Chapter Twenty-Three
Fraser
“You’ve been very quiet.”
I turn at the sound of my father’s voice. It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m in the field that borders the family home in Hanmer Springs, throwing a Frisbee for two of the dogs—brown Labradors called Pinky and Perky Nana after two New Zealand chocolate bars.
“Have I?” My voice holds genuine surprise.
It’s been a busy few days. Joel came home last night, and after dinner we were watching a movie when Linc called us. It turned out that he was planning to bring Elora to Hanmer Springs in the morning because he wanted to ask Dad for permission to marry Elora, and he was hoping we’d both be there. Joel and I were wary, because Dad has been hostile toward Linc for many years. But Linc was determined, and whatever he said to Dad turned him around, because Dad gave his permission. Afterward, Linc proposed to Elora in the kitchen while we were all there, and since then we’ve all been celebrating and talking. I certainly didn’t think I’d been withdrawn.
“The others might not have noticed,” Dad says, “but I can see you’re distracted. Is it just what happened with Joel? Or is something else going on?”
I study him for a moment, wondering how much to tell him. We look very similar, I think; he’s tall, too, and we have the same build. I won’t be disappointed if my hair ends up the same shade of silver as his. We’re both more likely to listen than speak, and we share the same dry sense of humor.
I just wish I was more like him in personality.
His expression softens. “What’s up, son? I can tell something’s bothering you.”
Trying to think what to say, I take the Frisbee from Pinky’s mouth—or it might be Perky Nana, as they’re identical—and flick it so it spins across the field. The two dogs go racing off through the grass and daisies, their tongues lolling.
“Women trouble?” Dad teases.
“Isn’t it always?”
He laughs. “Who is it this time? Please tell me that this time she doesn’t come with baggage.”
He means he hopes she isn’t married, but for some reason his words make me bristle.
“She’s single, if that’s what you mean,” I say stiffly.
His smile fades, and he purses his lips. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
I put my hands on my hips and exhale. Then I massage the bridge of my nose, above my glasses. “No, I’m sorry. I’m short tempered at the moment. It’s been a helluva few days.”
“Because of Joel?”
“Partly. But…” I look away, down to the river and the forest beyond. Suddenly, I don’t want to tell him. I don’t think I can bear the weight of his disappointment.
To my surprise, he rests a hand on my shoulder and says, “Come and sit down, and tell me all about it.”
I swallow hard and follow him out of the field and down the path toward the river. It’s more like a brook here, filling the air with a musical jingle as it tumbles over the rocks. Dad leads me to the bench not far from the house, in the shade of the nearby trees, and we sink onto it, the dogs running past us to dig for stones.
“I’ve fucked up,” I say, running my hand through my hair.
He used to scold us for swearing when we were young, but now he just says, “In what area?”
“In all areas.” I glance at him, then back at the river. “I kinda don’t want to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll be disappointed in me.”
He sighs and leans forward, elbows on his knees, and studies his hands. “You’re right, it has been a shocking few days,” he says. “Nearly losing Joel… Your mother and I were out of our minds with worry. And then finding out he’d survived, and seeing him this morning… and then meeting Linc… that was a shock, I can tell you.”
“I bet.”
“Not in the way you think,” he says. “I was stunned with how he’d turned out. For some reason, he’d remained eighteen in my head, skinny and sulky and resentful. But he’s turned into a fine man. I didn’t think he’d come to anything. But I was so wrong. He’s obviously worked hard to make something of himself. And he loves Elora. I knew it then, and I can see it now. It still doesn’t come easy to me to give them my blessing. I know he’s going to corrupt my little girl.” He gives a twisted smile. “But I have to set her free. What I’m trying to say is that seeing him again, it’s made me realize how wrong I’ve been. I had all these rules and regulations for you all—for my kids, for Linc, for all the students at the school. But they’ve always been a one-size-fits-all. I thought I knew what young people need, and I’ve tried to use that to mold everyone… in my image, I guess. Like God.” He gives a short, ironic laugh.
I frown. “You can’t criticize yourself for that. So many young people have benefited from your support and care.”
He inhales deeply and exhales. Then he smiles. “This isn’t about me. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve tried to force you to be a copy of me, and that hasn’t been fair to you.”
“I’ll never be a copy of you, Dad. You’re… more than me. More honorable. More compassionate. Braver. Smarter. It doesn’t matter how much I try, I’ll never be able to come close to being the man you are.” I stop, my throat tightening with emotion, shocked to find tears pricking my eyes.
He stares at me, astonished. “Fraser! You’re kidding me? You’re twice the man I am.”
I give a short laugh, rubbing my nose. “Yeah, right.”
“Top of your cohort at university? Running a whole museum at twenty-five? You’re far smarter than I am, son. Much more forgiving. Much less proud. You have a lot to teach me.”
