The House of Secrets

by Elizabeth Blackwell

  “Suit yourself. You know me—always ready to tear things apart!”

  “Any other changes you’d make?” Alissa asked.

  “Oh, plenty,” Constance teased. “But that doesn’t mean the house isn’t lovely as is.”

  “Really? You don’t think I’m a complete fool for buying it?”

  Constance carefully wiped her lips with her napkin, then leaned toward Alissa.

  “Between you and me, I think you got the bargain of the century,” she said.

  Alissa laughed with relief. “Thank you. I mean—I was so sure I was doing the right thing when I signed the papers, but lately, I’ve wondered what I’ve gotten myself into.”

  “Of course you have. I feel like that on every job I take. There’s always a hidden support beam that can’t be moved or some other random complication. But this place—Alissa, it’s wonderful.”

  Alissa grinned.

  “It’s got such great bones,” Constance continued. “The rooms, the way each one opens onto the other, with fantastic sight lines…it’s really ahead of its time. Now, I’d open it up even more, as I said, but even just updating it will make such a difference. Didn’t you say something about a bed-and-breakfast?”

  “Maybe,” Alissa said. “A lot of people come out here from Baltimore and Washington for the weekend. I could make extra money renting out rooms in the summer if I had to. It all depends on how my design business goes.”

  “And how’s it going?”

  “All right, I guess.” Alissa shrugged. “A few of my clients from Marsh and Mason said they’d like to keep working with me. Nothing fancy—mostly basements and kids’ rooms. Honestly, I’ve been so busy here that I don’t have time to drum up new business.”

  “Whenever you’re ready for more work, let me know,” Constance said. “I’ve got a lot of contacts who could help get you started. Anything I can do to keep you from going back to that miserable office.”

  “Walking out the door was one of the greatest days of my life,” Alissa agreed. “No regrets there.”

  “Look.” Constance pursed her lips with concern. “I’m really sorry I didn’t make it to your goodbye party. I wanted to be there.”

  “I know,” Alissa said. Despite all the confidences that the two women had exchanged over the years, there was one topic Alissa didn’t know how to address: Constance’s desperate desire for a child. Years of trying unsuccessfully to get pregnant had finally given way to tests and doctors’ visits and fertility treatments. Now, Constance and her husband, Colin, were at the mercy of a constant, ever-changing schedule of tests and procedures. When a few of Alissa’s coworkers had thrown her a combination leaving-work and leaving-Baltimore party, Constance had called to say she wouldn’t be there because she had a hospital appointment early the next morning. Alissa hadn’t needed to ask why.

  “So, the hospital?” Alissa asked carefully.

  Constance shook her head slowly. “No luck. But thanks for asking. There’s some good news, though,” she said with a determined smile. “I met with another specialist, and he thinks I’m a good candidate for a new kind of treatment. I’ll spare you the gory details—it probably won’t be pleasant—but it’s worth a shot.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” Alissa promised. “If you ever want to talk about it…”

  Constance nodded. “I know.”

  Alissa took in her friend’s wistful expression and changed the subject. “So, how does Colin like his new job?” Alissa asked.

  “It’s good enough for now. Keeping the books for a dysfunctional family business was never his long-term ambition, but at least he’ll get some decent stories out of it.” Constance’s husband had been laid off from a large accounting firm a year earlier, and Alissa had watched them both grow steadily more frustrated with his fruitless job hunt. Constance had even implied they would have to take a break from fertility treatments because of financial worries. But now that Colin was employed again, things seemed to be looking up.

  “Have you heard from Brad?” Constance asked.

  “Nope. Thank God. I don’t need the distraction,” Alissa lied. In reality, she was hurt that he hadn’t called once, even though she’d left her new number on his voice mail. After talking every day for years, it seemed impossible that they now had nothing to say. Not that she wanted to get back together. It just felt strange to have him so absent from her life.

  “His loss,” Constance said. Their laughter was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

  “Ah, it’s your new handyman!” Constance announced. “Should I get going? I don’t want to be in the way of the big interview.”

