“Right,” said Sam. “I was able to track down a newspaper article about it through the archives of the Vermont Historical Society. Apparently, the two of them were swimming here, and something happened to Thomas. Amos tried to save him, but Thomas drowned.”
“And a year to the day later—on this date, as it happens—Amos drowned here as well,” Jonas said. “We think on purpose. All right, what I’d like to do is a ritual to send these boys on their way. It sounds as if they’ve been hanging around this farm long enough.”
“And just how do we do that?” Gaither inquired.
“We’re going to let them know that we know their story,” Jonas said. “That we remember them. My guess is that they’ve been waiting for someone to figure it all out, which it sounds like Sam and Burke have.”
“By accident,” Burke said.
“Nothing is an accident,” said Thadeus. “You’re just the first ones who listened to them.”
“This is pretty straightforward,” Jonas said. “We’re going to raise some energy, then disperse it by jumping into the pond. All you have to do is follow my lead. Oh, and it works best if we do it skyclad.”
“Skyclad?” Gaither said.
“Naked,” said Ginger, already stripping off his clothes.
Burke looked at Sam. “Why am I not surprised?”
Sam chuckled. “Actually, it’s pretty traditional to do it this way.”
Burke turned to Gaither. “You don’t have to do this if you’re—”
“Do what?” Gaither asked, folding his socks and putting them on top of the neatly folded pile of clothes he’d already removed.
“Never mind,” said Burke, suppressing a laugh. I should have known he’d have no problem with it, he thought. It had been Sam’s idea to invite Gaither, and at first Burke had resisted. But given Gaither’s connection to Amos, having him there seemed fitting, and so Burke had asked him to come.
When they were all undressed, Jonas had them sit in a circle on the rock. Burke sat between Gaither and Sam, close enough that their knees were just touching. Jonas, who was across from Burke, closed his eyes and began to speak.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Now feel the rock beneath you. Feel its connection to the earth from which it’s made.”
Burke focused on the warmth soaking into his skin out of the rock. He pictured the rock cradled in hands of earth.
“Now imagine that there are roots descending from your body into the rock,” Jonas said. “The roots go through the rock and into the earth below it. They go down, down, down until they reach a pool of golden light. Draw this light up through the roots, up through the earth, and into your body. Let the light fill your body.”
Burke tried and was surprised to find that doing what Jonas asked wasn’t as difficult as he’d worried it would be. Instead of feeling silly or embarrassed, he felt as if he really was filling up with light. He pictured the light as liquid gold, pulsing with energy. He imagined it entering through the roots and flowing through his veins.
“Join hands with the brothers on either side of you,” said Jonas, his voice soft yet commanding.
Burke reached for Sam and Gaither, felt their hands in his.
“Let the light inside of you pass through your hands and into your brothers’ hands. Picture it flowing from one body to the next. Feel it flow like water out through your left-hand fingertips and in through the right as it moves clockwise around the circle.”
In his mind Burke saw Gaither to his left, drawing the light out of Burke’s body and into his own. At the same time, Burke drew light from Sam. The light mixed inside of him, becoming brighter and warmer before flowing on until all six of them were glowing.
“The circle is cast,” Jonas said. “Open your eyes.”
Burke half expected to see the others actually glowing. But they looked the same. Still, the atmosphere around them had changed. It was more electric, and his skin tingled.
They were still holding hands and continued to do so as Jonas called out, “Amos and Thomas. We, your brothers, invite you into our circle. Come, be with us and rest.”
The air was still. Even the crickets had stopped chirping.
“Amos Hague and Thomas Beattie,” Jonas cried, “we celebrate your love here tonight, we who are also lovers of men. Come, be with us and rest.”
A breeze blew across the water. In the dusk a bird, startled, flew up from the grass.
“Welcome, brothers,” said Jonas. “Rest here in our circle. The time for wandering is over. We release you from this place, carrying your names in our hearts.” A moment later he began to chant. “Out of earth and into water, love and light will be reborn.”
He repeated the words again, several voices joining with his. On the third repetition, Burke joined in, followed by Gaither. Now all six of them were chanting the words, their voices combining to form one.
“Out of earth and into water, love and light will be reborn,” Burke intoned.
