The Vanishing (11 page)

I got to my feet and started marching back through the forest the way we had come, the dogs close at my heels. It felt like the pines were closing in around me. I had thought I was finished with everything that had happened to me in the past year—I really had begun to leave it all behind. And yet, here it was again, refusing to let me go.

Tears stung at my eyes and began to stream down my face. I wiped them away with my mittened hands before they froze on my cheeks. I quickened my pace, trying to outrun the emotion.

Drew caught up with me, grabbing my arm and turning me around toward him. When he saw the tears, he gave me a look of such compassion and concern—and that was all it took. The floodgates opened, and I began to let it all out, my shoulders shaking with the force of it. Drew wrapped his arms around me and held me close, rubbing my back and whispering words I didn’t quite understand.

I cried for the marriage I thought I had, for the friendships I had lost, for the funny, gentle man I thought I had married who turned out to be a sociopath, for the people he hurt. All the pain and frustration I had been holding inside for months bubbled to the surface.

As I pulled away, Drew handed me a handkerchief that had been in his pocket.

“I’m sorry,” I said, taking off my mittens to blow my nose. “I didn’t mean to do that. I must look a fright.”

“Nonsense,” he said, smiling down at me. “But you need to tell me what this is about, Julia. Right now. I want the truth, and believe me, I don’t care what it is. I will have heard worse. You can tell me you murdered sixteen people in cold blood and I’d still be on your side.”

“Sixteen? Really?”

His mouth curled into a grin. “I draw the line at seventeen.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, despite it all.

“Seriously, Julia. You need to tell me everything, especially if you think your being here is putting Havenwood in danger.”

So much for leaving my past behind. My blissful anonymity had lasted all of two days. I looked around me at the rugged pines and delicate snow cover, and realized that even here, in the pristine Havenwood wilderness, it wasn’t possible to escape my past. The truth was too powerful.

I took a deep breath, and as we walked through the forest toward Havenwood, I told him everything. How Jeremy swindled me, our friends, and hundreds more out of their life savings. How all of our friends had abandoned me, thinking I was part of it. How the media hounded me relentlessly. How lawsuits were floating out there with my name on them. How the angry victims had threatened me. And how Adrian had promised to make all of it go away, if I would just come to Havenwood with him.

Now that I was talking about it, telling Drew the nightmare that had been my life for the past year, I couldn’t stop. It was like a dam inside of me, the one that had kept my heartbreak and anger and frustration about this whole situation at bay, had burst. Finally, someone would listen to my side of things. And care. I couldn’t stop if I tried.

“Holy Jesus,” he said under his breath.

“And you haven’t heard the worst of it yet,” I said. “The day
after I left Chicago for Havenwood, my house there burned to the ground. The police suspect it was arson.”

“And you think whoever set your house afire is our visitor, here to do the same to Havenwood,” he concluded.

I could see the edge of the forest in front of us, with Havenwood standing guard in the distance. The image of flames coming out of its windows, lapping at the stone facade, swirled in my brain. I stopped walking and looked at Drew.

“Yes. That’s what I’m most afraid of. You all have been so kind to me. If anything were to happen to you—”

He held up a hand to stop my words. “Does Adrian know about the fire?”

“He was in Chicago at the time. He was there.”

Drew nodded, as though this were nothing remarkable. It made me wonder, not for the first time, exactly who Adrian was.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll have to get with him straightaway to make a plan of action. I gather Mrs. Sinclair knows none of this?”

“She knows about my history, but that’s all. Not about the fire.”

“That’s good as well. Let’s keep it that way. I’m sure Adrian will agree with me. After dinner tonight when Mrs. Sinclair takes her leave, we’ll sort this out. Adrian and I will take care of this.”

He began walking toward the house. I called after him. “But isn’t the best thing for me to just leave?”

He walked back to me and took me by the arms, his face so close to mine I could feel his breath on my cheeks.

“You cannot leave here, Julia,” he whispered. “You just cannot. Not now.”

I just stood there, my eyes locked with his. I couldn’t move, or even breathe. Just being this close to him felt like magic and energy and whispers and danger were all around us. He smiled slightly, as though he were feeling it, too.

He leaned into me, and the air between us thickened. I knew he was going in for a kiss. And although part of me wanted nothing
more than to throw my arms around him, my reason won out. I stiffened and pulled away.

“Please don’t,” I said.

He looked like he’d been stung. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back from me. “That was completely inappropriate. Please forgive me.”

I smiled, wanting to lighten the mood. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Let’s just get back to the house.”

