The Audacity of Goats Read online

  Elisabeth liked her work, although, as she would be the first to admit, this was easy when you worked for yourself. Her small, highly respected gallery was in the barn adjacent to her simple, comfortable house, and she could keep whatever hours she chose. Elisabeth’s family had left her with rather substantial resources, and the gallery was her passion, not a means of existence.

  As soon as Roger’s car could be heard coming up the driveway, Rocco flung himself off the porch and made a mad dash to the car, dancing perilously in its path in his excitement. As Roger emerged, Rocco leapt with joy, eager to touch the face of his hero. Roger returned Rocco’s greeting with a warmth that was missing from his usual interactions with people.

  After six weeks of honeymoon and a series of nights of reestablishment that had involved returning from the airport, going to Fiona’s to get Rocco, and the flurry of unpacking and retrieving Roger’s few belongings from his house, this was the first night of their real life. No errands, no upheaval, no obligations, just finishing a day of work and coming home to one another. Elisabeth wanted to run to him and to throw her arms around him in a passionate embrace, but she was enjoying watching this reunion with Rocco, so she smiled from her rocking chair and waited, her calm exterior belying the depth of her feelings.

  She was beautiful, Roger thought, as he walked toward the house, an exuberant Rocco bouncing beside him. Even from a distance he could admire her ivory skin and curling lashes. Her long, wavy, auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders, and was colored now by the rose light of the late sun. He had noticed in Italy how frequently passers by had turned to look at her—both men and women. She looked exactly like a Renaissance painting, warm and voluptuous. A sharp emotion ran through him as he stepped onto the porch, and he was filled with joy. Elisabeth smiled up at him, her love pouring from her gaze as she held out a glass to him, on this, the first real night of their married life.

  “Welcome home, Roger.”

  “Thanks,” said Roger. Unceremoniously he took the glass from her and sat.

  Elisabeth kept her disappointment and hurt feelings to herself.

  Ver Palsson was early to the evening meeting of the Boy Scouts. The Scoutmaster was in bed with a particularly virulent form of flu, and Pali had been asked to step in. He knew all the boys, and occasionally joined events to help out, but he was tired tonight. He planned a quiet evening of knot tying to keep them busy. Knots, after all, were something Pali, as a ferryman, knew well.

  One by one the boys trailed into the church basement where they met. Their Scoutmaster was strict about punctuality, so by 7:01 Pali had them lined up for the ceremony of the colors that began every meeting. The boys knew their parts, and they fell easily into place. They were about to say the Pledge of Allegiance when a noise on the stairs alerted them to a new arrival. All eyes turned to the door. It was unusual for anyone to be late, and even more unusual for anyone to enter so noisily. In a moment the door opened, and Jason Martin of Windsome Farms entered the room with his small son, a first grader named Noah. Noah looked embarrassed to be interrupting so solemn a ceremony, but his father took no notice.

  “Hey there!” he said jovially, crossing the room to Pali with his hand extended, walking between the troop and the flag bearers who stood in a respectful line at the front. Interrupting the trooping of the colors was an enormous breach of protocol, and one known to even the youngest Scouts. Pali, aware of the many eyes on him, said nothing, but with a sweep of his arm politely indicated a place for the newcomers to stand.

  Noah, who knew instantly what to do, stood where he was and removed his cap. His father, winking at Pali to show that he was in on the joke, did the same. With an inward sigh, Pali nodded to the eldest Scout to begin the Pledge again. It was going to be a long night and he looked forward to a brandy in front of his own fire.

  Once the boys were started on their knot tying, Jason Martin took Pali aside. “So, Pali,” he said, “I have an idea I’d like to try out on you.”

  Pali, after a meaning glance at a pair of giggling cub Scouts, gave his respectful attention.

