The Road Home (17 page)
Burke laughed. “It's more than that. You want to help him. I can tell.”
Sam shrugged. “There's not much point to being alive if you don't do what you can to make life better for someone else, is there?” he said. “âA life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.' Jackie Robinson.”
Burke thought about it. If he was honest, he had to admit that he'd never really done much for anyone else. Sure, he'd helped a few friends move, fed some cats and watered some plants while their owners were away on vacation. But he'd never really
helped
anyone. It had always been about him.
helped
anyone. It had always been about him.
“I guess I really wouldn't know,” he said.
CHAPTER 18
“D
amn it. These are messed up, too.”
amn it. These are messed up, too.”
Burke set the photos on the dining room table. They had arrived from the printer twenty minutes earlier. Because he had shot in color and couldn't easily develop the film himself, he had sent it to his favorite processing lab in Boston, the one that always did a stellar job. The prints had arrived with a note from the lab technician saying that they'd done the best that they could.
Not that the images were bad. They were beautiful. But in each one there was not one but two areas of blur. Oblong in shape, they disrupted the landscape of the photos like twin pillars of cloud. In one of Burke's favorite photos, a shirtless Will was standing in front of the low stone wall, his face turned toward the camera. But behind him and to the left, as if looking over his shoulder, were the two smudges of gray.
The rest of the shots were equally marred. Unusable. Burke thumbed through them again, annoyed at the results. He had to remind himself that he was shooting with old cameras, and that if he wanted flawless pictures, he would have to either clean them or use more modern technology. Perhaps he would go back to the site and take some shots with one of his digital cameras. It was such a beautiful place that it was a shame to have wasted so much time and film on imperfect pictures.
It occurred to him that he might be able to fix some of the images using photo-correction software. Along with the prints and developed negatives, the lab had sent him the pictures on a CD. He took this and put it into his computer. Opening the software, he selected the image of Will and imported it into the program. It appeared on the screen, much reduced in size. Burke focused on the cloudy areas and enlarged that area of the photo in order to better see what might be done. He didn't like manipulating his work this way, but if he could salvage the pictures, it might be worth it.
He increased the overall size of the image to twenty-four by twenty-four inches. On his laptop screen he was able to see only a small portion of the photo, so that the picture appeared as a mosaic of colored blocks. He wished he had the large monitor on his computer at home, which would have made things much easier. As it was, he had to move the image around until the cloudy areas were in the frame.
When he found them, his fingers froze over the keyboard. There was Will's shoulder, the freckles on his skin clearly visible in their magnified state. And behind his shoulder two faces looked directly into the camera. Indistinct, as if shot through water, they were nonetheless faces. Burke could make out eyes and mouths, although they were mostly shadow, and within the blur of gray the outlines of two bodies were visible.
With a few more clicks, he called up the black-and-white images he had taken with the Yashica-Mat. He selected the one of Will looking into the pond and increased it to the same size as the newer photo, again focusing on the blurred area. Placing the two images side by side, he compared them. Although in many ways it was like comparing a cloud to a cloud, there was something about both photos that was undeniably similar. Looking at them, Burke couldn't escape the feeling that the unidentified face in the pond was one of the same ones looking over Will's shoulder in the more recent shot.
A chill passed over him.
Don't be ridiculous,
he immediately told himself.
They're just lens aberrations.
But even as he thought it, he knew that he didn't believe it. There was something tooâhe searched for the right word and could come up only with
real
âabout the images.
Don't be ridiculous,
he immediately told himself.
They're just lens aberrations.
But even as he thought it, he knew that he didn't believe it. There was something tooâhe searched for the right word and could come up only with
real
âabout the images.
The box of research materials Lucy had brought over earlier in the week was sitting on the dining room table. Burke found himself pulling it toward him and looking through it for the smaller box of photographs. He found it and removed the picture of Amos Hague, Tess Beattie, and the unidentified man. Holding the photo beside the images on the computer screen, he compared them.