  “No, please stay,” Alissa urged. “I’d love a second opinion.”

  As the two women walked toward the front door, Constance whispered, “Do you think he’s still got all his teeth?”

  “I don’t care if he’s toothless and bald,” Alissa whispered back. “As long as he’s strong enough to pick up a hammer.”

  Still smiling, she pulled open the heavy wood door. Her smile froze and her eyes widened in surprise. The man standing before her was far from the grizzled, feeble handyman she had envisioned. Instead, she faced a man not much older than herself, with muscular shoulders and biceps that nicely filled out his gray T-shirt. She was struck by his green eyes, which stared at her intently as if equally taken with her. He ran one hand through his longish, dark brown hair, shaking her out of her reverie.

  “Alissa Franklin?” he asked.

  “Daniel Pierce?”

  His eyes crinkled amid laugh lines as they shook hands. “Call me Danny,” he said.

  “Danny.” She stood unmoving, still trying to reconcile this vigorous man with the decrepit figure she had expected.

  “Can I come in?” Danny asked, gesturing to the hallway behind her.

  “Of course,” Alissa said, embarrassed by her awkwardness. “Um, this is my friend Constance. She’s just visiting. I mean, she’s an architect, so she might have some questions for you, too. Just, you know, to get another perspective.”

  Constance stepped forward to block Alissa’s nervous chatter. “Nice to meet you, Danny.” She gripped his hand with both of hers, then turned her back to him and gave Alissa a wide-eyed smile. “Hot!” she mouthed.

  Danny ran a hand down his face as though stifling a laugh. Mortified that he might have caught Constance’s reaction, Alissa stiffened her shoulders and fixed Danny with her best professional expression.

  “I’m sorry,” Danny said good-naturedly. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I just thought you’d be much older.”

  Alissa relaxed. “I thought the same thing about you.”

  And with that, the nervousness lifted. Alissa felt like herself again. How many times had she interviewed workmen for projects? She could do this almost without thinking. As they sat at the dining room table and Alissa described her plans for the house, she ignored Constance’s meaningful looks and teasing asides. Constance—happily married for almost ten years—could enjoy a harmless flirtation. Alissa, on the other hand, would be this man’s employer. She had to make it clear she wasn’t angling for a date. No matter how hot he was.

  Taking Danny on a walk through the house, Alissa was struck by his silence. He didn’t try to impress her, although his occasional comments showed a more than passable knowledge of architecture and design. Unlike so many other men she’d met in construction, he didn’t come on strong. If anything, he appeared too thoughtful—something she had never encountered in a workman before.

  “I’ll need to check your references,” Alissa said as they returned to the front door.

  “Sure.” Danny pulled a crumpled, folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket. “There are some names and numbers on here.”

  She took the worn sheet and unfolded it gingerly. He hadn’t put much effort into the presentation. Would he be this cavalier about his work?

  “Thanks,” Alissa said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “I hope so,” Danny s
aid. “It’s a great house. I’ve driven by it so many times, wondering if anyone would ever fix it up. If I had the money, I would’ve bought it myself.”

  Afterward, Alissa deflected Constance’s teasing about the hunky handyman.

  “I can’t hire the first person who shows up,” she protested.

  But deep down, she knew she would, because he felt the same way about the house as she did. He would give it the respect it deserved. His good looks were just a bonus.

  TO AVOID LOOKING too eager, Alissa waited a full twenty-four hours before calling Danny and offering him the job. If he guessed that she hadn’t interviewed anyone else, he didn’t let on, telling her he was glad to be chosen and would be there the next morning to get started. About half an hour later, Elaine Price called.

  “So, I hear you’ve hired Danny,” she announced cheerily.

  “Word travels fast,” Alissa said.

  “The downside of life in a small town, I’m afraid. Everyone knows everything. Danny’s mother and I are old friends, and I told her to call me as soon as she heard. He’s a very responsible worker—you won’t be disappointed.”

