and partly obscured by the plants between us.  She's tenderly weeding the patch of garden, which surprises me, wouldn't that have been the job of one of the servants?  I start to suspect it's Celestine - for all her bragging about the gardens, I can't picture Cora out here on her knees with her hands in the dirt.  Watering the flowers with her tears...
          I don't want to intrude on her like this.  I stay where I am, largely hidden behind the shrubs, though I suspect she's not aware of much around her anyway.  Her pale fingers lightly caress one of the pheasant's eye flowers, and I see enough of her face to recognize Celestine... and to see that her lovely features are twisted in deep grief.  Not the frustration of a fight with a loved one, or something going wrong, or in pain, but that deep, gut-wrenching, life-altering dispairing sorrow.
          And I remember what happened the last time I saw her, and the pit of my stomach falls.  What has this poor woman done to deserve any of this...
          But as I watch her, I realize she's younger than she was last time, so it's some other pain that she's suffering now.  I try to catch the occasional words she's muttering, but her voice is low, so it's some time before I can make any out.
          "My dear little... couldn't you..."
          Dear little?  But Meres and Celestine didn't have any children, did they?  Evelyn never mentioned any, and Azal said they hadn't had any.  I kneel down on the pathway, shifting a little - I can't see her any more, but I'm a little closer now, and try to pick out the stray words between the sobs.
          "...my little girl... and little Michael... we would have given you so much love, couldn't you have stayed here with us?  Just for a little while?"
          Oh.  Oh no.  "All of these years together, and still he has not given you a child?"  They were so in love, I guess it wouldn't have been for lack of trying... Oh poor Celestine, and Meres too.  They must have lost them in infancy, or miscarriage (if they didn't even have a name for the girl).
          Sweet memories and sorrowful memories.  I don't know how long I sit there, silent myself, as I listen to Celestine's heart breaking.  But after awhile, I hear footsteps, and hear Meres call her name gently.
          "My darling, are you still out here?  Do, come inside, the sun is so harsh at this time of day."  His voice is so soft and loving, I can almost see the words wrapping around her as an embrace.
          She chokes back a sob, and I can hear her sniffling.  "I'm... I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't..."
          "Hush, my dear one, it's all right."
          "It's just... it would have been her birthday today, if..."
          "I haven't forgotten.  How could I?"
          With the voices at normal speaking volume now, I lean a little to one side again, trying to catch a few glimpses through the leaves.  He's helping her to stand - and as she does, she collapses against his chest, and he encircles her in his arms, stroking her hair soothingly.  "There, now, child, it's..."  He trails off, unable to tell her it's all right, when it's clearly not.  He frowns, his eyes filling with frustration and sadness, as if he feels this is his fault.  Is that something they could have known back then?  It's not like they could get a fertility test done.  The only way you'd know is if... if one had had kids, or not had kids, with someone else.  Has he..?  Or has she?  No, I can't imagine---
          "Now, do, come indoors and rest yourself.  When I have you settled in to my satisfaction, I'll... I'll come finish this section of the garden myself."
          "Oh!  Meres, would you?  I know it's silly of me, but..."
          "Nothing that is done in love is silly, my darling."  He kisses the top of her head tenderly, then starts walking her back toward the house.

Part 21

          The jinn (or djinn, or genies) turn out to be a pretty interesting concept, actually.  According to the Qu'ran and Islamic tradition, you've got men who are physical with free will, jinn who are spiritual with free will, and angels who are spiritual without free will.  After being created, Allah ordered his other creations to bow to Adam, since mankind was supposed to rule over the others.  One of the jinn, Iblis, refused to do so, got kicked out of Paradise, and earned the name Shaytan.  Aside from that, it sounds like the jinn are pretty equivalent to the servant-spirits that turn up in old stories of magic, able to travel at high speeds, imitate people, interact with the physical world by moving things around, that kind of thing.  Not by any means all-knowing though, and definitely fallible.  They're also connected with Solomon's magic abilities, in the Qu'ran and in the Book of Solomon.  Which is apparently one of a million apocryphal books of the Bible that were left out at one point or another.