They kept chanting, and time stood still. Burke didn’t know how many minutes went by as he concentrated on the words he spoke. They were so simple, yet they held so much meaning.
Then the chant changed. As Burke finished saying the first part of the chant, Jonas began it again, so that they were now singing it as a round.
“Out of earth and into water,” Jonas chanted as Burke said, “Love and light will be reborn.”
By unspoken agreement they formed two groups, every other man singing the same line. Their voices rose and fell like waves. “Out of earth and into water,” Burke sang as on either side of him Sam and Gaither chanted, “Love and light will be reborn.” Burke looked at Thadeus, Jonas, and Ginger, sitting across from him. Their eyes sparkled, and on their faces were expressions of joy.
At some point they stood. Still linked hand to hand, they swayed slightly as they continued to chant. After some time the chanting slowed, and one by one the men stopped singing, until only Jonas sang the last line. When the sound of his voice faded into the night, he looked around the circle.
“Feel the energy,” he said. “Feel the power we’ve raised in this circle. Amos and Thomas, we give this energy to you, and we send you on your way!”
He dropped Ginger’s hand and, still holding Thadeus’s, ran to the edge of the rock and jumped. Like a chain, the other men followed, one after the other, still holding hands. As they leaped into the pond, they shouted joyously.
Burke, pulled by Sam, in turn pulled Gaither toward the water. There was a momentary rush of air as he jumped, and then he was in the water. It closed over his head, but then he surfaced, laughing, in time to see Ginger jump last into the pond with a happy shout.
The water was alive with bodies as they splashed one another. Slowly, they calmed down and floated, looking up at the stars, which were just beginning to come out. Burke felt hands touching his body, and he in turn touched others, bumping into one and floating away again.
Gaither was the first to speak. “Farewell, Great-grandfather,” he said. “Safe journey.”
Arms went around Burke, and Sam whispered in his ear. “That was pretty neat, huh?”
Burke laughed. “Neat? The man who has a quote for every occasion can only come up with neat?”
“How about this? ‘Love must be as much a light, as it is a flame.’”
“I’ll take that,” Burke said. “Who said it?”
“Thoreau,” said Sam.
“How appropriate,” Burke remarked. “You know, the whole pond theme and all that.”
“I do my best,” said Sam.
Burke leaned against him. “Do you think we really did anything?”
“Do you?”
Burke thought for a moment. He listened to the splashing of the other men, to their voices talking and laughing. He felt a lightness inside of him. Maybe it was all in his head, but did it matter? Had the spirits of Amos Hague and Thomas Beattie really visited them, and had they really helped put them to rest? It was something that could never be proved.
But did he believe it?
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
CHAPTER 33
Burke picked up a piece of cheese, put it in his mouth, took it out again. “I can’t eat,” he said, wrapping the cheese in a cocktail napkin and stuffing it into his pocket.
“Relax,” Sam told him. “Everything is going really well.”
This was true. The photographs—all thirty-six of them—were hanging exactly where he wanted them. They were big, twenty-four by twenty-four inches framed. Each was a portrait of a man or men. Many of them came from the film he’d shot at Destiny. Others were new.
His favorite photo was one he’d taken of his father only a week before the opening. It had taken some persuasion, and a lot of help from Lucy, to get Ed to pose for him, but in the end he had done it. It was taken in his father’s bedroom. Ed was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands in his lap. Behind him, on the dresser, were two photos. One was of him and Burke’s mother on their wedding day, and the other was of him and Lucy standing in front of a field of yellow flowers, with their arms around one another’s waists.
He’d hung it in a place of prominence so that it was the first piece people saw when they entered the gallery. So far everyone who passed through the door had stopped to look at it. But the only person whose reaction he wanted to see was his father’s. He hadn’t shown Ed the photo beforehand, partly because he wanted to surprise him, but also because he was afraid that his father wouldn’t like the air of vulnerability the photograph revealed. The camera’s eye had captured the face of a man who had been brought low by the death of one love and then revived by the unexpected arrival of a second chance. It was, Burke thought, both touching and inspiring, a portrait of the face of love, which could be both beautiful and cruel.
