Pat sat at the kitchen table and stared across at his little brother who was busy eating his Cheerios cereal with his fingers, one 'O' at a time. A silly little kid's game, playing with his food, but then Mike had been doing it this way his whole life.

Things hadn't changed that much in Mike's life, unless you counted puberty and those long sessions in the bathroom with the door locked. Today they would have a 'Brother's Day,' since Pat was planning to take Mike on a hike along the river.

It had been hot and dry all week long and the news said they were in for drought conditions here in the latter part of July. Perry had chores at the bowling alley until dinner time, and then Pat would be off with him for the evening. He looked at his brother and wondered when Mike would meet someone and fall in love.

There was this inner warmth now, something Pat carried around in his mind. Or was it his heart? He had a boyfriend, he was in love, and nothing in this world mattered more. Pat just wished he could share these feelings with his family. Maybe then they would understand why he felt so grown up, so mature.

It was still about two weeks until his sixteenth birthday and that first hurdle to the adult world. But that didn't matter so much anymore, he had love.

"What?" Mike said.

Pat suddenly realized he had been staring. "Sorry, lost in thought," He said.

"You've been doing a lot of that recently," Mike said. "Sure you aren't just out there looking for your mind?"

"Funny man," Pat said, but he was in no mood to cut his brother down to size.

They finished breakfast and cleaned up the mess before they left the house. Nine o'clock and it was already eighty degrees outside by the thermometer in the carport. Mike was dressed out in camo pants and boots, as was Pat. Mid-summer was tick season, and the poison ivy was lush in the woods.

Pat led them down the path into the woods and turned right when they hit the unused roadway. He did not want his brother to get a hint about the driveway up to Parsons' house, but this direction would lead Mike to a new element of neighborhood geography.

They followed the road until it almost reached the stream bed, and then Pat climbed down towards the water and pointed ahead.

"That's the safe way to the river," He said.

Mike looked up at the six foot in diameter culvert pipe and his eyes grew wide. "We have to go in there?" He asked.

"Sure, it's only a hundred feet long, brings us out right on the other side of the highway. Nothing to worry about, I've been through it dozens of times."

Mike didn't look so sure about that, but if Pat was going in there he was sure to follow. They approached the opening and Pat could see the small circle of light that announced the other end so he walked in. There was just a trickle of water down the middle of the corrugated pipe, but it was enough to get their boots wet unless it was straddled.

Pat walked on ahead, feet on either side of the water while the dank smell of the culvert enveloped them. He had never seen a snake or any other creature down here in the pipe, which was probably a good thing. But the smell was quickly relieved when they reached the end of the pipe.

"See nothing to it," Pat said as Mike stepped out into the sunlight. "It's just safer than running across the highway."

"I get it, Pat ... that wasn't too bad. So what's over here?"

"Trails along the river and through the woods. They go about six miles and end up in the regional park behind the high school. If we make it that far I'll buy you a hot dog at the snack bar."

"Cool," Mike said. "Let's go."

Pat almost laughed. Mike wasn't out to enjoy nature as much as he was focused on that offer of food. Whatever, Pat thought, and they climbed the hillside towards the trees. This was the safe side of the river as well, far enough from the Hillandale neighborhood and its resident asshole ... Berger.

The trail led them along the ridge where they could look out at the calm waters of the river below. The cattails and marsh grasses held an interesting variety of wildlife and Pat pointed out the small group of Mallard ducks swimming along the shore. He thought Mike would be interested until the boy picked up a rock and threw it towards the birds.

They climbed the ridge and were soon amidst the trees. This part of the trail wandered for several miles and it was here that Pat had encountered Steve and his little army. There was no sign of them today but he thought he heard something cough in the distance. They had only walked another few hundred yards when Pat heard the cough again much closer and Mike yelled in pain.

"What the hell," Mike yelped as he grabbed his arm.

Pat saw movement behind a cluster of trees and took off running. That coughing sound now made sense. Someone had shot Mike with a BB gun. He could hear grunting sounds as he reached the trees and found Berger crouched in a defensive position behind some bushes. The boy was stupid enough to point the rifle at him.