  “I have an idea that we could get the whole troop involved in the Animal Science merit badge” continued Jason. “We could do the Dairying option, and time spent at Windsome Farm would help the boys to qualify. With my expertise, I, personally, can guide them through the process,” he added hastily. “Science shows that goats milk is far superior to cows milk, and the boys would have a great advantage in learning this.”

  Pali listened patiently. “I’m just filling in tonight, and don’t have the authority to make any decisions. Why don’t you wait ‘til John gets back and talk it over with him? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the offer.”

  “Maybe I should call him tonight,” suggested Jason eagerly. “Get things rolling right away.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” said Pali slowly. “He’s pretty sick or he’d be here himself. If I were you, I’d wait.”

  Reluctantly, Jason Martin agreed.

  One morning when she went to get the mail, Fiona was surprised to find an envelope from the insurance company. She was even more surprised when she opened it. Fiona was not particularly good with life’s details, and frequently handled them in a state of inattention. Apparently—more by luck than by intelligent planning—she had insured the barn for replacement value, and the amount was substantial. Thinking, she walked slowly back to the house.

  She entered the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee, and stood at the window, looking back at where the barn had been. Did she want to replace it? For what? She had no animal any longer. She looked down at the check on the kitchen table. With that amount of money she wouldn’t have to worry for quite a while. She could buy a new furnace. She could take a trip... her mind turned to Pete and his visits to many of the world’s most beautiful cities.

  On the other hand, she recalled with a pang the first moment she had seen the barn, and the spell it had cast on her. She remembered climbing the steep, ladder-like steps to the loft, leaning her chin on the floor at the top and seeing the play of sunlight across the wooden floor. But hadn’t the beauty of the barn been mostly in its history? In the smells of ancient hay, of animals, and of the gasoline from the lawn mower? Could a new building have the same essence?

  She thought about the old stone foundation still standing, and the smell of new lumber, of freshly laid planks and new windows. She could see it all in her mind’s eye.

  At the same time, it struck her that the issuance of the check must indicate some resolution on the part of the company. Did this mean that they had ruled out arson? Did they have a continuing investigation, or did they consider the matter closed? She didn’t know.

  Fiona herself wasn’t entirely sure what she thought had happened, but this check seemed to indicate that no one else thought it mattered. It mattered to her, not knowing whether she lived next door to someone who would stoop to arson. And it mattered, too, whether the new barn would be a target.

  Fiona knew that whatever she decided, if she spent the money, or if she built a new barn, nothing would be as it had been before. And it grieved her. She drank the rest of her coffee and went upstairs to work on her article.

  Chapter Three

  After school, Ben headed straight to Jim’s house, a small cottage near Washington Harbor. Jim frequently invited Ben to walk some trails with him, and Ben knew he would be welcome. He liked Jim and always learned something interesting from him. And being out in the woods together would give Ben a chance to ask questions about caring for the injured deer in a way that wouldn’t make Jim suspicious. To his delight, Ben saw Jim’s truck parked beside the cottage, and he went up to the porch and knocked. Through the window he could see Jim sitting at his kitchen table, working at his computer. Jim looked up and waved Ben in.

  Jim’s cottage had been built in the 19th century, and sat on a bluff above the rocky shore of Washington Harbor, near an old neighborhood known to residents by the rather unappealing name of Gasoline T
own. The house had a porch that wrapped around two sides, with a small screened-in section to keep away the mosquitoes. There was a panoramic view of the harbor, and of the western horizon. Inside was small and snug, with a little kitchen, bathroom, and sitting room on the first floor and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. The back bedroom, the one Jim occupied, had broad views of the harbor, and Jim had put in a big window that made it possible to see the water while lying in bed.

  Jim had restored the place himself, painstakingly saving what he could of the original beams, stone fireplaces, and wood floors, and updating the kitchen and bathrooms with simplicity and good taste. The place had the feel of a carefully maintained boat, with everything crisply painted, compact, and efficient. Ben liked Jim’s house, and imagined that someday, when he was grown up, he would live in a house exactly like it.

