Amber House (24 page)

The lump was Heavy Bear, still damp from spending a night out on the lawn. “What are you doing out here?” I asked him.

I checked out the foreshortened ladder again, trying to estimate how many rungs would have to be added to get up to where the old rungs still hung on the tree. I was craning my head up, looking at the fort, leaning against the tree, when I heard voices.

“Did you bring everything? Give me the bag.”

“
Me
the bag, Annie.”

“No. I’m bigger. I’ll carry it.”

An eleven-year-old version of my mother walked around the tree, which now showed a complete ladder. She was followed by another girl who looked like a smaller twin. Same eyes, same mouth, same hair.

“You go first, Maggie,” my young mother directed, and the littler girl started up the tree.

I yanked my hand off the bark. The two girls disappeared.

Maggie
, I thought, outraged.
Magpie.

My mother had — a younger sister. Someone I had never even been told about.

I felt like I had just lost part of my solidity. I didn’t know who my mother was. Not at all.

And what had happened to my aunt? Why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned her name? Was there something wrong with her, something bad? Was there some kind of family feud? Why pretend like she’d never existed?

Why were there so many secrets in this place?

I marched toward the house, fully intending to have it out with Mom right then, fully intending to get some answers. But I met her coming out the door, car keys in her hand.

“Where are you going?” I blurted. “I need to talk to you.”

“Well, you can’t right now,” she said. “I’ve got appointments, errands to run. I’m already late. I’m taking Sammy with me. Sam?” she called back into the entry. “Sam!” Sammy trotted into view. “Hurry now. We’ll get some ice cream. How does that sound?” She nudged Sam before her out the door and down the front steps as she groomed hay from his hair. “What on earth have you guys been doing?”

“Hey!” Sam said to me as he went past, reaching. “You found Heavy Bear.” I handed it off. That reminded me of the treehouse, and Maggie, and I opened my mouth to stop my mother, to make her give me some answers — but how would I explain what I learned?

They drove away, leaving me with the same questions I’d started with.

I wasn’t in the same lighthearted mood I’d been in earlier, but it wasn’t enough to make me call Richard and cancel our riding date. I went inside to get ready.

My riding outfit wasn’t going to be quite as snappy as my great-grandmother Fiona’s. No jodhpurs, no vest, and no little
black riding crop. But I did have the brown riding boots, and I liked the ponytail idea. By the time I got my hair slicked into a high-placed rubber band, I was looking pretty good. Not Fiona gorgeous, but cute enough.

Richard rode down the driveway right on time. He looked professional in worn brown boots over khaki pants, and a white shirt with cuffs rolled to his elbows. I admired how it set off his tan. His horse was a dappled gray, massive. When I came out, he freed one foot from the stirrup and held an arm down. “Get up behind me,” he said. “No sense walking.” I took his arm and lifted my toe to the stirrup. He hoisted me up easily.

The slope of the saddle pushed me tight against him. He wrapped the arm I had given him around his waist and nudged the horse into a lope. I could feel the muscles of his legs all along the inside of my thighs. I felt embarrassed. Among other things.

I was glad it was a short ride to the stables.

Richard sized up the horses for me since I was completely horse ignorant; he said the bay had the most spirit and the roan seemed the gentlest.

“I’m about as good a rider as I am a tour guide,” I told him.

He laughed and said, “Ride the roan.” He saddled her and held her steady as I swung myself heavily into the saddle. “I’m always surprised by the things that come out of your mouth,” he told me.

“Yeah?” I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“Yeah. You don’t shovel a lot of B.S., you know?”

“I find I’m not really smart enough to shovel a lot of B.S.”

He laughed again. “I don’t think it has anything to do with how smart you are, Parsons.”

We rode to the eastern border of the property, following a shaded, soft-earth riding trail. At the fence, he pulled up
alongside me and leaned over, putting his arm around me to point, so I could follow his sight line. What I saw was nicely sculpted arm muscles under golden skin dusted lightly with freckles, like a brown speckled egg.

“There’s my house,” he said.

I readjusted my focus. The hills sloped down across the neighboring property — another McMansion — to the wooded estate beyond, with its house above the river. Mostly I saw roof and chimneys above a thick guard of trees. But I could just make out brick walls, white-shuttered windows, some heavy columns. The front of the house I had seen from the river.

“It’s a beauty,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s one of the old ones, even though it’s only been in my family about twenty years. Mother picked the property. She wanted to get as close to Amber House as possible. I think she thought there was something magical about the dirt around here.” His voice seemed to grow the slightest bit tight when he said all this, but maybe I was just imagining it.

“Why was she so interested in the place?”

“I don’t know. I got the sense she thought she should have been living there.” He shrugged.

“Kathryn said she didn’t like my mother much,” I said. “Although, believe me, I can understand why
any
one might have a problem liking my mother.” I thought again of Maggie.

“Yeah, sorry, she didn’t like your mom.” He was remembering. “You know who else she didn’t like? That guy who lives on the edge of the estate. The dude you raced with.”

“Jackson?”

“Yep. For what it’s worth, and mind you, this is coming from my lunatic mother, but she told me once — how’d she put it? Something like, he was dangerous, or — there was something wrong with him, he shouldn’t be here.”

“Jackson? Dangerous?” I shook my head. I couldn’t see it.

“He seems a little dangerous to me, Parsons,” he said, smiling. “Hanging around you all the time. Should I be jealous?”

Jealous?
I liked the sound of that. But I was a little stumped how to answer. So I just gave him my best Fiona-brilliant smile, kicked my heel into the roan’s side, and leapt away. He nudged his horse to a canter and followed after.

