‘Taking me on as an assistant, taking me on publicly, would surprise everyone. It would get people talking. Maybe they wouldn’t all be saying great things, but at least you would be directing the conversation, not the other way round. It would be the turning point in your campaign. The moment you stopped talking about a new Collective and started living it.’
Rhoad studied Elwyn a bit longer. ‘Well. Come inside,’ he said.
Elwyn stepped out of the rain and into the brilliance of the Rhoad house. He wasn’t wrapped in a blanket or even given a towel to dry off with, but that didn’t matter. Elwyn was bathed in the light of hundreds of flames reflecting off hundreds of glass crystals and mirrors. And he knew instinctively that he had punched through the ceiling. That he was on his way up.
CHAPTER 18
A Familiar Face
IT WAS MORNING before Elwyn returned to the Blackwell house. Rhoad wanted to hear the specifics of Elwyn’s campaign ideas. He was a man dissatisfied with generalities; ideas should be clear, strong and stand on their own feet. After that, tireless Rhoad wanted to negotiate the terms of Elwyn’s employment – his title, hours and wages. By the time they finished, it was nearly two in the morning, and a place was made for Elwyn in a guest suite.
Though it was late, Elwyn was not tired. He wasn’t hungry either. He lay in bed and felt the oxygen moving through his veins. He felt the sparks of connections in his mind; he felt pride. Elwyn felt fully alive in a way he hadn’t for a very long time.
The guest room was unlike any Elwyn had ever entered, but it felt familiar to him. It was a place that had lived in his imagination for years: the sprung mattress, deep silk sheets, crystal lamps, gilded wallpaper. Somehow it was all even brighter than the picture he had held in his mind, and he was comfortable there. Happy.
When Elwyn finally fell asleep, it was in a state so exhilarated that when he woke a few hours later, he was completely refreshed. Rhoad was working, but coffee and buttered white-flour rolls had been ordered for him and set on a tray beside his door. The taste was still in Elwyn’s mouth as he walked down the hostile streets. But none of the looks or words shot at him touched Elwyn at all. They rolled off his back like rain off a goose.
‘Uncle Timothy?’ Elwyn shouted when he entered the Blackwells’ house, not minding the rule against shouting. It was breakfast hour. Elwyn burst into the room, bright and breathless.
‘You’re late,’ Timothy said, not looking up.
‘I spent the night at the Rhoads’,’ Elwyn said, his pleasure doubling at the looks his aunt, uncle and cousin wore when they looked up at him. ‘I’ll be working there now. Earning money. I’ll be able to stay somewhere I won’t – what is it you said? – open you up to scrutiny.’
‘Elwyn, last night I may have been too hasty. There are perhaps other publishers to whom I can present my project. To align yourself with someone like Rhoad…’ For the first time, Timothy did not speak easily and abundantly. There were no little lessons tagged onto his words.
‘I’m going to some boarding houses this morning. Some won’t want to admit a Forester, but Rhoad has given me a note promising that I’m good for the money. I only stopped in to let you know.’ Elwyn felt radiant as he spoke. He had possibilities open to him that no one else could have planned for him, no one else would have thought possible.
‘So that’s it? You will so easily abandon your lessons? Abandon the future you vowed your devotion to?’ Timothy said, flaring with the same anger Elwyn had seen the day before.
Boaz seemed to be in a mixed state of delight and displeasure – delight over his cousin leaving, displeasure over the terms. But Piety’s face, for the first time, showed a glimmer of something beyond its usual composure. What she was feeling, Elwyn didn’t know, but it wasn’t happiness.
‘Timothy,’ she said gently. Timothy tried to compose himself by staring at the table, then shovelling a spoon of sugared porridge into his mouth, his hand shaking with suppressed anger. ‘I would like Elwyn to continue to stay with us,’ she said keeping her eyes on her nephew. Unlike her voice, her eyes were not gentle. There was something persistent, almost pleading in them.
Timothy threw down his spoon. ‘We had an agreement! If he stays, he must live in accordance with it!’