Again, he felt a tingle of fear. The face in the photo taken at the pond bore an eerie resemblance to that of the unidentified man standing with Amos Hague and Tess Beattie. And it was there again in the second photograph. And the other face in the second photo looked remarkably like that of Amos Hague.
Burke set the photograph down. He couldn't help but think about what Freddie Redmond had said about the Hague farm being haunted. Had that story gotten into his head and made him see ghosts wherever he looked? But you thought something was strange even before you heard that, he reminded himself.
Ever since he was a child, he'd loved haunted-house stories. But did he believe in ghosts? He found it difficult to say. He'd always said that he'd believe in them when he saw one for himself. Had that moment come?
He opened another of the photographs he'd taken on the second visit to the farm, then applied a grid overlay to the photo to mark it off in equal sections. The same two blurs appeared there, but they were positioned slightly to the right of where they'd appeared in the first photo. As he opened the remaining files to compare them, he discovered that in each one the pair of figures appeared in a different place, all within a limited range, so that without looking at them using the grid overlay, it would be easy to overlook the fact that they traveled. But travel they did.
He'd felt better when he'd thought the blurs were the fault of the lenses. But if that were true, the position of the blurs would remain constant. Now he had to accept that they likely weren't caused by the camera. He could always test the cameras again with different filmâand probably would just to satisfy his curiosityâbut he suspected he would get the same results. And even if he got nothing, it was still impossible to ignore the faces within the distortions.
Burke had seen numerous examples of photos that supposedly showed spectral bodies or faces. But he'd always assumed these photographs to be either fakes or defects that could be explained by shadows, light flares, or issues with the camera lenses. Now, faced with evidence of his own making, he wondered if anyone else would see what he saw.
Lucy was in the kitchen, making lunch. Burke was about to ask her to come look at the photos when he heard his father come in from outside.
He'll be less likely to see things,
he told himself.
He has no imagination.
He'll be less likely to see things,
he told himself.
He has no imagination.
“Dad!” he called out. “Come in here a second. I want to show you something.”
Ed entered the dining room, wiping his just-washed hands on a dish towel. “What's the emergency?” he asked.
“Just look at this photo,” said Burke, handing him the shot of Will against the stone wall.
His father took the photograph and peered at it over his glasses, his eyebrows arched. “The Janks boy seems to have lost his shirt,” he remarked after a moment.
“Do you notice anything else?” Burke asked him.
“Looks like you smudged it right here,” said his father, indicating the cloudy areas. “Get your thumb on the negative, did you?”
“I didn't develop these,” Burke told him. “I sent them to a lab.”
“Might want to ask for your money back, then,” said Ed.
“Maybe I should, Dad,” Burke replied. “Thanks.”
“They almost look like ghosts,” his father said as he handed Burke back the photo. “I suppose you could tell people you got yourself some dead folks on film. Probably make a lot of money with that.” He chuckled. “Some folks will believe anything if you tell them you've got a picture of it.”
Burke said nothing.
Got yourself some dead folks on film,
he thought to himself.
Got yourself some dead folks on film,
he thought to himself.
“I'm going over to Sandberg after lunch,” said Ed. “You're welcome to come along, if you want to get out. No bother.”
Burke could tell that his father wanted him to say no. They both continued to pretend that their awkward discussion the last time they'd ridden together hadn't happened. Burke was only too happy to avoid the possibility of another confrontation, but he wanted to see Sam. He needed to discuss the photographs with someone who wouldn't think he was crazy, or who at least might listen with an open mind.
“That would be great,” Burke said, turning away so that he wouldn't see any look of disappointment that might appear on his father's face. “I'd like to go to the library, if it's not too much trouble.”
“That'll be just fine,” said his father. “I'll drop you off and come back for you when I'm done with what I need to do.”
Burke nodded. He didn't ask what his father needed to do. Not inquiring about one another's lives was a familiar approach to their relationship. It had worked well for many years, and after seeing his father's reaction to the suggestion that they have an actual conversation, Burke wasn't eager to try to change things.
Lucy called them into the kitchen, where she fed them grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. “Firing up that toaster oven and opening that can of soup is as close to cooking as I'm getting,” she declared. “I don't know what's for dinner, but I'm not making it.”