"Go ahead and shoot me," Pat said. "Give me an excuse to kill you."

Berger hesitated and then Mike ran up madder than hell. "You fuck-head, my arm is bleeding," Mike said.

Pat ignored Berger and looked at his brother's arm. The BB had scored the skin, leaving a scratch which had bled just a little. It wasn't a major wound and so he turned back to Berger who still had the rifle aimed at him.

"I'm leaving," Berger said. "I'm sorry I shot you ... I was aiming at a squirrel."

A lame excuse, Pat thought, and then Berger fell down as a rock hit him on the side of his head. This was followed by whoops of joy as Steve and his troops emerged from the surrounding trees and swarmed all over Berger. Pat waded in and took the rifle away as Steve and his buddies held Berger down and started punching him.

"Enough," Pat yelled.

Steve looked up at him with a grin. "Finally, we got the bastard. He shot Tim last weekend and we've been looking for him ever since."

Berger had five younger kids holding him down, but as a collective they were strong enough to do the trick. He looked up at Pat for some support and saw nothing.

"So what would you guys like to do to him?" Pat said.

Tim, at least Pat thought it was Tim, pulled out a pocket knife and opened the blade. "Let's cut his balls off." He said.

Berger struggled and the kids all laughed. "I think that's a little extreme," Pat said.

"I know, let's tag him for what he is," Steve said.

"And what is he?" Pat asked.

"He's a ... " And Steve suddenly remembered what Pat had said the last time they met. "He's a jerk," Steve said.

Pat smiled. "And how would you tag him?"

"I have this," Bill said, and he held up a can of spray paint.

"Is this what you all want?" Pat asked.

"Yes."

The kids stripped Berger naked and painted the word 'jerk' on his chest. Bill managed to get a little carried away with the blue spray paint and Berger's cock and balls received the same treatment.

"I'll get you for this," Berger yelled when he saw the damage.

Steve grinned. "You haven't met my older brother. If you fuck with any of us you'll be dead meat. I know who you are now ... Berger."

With that Steve and his buddies disappeared off into the woods, taking Berger's clothes with them but leaving his underwear behind. Berger pulled them on and looked at Pat.

"Are you going to give me my rifle back?" Berger asked.

"Sure," Pat said, and then swung the gun against the nearest tree. The stock shattered and the barrel came apart in several pieces. Pat tossed the parts at Berger's feet and smiled. "If you had really hurt my brother it would have been me who wanted to cut your balls off. You'll stay out of these woods from now on if you know what's good for you."

Pat turned and led his brother back up to the trail and continued their hike. Mike was quiet for a while and then put a hand on Pat's shoulder.

"Thank you, I don't know what I would have done if I'd been out here alone," He said.

"You need some friends to run around with. Maybe I'll introduce you to Neil. He's your age and lives up the street from Perry."

"You and Perry are kinda tight," Mike said. "That's cool. So who was that Berger guy ... and how do you know those little kids?"

Pat smiled. "Berger is just nobody, and as for Steve, everyone needs a small army on their side." He went on to explain how he had first met Steve and the cool little fort they had hidden in the woods. By the time he was done talking they had reached the regional park and Pat kept his promise of buying Mike some lunch.

Mike was exhausted by the time they got home and yet this was the happiest he'd been in a long time. Pat wiped the scratch on his brother's arm with some antiseptic but it didn't need a bandage. Mike seemed to look at it as a battle wound, and that made him happier still.

Pat managed to catch up to Barry on the phone and told him of the encounter, suggesting that maybe it was time for the permanent Berger solution.

"It'll have to wait," Barry said, "I have chess camp coming up."

"Chess camp? They have a camp for chess players?"

"Of course they do, there's a camp for everything," Barry said.

Pat didn't want to laugh, but he did until Barry asked the pertinent question. "So how's it going with Perry?"

"Ah, Perry ... I'm in love," Pat said.

Barry sighed. "I knew that was going to happen. Just don't shut me out of your life while you're cuddled up to him."

"No way, you're my best friend," Pat said.