          I spent a childhood in Sunday School, but it never occured to me that there were other things that were considered Scripture at one point but not any more.  Turns out that's the main focus of the "Bible secrets!" book I'd picked up.  I'm taking this one with a grain of salt, but I'd only meant to use it as a jumping-off point anyway, in case one avenue or another sounded interesting.  The Book of Solomon I'm definitely curious about - the Bible paints him as such a wise and knowledgable man, but other traditions add magician/wizard to his titles.  Was the magic a later addition on their part, or a later subtraction on mainstream Christianity's part?  It's sounding like there's a decent bit of magic in some of the variant Jewish traditions that I'd had no idea about - wonder if that went for early versions of Christianity, too?  The way I was taught it, nothing had changed since Jesus spoke the words, but... I guess it makes sense that it has, given how differently the U.S. Constitution has been interpreted, and that hasn't been around anywhere near as long as the Bible!
          There's another book, the Book of Enoch, that sounds interesting too - it involves a group called the Watchers, who, I think, were the angels that slept with human women in that bit of Genesis right before the Flood.  But the story's a little different in Enoch, the giants that showed up pre-Flood were the offspring of those women and angels.  They ate up all the food and used up the land's resources, and apparently fought a lot, and because of all this evil in the world, God sent the Flood to wipe them out.  This served double-duty, also being a punishment for the fallen Watchers, since they weren't supposed to go having sex and teaching mankind about magic and makeup (really!).
          I haven't even finished with the arbitrary books I picked up, and here I've found all kinds of possibilities for other things Meres and Azal could be.  (Though they seem a little smarter than the jinn are usually portrayed as being.)  Laughing, I set the books aside and jam my palms against my eyes, rubbing them as I shake my head.  All of this assuming that things other than humans exist in this world, that I've been seeing them, that I've been bopping around through time like a kid on a pogo stick.
          I throw my sketchbook back into my bag and grab a water bottle out of the fridge.  I remember the plastic bag still on my kitchen floor, and pull out the small metal hand-rake I picked up at the hardware store the other day.  I'm going to go do some weeding in the Mason's gardens, and ground myself in the physical world for awhile.

          "...all those people, all those lives, where are they now? With loves, and hates, and passions just like mine; They were born and then they lived and then they died..."  I stop half-singing along with the song, pausing the music for a minute as I flop backwards to sit on the colorful tile walkway, wiping the back of my arm across my forehead.  "There!  That's much better."  I've been working my way out from the central fountain, clearing out the obvious weeds and dead stuff as best I can.  There are still plenty of plants in the space that I can't decide if they're supposed to be there or not, but burdock and tickweed and goldenrod, I can pretty safely remove.  Although, goldenrod does mean "encouragement", so I'm keeping an eye on the plants surrounding it, in case it was intentional in spots.  (I couldn't believe it when I noticed burdock on one of my lists too - "importunity," which means persistently demanding.  Given how irritating its silly little burrs are, I guess I can see that.  But what an irritating thing to have show up in your bouquet!)
          "It is!  How long have you been working on this place?"
          I jump half a freaking mile - I didn't notice any blurring, but maybe I was too focused on what I was doing?  No, looking around me, I see the pile of weeds beside me on the path, I'm still in my own time.  Then who on earth is talking to me?  Turning around as I remove my headphones, I see a guy with a camera slung over his shoulder.  Right around my age, give or take a bit.  Grey college t-shirt and khaki shorts.  Blond hair that's a little in need of a trim.  Curious brown eyes behind glasses.
          "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you!"
          "That's alright, I can be so oblivious when my headphones are on."
          "You been working on the gardens here long?"
          I laugh a bit at this.  "Well, yes and no.  I've been in and out all summer, doing a project on the family that used to live here, the mansion and the gardens.  But I didn't start trying to weed until recently, it's pretty daunting."
          "I'll say... But this section's looking a lot better already.  I've been by a few times this summer to get some photos, and--- actually, you're not Kimberly, are you?"
          "I am..."  I say this as enough of a question that he understands I'm also asking "why do you ask and how do you know?"