‘I know how important rules are to you,’ she said ‘But I can give you all kinds of reasons this new arrangement may benefit you. Letitia Rhoad’s family ownership of several presses out in St Louis. A greater audience for the book. Less fear from people uncertain about endorsing your work. But I’m sure that you will think of all these things in time yourself, and they don’t matter to me. What matters is that this is my nephew. I have promised to keep him here. And I like having him here.’
These words didn’t exactly make Elwyn happy. In fact, some of the buoyant pleasure drained from him. He had liked the idea of leaving the house victorious, and he knew he wouldn’t leave if his aunt wanted him to stay. As fraught as his feelings towards her were, he still felt bound to her in some way. He still loved her.
‘If you stay, and if you take this position’ Timothy said, ‘we will have to create some conditions.’ But there was a change in Timothy’s face. Elwyn could see that he was beginning to think about his book again, about his work.
‘That’s right,’ Elwyn said, turning back to his uncle. ‘We will. But I’m not helpless, you know. I’m willing to stay and assist you with your book, but things need to be different. I’ve agreed to work with Rhoad from early morning to noon five days a week. I can work two hours with you in the afternoon – and I’ll work hard – but I need to have some leisure time every day to enjoy myself.’
‘Elwyn, idleness…’ Timothy began, but then stopped himself. ‘Three hours.’
‘Two and a half.’
Timothy sat silently for a moment. The clocks ticked. Then he nodded, almost imperceptibly.
‘Well, Elwyn. I will have some notes and the book proposal prepared for you to pass on to Letitia,’ he said more serenely as he scooped another spoon of porridge. Piety gave Elwyn what was almost a smile while Boaz stormed out of the room.
*
If Elwyn expected a change in his aunt’s manner, he was wrong. In the days that followed, Piety practised her usual sceptical reticence, moving in her own set of unseen friends and engagements, sitting in her private parlour. This disinterest confused Elwyn. At the dinner table, Elwyn often found his eyes going to his aunt, hoping for a sign of approval, a sign of something.
‘Well, and how was your first day assisting Cronus Rhoad? Please, share the details with us,’ Timothy asked over a lunch of salads and cold tongue. Elwyn had only just returned to the Blackwells’ and had a quick wash; the dazed satisfaction of the day still filled his mind.
‘It was note-taking mostly. Mr Rhoad likes to have someone there to jot down ideas while he’s busy with other things – eating breakfast, organising papers, that sort of thing. He says the morning hours are the most productive, and most people don’t use them well.’ Elwyn ate heartily, but between bites he glanced at his aunt to see if her face betrayed any thoughts. She cut at her food with no more interest in the conversation than Boaz had.
‘There is sense in that, no denying it,’ Timothy said, with his usual happy effort to find Rhoad agreeable, to find the whole new arrangement to his liking.
‘Then we went through town on an errand to get people accustomed to seeing us together. It was drizzling and I held Rhoad’s umbrella for him – that was my idea. I figure if people are afraid of Foresters because they think they’re dangerous, I should show myself being the opposite. Being kind. We’re doing the same sort of thing in the campaign – making sure I’m shown being helpful so people are less scared.’
‘Sensible, sensible.’
‘Rhoad thinks that Foresters have an important role in the Collective, and once people see that, we’ll all be better off. After the walk, some men from the campaign press arrived from St Louis, and I brought out the tea and some sweets
for everyone. It was a huge tray. There were at least twelve types of chocolate.’
‘Extravagant, I’m sure… but I suppose allowances should be made for guests.’
‘They invited me to sit with them and we had a nice time. I even told some stories about Badfish Creek, one about when Dewey and I were little and tied our sled to the big buck that wandered around – we called him Old Smokey because he was so sagging and grey. They all laughed. They said they thought I’d be a great asset to the campaign.’ Elwyn felt excitement welling up in him as he said these words, and again he looked at his aunt and again he was disappointed.