"Thank you," Barry said. "I'll be back in a week and maybe we can all get together."

"I'd like that," Pat said. "By then we might have more pieces to the puzzle about Jenny Hudson."

"Still working on that?"

"Yeah, Perry has been a big help. I'll tell you all about it when you get back," Pat said.

"Looking forward to it," Barry replied. "Give Perry a kiss for me."

Pat thought about that after they hung up. It felt good to have Barry's support for the relationship, Perry would only agree. As for solving the puzzle, he wasn't really sure there was any one answer to the fantasies of a teenage girl, but there would be the story from the other side.

All along Pat was sure he would have to speak to John Parsons about the drowning, he had just been avoiding the confrontation. Soon he would begin working on the larger drawing of the mill house and that would take him some time to finish. Once it was done he could take it up to Reed's Photography and have it photocopied.

He would find a way to present a copy to John Parsons in hopes that he would want to show it to the elder Parsons. Maybe he would allow Pat to make the presentation, and just maybe that would get him into the house to look around. It was worth a try, but that meant he had to do a superlative job on the drawing.

Perry came home to find Pat sitting on his bike in the shade of the garage overhang. Mr. Long gave Pat a wave as he carried the box of pizza in through the back door to the kitchen. The two boys shared a hug right there on the spot where anyone who cared to look could see them.

This is what was so right about loving Perry, Pat thought. It was between them and nothing else mattered. But in the past few weeks Pat had been at the house for dinner more frequently than he had at home, and that made him feel a little guilty.

His parents didn't fuss as long as they knew where he was. But his mother had managed a visit to the bowling alley just to make sure Mr. Long was okay with the arrangement and she came away satisfied.

"So how was your day with Mike?" Perry asked as they climbed the stairs to his room.

"Eventful," Pat said, and then went on to explain.

Perry undressed and walked to the bathroom for a shower while Pat followed along telling the story. He had seen Perry naked dozens of times and yet each moment affirmed the nature of their relationship. Even as he continued to talk, Pat's mind drew erotic images of Perry standing under the spray of the shower.

They had been lovers for over a month now and with that shared milestone had come the feeling that there were new heights that had to be climbed. Pat had wondered when it would happen, but Perry had been the one to open the discussion.

"I went to the drugstore today," Perry had mentioned the previous evening. "I bought condoms."

Pat was speechless. There was only one reason Perry would feel he needed to make that purchase.

Perry smiled at the results of his revelation. "Now we have a choice to make, but before we decide who goes first I need to say something."

"Okay."

They had been naked on the bed basking in the afterglow of their latest bout of lovemaking. The bedroom had the pleasant smell of vanilla thanks to the candle burning on Perry's bureau. The room was lit by that single flame and shadows danced in the corners as the cool air from the overhead vent swirled the scent around them.

"My life was pretty empty after mom died," Perry began. "I was so young ... much too young to understand the growing feelings I had. I don't think I could have told my father at that age, but I had some concept that I wasn't like other boys. I've always believed that gay is something you're born with, but that understanding comes much later for some of us.

"But what son can tell his father that when he read stories about other boys it made him tingle inside? I fell in love with other boys in books and movies. I had crushes on some of the handsome boys in television shows. The images weren't sexual that young, but I knew it would feel so wonderful to just hold them in an embrace.

"Of course the feelings changed when I was around ten or eleven. By then I knew about sex and what men did with women. Like you I found other things to look at and read online because by then my feelings had a name. What I heard in school about being gay was very negative, but the websites spoke a different language. It was all so confusing that I had to tell my father."

Perry's eyes were glowing in the dim light, the emotions running high. Pat reached out and laid a hand on Perry's chest. In response Perry turned his head until their eyes met.

"I was scared of telling him because his life had been so difficult and I would be adding another weight to that load. But no sooner had I begun to explain my fears then he stopped me. Do you know what this means?" Perry asked, and he made several gestures in sign language.

"I've seen you do that," Pat said.

"It means 'I love you'," Perry said. "My father repeated that three times and then sat there looking at me. He knew, Pat, he already knew I was gay. I was eleven years old, barely working my way into puberty, and my father was telling me that being gay was just fine with him.

