CHAPTER 16
W
ill held the door open for Burke, then followed him into the library. Upon arriving home the previous afternoon, Burke had been surprised to hear that Sam Guffrey had left a message for him saying he'd found some information about Amos Hague. Will had once again offered to act as Burke's driver, for which Burke was both thankful and pleased. It not only meant not having to ask his father for a ride to the library, but it gave him some more alone time with Will. After their unexpected lovemaking, Burke found himself wondering if perhapsâdespite Will's fears about accepting who he wasâthey might not be able to make something more out of their relationship.
As they approached the circulation desk, Burke saw Sam's gaze rest on Will for a moment before turning to him. He thought he caught in it a hint of appreciation ofâor perhaps longing for?âthe young man's beauty. Again, he found himself wondering what the librarian's story was.
“Hey, Sam,” he said. “Will, Sam Guffrey. Sam, Will Janks.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Sam.
“Same here,” Will replied.
Sam reached beneath the desk and pulled out a file folder, which he laid on the counter and opened. “After you left the other day, I started thinking about that letter,” he said. “The one Amos Hague wrote to Tess Beattie. I don't know why I never made the connection before. I feel rather stupid about it now.”
“What connection?” Burke asked.
“William Holburne,” said Sam. “The young man Amos Hague writes about in the letter,” he added when Burke didn't respond.
“Right,” Burke said. “The one who died. What about him?”
Sam slid a photograph across the counter. It showed a young man wearing a soldier's uniform and carrying a rifle. “This is William Holburne,” he said.
Burke picked the photo up and examined it more closely. William Holburne had a round, almost childlike face. His hair was on the longish side, and he was slight of frame. He looked weary but determined.
It was interesting to see the young man Amos Hague had written to his fiancée about, but Burke didn't understand what Sam had to feel foolish about.
“William Holburne's real name was Elizabeth Frances Walsh,” said Sam.
“That dude's a girl?” Will asked, taking the picture from Burke.
Sam nodded. “It's not really as surprising as it may seem. There are quite a number of incidents of young women enlisting in the infantry under assumed names. For the past couple of years I've been doing research about it on and off. Mostly off, which is why I didn't immediately recognize William Holburne's name. But that's definitely him.”
“Her,” Will corrected.
Sam shook his head. “Technically, yes. But William Holburne is an unusual case. At least I believe he is.”
He removed a handful of pages from the folder and spread them out. They were pages of what appeared to be a diary, written in a neat, compact hand.
“These are pages from the journal of Elizabeth Frances Walsh,” he told Will and Burke. “Written when she was fifteen years old. What's fascinating about the journal is that in addition to containing the usual teenage complaints about parents and boredom and whatnot, much of it is taken up with stories about a young man named William Holburne. William is the same age as Elizabeth, and he has all kinds of adventures. Most scholars believe these stories are simply thatâtales made up by Elizabeth to amuse herself and possibly some younger brothers.”
“That makes sense,” Burke said.
“It does,” Sam agreed. “But when you read the William Holburne stories carefully, there's something about them. I can't quite explain it. It's as if Elizabeth isn't writing about someone else, but she's writing about herself.”
“Holburne's not exactly an unusual name up here,” said Will. “I went to school with three of them myself.”
“That's true,” Sam agreed. “Which might also explain why Elizabeth chose it for herself. Besides, there are other similarities in the lives of Elizabeth and William in addition to the coincidence of the name. Elizabeth is reported to have died when she was sixteen. Supposedly she came down with a fever, wandered outside in the night in the middle of a snowstorm, and was never seen again. William Holburne enlisted in the Third Vermont Infantry the following spring.”
“Are there records of William Holburne's birth?” Burke asked.
“No,” Sam answered. “But that isn't at all unusual. As Will points out, there are a lot of Holburnes in Vermont. And a lot of enlistees falsified their papers. This is almost entirely speculation on my part.”
“You sound pretty convinced,” Burke remarked.
Sam nodded. “I am,” he said.
“I don't get the connection to Amos Hague, though,” Burke said. “Apart from William Holburne being mentioned in the letter to Tess, I mean.”
“That's where it gets interesting,” Sam said. “Well,
more
interesting. There's no official record of William Holburne's death.”
“Is that unusual?” asked Burke.
“Fairly,” Sam said. “They may have been disorganized about a lot of things during that time, but identifying the dead was of great importance, not only out of respect, but to ensure the proper administration of death benefits to the soldier's surviving family. If William Holburne was killed in action, somebody would have recorded it.”
“I'm still lost,” said Burke.
“I think Amos Hague helped William Holburne disappear,” Sam told him.
“Why would he do that?” asked Will.
Sam shrugged. “Maybe he knew Elizabeth's secret,” he suggested. “Or maybe he just wanted to help out a young man he thought didn't belong fighting in a war. Again, this is all hypothetical.”
“Where did the photograph of William Holburne come from?” asked Burke.
“A woman named Tanya Redmond,” Sam said. “She had a box full of documents and photos that she found in her mother's house when the old woman died last year. She didn't know what they were, but she knew enough to bring them to me.”
“And what's her connection to Holburne?”
“I'm not sure,” Sam said. “I haven't had time to speak with her about that. The picture was one of maybe fifty or so, all of different people and places.”
Burke asked, “Is she a local?”