  “Thanks for the recommendation.” Elaine’s words echoed the description she had gotten from Danny’s references the night before. Dependable. Honest. Hardworking. No one volunteered the information she really wanted: why someone like him—handsome, smart, well-spoken—was working as a glorified carpenter in the middle of nowhere.

  “I’m glad you’re finally getting some help,” Elaine said. “Though I’m impressed with what you’ve accomplished on your own.”

  Elaine seemed like the kind of person who’d call an electrician to help her change a lightbulb.

  “There was one more thing I wanted to mention,” she continued. “I was at the library yesterday—have you been there yet?”

  “No,” Alissa said. “I’ve barely left the house since I moved in, except to run to the hardware store.”

  “I got to talking with Claire Polley, who’s been the librarian there for ages. I mentioned you and the house, and she said the library has a whole box of materials on the Brewsters. You should talk to her. That is, if you’re still interested in the history of the house.”

  “Oh, yes,” Alissa said. “Very much so.”

  “Good,” Elaine said. “Claire works Mondays through Thursdays. On Fridays and Saturdays, the new girl’s there. She’s sweet but quite useless. Claire’s the one you want.”

  “I’ll try to get down there later this week,” Alissa said. But as soon as she hung up the phone, she found herself distracted from her latest project, stripping paint off a doorway molding. She glanced at her watch. Three-thirty. If she hurried, she would have an hour or so to glance through the documents. There might even be pictures of the house. Maybe, if she found one of the home’s interior, she could restore the rooms to their original decor. She could bring the house back to the way it used to be, when it was filled with happiness and love.

  Alissa spotted Claire as soon as she entered the library. She was a delicate older woman who looked as if she had been living among the stacks for decades. Her curly white hair was almost the same shade as her pale white skin, and when she reached out to shake Alissa’s hand, her arms were nearly translucent, revealing the veins beneath the surface.

  “No one’s looked at this for years,” she said, “so it’s all a bit dusty.” She pointed to a document box in a corner behind her desk. “I’m not even sure what’s here. The contents were never cataloged, I’m afraid.”

  Alissa carried the box to a long table in the center of the room. She removed the top and saw a stack of magazine and newspaper clippings piled loosely inside. She scanned the headline on the first article: Brewster Mansion Falls to the Wrecking Ball.

  “I don’t know much about the family,” Claire said, “but I’ll try to help you if I can.”

  Alissa nodded distractedly. Claire’s voice had already faded into the background. She dug through the articles, going back from the 1960s to the 1920s, reading stories about the Brewster Shipping Company and tea parties given by women of the town. Then, toward the bottom, she spotted a headline.

  Lavish Brewster Wedding Dazzles. The date on the newspaper was April 21, 1904.

  Alissa read the subhead: Charles Brewster Introduces His Bride to Baltimore Society.

  She pulled out the article, staring at a photo of a young couple standing together, facing the camera. Charles and Evelyn Brewster. He seemed stiff and serious; she clung to his arm, wearing a formal gown with puffed sleeves, a shy fairy-tale heroine clutching her dashing prince.

  Suddenly, Alissa envied them with a force that caught her by surprise. For months, she had heard her new home described as the Brewster house. But the Brewsters themselves had remained shadowy figures. Now, finally, she would find out who they’d really been—and what had happened to them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ON HER FIRST DAY in her new home, Evelyn awoke to find her husband gone. A slight young woman was standing in the doorway. She almost dropped the tray she was holding when Evelyn sat up.

  “Excuse me!” the girl said, hunching her body as if to hide behind the tray.

  “It’s Peggy, isn’t it?” Evelyn asked. She remembered the maid’s face from the night before, when she and Charles had returned from their honeymoon and been introduced to the household staff Alma had hired.

  “Yes, Mrs. Brewster.”

  Evelyn patted the quilt next to her. “You can put that down here,” she said, pointing toward the tray.