"I cried, boy did I cry. He said my mother had known I was different and had warned him the day would come when I understood what that meant. I think that was the longest conversation we've ever had about life ... until you came along."

"You ... you've talked about us?" Pat asked.

"He wanted to know what our love meant, meaning how far had we gone in bed. I assured him we would be going all the way at some point but that it would be safe and clean sex, meaning condoms. I think that's all the assurance he wanted since I know a lot more about gay sex than he does.

"So I bought condoms and here we are ... except I've decided I want you to wear one for our first time. I'm sure it won't be that difficult for either of us to get used to, but I want you to break me in, so to speak."

"I ... I guess. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I've been ready since I reached puberty. You have no idea what went on in my dirty little mind when I masturbated back then. So ... tomorrow night then?" Perry said.

Pat nodded, and here they were. They ate pizza with Mr. Long and Pat tried not to think about what was going to happen later this evening. Perry didn't seem the least bit concerned as he shared with his father the encounter Pat had with Berger. At the end of that story Mr. Long thought for a moment, made a few signs to Perry and then stood up, reaching across the table to shake Pat's hand.

"My father thinks you are a model of strength and good judgment. You didn't hurt Berger, but he thinks the punishment was appropriate," Perry said.

"I think Berger's punishment is just beginning," Pat said. "Steve's little army has their sights set on him now and they're fearless."

They all laughed and then Mr. Long excused himself for the evening.

"What does he do all by himself?" Pat asked.

"Dad? He does the accounts for the business and then writes for a while until bedtime," Perry said.

"He's writing?"

"Yes, he writes inspirational stories for handicapped people, and several of them have been published. My parents wrote the first one some years ago and that was all about starting your own business. I think it's his way of continuing what they started together."

"I really like your father," Pat said.

Perry smiled. "I do too."

"I'm going to start that drawing," Pat said. "I have enough detail sketches to work it all out."

"That's cool. So you'll enter it in the school art show?"

"I think so, Barry is pushing me in that direction. I'm going to give a copy to the Parsons."

Perry nodded. "I figured you would."

How little did either of them know what boundaries they would cross with a simple act of love. Pat was expecting the worst in his performance and afraid he would hurt Perry in the process. But Perry knew a thing or two about his body, and how much emotions would play in the act.

They came together after a little fumbling with the foil wrapper and one of those which way is up moments, and then there was bliss. Perry had always thought that virginity was overrated, but in giving his to Pat he knew that it was important enough to cement the relationship for a long time to come.

Pat was stunned at the feelings which swept through his body and bathed his mind with a warm and emotional sensation, which unfortunately didn't last quite as long as he expected. But when he groaned and expressed his doubts to Perry he was met with a smile as the boy held up a second foil wrapper and said one word: "Later."

Sex was one of the few things in life where there was a second chance to do it right, and it would be after midnight before Pat made himself proud. The only lingering doubt that remained was if he could be as self-assured as Perry when it came time to return the favor.

"You know," Perry said, looking down at the second condom in his hand. "I wonder if Jenny Hudson was a virgin when she met John Parsons."

"What? Where did that thought come from?" Pat asked.

"Look at how extreme the fantasy was. I mean how many high school girls want sex with a beast like the Minotaur? The more I think about it the first two paintings begin to have more significance. The blond guy might have been a boyfriend who dumped her for the girl in the second painting. She obviously had issues with both of them."

"This is all speculation, Perry ... there's no way for us to find out."

"Maybe it's in the yearbook?" Perry said.

"I looked her up already," Pat said.

"But did you look up the two students in the paintings?"

Pat's eyebrows went up. "No ... I never thought of that. Let me guess, you have your brother's yearbooks from school."

Perry smiled. "Of course I do."

Perry dug in his library and they turned on the bedside lamp to view the contents of the four books. Jenny Hudson would be in at least two of them.

"That's my brother," Perry said, pointing at a photo of a boy in a football uniform.

"Jockus Americanus," Pat said. "I can see you got all the handsome features from your father."