  “Ben,” said Jim in greeting, as he rose from his work. “What are you up to today?”

  Ben noted the papers on the table, and recalling his father’s mood when doing paperwork, began with the kind of apology that would have been appropriate in his own house.

  “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “That’s okay,” said Jim, glancing over his shoulder at his table. “I’m in a good place to take a break. Besides, I hate paperwork.”

  Ben nodded seriously. “My dad does, too. He always says he’d rather have a root canal.” Ben did not actually know what root canal was, but his father made it sound like a primitive form of torture.

  Jim laughed. “I completely sympathize with that point of view.” Jim leaned back on the edge of the table and folded his arms.

  “So, what’s on your mind, Ben?”

  “I wondered if we could do some trails today. You said I could stop by.”

  Jim thought a moment, nodding to himself. “Your timing is perfect, actually. I need to cover some trails I haven’t been on for a while, and my head could use some clearing.” He went to a kitchen cupboard and pulled out two protein bars and two bottles of water.

  “Here,” he said, tossing one of each in Ben’s direction. “May as well go well-supplied.”

  He took his jacket off the wall rack, and held the door open for Ben.

  “After you, Mr. Palsson. Let’s go see what’s happening out there.”

  He followed Ben out onto the porch, and together they set off down the road, toward the woods.

  As they walked, Ben peppered Jim with questions about wildlife, injuries, and the hard realities of nature. Jim listened seriously and answered, sometimes explaining in simple terms the philosophy of land and animal management. Ben listened and absorbed everything with a child’s vigorous capacity for memory. As Ben asked, he couldn’t help worrying whether Jim would guess the purpose of his questions. If he had been more experienced, Ben might have realized that he had the guilty man’s sense that everyone knows what he is thinking. Jim, used to the boy’s intelligent curiosity, and good-naturedly determined to encourage it, didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. They passed the afternoon in good spirits, both happy to be doing what they loved.

  When at last they emerged from the woods, it was getting late. It was easy, out in the woods, for your eyes to adjust to low light so you lost track of time.

  Jim noted guiltily how close to dark it was.

  “Come on, Ben. I’d better give you a ride home. Your mom will be wondering where you are.”

  “Thanks,” said Ben. “She worries a lot.”

  “That’s what moms do,” said Jim. “My mom still worries about me.”

  Ben tried not to stare. “Really?” he asked, aghast. Jim was old. Probably over thirty.

  “Yessir.” He glanced at Ben sideways and grinned. “It has its upsides and its downsides. But it’s good to be loved, Ben, and worry is just a kind of love. Remember that.”

  Ben nodded silently. He was still slightly shocked about Jim’s mother. Somehow, he had always hoped to put that kind of thing behind him. But if Jim could be so cheerful about it, then, he thought, probably he could, too. Doggedly, he returned to his primary objective.

  “Do you think a deer with a broken leg could survive very long?” he asked as they turned onto Jacksonport Harbor Road.

  On this topic their conversation continued until Jim pulled up to the Palsson house a few minutes later. Thanking his friend politely, Ben jumped out and trotted up the driveway. Jim watched until he was safely inside the house, then drove on, feeling the sudden silence after an afternoon spent with a chatty ten year old. The solitude of his house did not appeal to him at the moment, he realized. He would head down to Nelsen’s and see if there was any news. Eddie always knew the Island’s business.

  After a full day of writing, Fiona was chatting on the phone with Elisabeth. It got lonely in the little house, and she needed a little conversation. She told Elisabeth about the insurance check.

  “Well, in one way, anyway, your new barn would be safe.”

  Fiona was puzzled. “How so?”

  “Think about it. If Stella did burn the barn down—and I’m not saying that she did—the fact that she wants to buy your place now ought to mean that she wouldn’t want to reduce the value of the property.”

  “If that were the case, she wouldn’t have burned it down in the first place.”

  “But that was when she thought you were there for good. Now that she’s running for chairman, she has to assume that you’ll be leaving. She has to think that your place is coming up for sale.”

