Thomas Wilderwood founded the town, back in the 17th century. There's a statue of him on a plinth in the square across from the town hall, glaring down at passersby from under the brim of one of those big buckled hats they wore back then. We didn't actually put anyone on trial for witchcraft here, but Thomas looks like he'd have been totally up for that.
A century later Jonathan Wilderwood rallied the town militia at the church at Trinity Cross and led them out to fight the redcoats during the Revolution. He's got a statue as well, on the green in front of the church where he gave his big speech. He's not glaring at anyone, but looking up at the sky with one hand laid over his heart and another holding a flintlock pistol behind his back.
There's also a statue of his great grand-son, Ethan Wilderwood, in the grounds of Wilderwood College. He was a colonel during the Civil War, and is standing smoking a cigar, with his sabre drawn and one foot resting on what's either a rocky outcrop or - if you look at it from certain angles and in the right light - a pile of human skulls.
That statue is a war monument, dedicated to everyone from the town who died in the Civil War, but it's still a Wilderwood that was chosen to represent them.
There's also a bust of William Wilderwood in the hall of the high school, and another of his wife, Emily, in the town library. William was Ethan's nephew and he and Emily were major contributors to the school and the library, as well as the town's museum and public parks and any number of other town improvements and good causes.
He's also the last of the Wilderwoods to have a big entry in the History of... section of the official town website. So far as the last hundred years or so go we're barely a footnote.
= = =
I know all this because since we got home we've been looking online to see if we can verify any of what I was told of the family history when I was out at Conway. There's not much to find, and it doesn't help that any search of our family name gives a lot of results that relate to the town itself, and the huge number of places in town that include Wilderwood in their names. When one of us is specifically mentioned it's usually as part of local history.
The high point of our research is probably when we find a blog article titled 'The Ten Most METAL War Monuments', which gives Ethan Wilderwood's statue a place in the list on account of the heap of skulls at his feet. I guess that's justified.
Still, it's not much to show for a couple of hours of searching, and having failed to find anything else of much interest, and basically nothing after about 1920 or so, it's Emma that says what we're both starting to think.
"This could all be complete bullshit. You think of that, little brother?"
Our parents haven't come home yet and we're sitting on the couch in the lounge. At least I'm sitting, and Emma is stretched across the full length of the couch, her head laid back on the armrest and her legs draped over my knees.
"Which part?" I ask. "The part about Dad having an affair or the part about our great grandfather being a gangster who basically disowned our side of the family when he left everything to great-uncle Nathan?"
Emma shrugs. "All of it? I mean you didn't see Dad doing anything with..."
"Morgan."
"Right, and the old guy you were talking to at the gas station..."
"Henry."
"Right. I mean he's really old. Maybe he's..." my sister makes a vague gesture, "...y'know... not totally with it."
"His description of Alex Trowley was pretty accurate," I say. Emma shifts slightly and her tight black vinyl pants squeak softly as her thighs rub together. I rest my hands on the slick, smooth material, feeling how it tightens on my sister's legs as she stretches.
"Yeah," says Emma. "That's hard to deny. What was he doing out there?"
"Asking questions. About us." Emma took off her bike boots when we came in and I slide my hand down to the short zips at the ankles of her pants. The metal looks exceptionally sharp and bright against the sleek black and I run a zip up and down idly, peeling back the high gloss vinyl encasing her legs then sealing it back up.
"If he was right about Trowley let's just assume he was right about everything else," I say. "It does all fit in with what we knew about the family history."
"What we thought we knew."
"Yeah."
"Which isn't much."
"I was never really interested," I say. I draw the zip down again and watching the edges of the black vinyl pull together around my sister's slender ankle. I push my hands slowly up her legs, over her knees to her thighs. "Remember the looks we'd get at school whenever our names came up in history lessons?"
Emma laughs and sits up, using her elbows to push herself down the length of the couch toward me. We draw in close and my fingers find another zip to play with in the one that seals up the front of her pants.
"You ever look at the statue of Jonathan Wilderwood in Trinity Cross?"
"Not since Mr. Alderney took my class on a history walk," I say. "Why?"
"Just wondering if there's any family resemblance."
I snort. "I wouldn't think so, Sis. I don't even look much like Dad, let alone like my great great great whatever."
Emma shifts again, pushing her crotch into my fingers. I start to pull the zip down while moving my other hand around to the back of my sister's head, sinking my fingers into her dark hair and pulling her in for a long kiss.
"Yeah," she says between kisses, her hands playing over my chest and shoulders. "You're slimmer, darker haired. You have a nicer butt too."
"You've been looking at Dad's butt?"
My sister laughs and runs her tongue over my lips, licking me like a cat. "Oh god no. That would be weird."
We both laugh and I chase her tongue around with mine. With the zip down I slip two fingers in between the metal strips, parting them and feeling my sisters' smooth, shaved and entirely bare pussy underneath. Emma shudders as my thumb finds the small steel ring that pierces the hood of her clitoris. "Fuck..."
I rub the little nub of flesh with my thumb and my sister clutches at me as my movements put soft pressure on the ring as well, making her gasp and shiver against me. I feel her hard nipples pushing through her tee against my chest and when I spread my fingers out and send two sliding down to her slit I find it hot and wet.
"Don't stop, little brother..." Emma groans softly. She's pushing her hips forward now, her thighs spread wide, inviting me into her. I curl my fingers up and push one slowly into her, then another, spreading her wet pussy lips with the same motion I parted the zip of her tight vinyl pants. She is slick and wet and her inner flesh seems to pulse at my touch.
Still working my fingers inside my sister's soaking slit I tighten my grip on her hair and she moans as I pull her head back to look into her face. Her dark lips are moist and glossy, slightly parted, and her tongue flickers between them as she whimpers eagerly, but it's her eyes I really notice. They're wide open, so intensely green it's like they're lit up from within, and staring into mine like she's looking straight into my soul.
I have my thumb on her clit and my fingers sunk inside her pussy. She's clutching onto me, clawing at my back through my shirt and pushing her pierced tits against my chest, and yet it's in our eyes that I feel the connection we're making most intensely. I can't take my eyes off hers, and though she tosses her head back and gasps as I delve into her, and shuts her eyes and moans through her teeth as I work my thumb over her clitoris it's always just a moment before she has her gaze back on mine.
