Chapter Twenty-Six
ProserpinaPresent Day
“So the stag was a boy?”
“I think you mean a young man,” Rebecca corrects from her perch at the end of the table.
“Ugh, fine,” I say. “The stag was a young man?”
We’re all gathered around the table in the library, curving over the pictures Saint has brought from his mother’s office. Apparently she’d been leaning on her access to the Thorncombe Historical Society’s archives—archives being a stack of cardboard boxes in an old lady’s attic—to write an article about local folk customs, and she’d gathered some very, very old photographs in the process. They all seem to be of the same celebration—May Day in Thorncombe—and there’re photographs from as far back as 1899, going up until the mid-seventies.
The usual May Day props are represented: ther