We crisscrossed the eastern half of the property for about an hour. When my feet finally touched soil again, my legs felt oddly disjointed — full of pins and needles, and not under my control. I started to collapse, but Richard managed to get beneath me and catch me around the waist.

“Whoa, Parsons, you look like you’ve been hitting the sauce.” He pulled me upright. I grabbed hold of my horse’s saddle. The prickly feeling grew more intense, then began to subside.

“You going to be able to walk home, or do I have to carry you?”

Me, cradled in those sculpted arms, my fingers twined around his neck, looking up into his baby blues. “Tempting offer,” I said, “but I think I got it.”

He laughed out loud. If he was only pretending to like me, he was doing a pretty good job of it. It made me mad my mother wouldn’t just let me take him for what he seemed.

He unsaddled the roan, brushed out her saddle marks with a metal comb, and put her back in her stall. He led his horse forward. “Shall we ride back to the house?” he asked.

I hoped I wasn’t blushing, but it felt like I was. “Not getting me back on a horse again today, Hathaway.”

So he led his gelding on the walk back. “What time should I pick you up Friday?” he asked when we reached the front drive.

“Pick me up?”

“Didn’t your mom mention? They want you in Arlington for a final fitting on your dress. My dad volunteered my taxi services.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry —”

“Wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah? Ever been to a dress fitting before?”

“I am a man of vast experience, but no dress fittings, no.”

“Me either, but it doesn’t sound as fun as, you know, a trip to the dentist.”

“We’ll find some trouble to get into, I promise.”

Trouble
, I repeated in my head, kind of liking the sound of it.

My mother was turning in off the main road. Richard glanced her way, reached up and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. He grinned. “Any time you feel like riding double again, Parsons, give me a call.”

This time I knew I turned pink — my cheeks were burning. As he mounted his horse, he said, “Nine thirty on Friday, okay?”

Oh, right
, I remembered,
Richard, genius of class scheduling, has Fridays off.
I smiled, nodded. “Okay,” I said. Then he set off at a trot, posting elegantly. He even remembered to wave to my mother as she drove past.

Practically perfect
, I thought, shaking my head.
I could get used to that.

Mom, in her perverse bipolar way, asked if I’d had a good time and seemed pleased when I nodded noncommittally.
Don’t like him, don’t trust him, but enjoy yourself, honey.

She and Sam had brought home Mexican food, or what passed for it in this part of Maryland. It was just barely edible. All during the meal, I mentally tried out ways of asking Mom about Maggie, but I suspected she’d demand source material — “Where did you hear that name?” — and then what would I say? I would have kind of liked throwing in her face everything I had learned about her past, but I wasn’t ready to leave Amber House just yet. I kept it inside.

Mom went back to her party plans and Sam went to the TV. I put leftovers in the fridge and got myself a bowl of ice cream. A big bowl. With hot fudge sauce. And whipped cream. And one of those disgusting red cherries that I used to eat ten or twelve of, plain, out of the jar.

Jackson tapped on the glass in the back door.

I held up a finger — “one minute” — got out a second bowl, scooped half of my as-yet pristine sundae into it (including the cherry), and stabbed a spoon into the mess. I went to the door and handed Jackson the larger half. “You just saved me,” I said.

He shoved a big spoonful into his mouth and said around the melting ice cream, “Anytime.”

We sat on the stone step and worked on the sundaes.

“You ever hear anything about Maggie?” I asked as casually as I could.

He swallowed a mouthful before he answered. “Nope,” he said. “Should I? Who is she?”

I couldn’t bring myself to say it:
The aunt my grandmother and mother never told me about.
Maybe there was a good reason she was a family secret. Maybe something shameful. I shrugged. “Just a name I saw in Fiona’s notes.”

“Don’t know her.” He scooped his last spoonful from the bowl.

I bet myself that Rose knew about Maggie.

Jackson took my bowl, stood, and put both bowls just inside the door. Then he reached down to give me a hand up. “Walk with me for a minute.”

“Sure.” We ducked through the kitchen and out the back. He turned onto the stone path toward the conservatory.

“I wanted to ask you earlier, but I couldn’t with Sam there — are you all right? ’Cause you seemed a little shook up last night.”

I mulled over how to answer that, what to say, what not to say. I finally gave up and just spilled my guts. Like I always did. “I’ve seen a little girl running around here,” I explained, “who
seems to see me. Last night, I realized she’s the same girl as in the picture you showed me. Not the blur in the background — the one being held by the woman, who I’m guessing must be Maeve.”

“So you think you’re seeing a child from the 1860s. And you think she sees you?” He chewed on that thought. “How could that be?”

“Well, I think she’s a ghost. And she’s haunting me. I just don’t know why.”

“You don’t sound frightened.”

“I guess I’m not. Yet.”

He looked as if he was going to say something, then changed his mind. “Will you make me a promise?”

“What?”

“Promise you’ll tell me if anything gets frightening. Seems like you’re going through this all by yourself, and you’ve got to have somebody you can talk to.”

He was right. I did need someone to share my experiences with, someone I could trust. But thanks to my mom, there wasn’t anyone who quite fit the bill.

“I promise,” I lied. Then, “Thanks.”

He smiled. “No problem.”

“There’s something else you could help me with, if you wanted to. I want to get up in that old tree house in the oak out front, but the ladder is missing its first ten feet of rungs. Can we rig something up? It’ll have to be sometime when my mom is out, but she’s got a lot of errands, getting ready for the party.”