Perry snorted and started turning pages. At least the yearbook had an index which listed each student and the various pages on which they were mentioned. "Page twenty, and there she is junior year ... a pretty girl. This must be in art class."

"See any blond guys around her?" Pat asked.

"There's one ... no two, but I can't see their faces. I need a name to find the portrait shot. There we are, Alan Wright is one of them, and the other is ... Michael Berger."

The name stopped them both cold. "You don't suppose ... " Pat said.

"Our little Berger buddy isn't a blond."

"No ... let's look at the portraits."

Perry thumbed to the junior part of the yearbook and the pages of posed photos.

"Michael Berger," Pat said when they came to the picture. "It looks like a bleach job."

"Could be ... let's find Wright."

Alan Wright was a fairly unusual looking boy with bright blue eyes, but a nose you could hang a coat on and big floppy ears.

"That is not the boy in the painting," Perry said. "Let's go back to Berger ... no wait, go back to the index on Hudson."

There were two other photos of the girl in the social and clubs section of the yearbook, and Michael Berger was in both of them. Perry dug out the paintings and spread out the one of the boy. They had only half a face for comparison, but that was enough.

"It's him," Pat said.

"Yeah, I agree," Perry said.

"So Berger has an older brother," Pat said. "I wonder ... I mean the other day Steve told Berger to leave them alone or he would have his older brother take care of business. Berger didn't say anything about having his own big brother."

"We don't know they're related, but we can sure find out," Perry said.

"And how do we do that?"

"Berger's parents had to fill out a family permission slip before the boy could race his car on the tracks. My dad has that information in his computer downstairs. I'll ask him in the morning." And then Perry smiled and handed Pat the condom. "You still have some work to do, mister."

They slept in since they had been up so late. Pat woke up with an urgent need and the proof sticking straight out in his boxers. Damn, how did it do that after all it had been through the night before? Then he smiled. Yes, sir, he was no slouch in the love department.

Mr. Long was just about to leave for work when they ambled down the stairs looking for some breakfast. Perry gave his father a hug and then posed the question.

"Dad, you know Berger, that kid who's been such an ass? Do you remember if he has an older brother?"

His father returned the question with a volume of signs as Pat sat at the table and waited.

"Oh," Perry said. "Thanks, I will."

Mr. Long looked at Pat with a smile and held out his arms. He got his hug and then walked out the back door.

"So what did he say?" Pat asked.

"I'm going to have to teach you ASL," Perry said. "He remembers the Berger family information because he spoke with Mrs. Berger the last time Mark misbehaved at the lanes. Mark Berger, that's our boy. He does have a brother named Michael, but he was taken off the list when he went in the Army early last year."

"So the older brother is out of the picture, so to speak," Pat said.

"Seems so, but that's why Dad has been so patient with Mark. He thinks Mike Berger is off in Iraq or someplace. That's terrible."

"Don't tell me you feel sorry for the little brat?"

"I'm just saying that I have an older brother and I'd feel like crap if he was in a war zone," Perry said. "Makes you wonder what Mark thinks. I can't be unfeeling about things like that, it isn't me."

Pat nodded. "Okay, I get it. Just don't ask me to be friends with the little jerk."

"You want eggs or cereal?" Perry asked.

Another piece of the puzzle, but what good did it do them? Jenny might have dated the Berger boy and then been dumped by him. Guys in high school did that all the time. So she painted an ugly picture of him, so what? Then it seems she had moved on into her sexual fantasy world.

Everything led back to the mill house and the people who owned it. It was time to start the drawing, get it done and go knock on the door of Parsons' house. The only person they had left to question was Parsons himself, if he would talk to them.

Pat began the drawing that week, but it went slowly. He was carrying the big portfolio case around now which was awkward as hell on his bike. But Perry allowed him time out on the deck under the shade of an umbrella and the peacefulness of the setting allowed Pat to focus.

By the fifth day of work Pat had the basic building on paper and decided he needed another look at the yard and the surrounding shrubbery. He would have to put some foreground in the drawing to give the mill house some character. The photos he'd taken just would not do which meant another look at the setting.