          "I'm Brandon - I've been doing the reprints of the old glass plates for the historical society, who have told me a million times that I should meet you."
          I laugh, brushing off my hands on my jeans.  "They've been telling me the same about you!"  I start to stand up - but, sure enough, my feet have completely fallen asleep, and so I stagger and lurch off to the side, sitting back down again.
          "You okay??"  He darts forward, offering a hand, but I wave it away with a wry smile.
          "I'm alright.  Feet fell asleep.  Guess I'd been working on this section longer than I thought.  I'll be good in a minute."
          "If you need a hand, just let me know," he offers with a grin, then shifts the camera on his shoulder a little.  "You going to their meeting next week?"
          "I should be - you're bringing new pictures?"
          "I am!  Well, you know, old pictures, but, new to everyone else.  I can't believe what good shape all those plates were in after so many years, it's been such a priviledge to get to work with them."
          "You did the prints for the art gallery too, right?  Those looked absolutely stunning."
          "Thanks!  You a photographer at all?"
          "Only casually.  I took a class one semester, so I know just enough about developing and printing to know that I don't want to do it anymore!  I still take digital shots like a spazz, mostly as references to use for drawings later though."
          "That's right, they told me you were doing drawings.  Any plans to do a show or something?"
          "Nothing concrete, it's been in the back of my mind, but I've never really tried doing something like that on my own, just submitted to a few group shows in college."
          "It's a lot easier than you'd think - well, in a small town like this anyway, I'm sure big galleries are another story, but I've never been that brave.  Anyway, Mary would probably set the whole thing up for you if you gave her the slightest hint you wanted to, that woman is a whirlwind."
          "She totally is."  The pins and needles have abated to the point where I can stand, so I get to my feet, and vainly attempt to brush the dirt and grime off my hands, arms, and pants.  I don't even want to think about how I must look right now, a sweaty dirty mess from hours spent in the weeds and soil.  I kick the pile of weeds into a slightly neater pile, then straighten up and look at the garden beds ringed around the fountain.  "...I guess I've made a little progress, but it's nothing toward what this place used to look like."
          "It was really incredible, wasn't it?"
          I jump a little - then remember, duh, he's been printing all of the old photos, of course he knows what it looked like when the Masons were here.  "Are there any more photos of the Masons, or the estate, in the new pictures?"
          "You'll just have to come to the meeting and find out!"
          "Oh come on."
          "Nope.  Not telling."  He's grinning, his eyes sparkling behind the glasses.  I'll admit, he's a pretty cute guy.  Obviously nothing like the striking magnetism of Meres, but I'm finding that a relief right about now.  Nice, normal, everyday kind of attractive.
          "...I'd be more annoyed about this, but it occurs to me that you might not have any idea even if there were, I've probably done a little more research on them than you have.  And by a little, I mean I've been obsessed for months."
          "Understandably though, it's a great ghost story.  And such a beautiful place, it's been wonderful for my own photos, I'm sure it's been great inspiration for your drawings, too.  Are you showing it as it is now, the whole beauty-in-decay thing, or trying to capture it as it was in its glory days?"
          "Mostly as it was, but a little bit of both.  A little bit of everything, really, there have been so many interesting images that have turned up for me."  ...I need to watch it.  I'm feeling way too comfortable in the presence of a fellow artist, and I'm going to wind up saying something that I can't explain by way of normal human experiences.

Part 20

          When I leave that day, it's with a necklace with a small pendant of black stone - jet - which she helped me carve a six-sided star into the face of.  "Though most people only know it as a Jewish symbol, it's also the basic outline of the Seal of Solomon," she explains as she watches me chalk out the outline onto the stone.  "Despite the name, it predates Judaic traditions, and has been used in a number of different cultures for magic and protection.  I find it's a good fall-back when you're not sure the direction of the trouble you're dealing with.  The same goes for jet, it's a strong protection against negative spirits and psychic invasions generally."
