Between Two Ends Read Online Free PDF Page A

definitely
is not
. Your story leaves unsatisfying, gaping holes.”
    William turned to Yeats, and father and son regarded each other.
    â€œI don’t need to know,” Yeats assured him, “unless it helps.”
    â€œI’ll start by talking to Mr. Sutcliff,” his father said. “That’s as good a place as any.”
    Gran raised her eyebrows. “Everything starts with a story, my boy. Even poems. I thought you could start at the beginning.”
    â€œThat’s why I’ll go to Mr. Sutcliff, Mum.”
    Gran shook her head. “You and a missing girl are the beginning. I’ve lived my life without knowing the secrets of this house. At least, not all of them.We must start with what you can remember. And that may take some digging!”
    â€œWhat secrets?” Yeats asked. His skin prickled.
    Patting the wall, Gran said, “This home has an extraordinary history, my boy.”
    â€œDon’t, Mum,” William pleaded.
    â€œWhy not? It is Yeats’s history too. Besides, I promised him two stories. And now, for the second tale, and one that is closer to his heart than he knows.” She ran her finger lovingly along the oak window ledge. “Your great-great-grandfather Philip Walter Trafford was a collector of sorts. His antiques were rather unusual.”
    â€œHow?” Yeats asked.
    â€œWell, they were …” She waved her hand, fishing for the right word. “Ancient. Connected to literature in some way and …”
    â€œYes?” Yeats encouraged.
    Gran leaned forward. “Magical.”
    Yeats raised his eyebrows.
    His mother snorted. “If it wasn’t so absurd I might be amused. Doesn’t sound very scientific.”
    â€œAnd so you have been brought up to believe,”Gran said. “Science is so limiting when it is the only lens you use.” Before Faith could reply, Gran added, “Grandpa Trafford did not share your faith in science. Oh, he loved chemistry and the apothecary arts to be sure. But he also understood their source.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” said Yeats after an uncomfortable silence.
    â€œGood!” Gran tapped Yeats’s hand. “That is proper science. Clarify the terms so that we can understand one another better. Magic is what we are talking about. Not the silly kind found at a country fair with tricks and gimmicks. No—your great-great-grandfather was interested in something deeper. Something so grand the ancients could only express it through anthropomorphism, gods and goddesses, through Muses and inspiration.”
    Gran indicated the room with the closed door. “There are some very old books in the library, from a time when people did not rely on science as they do these days.” She nodded knowingly. “Grandfather Trafford loved the great books ofliterature. He said they were the best reminders of the first and greatest act of inspiration.”
    â€œAnd what was that?” asked Yeats.
    Gran raised her eyebrow. “Creation.”
    Yeats looked from one adult to another. His father’s face was drawn tightly, not with skepticism but with concern. His mother looked at the floor, smirking. Gran stared back at him unblinkingly.
    â€œOh,” said Yeats.
    Gran continued. “Your great-great-grandfather collected as many of the greatest works as he could. Paintings, sculptures, antiques of all kinds, even a pair of bookends made by a Dutch sculptor.”
    â€œBookends,” William repeated. “I remember those.”
    â€œMr. Sutcliff believes the bookends are the key,” Gran said. “Which is why I mentioned them.”
    Yeats gaped at his father, then at Gran. His mother spoke for him.
    â€œYou’re not serious? I know the house is weird, but please!” She appealed to William. “You said that you and Shari had wild imaginations, that perhaps …” She checked herself when she sawher son’s face. “Yeats?