I can’t reply for a moment, and I struggle to stop the tears spilling over. He watches me, concerned, a hand on my back.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs.
“The museum’s in financial trouble,” I whisper. I explain what’s happened—how I organized the improvements to the west wing before the money was secured. How the various grants have fallen through. And what’s happened with Sebastian Williams and his children.
“I flew up there with Hallie Woodford to try and secure the letters,” I tell him.
“She works with Elora, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s a conservationist. Unfortunately, while I was in Tauranga I made an idiot of myself.”
“How?”
I shake my head and close my eyes. “In various ways. I was arrogant and stupid. Needless to say, I alienated Isabel, who has no intention of giving us the letters, which means there’s less chance of the museum receiving the donation from the Williams family, either. And while we were away…” I put my face in my hands.
“You and Hallie?” he asks.
I nod without lowering my hands.
He’s quiet for a moment.
Eventually, I put my hands down. “You must be so disappointed in me,” I say huskily.
“Not really.” His voice is surprisingly cheerful. When I stare at him, he smiles. “Son,” he says, “something you’ve always been able to do is learn from your mistakes. I know you won’t make the mistake again of committing to anything without securing the funding first. And after what happened with Ginger, I know you wouldn’t have gotten involved with another employee unless your feelings for her were very strong.”
“I’m in love with her,” I confess.
“Does she feel the same way about you?”
“I think so. But there’s another problem.” I brush a hand over my face, and then I tell him that she’s the daughter of Joshua Wildblood. I Googled him and his crimes this morning, and I don’t hold back, telling my father exactly what the man did.
Afterward, we sit in silence for a while. Dad closes his eyes, tilting his face up to the dappled sunlight. I know him well enough to be sure that he’s praying for guidance, so I close my eyes, too, letting the peace of the scene wash over me.
Prayer isn’t usually a part of my life anymore. But I prayed yesterday, when Joel was missing. Now, I wonder why I did that, if I don’t believe in God anymore. But the answer is never simple where religion is concerned. Dad would say that I might have turned my back on God, but that He would never abandon me. I wonder if that’s true.
“So how do you feel about what she told you?” Dad asks.
I open my eyes. The Labradors have grown bored with digging for stones and they’re now snuffling about the weeds on the opposite bank. They’re not concerned with the meaning of life. They’re such simple creatures. I miss having them around. It might be nice to get one, one day.
“I don’t know,” I reply eventually. “I think she’s worried that somehow his evil has seeped into her through her DNA.”
“Well, we know we inherit some traits from our parents, but there is no such thing as a serial killer gene.”
“That’s what I said. She’s worried that she cuts herself off from her emotions sometimes, but I said that’s more a response to childhood trauma than anything else.”
“That’s very true, and I’m sure deep down she knows that. Do you think it’s more that she feels she should atone for her father’s sins?”
I think about that. “Maybe. Doesn’t the Bible say children are responsible for the sins of their fathers?”
“Exodus 34:7 mentions God ‘punishing the children for the sins of the parents to the third and fourth generation.’ But Ezekiel 18:20 says, ‘The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son: the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him.’”
“How do you interpret that?”
“God doesn’t punish the innocent. Guilt isn’t passed through generations, but we do bear the wounds of those who’ve gone before us. And wounds can be healed. Faith, love, and choice matter more than blood. Hallie isn’t bound by her father’s evil. She’s free to be who she chooses to be.”
I watch the Labradors chasing each other, thinking about that. “I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have a father who’s committed the worst sin possible.”
“Actually,” he says, “Jesus says that every kind of sin and slander can be forgiven, except blasphemy against the Holy Spirit.”
I frown. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“I see it as a complete and final rejection of God’s grace. Basically, when a person is so far gone that they no longer care about right and wrong. If Joshua Wildblood were to ask forgiveness for his sins, and to be truly repentant, God would offer his forgiveness.”
“You really think God would forgive someone for raping and murdering eleven innocent young women?”
“If he was truly sorry? If he truly repented? Yes, I do.”
“I couldn’t forgive someone who did that,” I admit, “even if they said they were sorry.”
“That’s why God is called the Almighty and you’re plain old Fraser Bell.”
I give a short laugh.
“What’s really the problem here?” Dad asks. “Are you worried that if, for example, you were to have a son, he might inherit some evil gene from her father?”
“A son? Hallie and I haven’t even dated properly yet. It seems a bit premature to be talking about children.”
“You’re thirty, Fraser. It’s your business whether you wait another ten years to have children, or if you never have them. But you need to accept that any girl you have a relationship with might want children.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that. Hallie is nearly twenty-eight. It’s quite possible that she’s starting to think about settling down and having a family.
“So,” he says, “would her DNA be a concern for you?”