Burke and his father left as soon as they finished eating. They rode in silence, although this time Burke wasn't thinking about their relationship. He was thinking about the pictures in the envelope he'd brought, and about the ones on his laptop, which sat on the seat beside him. And he thought about how to tell Sam what he thought was in them.
His father dropped him at the library, pausing only long enough to help Burke down from the truck and hand him the laptop and envelope. Burke held these awkwardly with his one good hand and made his way slowly up the steps to the front door. As he stood trying to figure out how to open it, he was nearly knocked down by Freddie Redmond, who ran out holding a book in his hands.
Looking up, Freddie faced Burke and read in a slow but firm voice: “âWeaselsâand stoatsâand foxesâand so on. They're all right in a wayâI'm very good friends with themâpass the time of day when we meet, and all thatâbut they break out sometimes, there's no denying it, and thenâwell, you can't really trust them, and that's the fact.'”
Beaming, Freddie raced down the steps, the copy of
The Wind in the Willows
flapping in his hands like an excited bird.
The Wind in the Willows
flapping in his hands like an excited bird.
Burke caught the door with his foot and went inside, again almost getting knocked down, this time by Tanya. She had been walking toward the door and had stopped to say something to Sam, who was standing behind the desk. When she'd turned around, she'd nearly smacked into Burke.
“Shit!” she said, laughing. “Don't sneak up on a girl like that. You're lucky I don't have my pistol on me.”
“The Redmond family seems to be in a good mood this afternoon,” Burke remarked as he made his way to the desk and Tanya made her way outside.
“Turns out Freddie isn't as dumb as some people seem to think,” Sam said.
“Hey,” Burke objected, “I neverâ”
“I meant his teachers,” Sam interrupted.
“Right,” Burke said, trying to salvage his dignity. “So, I have something to show you.”
“Great,” Sam said. “Because I have something to show
you.
Well, to tell you, anyway.”
you.
Well, to tell you, anyway.”
“You go first,” Burke told him. Now that he was there, he felt foolish about the whole ghost thing, and suddenly he didn't want to say anything about it to Sam.
“Okay,” said Sam. “Well, I did some digging around, and I found out some interesting stuff about our friend Amos Hague.”
“How interesting?” Burke asked.
Sam seemed to think about this for a moment. “I'd rate it a firm B plus,” he said. “Do you remember Tanya mentioning that her grandmother said the Wrathmore place was stolen from their family?”
Burke nodded.
“Turns out she was right,” Sam said. “Well, I don't know that it was stolen, but it certainly was taken. I found a couple of old newspaper articles about it.”
“What are they written on, parchment?” Burke joked.
“Close,” said Sam. “Fortunately, the
Sandberg Crier
was one of half a dozen newspapers in the state selected for preservation by the Vermont Historical Society. The fellow who printed it kept several copies of each issue and stored them in his cellar. It apparently was a remarkably well-built cellar, as it provided the perfect levels of temperature and humidity for keeping the papers from deteriorating.”
Sandberg Crier
was one of half a dozen newspapers in the state selected for preservation by the Vermont Historical Society. The fellow who printed it kept several copies of each issue and stored them in his cellar. It apparently was a remarkably well-built cellar, as it provided the perfect levels of temperature and humidity for keeping the papers from deteriorating.”
“Thank goodness for that Yankee know-how,” Burke said.
“Indeed,” Sam agreed, smiling. “At any rate, the papers were found in remarkably good condition, which made them perfect for digital transfer. You can look up the daily news for any date from September 17, 1902 to December 31, 1936.”
“Exciting reading, is it?”
“If you want to write a history of the Sandberg Ladies' Society annual cakewalk, it's riveting,” Sam said. “Also, if you want to find out a couple of things about Amos Hague and his farm.”
“Which we do,” said Burke.
“First things first,” Sam said. “Tess Woodeâformerly Hagueâdied on February 2, 1903. Cause of death unknown. A year later, on June 21, 1904, her daughter, Grace Woode, married a Mr. John Blackburne.”
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