‘And did you deliver my proposal? And my note to Rhoad concerning your continued schooling? Does he have any suggestions for a track we should take that might be of more interest to his wife’s publishers? I’d be happy to incorporate his ideas into our project, especially if he would like to assist in its promotion—’
‘He read the message. He said he’s sure that whatever you are doing is fine.’ Elwyn spoke absently. He wasn’t certain why his aunt’s disinterest bothered him so much. He wasn’t used to being troubled by the opinion of others. But Piety seeing the merit in Elwyn’s work felt essential to him. It felt like a matter of good versus evil, truth versus falsehood, light and dark.
That night, he got out of bed. He took the jam Piety recommended from the pantry, and the cheese and slices of bread to go with it. He knocked on his aunt’s parlour door and when she answered, he held out a sandwich.
‘I heard you like a midnight snack,’ he said. She raised an eyebrow, but invited Elwyn in. She had been sitting in the glow of lamplight, with her newspaper and book beside her along with a pot of tea, her carefully selected paintings and portraits looking on. ‘I want to talk to you about something,’ Elwyn said after he sat down.
‘Really?’ Piety said in mock surprise, taking a bite of her sandwich. ‘Well, then. Go ahead.’
But Elwyn’s words failed him. He stumbled trying to explain. ‘I want you to know what it was like to work at Rhoad’s today. There were times it was a little uncomfortable, you know, the way new things always are uncomfortable. But even then, it was just right. It was like that feeling when you are running really fast, and it takes no effort at all – you could just keep going and going.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ she said drily.
‘No. I want you to really understand. The first day I stepped into that house, I knew I wanted to be a part of that world, no matter how hard I had to work for it. But after talking to you, a part of me, a small part, was afraid I would be disappointed if I got what I wanted. But I’m not disappointed. It’s the opposite. It’s like, not only does everything there shine, but under every shiny layer is something bright and interesting. They have these candies and they’re wrapped in foil – all different colours of foil. And inside is hard candy and in the middle of the hard candy is something like rose sugar that melts in your mouth, liquid peppermint, or a cherry soaked in brandy. It’s like that. And Rhoad. He looks rich and has nice clothes and good manners, but below that, he’s also so smart. He’s thought everything in his life through, from the tiniest little bits of his day to the big ideas about history and the world.’
‘So this is what you want to talk about, Elwyn? Your infatuation with the life of that family?’
‘You said I’d find out that the things I’m aiming for in my life are empty,’ Elwyn said. His face was flushed; he could feel his pulse in his arms. ‘You were wrong. One scratch below the surface and you can see that there’s depth to everything. You must have felt that sometime. About something.’
Elwyn was ardent and sincere in this and thought his plea would have to touch his aunt’s heart. But she only set down the sandwich and picked up her newspaper.
‘Just when I was very young,’ she said. She held the paper high, and Elwyn could no longer see her frown. But he saw something else. There on the front page of the paper was a sketch of a familiar face. Elwyn rose, drawn to the image of Aelred Moone.
TRIAL DATE SET FOR MYSTERY GUNMAN
CHAPTER 19
Gumption
THE FIRST STEP to people treating each other well is really seeing each other. Whim believed that. That was why the protest she planned was such a strange one.
One goal was to free her father, to storm the jail, break down cell walls. That part was straight forward enough. But Whim had a mind that understood the importance of subtleties; she went on resisting the village relocation with an understanding that what you do isn’t quite as important as how you do it. The last protest had failed, and Whim believed this was partly because of the way they had been dressed. Red masks and anonymity were intended to make an impression, and they did. But they also stirred up fear, and fear distanced people from one another.
The next demonstration was scheduled for the 30th of July. That was three days before Aelred’s trial, and three was a holy number, a number that meant wholeness. There would be no cloaks, concealments or costumes. Protesters would come as they were. And Whim didn’t want just the usual people to come, the bold and fire-bellied. She wanted everyone: young and old, dark and light, able and ill, tired and cheerful. She wanted the sort of people who rarely left their homes, people who were afraid, people who were cynical. She wanted the whole spectrum of Foresters to march through Liberty because she wanted every person looking out their windows to see someone like them in the marching crowd.