I think about having a baby with Hallie. About making love to her the way I have, without barriers, but in the knowledge that it could get her pregnant. About watching her grow with my child, and being at her side when she gives birth. About holding my son, or my daughter.
I smile at him. “No. It’s not a concern for me at all. I suppose what’s playing on my mind more is the fact that she’s haunted by what he’s done. Her mother told him where Hallie works, and he sent her a letter asking to see her. And it frightened her, I think.”
“Ah.”
“Actually, I think the thought of seeing him terrifies her. I don’t know if she’ll ever get over that, or the feeling that he somehow possesses her like a spirit.”
“Funnily enough, that’s similar to what’s happened to Linc,” he says. “Elora said he wants to have Liber Sum tattooed on his forehead.”
“I’m free?”
“Yeah. He feels liberated by the fact that he no longer has the man’s DNA inside him. Of course, I think that he’s come to accept what’s always been the truth—that even if Don was Linc’s father, he would never have turned out like him because he’s just a better man.” He sighs. “I’ve been wrong about so many things. I’ve thought I’ve known best, and it’s hardly ever turned out to be the case.”
“You sound melancholy, Dad. That’s not like you.”
“Ah, don’t mind me. Everything that’s happened with Joel, and seeing Linc, and then talking to you… It’s made me reflective, that’s all. I wish I could have done better for you all.”
“You’re not to blame for what’s happened to us. Elora’s assault; Joel’s disappearance; my idiocy. None of it is your fault. And as for Linc… yeah okay, maybe you were harsh on him, but look how he’s turned out. You must have done something right.”
His brow furrows. “You’re not an idiot, son. I don’t like to hear you talking about yourself like that.”
“It’s just that, like you, I wish I made better decisions. It’s so tough though, where the heart’s concerned.”
“We can’t choose who we fall in love with,” he says. “We can’t control our emotions. Only our actions.”
I nod thoughtfully.
“Is Whina Cooper giving you trouble?” he asks.
“She’s reiterated that I’m not to have a relationship with anyone who works for me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I told Hallie I’d resign.”
His eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. She wasn’t too happy about it, though. I’d do it, but I can see it driving a wedge between us, and I don’t want that right at the start of our relationship.”
“What’s the next step with the museum?”
“Whina said she has a few avenues to explore, I don’t know what she meant by that. She said to think about it, and she wants to meet on Monday.”
“Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”
“Hallie mentioned crowdfunding. I think building up a Patreon program would take too long, but creating a Kickstarter campaign is a possibility. Doing some public fundraising. Hallie had lots of ideas, like holding weddings in the museum, or opening a themed restaurant. It all takes time, though, and investment to start, and first I need to pay for the west wing developments.”
“I might be able to round up some donations. If we could offer Whina a proposal—fifty thousand by mid-year, or something—she might be willing to give you a breather.”
“Maybe.” I blow out a breath. “Thanks for trying to help. I know I’ve let you down.”
“You haven’t let anyone down, Fraser. You work incredibly hard, and you’ve raised millions for that museum. You’re almost single-handedly responsible for its success, and for creating all those amazing exhibits. For funding archaeological digs across New Zealand. For recovering so many new artifacts that tell the story of our amazing country. Great men don’t become great because they’re skilled at avoiding life’s challenges. They deal with them when they arise, and overcome them, and move on.”
I study my hands. “Are you disappointed, though, that I don’t go to church anymore?”
He gives a long sigh. “Maybe, a little,” he says eventually. “I thought you might follow in my footsteps one day.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I thought you might have been a priest, actually. You’re a man with strong principles and a strict moral code. You have integrity and leadership skills. You could have risen high in the church.”
“I could never have been celibate.”
“Why do you think I stopped at being a deacon?”
We both laugh.
“Seriously, though,” he says, “I understand why all three of you found it so hard to keep going to church after Elora’s assault. There have been many events in my life that have made me question my faith. Many forests I’ve had to fight my way through. But I realize now that we all have to discover our own paths.”
He rests a hand on my back. “I’m sorry I’ve been hard on you. But you’ve grown up into a fine man, and I’m proud of you, son.”
“Are you trying to make me cry?”
He laughs, and we stand and exchange a manly bearhug.
“Come on,” he says kindly. “Mum’s making scones, judging by the smell. There’s nothing like warm scones with jam and cream to put you right.”
Privately, I think it might take a little more than baked goods to sort out everything in my life, but scones certainly aren’t going to make it worse.
We join the others, and we sit outside on the deck, the dogs at our feet, and talk long into the evening. Dad doesn’t mention the museum or Hallie, and neither do I, but my thoughts turn to her repeatedly as I try to work through the problem.
I want her, and I want my job, but I don’t know how to keep them both.
The others eventually go to bed. But I stay up late into the night, the dogs snoring at my feet, watching the stars wheel overhead in their ageless chase across the sky.