Part 16

     For the next few days, my coworkers keep asking me what's on my mind, telling me I seem distracted. And I am, but, it's not something I can talk to them about. We're all comfortable enough around each other that normally, we'll chat about things going on in our lives, compare irritated notes about husbands or boyfriends, gripe about classes and family, laugh over ridiculous text messages from a friend's night out on the town. Occasionally, I've gotten into deeper discussions with a few of the girls – but nothing that would make me feel comfortable telling them about my trips into the past, where I hang out with members of the Mason family.
     I have to wonder though... it's still focused on them, there's always some member of the family near when I travel back. But unlike my initial assumption, I guess I don't have to be on the property of the house to be pulled back there. Technically, I wasn't quite on their property when I had that first glimpse – I still have no idea who that boy is. I guess it could have been Avery when he was young? Or maybe Meres and Celestine had children I haven't found out about yet? It could even be a servant's kid, dressed up for some special event. But I saw him while I was still in the woods... and this time, I landed in what were woods, again outside the fence.
     Outside the fence... but not necessarily outside their property! With Mr. Mason having been so hung up on his privacy, I'm sure he would have bought up the land around the house and gardens, just to keep anyone else from building on it. I bet I could check with Mr. Map Man in town, I'm sure he'll have the old property lines notated somewhere. His office was in town hall – maybe I'll swing by and see if he's in, when I head over there to take a look at the records office, and see what old photos they have stashed away.

     Due to weird flukes in scheduling, I end up working six days straight, which is exhausting. When I get home each night, usually with some take-out Chinese food in hand, it's all I can do to drag myself over to my drawings, and work on them awhile. But once I start in... I don't end up quitting until I happen to look at a clock, and realize it's anywhere from one to four hours past the time I'd planned to go to bed. It's a very, very long streak of days at work, but the time I spend on the drawings, wrapped up in the world of a hundred years ago, the lives of the Masons, the meanings of the flowers Meres and Celestine planted and the details of the house they built.
     Not every drawing I do exactly matches up to things I've seen, but somehow... I feel like it's alright to go with my instincts, about what color flower should go into that corner I didn't get a good look at, about whether its meaning would fit in with the rest in that particular area. That's another thing I've realized, while drawing – I feel like they must have had a list just like this one, and they planted things accordingly, because every little corner, every section, every little scene that could be seen from a bench, in every one of these, the meanings of the plants compliment each other so well. The meanings don't always build to something pleasant, but they always have something to say, adding another layer beyond the mere sensory beauty of the flowers themselves. I still don't feel like I know much at all about Meres and Celestine, but, taking a closer look at the place they built for themselves, the flowers they planted, I feel like I understand them at least a little bit. Not in any way that I could put into words, but on a more intuitive level.
     I still wonder... how much older than Mr. A. E. Mason was his brother Meres? If the garden was in place at least a decade before the Mason family moved in... but then, say, Mr. Mason could have been near thirty when they moved in. Meres could have built the place when he was twenty, and that would still let him only be a couple of years the elder brother. There could easily be ten years between siblings, so I guess it all works out.
     Sighing, I lean back – and then realize just how stiff I've gotten, leaning over another large drawing. I lean as far back as I can, then give in and just flop back completely on my back on the wooden floor of the living room, stretching out my poor arms and shoulders and back. I should really set an alarm or something, to force myself to stop every half hour or so to stretch, and look off into the distance, and get a drink of water. But when I'm in “the zone”, just totally lost in the world caught within the boundaries of the paper in front of me... there's no place or time that I'm happier with my life.
     And, sitting back and surveying the world I've created in miniature, I'm pretty darn happy. There's... well, at least ten full-sized drawings in the set now, all nearly finished. It occurs to me suddenly that, if I get enough of them that I'm really happy with, these would make ideal subject matter for a show at a local gallery. The story of the Mason place seems familiar enough among the local legends, I'm sure a series of drawings set in the abandoned gardens would go over pretty well. I hadn't even thought about doing this before – it's not a bad idea. Now if I can just get over my aversion to plunging into new social situations, it'd be great.
     But, again... in my determination to find out more about the Masons, I've put myself in all kinds of new situations. I've been to a historical society meeting, chatted with a librarian, the map man, hell, I've been to a psychic! (I've gotten over some of my fear of the reading she gave me - though I worry about whichever Mr. Mason it is that was so malevolent to her eyes, I know Evelyn's near to keep me safe, or at least give me warning if needed.)
     Figures. I grow into normal social adulthood by chatting with ghosts in the ruins of a burned-down house.

     The next morning, I oversleep, again. I guess morning would be the wrong word, it's definitely early afternoon by the time I'm conscious and showered and had breakfast. But no work today, so I can schedule my day however I'd like. I'm thinking a walk in to town, to nose around town hall a bit, and maybe treat myself to dinner someplace while I'm there. It's so hard to motivate myself to do any real cooking when it's only me that'll be eating it, and I've had way too much take-out and fast food this past week. There are a few little cafés and things in town, and I think my coworkers said the new vegetarian place is open now, maybe I'll check that out.
     I grab my headphones, and make sure my sketchbook and camera are in my bag, along with my wallet. I check my bag for loose change in case I need to make copies somewhere – and there's not much, so I raid my piggy bank before heading out the door. (It really is a little pig-shaped bank – freebie gift from some bank my parents opened an account for me at when I was little. I re-painted it years ago, so whatever logo was originally on it is now covered in rainbow-colored flowers and other ridiculous vestiges of my tastes in middle school.)
     It's not exactly the nicest day for a walk, overcast and damp, but at least it will be a good day for holing up indoors with old photos and books and things. I crank up a Kill Hannah album, and start on down the road. It's only about a fifteen or twenty minute walk from my apartment into the main part of town, that's only like five or six songs, not bad at all. Now that I think about it... the town's really grown up since the Masons moved away, from everything I read about the fire, their house was really pretty far out of the way. While the building the town hall's in is old enough to have been there at that time, I don't think it was always the town hall – whatever it was, it must have been on the outskirts. Then too, all the space in between the center of town and the Mason place would have been all old-growth forests, not filled with residential streets like it is now.
     “You say the world is a place full of thunderous love for everyone, but I just can't see it. I just want you to know I think you're beautiful...” I grin to myself as I silently sing along. It's so emo-y, but I refuse to care, the music has that intense kind of yearning to it that I'm an absolute sucker for.
     But as the song winds down, I lower the volume a bit, and pull one headphone out, letting it hang free. There's a yard sale a few houses up – I think I'll poke around a little, just to see if there's anything interesting. (I used to keep an eye out for records and things for Dad, but I've long since given that one up, it's just not possible for me to remember what he has and doesn't have.) It's an old enough town that I sometimes find really pretty old books at garage sales – which is awesome, because while I can also find them at the local antique shop, the garage sales charge like ten cents instead of twenty bucks. Much better for a just-out-of-college-sized budget.