There needed to be a lot of people to achieve the effect Whim wanted – many more than the last time. That was where Old Finchy came in. Whim could recruit certain folks well enough on her own, but Finchy’s circles were wide and deep-rooted. By virtue of her years, Finchy knew many families in the woods, and her age, history and relative wealth made her someone people revered, especially those less impressed by manners.
Whim should have been surprised that Finchy agreed to help her, but she wasn’t. Ever since she got that first letter from her father, it was like there was a wind at her back. She sailed through the long days of keeping up with the distillery and organised the protest, making pamphlets, sending messages, talking to everyone she could.
Aelred’s trial was scheduled for the 2nd of August, the same date the final relocation was scheduled. Men would come and forcibly remove the remaining people from Badfish Creek, forfeiting all compensation. Whim had discussed this with her father in their letters. She felt sure that it was illegal to seize lands this way, but her father had lived longer and was more cynical about the shape of the world. He said that there was a private backer for the project who claimed presence in Badfish Creek was dangerous to the future of the Collective Homesteads.
‘Is it possible, then, that by disproving this claim in court, we could regain the rights to our land?’ Whim wrote to her father.
‘Reading your believing words does me good, little Whim. But show me a time that courts have sided with a handful of Foresters over wealth interests. I’m afraid we have to find a different way.’
She did not write to her father about the protest she was planning – she couldn’t risk the letters being intercepted. Anyway, Aelred seemed to take some comfort in his daughter’s safety. He instructed her, when the time came, to go with the Brambles. He would find her afterwards, and they would work to regain control of what they’d lost. Whim refused to lose anything. She wanted it all.
Late every night that hot summer, Whim had to wade into the creek to rinse off the sweat and dirt that coated her body. By the time she got home to her bed, she would fall immediately asleep, and when she woke, her brain was full of the day ahead. Those moments in the creek were the only time her mind had a chance to wander its old familiar paths. As well as wondering if her father was being treated well, if he would be proud of her, she also found herself wondering about her old friend Elwyn. When his name came up during the day, Whim felt anger rising inside her. It wasn’t an anger she thought was just – he had done nothing wrong that she could think of – but emotion doesn’t
bow to reason. At night things were different. At night and in the water.
Elwyn didn’t write any more, nor did Whim write to him. She had no news from him to think about. Her thoughts just went to old memories, treasured and dear: when Elwyn fell out of a tree trying to chase a squirrel and she helped him limp home, when they tried to teach each other to waltz but neither knew how to lead, when they sat on summer nights eating walnuts by the creek.
Memories like these stood in Whim’s mind as she dipped her head down under the moonlit water. The movement calmed her aching muscles, and though she was tired, she didn’t want to leave. She made her way towards the bank anyway, knowing that morning always came quickly. On her way she heard laughter and running. Enid and Neste splashed into the water, Neste with her easy grace, Enid like a happy dog. When she saw Caradoc leap after them, Whim sank lower in the water. They were fully clothed, unlike Whim who was in her underthings. The stream tugged and moved the fabric as the three romped loudly, splashing each other and laughing until they tired themselves.
‘I can’t believe this is our last week here,’ Enid said, dropping down in a shallow place and letting the current go around her. ‘You’re so lucky you don’t have a mother like ours, Caradoc. I’d give my right leg to go with everyone else to march into Liberty and get Aelred out of jail. I don’t know how Whim did it. Everyone was so set on just leaving with their money. Now there’s only a handful of people who aren’t going to stay and rally together.’
Caradoc was cupping handfuls of water and bringing them to his face to wash it. ‘Everything she said was true,’ he said, between cupfuls. ‘It’s worth sticking your neck out for what’s important. And besides, between Finchy and Whim Moone, they’ve got the trust of pretty much all the woods. Whim might not have sway the same way Finchy does, but I’ve heard plenty of people say she’s the real reason they are joining up. An honest girl won’t lead you wrong.’
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