          She demonstrates using the small hammer and chisel on another stone, but has me do the work on my own pendant.  "Charms and talismans work best when they're made by the person they're intended for, there's more of you in it if you're the one who created it, so its power is tied more closely to you."  That idea actually makes a lot of sense to me - and while I don't know how much I believe in stones and symbols (and even if I did, if they'd be any good against someone, something, as strong as these two), I know it certainly can't hurt.  The process of creating a physical object is one that always strengthens my own spirit in any case, so I'm glad she suggested it.
          "I feel guilty that I don't have more to offer you, in protection or advice!" she confesses as I climb back onto my bike, after refusing to take any payment for the appointment or the necklace.  "I plan to do some more research, now that you've got me so curious, and I promise I'll contact you if I find anything that I think might be useful for you."

          It's not until I get home, the new pendant around my neck, that I open my bag... and find a flurry of torn paper.  I can't be positive - I haven't taped them all back together yet - but it looks like it's every page with Azal's name on it.

          Later that week, I haul myself down to the library - my books are due anyway, and I want to see if I can scrounge up anything new that might be helpful to me.  Doing research on the internet is obviously way easier, but there's nothing to curate the crazy out.  And it seems like every page about anything spiritual or paranormal is either totally skeptical, or what one of my professors liked to call "wooo-wooo", making little feathery motions with his fingers.  A little too far removed from our own plane of existance to be of much help.  And probably crazy.
          I'm disappointed to not see Mary behind the desk, but she's been subtley training me in the ways of the library.  I didn't even notice she was doing it, until one day she caught me scanning for a certain Dewey number, and cackled at me.  "There is no escape, my young apprentice.  Soon, you shall become one of us!"
          "Nooo! You'll never turn me to the dark side."
          "Card catalogs are a gateway drug.  Soon you'll actually understand what all those numbers mean."
          "Uh-huh.  You know, my math teachers all said that too, right before they flunked me."
          I take a stroll through the paranormal section again, but as usual, don't see much that looks helpful.  I do pick up a small book on crystals and charms, just for fun.  I decide to wander over to the religion section, thinking about Sylvia's mentions of angels, demons, and other things.  I vaguely remember something about djinn in Islam, I feel like they're another one in that category of spiritual beings, but I'm not sure where they fit in.  I pick up a book that looks like it gives a brief overview of a good number of different religions, then a paperback that claims, in an authoritative font, to cover "all the things the Church DIDN'T want included in the Bible!"  While it seems to take a more, uh, whimsical approach to facts, I figure it might at least give me some more specific directions to look into later.
          I'm aimlessly scanning the titles in another aisle, when my attention is drawn by two male voices in a nearby row, who aren't quite talking in the low whispers most people do here.
          "Now, what on earth were y'all conversatin' about last week?  Jim told me Mary nearly took your head off the other day."
          "Oh, it wasn't anything, you know how easily she gets riled up."
          "Al.  Now really.  You know she's the friendliest gal in town.  What did you do to upset that sweet woman?"
          "I've been nothing but charming and considerate, you know that!  I only asked her why she was letting out some of the non-circulating books to circulate, was all."
          "And that's any of your business?"
          "Well!  It is - you know I've been a pretty big donor to this library for decades now, and I was on the board for most of those years."
          "Alex, now calm down.  I'm sure she's not doing it willy-nilly.  There are always reasonable exceptions to any rule, you know that."
          "I don't see how any flighty little college girl is any more trustworthy than I am," he grumbles.  "The book I wanted was a little more valuable maybe, but I don't see why I couldn't just have borrowed it out for the evening.  It's not like I was going to skip town with it or anything."
          "Which one was it you were after, anyway?"
          "Well.  It doesn't matter now, does it?  Heck, why do you think I couldn't meet you here yesterday?  I had to wait for a day where Mary wouldn't be working, I really think she might throw me out.  Or at least watch me like a hawk the entire time I was here - and not in a flattering kind of way."
          "She'll settle down in a day or two, you know things blow over quickly with her.  Just take it easy and keep out of her way for awhile, then ease back into it.  You want me to see if I can get the book for you?"
          "No, I guess I'll just see if I can find the information somewhere else.  There's just so little on those folks in the records, that I hadn't had much luck."