And Ed did like it, or at least Burke thought he did. His father’s reaction was typically muted, but Burke had several times looked toward the door to see Ed standing in front of his own portrait, an almost childlike expression on his face, as if he were seeing himself for the first time.
Another favorite almost never made it into the show. It was the photograph of Will among the ruins of the farm, with the ghostly figures of Amos and Thomas behind him. He’d asked Will for his permission to use it, and at first Will had said no. But just one day before the opening he’d called and relented. He’d given Burke no explanation. Nor had he come to the show.
Burke couldn’t believe how many people had come to see his work. Most of them he didn’t know, but there were some familiar faces: Colton and Luke, of course, and Nan and Sophie. Dr. Radiceski was there with his lover and his father, who seemed particularly fascinated by the nude photos of the three bears, who were also there in person. In one corner Gaither was talking to Tanya Redmond, who had brought Freddie and was fighting a losing battle trying to keep him away from the food table.
“Do you think they’re reliving the family drama?” Sam mused.
“I don’t know,” said Burke. “As nice as Gaither is, somehow I don’t see him inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Personally, I think we should hook Gaither up with Dr. Radiceski’s father. If he isn’t a queen, I’ll shave my beard.”
“Please don’t,” Burke said. “I’ve gotten to be quite fond of that beard.”
“Only because it tickles your balls,” Sam teased.
“That’s just an added bonus,” said Burke. He looked around the room, trying to see who was looking at what. The photographs were, of course, for sale, but for once he wasn’t thinking about the money. He wanted people to like what he’d done. If they wanted to pay him for it, that was great, but it was more important to him that they understood what he was saying with his art.
As he scanned the faces in the gallery, he realized that sometime during the past three months he had made friends. And not just casual friends. Good friends. Real friends. Friends he liked talking with. Friends who made him feel alive.
And then there was Sam. After their first kiss at the pond, Burke had moved into the bed in Sam’s room and had yet to leave. His clothes hung in the closet, next to Sam’s; his toothbrush stood beside Sam’s in the bathroom glass. Over the weeks the references to him returning to Boston had gradually grown less and less frequent.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Gaither said.
Burke smiled. “I was just thinking about things,” he said.
“How very specific,” said Gaither. “Hardly worth the penny. But I think what I paid for that photograph of our three ursine friends more than makes up for it.”
“You bought the bears?” Burke said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Actually, I did,” Gaither replied. “Ginger made me a wager. If I could correctly identify the four obscure sexual practices, young Jonas would clean my house once a week for a month. In the nude. If I lost, I would buy the photograph.”
“Dare I ask what you missed?”
“I correctly defined shrimping, teabagging, and felching,” Gaither informed him. “I was done in by figging.”
Burke made a face. “I don’t know what that is, either.”
“Well,” Gaither began, “it’s when you take a piece of peeled ginger and stick it—”
“There he is!” interrupted a loud voice.
Burke looked up to see Gregg walking toward him. He ran to his old friend and gave him a big hug. “You came!”
“Of course I did,” Gregg said. “Did you really think I’d miss your big night?”
“But you had to leave the city,” said Burke. “How did you survive?”
“Montpelier has a Starbucks,” Gregg answered. “And a gay B and B. As long as I don’t leave the city limits, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m leaving on Sunday. And you’re coming with me.”
“What?”
Gregg took his hand. “It’s time,” he said. “Your leg is better. You’ve had some fresh air. You’ve taken some pictures. Now you need to come back to Boston. Fall is coming, and you know that’s the only tolerable season there. You don’t want to miss it. Besides, look what they’ve done to you. Is that flannel?”
Burke didn’t say anything. He looked at Gregg’s face. He’d almost forgotten that they’d once been lovers. That seemed a lifetime ago. He was no longer the man he’d been then, nor even the man he’d been the day he’d stepped out of Gregg’s car and walked into his father’s house. At some point that man had died and a new one had been born.
“Seriously,” Gregg said. “You need to come home.”
Burke looked across the room to where Sam was now standing, talking to Nan. Sam, as if sensing him, turned. He smiled, and Burke felt his stomach flutter. He looked at Gregg.
“I am home,” he said.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2010 by Michael Thomas Ford
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2010921529
ISBN: 978-0-7582-1854-4
Michael Thomas Ford, The Road Home
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