  “Even if that were true—and I’m not saying that it is—I don’t think Stella much cares about the barn.”

  Elisabeth was quiet for moment considering this. “I suppose not.”

  “I’m not even sure that I do. Care, I mean.”

  This was patently untrue, and even as she said it, she knew she didn’t mean it. Fiona fiddled with the pen in her hand. She had been drawing little buildings with flames rising from their roofs.

  “So what are you going to do?” asked Elisabeth. “With the money, I mean.”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “You could visit Pete.”

  “Mmm,” said Fiona.

  “Don’t you want to?”

  “I want to see him. But I don’t want to show up on his doorstep. Besides, I don’t even know where he is.” Fiona sighed heavily, completely unaware that she was doing so.

  Elisabeth, always a thoughtful friend, decided that it might be best to leave this topic alone, and deftly moved the conversation on to other matters.

  When Jim walked into Nelsen’s, all eyes were glued to the local television news. Eddie was on the far end of the bar, but as soon as he saw Jim he moved up to talk. “Did you hear the news?”

  Jim shook his head. “I’ve been doing paperwork and walking the trails all day.”

  “State turned down the harbor dredging project. Transportation Department says there’s no money in the budget for it.”

  “There’s money to build those damned roundabouts all over the state,” commented Jake, coming to sit next to Jim. “Can’t drive 100 yards without running into one of them things.”

  Jim frowned. “So now what?”

  “Nobody knows. It’s a big deal. Coast Guard says the water levels are getting so low it won’t be safe to run the ferry.” Eddie pulled a beer for Jim and put it down on the bar.

  “And they’re all out in the middle of nowhere, where a stop sign’d do just fine. Waste of taxpayer dollars,” continued Jake. He was in a grumpy mood, a rare thing for him.

  “Guess we’ll all have to move,” said Jim.

  “Or go back to the old days and drive across.”

  “Hard to do in July.”

  They were all silent, thinking their own thoughts.

  “Want a menu?” asked Eddie.

  “Sure,” said Jim. “No, on second thought, I’ll just have a burger. With fries.”

  A side from a sense of horror nearly as intense as Fiona’s, the Town Board’s incumbents were offended by Stella’s s
logan and its implications of incompetence, or worse. A change from what? A change from the steady integrity and patience of Lars Olafsen? A change from the fiscal responsibility and good stewardship of the Board over the past 30 years or more? A change from the peace and goodwill among islanders that had been regnant—more or less, and not counting the factions that formed and shifted over every issue large and small—for generations?

  Lars, too, pondered these questions. He didn’t flatter himself that he had any particular insight beyond that of a thoughtful observer, but he thought he had a pretty good idea of what change Stella was hoping for. It wasn’t a specific policy or a project, it wasn’t hope for advancing favorable legislation at the State level, and it had nothing to do with fiscal responsibility. No matter what smoke screen she might throw up in order to be elected, Stella DesRosiers wanted two things: control and revenge. And if she were elected, he had no doubt whatsoever that she would get both. What she would do, or how she would do it, now, that was another matter altogether, but he was pretty sure that whatever it was, it would start with Ms. Fiona Campbell.

  One of the things Fiona loved about owning a house was that it always required some kind of tweaking. What others considered an annoyance for Fiona was a delight. Each repair, each small improvement created a fresh feeling of accomplishment and renewal. And so, her regular trips to the Mercantile were pleasure jaunts, and also lovely distractions from whatever writing deadline loomed ahead. Today there were several, all past due.

  She was happily foraging in the fasteners aisle, looking for something with which to hang the mirror she had acquired recently at a rummage sale, when she sensed that someone else was nearby. She looked up, smiling. It was Stella.

  Fiona’s smile faded and there was a chilly silence. She imagined that Stella was as surprised to see her as she was surprised herself. Stella merely looked without speaking, her face wooden.