  “Mrs. Gower wasn’t sure what you took for breakfast and asks if you’ll speak with her later. She can make anything you want. Some ladies hardly eat anything in the morning, as you know, but I said I thought you’d want a hearty meal after all your travels. Oh! I was supposed to ask if you take coffee, because I could get you that instead of tea if you prefer.”

  Evelyn smiled at the maid’s nervous chatter.

  “This smells delicious,” Evelyn said, looking over the plate of eggs, toast and fresh berries. “Tea is perfect. Is it customary for the ladies of the family to take breakfast in their rooms?”

  Peggy’s face crumpled with concern. “Oh dear, I don’t know, Mrs. Brewster. I do what Mrs. Gower tells me. She worked in the kitchen at Mrs. Brewster’s. I mean, the older Mrs. Brewster, Mrs. Brewster.”

  Evelyn smiled reassuringly. “Thank you, Peggy. Oh—one more thing. Is Mr. Brewster downstairs?”

  “No, ma’am. He went out quite early. Six o’clock or so, I’d say.”

  “Thank you.”

  Peggy pulled the door shut behind her, and Evelyn was left to face the beginning of her new life alone.

  It had been just a week since her wedding, but the days had passed in a blur of activity. Charles and Evelyn had spent their first night as man and wife at the Palace Hotel in Baltimore. As soon as they’d entered their suite, Charles had started pulling at the hooks and tiny buttons that fastened her elaborate gown.

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “This must be the true test of a husband!”

  She joined in his laughter, and that shared moment calmed her enough to face what came next. Once her gown was discarded, Charles pushed her onto the bed and pulled her underskirts aside. She lay nervously rigid beneath him, not knowing what to expect. He thrust into her body while she held her breath, wincing and wondering how long the pressure would last. After a few minutes, Charles rolled off her.

  “That’s it, then,” he sighed. “You should find it less painful next time.” He paused and gave her a quick assessing look. “Wash up, darling, you look a fright!”

  In the bathroom, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed in embarrassment. Her hair hung in tangled ringlets. She turned on the tap and took a few moments to enjoy the luxury of warm water spilling over her hands and wrists. She washed up as best she could, then changed into one of the silk nightgowns her mother had sewn for her trousseau. She listened for a moment at the door when she was re
ady, but heard nothing. What happened now? Would Charles pounce on her again?

  She opened the door slowly and peeked out. Charles lay on the bed in his underclothes, his jacket and trousers flung on the floor. He was snoring.

  Evelyn tiptoed to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers, careful not to disturb him. Her body was exhausted, but her mind hummed with thoughts that kept sleep at bay.

  The following day, Charles whisked her off for a week in New York. There were dinner parties every night, a visit to the opera, carriage rides through Central Park and shopping trips to expensive boutiques.

  “You’re a Brewster now,” Charles said. “You need to look like one.”

  Charles insisted on socializing with his friends from Harvard and their wives. Confident and sophisticated, these young couples intimidated Evelyn into silence. She did little more than hang on to Charles’s arm and look up at him adoringly when required. He was easy to admire then, with his elegant clothes and impeccable manners. The way he pulled her to his side and took her hand when he introduced her as “my wife” made her blush with pleasure.

  Their only moments alone came late at night. Evelyn would retire to their hotel room first, while Charles enjoyed a cigar or a last card game downstairs. She would change into her nightgown, brush her hair smooth, then lie in bed and wait for him. When he came in, he would toss his jacket off in the darkness with the abandon of one who has always been catered to. There were no words, only his hands pulling her body close, his lips kissing her urgently. She lay stiff and quiet, unsure what he expected of her. He did what he needed while she concentrated on breathing until he was done. Overall, it wasn’t as bad as she’d feared it might be. But not as life-altering as she’d hoped for, either.

  Now she was home. A beautiful place where she felt like an intruder. After picking at her breakfast, she got dressed and went downstairs. She walked through the rooms aimlessly, wondering how she was supposed to fill her day.

  “May I help you, ma’am?”

  It was Mrs. Trimble, the housekeeper, a gloomy woman who shuffled through the foyer as if sleepwalking.