Page 34 of Unbroken
“Oh, I doubt that. You’re being modest.”
He wracked his brain, trying to come up with something so boring she wouldn’t ask any more questions. “I grew up in a factory town along the Connecticut River,” he settled on. “I was interested in books, so I moved to Boston, apprenticed as a bookbinder, and worked for a time at the Boston Library before coming here.”
“That must be such a fascinating job!”
“I think so, but there is a certain repetition to it.” He caught himself before going into the intricacies of book repair and conservation. “I’m sure you’d find it quite tedious.”
She smiled, a forest of wrinkles springing up around her mouth, though her eyes remained fixed on her work. “Not at all. I’m very fond of books, and their preservation is a noble effort. So much knowledge has already been lost to the centuries.”
Mrs. Adams worked in silence for a bit, freed Ves when her yarn was in a neat ball, then joined in the chatter of those around them. In what seemed like no time at all, the older children returned, and Bonnie opened the basket. After feasting on cold ham sandwiches, bean salad, and blueberry pie, Sebastian stood up and reached for Ves’s hand. “Let’s go onto the pier. You can win me a prize at the ring toss.”
Though he’d prefer to be away from the crowds, Ves did have to admit he was curious about the boardwalk and its entertainments. They bought bottles of lemonade, then strolled the boards arm-in-arm, while gulls swooped down to pluck up any dropped crumb of food.
As the day went on, more and more people jammed onto the boardwalk and pier, perhaps hoping to get a better view of the fireworks. Eventually, they found themselves at the end of the pier, the Ferris wheel slowly rotating above them.
“They say the owner of King Tide Park is richer than half the old families combined.” Sebastian turned to look out over the waves. “He’s got the blood of those who live beneath the sea in his veins, and on dark nights the inhabitants of the city below swim up to frolic in the park and give him piles of gold in exchange.” He paused, then shrugged. “Or so the gossip goes.”
“Hmm.” Ves put his elbows on the rail and stared out at the water. It stretched on and on, past the big cargo ships going in and out of the harbor, past fishing trawlers, beyond the curve of the world until crashing on distant shores.
A man who smelled strongly of beer bumped into him, breaking him out of his thoughts. Sebastian must have caught the look on his face, because he said, “You’re not enjoying yourself.”
Curse it—he’d hoped to hide his discomfort. “It’s just a bit crowded.”
“True.” Sebastian caught his hand. “Let’s go walk on the beach, down past the bulk of the crowd. Then, as soon as the sun begins to set, we’ll go to the bonfire.”
Ves smiled up at him. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Gods of the wood,” Ves said, staring up. “When you said bonfire…well, ours were never so large.”
Sebastian couldn’t help but feel a bit of civic pride at that. The bonfire was built on the cliffs that rose to the north of the Cranch River Valley, offering a glorious view of the sunset and ocean. The bonfire itself rose sixty feet from a base of perhaps forty feet across, a mammoth construction of railroad ties, boxes, wooden pallets, barrels, and spare lumber.
It was also terrifying. So many people, so close to such a blaze…
But no—this wasn’t an uncontrolled house fire, like what had taken his mother’s life. He’d stayed far away from the bonfire in previous years, his nerves unable to bear it. This year was going to be different. He was going to force himself to remain, both for his own sake and Ves’s.
The crowd here was much smaller, perhaps a hundred people; hopefully Ves would feel more at ease away from the press of bodies. Though Sebastian had enjoyed the day immensely, he was aware Ves hadn’t had as good a time. And no wonder: after being raised in the woods away from other people, any gathering must seem overwhelming. He could only imagine how poor Ves had fared in Boston.
“Tell me about your bonfires,” Sebastian said.
“We built them atop Caprine Hill on Walpurgisnacht and Halloween. We’d all chant and dance around the flames. Noct and I would listen to the voices from the woods, sometimes ask them questions at Mother or Grandfather’s prompting. We could feel the presence of our progenitor, the All-Mother, so clearly on those nights, though we weren’t summoning him.” His voice took on a wistful tone. “I don’t miss the rest of it, but I’d like to go back someday and talk to the voices again.”
“As soon as we can be sure your wretched family won’t follow us there, we will,” Sebastian said. “If you’d like my company.”
“Of course I would.”
A cheer went up around them. A man in a badly made papier-mâché mask, which might have been meant to represent either George Washington or an ax-murderer, carried a torch through the crowd. As the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon, he plunged the torch into the mountainous stack of wood.
It caught fast, and soon the flames crept up the massive pile, licking eagerly at the sky. Smoke that reeked of burning creosote rose to the stars. Sebastian’s chest tightened at the sounds and smells, but he looped his arm around Ves’s. Grounding himself in the present, using his lover’s strength and presence to fight against the memories that threatened to bubble up.
Why he was determined to do this, he wasn’t even sure himself. Maybe confronting the Books had left him wanting to confront the other things that scared him. Or maybe it was just that he finally felt strong enough, so long as he had Ves at his side.
God, he was a lucky man.
Ves watched the fire, the dancing flames reflected in his dark eyes. Sebastian accepted the jug being passed around and took a swig without inquiring what was in it. Bad whiskey stung his throat—but anything to help calm his nerves was welcome.
Ves refused a drink, so he passed it on to the next person. More people in papier-mâché masks had gathered, and Sebastian tried to guess which illustrious figures they represented. Thomas Jefferson was probably one, and there was a definite Ben Franklin. A couple might have been John and Abigail Adams, but the quality of the handmade masks made it hard to be certain.
About an hour after full dark, when the bonfire had become a roaring tower of flame, the first fireworks arced into the sky from the boats set up in the harbor. The booms echoed across the water, as flowers of red, white, and blue blossomed in the sky. An answering barrage went up behind them, no doubt from the Endicott estate.