Perry came with him just to see if he could get a glimpse of John Parsons. The walk up the driveway was a hot one since it hadn't rained all week long. The weatherman was using that word drought in the news once again and Pat could believe it. They were both pouring sweat when they reached the top of the lane.

The yard looked baked with dried stalks of grass sticking up here and there, but the shrubs in front of the house looked fine. Pat heard the sound of a large engine running, as if someone had started a huge truck and was holding the accelerator down. They crossed the yard towards the noise which was coming from someplace behind the barn.

"Oh wow, will you look at that," Perry said, and the noise was explained.

One of the outbuildings was the source of the noise, and Pat could see that the doors on the building were wide open. Inside they glimpsed a huge diesel pumping station and further beyond the results all this noise produced. The vineyards were being watered and the spray of water was producing clouds of mist that were shot through with rainbows.

So much water, Pat thought, and the only place it could come from was the lake. No wonder the vineyard had been located here. The lake was a ready source of water for the dry months. The throbbing noise filled the air with vibrations and Pat knew they shouldn't go any closer to the pumps.

He turned to Perry to say something and saw movement out of the corner of his eye. A tan pickup truck was making its way down the road towards them, windshield wipers going as the vehicle drove through fountains of spray. Pat pulled Perry back from the road and they stood waiting for the truck.

John Parsons was behind the wheel and nodded as he drove up and stopped the truck. Pat had forgotten how tall and tanned the man was, but that all came back to him as Parsons stood up out of the truck.

"Can't hear yourself think over here," Parsons yelled. "You boys ought to go back in the yard by the house."

Pat took the hint and headed back towards the house with Perry in tow. Parsons followed along in his truck. The sound of the pumps was muted once the barn blocked the noise. The truck pulled up in front of the house and the boys walked over.

"I hope you don't mind, I brought Perry along to see what I'm drawing," Pat said.

"Saw you boys the other week when you went for a swim," Parsons laughed. "Won't catch me crossing that bridge. So what brought you here today?"

"I've drawn the house out fairly well. I just needed to refresh my mind about the plantings."

"Looks pretty good, does it?" Parsons asked.

"It looks great ... better than the one Jenny Hudson painted," Perry said.

Parsons looked shocked, and then his face relaxed into grim slump. "So that's what this is all about."

"No sir, I didn't find her paintings until after we had spoken. I will admit the rumors about this place first brought me up here, but the house is just so incredible I had to draw it," Pat said.

"That girl ... you have no idea how painful that episode was ... is," Parsons said.

"I ... I don't think she was in her right mind," Perry said. "From what we've learned about her life there was a good deal of trauma and fantasy."

Parsons stared up at the house and shook his head. "You have no idea. How did you learn so much about her?"

"My parents bought the Hudson's house ... I found her paintings in the attic," Pat said.

"I never knew she painted," Parsons said. He pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and wiped his forehead. "First time she came over here with her friends they startled my father, made him angry. He sent me down to chase them off the property." Here he paused. "Are you guys thirsty? Why don't you come inside and have some tea?"

Parsons turned towards the front steps and Perry smiled. Pat caught that, knowing the boy had stirred things up just to see what would happen. Pat nodded and followed Parsons across the driveway and up the steps with Perry right on his heels.

The floor of the porch was made of massive oak planks scrubbed to almost a white color. Wicker chairs and tables lined the brick walls of the house, something Pat had not seen from down in the yard. The front door was a good four feet wide with a leaded glass window in beautiful colors. The design featured bunches of grapes on the vine ... of course it would.

Parsons turned the door knob and pushed into the front hallway. Pat wasn't exactly sure what he had expected to see, but it wasn't this. The hallway was paved with large dark grey squares of stone neatly laid against one another and polished by years of use. But it was the thick wooden posts that defined the space.

"I don't know if you're familiar with the operations of a grist mill like this one, but let me show you something," Parsons said.

Pat and Perry followed him to the right into a living room. The floors in here were more of those heavy oak planks, but they were covered with rugs. More posts divided the room, but between them were plaster walls.

"The posts run throughout the house because of the weight above us," Parsons said. "I imagine that made it difficult to remodel into a home but they did a good job of incorporating them into the décor.