          "Which folks, now?"
          "Now why are you being so nosy about it?  It's just a private bit of research I'm doing for my own satisfaction.  I don't know why everyone has to keep butting in and asking me so many questions about it."
          "Well, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to rile you.  Just being polite and askin'."
          "Being polite would be keeping your nose out of other folks' business!"
          "Gentlemen?  I'm sorry, but would you mind taking your discussion outdoors?  I have other patrons who requested it be a little quieter in here."
          "Even when she's not here, she sets her minions on me!  What'd I tell you.  No, no, that's all right, I'm done here anyway.  You can just tell Mary-- well, no, I'll tell her myself.  I'll see you later, Rich, I've got some work to do someplace else."
          I lift my eyes when I hear footsteps approaching the end of the aisle, and just catch sight of a cranky looking older man stalking off toward the exit.  He's wearing a dress jacket, despite the summer warmth, and looks rather like a businessman of some sort.  I don't get a good look at him as he strides quickly, but I'd guess in his 50s, and both looks and sounds like a generally cantakerous fellow.  I wonder what on earth all that was about?  ...I have a sinking suspicion the "flighty little college girl" who was loaned a non-circulating book might well be me and that first book Mary lent me with the flower meanings in it.  (Despite not being in college anymore, I'm close enough in age that half the town assumes I am.)  I really hope I haven't gotten Mary into any trouble - though I suspect this guy is the sort that enjoys inventing problems whenever he can.  Which isn't something that ever made sense to me, but then, my time-travel would probably make even less sense to him.
          I start toward the counter to check out my books, but then hear someone call my name.  Turning around, I see Susan standing beside the big community bulletin board, pulling down a few old notices.  She waves me over, and I shift the books in my arm to rest more comfortably against my hip.
          "That Alex Miller, he's such a troublemaker.  You know how some people just enjoy making everyone around them miserable?  Well, that's him.  He didn't come bother you, did he?"
          "No - I overheard some of what he was saying, but that was all."
          "Well, good.  Don't you take anything he said to heart, Mary's perfectly within her rights as head librarian to lend out whatever she sees fit to whomever she sees fit.  Alex always did think he was head honcho anytime he gave a few bucks to a cause - even as a kid, do you know, he bought a cookie from me at a church bake sale and then stood there for twenty minutes, telling me how I should have packaged the cookies and what a proper price would be and had I even thought about what my overhead costs were?"
          We both laugh at this, but then I ask, more seriously: "But you're sure I didn't get Mary into trouble?  Is there anything I can do to..?"
          "To appease the angry god Miller? No. But don't worry about it, it'll blow over.  Chances are, Mary knew he was just out to cause trouble with whatever the book was he'd wanted, and that's why she didn't let him get at it.  But here, he's gotten me so riled up at him that I almost forgot what I'd wanted to tell you.  We're having a special historical society meeting next week that I think you should come to - Brandon's bringing in the rest of his prints from the Reese collection of glass plates that he's been working on, and I know some of your Masons had photos done by Derick Reese."
          "Oh!  Oh that would be fantastic, I'd love to be there!"
          I scrawl down the date and time in my sketchbook (sighing a little as I flip past the pages that have been taped back together after Azal's last appearance - luckily, none of the pages Evelyn had written on were damaged), and pray my work schedule doesn't conflict too badly.  Though if it does, I'm sure someone or another owes me the favor of swapping shifts.  Even if there aren't any more of the Masons, Derick Reese's photos are beautiful, I really wasn't able to spend half the time with the ones at the gallery that I'd wanted to.
          What if it happens again, when I'm in a room full of people?  So far, I've either been basically alone or with a psychic... I wonder if that's partly what triggered them showing up, was being in a room with a medium, someone who's already more closely connected with the spiritual realm?  But what are they, anyway, if they're not ghosts?
          "...you alright, Kimber?"
          "Yeah!  No, I'm fine, sorry, my mind just wandered for a minute."
          "Now, you're too young for that sort of thing!  Go check out your books and get yourself some lunch, young lady.  The coffee shop next door has their amazing Italian wedding soup on the menu today."