“She lives out on Parker Road,” Sam said. “Has a trailer set back about a quarter of a mile, near the creek.”
“A trailer by the creek,” Burke said. “That's a real white-trash mansion.”
Will laughed, but Sam didn't. “Tanya's a nice woman,” he said. “She does the best she can.”
Burke, chastened, cleared his throat. “Maybe I should pay her a little visit,” he said. “See if she knows anything about Amos Hague.”
“I doubt it,” said Sam. “She didn't seem to know anything about the papers and photographs when she brought them in. But I've been meaning to ask her about them myself. Mind if I come along?”
Burke looked at Will, who said, “I've actually got to be getting back to help my dad. Any chance we can do this another day?”
“I've got my car here,” said Sam. He looked at Burke. “If you like, I can drive us over to Tanya's and then take you home.”
“What about the library?” Burke asked.
Sam snorted. “You're the first ones to come in here since, well, the last time you came in here,” he said. “I think I can close for a couple of hours without the reading public of Sandberg being inconvenienced.”
“What about your leg?” Will said suddenly.
Burke looked at him. The young man had an expression of concern on his face. Burke, surprised and touched, laid a hand on Will's arm. “I think I'll be okay,” he said gently.
“All right,” said Will. “But be careful. You know what the doctor said. I'll call you tomorrow.”
Burke almost expected Will to kiss him on the cheek before leaving, but he didn't. He did, however, turn at the door and give Burke a good-bye wave.
“He seems like a nice guy,” Sam remarked.
Burke nodded. “His father and I grew up together.” Immediately he regretted sharing this information with Sam. But if Sam thought anything was strange about the situation, he kept it to himself.
“My car's out front,” he said, taking some keys from the counter. “I think we'll be able to squeeze you in.”
Burke followed him through the front door, which Sam left unlocked. “I'm expecting Ellie Peterbaugh to come in for her biweekly pickup of romance novels,” he explained. “She'll just leave the old ones on the counter with the slips from whatever she takes this time. Besides, anyone who would break in is probably too stoned to notice the place is empty.”
“Oh, the joys of small-town life,” Burke remarked as Sam opened the door of a Subaru wagon that had seen better days.
Sam helped him to sit, putting his hand under Burke's arm and supporting him. Burke was surprised at how strong his grip was. For a small man, he held Burke steady with very little effort. “Everything in?” Sam asked, shutting the door after Burke nodded.
“It was a car accident,” Burke said when Sam got behind the wheel.
“Sorry?” said Sam.
“A car accident,” Burke repeated. “That's what banged me up. I swerved to avoid hitting a dog or something and ran off the road. I could tell you were wondering but didn't want to ask.”
“Actually, I wasn't,” said Sam, “but I'm pleased to hear the dog is all right.”
Burke didn't know how to respond, so he stayed quiet as Sam started the car and pulled away from the curb. What made you think he wanted to know anything? he asked himself.
“I shouldn't have said that,” Sam remarked after they'd driven a mile or so. “I
did
wonder what happened to you. I just wasn't wondering it when you said you could tell that I was. That's what I meant when I said I wasn't.” He paused. “But I am pleased about the dog. I assume it's all right.”
“It might not have been a dog,” said Burke. “I honestly don't remember. But I'm told I didn't hit anything.”
Sam nodded. “That's good,” he said. “So you grew up around here?”
“Yes,” said Burke, relieved to have something else to talk about. “I assume you didn't.”
“Why's that?” Sam asked.
“For one thing, you don't have the accent,” Burke replied. “For another, we're about the same age, and I probably would have heard of you if you'd grown up here.”
“Both reasonable assumptions,” said Sam. “No, I didn't grow up here. I'm from Montana.”
“I don't think I've ever met anyone who was actually from Montana,” Burke said.
“That's because both of us left as soon as we could,” said Sam. “And we tell everyone we're from other places.”
Burke laughed. “I take it you weren't exactly excited about living there.”
“It wasn't a great place, no,” said Sam. “At least not for me. Conrad Burns, one of our former senators, once described Montana as âa lot of dirt between lightbulbs.' Of course, he was also one of only two Republicans ever elected to the office, so he might have been a little bitter.”
Burke laughed. “How did you get from there to Vermont?”
“Mostly by accident,” Sam replied. “I went to college in Ohio and taught third grade for a couple of years. Then I realized that teaching eight-year-olds how to add and subtract wasn't what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, so I went back to college, got my degree in library science, and answered an ad for this position. I've been here for almost fifteen years.”
“That's a long time,” Burke remarked. “Don't you find it a little boring?”
“No more and no less than anywhere else,” said Sam. “Every place has its interesting aspects. Sometimes you just have to look harder to find them.”
“True,” Burke agreed. “But what about culture? What about friends?”
“You might be surprised at how much of both are available here,” said Sam.
Burke shook his head. “I'd go nuts up here,” he said. “It was bad enough when I was a kid.”
“You seem to have at least one friend here,” Sam remarked.
Burke thought for a moment, trying to figure out to whom Sam was referring. “Will?” he said. “He's not exactly a friend. Like I said, I know his father.”
“I'm sorry,” Sam said. “The two of you seem to . . .” He stopped speaking. “Tanya's place is right up here,” he continued. “Just past the church.”