Read Online The Winter Place by Alexander Yates - Free Book Online Page B

state.”
    â€œI see. We’ll have to look into that.” Mrs. Ridgeland nodded up in the driver’s seat, and Tess knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that the hare would be coming with them. A tiny loss, in comparison, but Axel would take it hard. He loved that little animal.
    They passed the exit for Camillus and came abreast of Onondaga Lake, on the final stretch to Syracuse. The lake was lined with a low, marshy forest. Red-winged blackbirds tilted among the reeds, trilling. Up ahead were the remains of theconcrete pedestrian bridge. It looked like a diving board now, terminating in a crisscross of caution tape, a full stop, a drop into the passing lane. They glided under it without a word.
    â€œGrandfather,” Tess said.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œYou said grand parents . It’s grandfather, singular. No matter what he told you.”
    â€œNone of my business,” Mrs. Ridgeland said, sounding relieved that it wasn’t.
    The funeral was a lot bigger than Tess had expected. A good portion of the faculty and student body of the College of Environmental Science and Forestry turned out, along with the Mud Lake Birding Society and the performance troupe from the Renaissance Faire. As they approached the site, Tess was horrified to see that Sam’s fellow knights of the realm were attending in full-on period pretend—swords snug in scabbards, colored plumes sprouting out of their helmets like gouts of flame. Kilted bards played a running dirge on lute, bagpipe, and fiddle. The bizarre crowd parted as Tess and Axel approached, and people shushed one another, all of them apparently nervous about making eye contact with the newly minted orphans. Tess heard someone say her name, and only then did she recognize her grandfather among these strangers. He’d shaved,and his hair was pulled back into a clean, puffy ponytail. He wore a pressed but ill-fitting suit, and when he hugged her he smelled of toothpaste and nothing else. And he was alone, thank God.
    Grandpa Paul led them to the core of the gathering, where Sam’s casket sat bedecked with wreaths of nettle and blackberry. As they arrived, a Lancelot-looking dude stepped out of the milling mourners. He dropped to one knee before Tess’s little brother, presenting Axel with what appeared to be Sam’s replica sword, leathered hilt first. After a moment Tess recognized him as the black knight—rather, she corrected herself, the acned grad student who played the black knight every year in exchange for a handful of meal vouchers and ax-throw tokens. Her brother accepted the blade with the same solemnity with which it was offered. Then the knight turned to Tess and fell to his knee once again. Her father’s jousting shield was strapped to his back, and he unslung it and made to hand it over. Tess gave him a look that could have pierced any shield, replica or not. The black knight got up and backed away. The music stopped, and somebody started speaking into a wireless microphone, which she guessed meant that the funeral had begun.
    â€œBe nice,” Grandpa Paul whispered to her. He was right—these people weren’t trying to beanything but comforting. And besides, Tess knew that this was probably how her father would have wanted it, if he’d been around to cast a vote. So she did her best to quarantine the cornered, angry part of herself. It wasn’t easy.
    Slowly the microphone moved through the crowd. Grandpa Paul said a few words when it was his turn, but he had to stop when his voice fell to pieces. Sam’s students took over, sharing their memories of a professor generous with his time, a professor as pleased with their successes as they were. The pretend king talked about an excellent rider. A member of the birding society used the word “grace.” Tess scanned faces as these strangers spoke, but found that she kept coming back to one in particular—an older woman with