"This floor was the receiving end of the operation. Grain came in at this level, went up a conveyor to the third floor and was poured into a hopper above the grinding stones which are on the floor above us. Flour came back down a chute to this level, was bagged and went back out the door to the wagons."

Pat could see lots of heavy furniture spread throughout the rooms, but nothing said any of it was used, at least not now. There was a light coating of dust on the horizontal surfaces but no sign of a housekeeper. The place was like a museum ... one that had not been open in quite some time.

Parsons led them down the hallway to a narrow staircase and they climbed up to the second floor. There was a closed door at the top which seemed most unusual.

"My great-grandfather was a little eccentric," Parsons said. "He converted the mill to a home but changed very little up here." He reached in through the doorway and threw a heavy electrical switch which turned on the lights.

The door opened into a vast space. More posts, but no walls. Instead out in the middle of the floor was all the machinery of the mill, including a huge set of mill stones. A conveyor lay on the floor beneath all the overhead belts and gears, as if someone had just pulled it up here and dropped it.

The shaft which drove the mill came up through the floor and was attached to a series of gears that turned the top stone. Otherwise the area was littered with assorted equipment which would have been used in the processing, and some of it looked centuries old.

The stones looked like they might weigh tons and Pat was fascinated by how they might have been lifted up here into position. The same would be true of removing them, and that's probably why they were still here. The stones, the gears, even the light fixtures were ancient, and something an artist would find attractive.

"There are no windows on this level because of the dust," Parsons said. "The original roof was probably tin, but to get light down here they had air shafts all over the top floor. If you look at the ceiling you can still see the bolt holes for the glass panels that sealed them off."

"No lights?" Perry asked.

"This all operated before electricity. A shame really, they could have produced free power from the water wheel. But because of the dust in the air they couldn't have any open flames or gas lanterns. A flash fire would have killed everyone in the room."

"So why not have big windows?" Pat asked.

"Pretty much the same reason, a fire hazard. Oxygen would have fed the flames, and the employees couldn't be trusted not to open the widows," Parsons said.

"People had to work in this environment? That must have been terrible," Perry said.

"Yes, I'm sure it was, but they didn't have a choice. The mill was opened in the early 1800's by a man named Abner Wood. He built the mill and the dam across the creek. We had several thousand acres until my grandfather sold that property across the highway about forty years ago to a developer. But Abner got his name on it so that's why it was originally called Wood's Lake, and then shortened to Woodlake."

"Ah," Pat said. "But if this was the family farm why didn't he keep the property?"

"The Depression, taxes, you name it. He needed the money to get the government off his back or face forfeiture of the farm."

"So Wood sold the mill, any idea why?" Perry asked.

Parsons looked around the room and Pat got a sense that he was trying to imagine this place in operation.

"The mill was worked by slaves until the Civil War came along. A Union garrison set up here and the mill was turned to producing flour for the Army. Mr. Wood had no choice but to free his slaves, although many of them stayed right here and worked for Army pay.

"Wood moved on a few years after the end of the war and then the mill was shut down and left to rot. My great-grandfather tore down the slave cabins and plowed them under when he bought the land."

"So there were slaves here, and in the rest of the state back then," Perry said.

"You know your history," Parsons said.

"How did you learn all this?" Pat asked.

"Abner Wood kept great records of what the mill produced and his expenses, but he also kept journals about what went on in and around the mill. I've read some of it, although the ink is fading and his handwriting was atrocious."

"Um, are you willing to show them to me?" Perry asked.

"So Pat is the artist and Perry the scholar," Parsons said. "Sure, knock yourself out. I haven't opened them in a decade, but most of it is pretty boring."

"Thank you," Perry said.

Parsons took another look around the room and sighed. "I can't imagine what kind of hell this must have been with the mill in operation. I know the flour dust still circulates around the house after all these decades, it gets into everything. We had a hell of a time sealing off the third floor and keeping it clean."

"What's up there?" Pat asked.

"Come on ... I'll have to show you," Parsons said.


On to Chapter Seven

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