Page 22 of Before the Bond
“He likes it the way it is.” Jake smiled. “He just doesn’t say it.”
I’d already figured that out — that Donovan had very deliberate feelings about things, and no patience for people who said it out loud.
After the previous exchange, I didn’t get into any more trouble with him. We greeted each other in the hallway now and then, shared updates on Jake, and left it at that. There was even a little more leeway about Jake’s condition. It was a strange sort of mutual understanding: he gave me what I needed for Jake without ceremony, and I stopped expecting warmth.
Jake continued his little tangent.
“There are ghost stories about us, you know,” Jake said. “Err, the manor at least.”
“Oh, I know,” I said.
Even if it was a while back, Stella’s remarks about the place were still fresh in my mind.
“It’s probably because the family’s been here forever,” he said. “Older than the Mayflower.”
“So where do the ghosts come in?”
Jake found a smooth rock on the floor and played with it. He tossed it into the non-functional fountain across us.
“There’s a local belief,” he said. “That before people were here, there were mountain spirits in the forest. People who showed them reverence were granted protection. It’s why Greyhollow doesn’t allow too much woodcutting, for instance.”
“What do people say the mountain spirits are like?”
“Territorial. Protective of nature. Wolf-like, mostly.”
“Werewolves?” I suggested.
Jake stared at me. Not in confusion, but like he was running a quick calculation.
“Someone mentioned it at The Blackwater Tap,” I explained. “In passing.”
He relaxed by just a fraction. “Werewolves make sense,” he said. “Other towns have Bigfoot, right? Wolves are common in these woods, too. People probably took the old stories and turned them into something else. Still, it’s a little nice that people have something to believe in, right?”
After sitting for a while, we made our way to another section of the garden. This one was dedicated to some local crops. Jake spoke a little more about history — it was something he was rather passionate about — before the subject turned to the household.
“Maureen’s been with us forever,” Jake explained. “So has Tomas.”
“Donovan wasn’t kidding about not liking outsiders,” I said.
“You’re not an outsider,” Jake interjected. “You’re practically one of us now.”
I smiled, but I wasn’t convinced.
“So, what about your brothers?” I asked. “Are you guys close?”
“A little,” he said. “But they’re always busy with estate affairs. I’d help but…”
Jake gestured to his entire body.
“How about the whole ‘tight-lipped’ business?”
This time, Jake stopped walking. He lingered by a patch of vegetables. He poked at one of the beanpoles, pressing against the leaves of one that was straying too far from its garden cane.
“We’re just private,” he said.
“Right.”
Jake frowned. “I know it’s not for everyone…” he said. “But I don’t think it’s so bad. Isn’t it better sometimes not to know?”