We began walking through the snow back toward Havenwood, the dogs bounding ahead of us at a run. It felt like we were leaving the possibility of a kiss behind, too.

When we reached the front door, we stood there for a moment.

“Remember, not a word about this to Mrs. Sinclair,” he said, his voice low. “If she asks, let her know we followed the footprints into the forest and lost the trail, but that we thought it was heading back toward town. I’ll find Adrian and apprise him of the situation.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling calmer with a plan in place.

“Okay,” he said. “Now I’ve got to dig out my tuxedo for dinner.” And then he smiled. “Or maybe this calls for my kilt, eh?”

“Only real men wear skirts in the snow.”

“Challenge accepted. I’ll see you at six thirty.”

I opened the door to my room to find Marion leaning over an enormous old trunk, which had not been there before.

“What’s this?” I asked her.

She straightened up, putting a hand to her back. “Mrs. Sinclair asked me to have it moved into your room. It’s full of dresses. She said she wasn’t sure if you had brought sufficient formalwear for the dinners she’s planning to have. Now that you’re here, she’s feeling a bit more”—she paused and searched for the right word—“festive than usual, I guess you could say.”

“That’s right, I only brought a couple of dresses, and casual ones at that,” I said to her, glancing into the trunk at the taffeta and crinoline and silk. “I was wondering if I’d have to wear them over and over again. I really don’t have the funds to buy any more.”

Marion smiled. “Well, now you don’t have to. There are so many dresses in here, all beautiful. And there’s another trunk where this came from as well. Shall I hang these up in the closet for you and press something for dinner tonight?” She fingered the fabrics in the trunk and crinkled her nose. “It looks as though some of these need to be steamed.”

I glanced at the clock. It was well after noon. Drew and I had been in the woods longer than I realized, and I felt a deep chill. I was craving a long, hot bath and a good book.

“Do you have time to tend to these dresses, Marion?” I asked, eyeing the trunk. “Don’t you need to get dinner started?”

“The soup’s on the stove and the roast is ready to go in the oven,” she said, smoothing her apron.

“Then, if you don’t mind, while you deal with these”—I pointed to the trunk—“I’m going to slip down to the library and grab a couple of books. I’ve been outside all morning and could use a good soak in a hot bath.”

She nodded. “I’ll run it for you,” she said.

I padded my way through the house to the library, satisfied that I was finally learning my way through this maze. The halls, which had been so off-putting when I first arrived, were now becoming more familiar. But still, they felt empty. There were only four of us, along with several servants, in this massive house, after all. The chances of seeing someone else at any given time were very slim.

That was why, when I got to the library and began nosing around the shelves, I was surprised to hear noises coming from the east salon. Its doors were thrown open and light was streaming from them.

I crossed the room, my footsteps muffled by the Oriental rugs, and poked my head inside. A man dressed in a dark suit and two women in traditional black maids’ uniforms were bustling about. One of the women was polishing the woodwork; the other was on a ladder washing the windows. The man was clearing the remnants of that long-ago meal from the table. None of them took any notice of me. I scanned the room and saw brooms and dustpans and all manner of cleaning supplies.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me? What’s going on?”

They all snapped their heads around to look at me at the same time.

The man straightened his jacket and gave me a slight bow of his head. “Hello, miss,” he said. “We’re straightening the room for tonight’s festivities.”

“Festivities?”

“At the lady of the house’s request.”

That was odd. I knew Mrs. Sinclair had kept this room shut off from the rest of the house for years, maybe decades. I wondered what these “festivities” would entail.

I stepped into the room and looked around—it was gleaming with freshness. Now that all the spiderwebs were brushed away and the dust was swept up, it looked quite beautiful.

My gaze shot over to the fireplace—but the wall above it was bare. Did someone take down that ghastly painting? Or had I just imagined the whole thing? I shuddered and realized the cleaning crew was staring at me with expectant eyes.

“You’re doing a nice job,” I said, clearing my throat, not knowing quite what else to say. Finally I came up with “Carry on!” and backed out of the room.

We’d likely be having our drinks in the east salon before or after dinner, I reasoned, hence the cleaning. At least that horrible painting that had come to life the day before was gone.

Back in the library, I was tempted to go to the first editions shelf but then thought better of it. I was planning to read in the tub and all I’d need would be to drop a priceless volume into the water. So I moved on to the other shelves on the first floor, noticing that they were set up like a regular bookstore—in sections. I ran a finger along the spines and saw biography, travel, history, the occult—I hurried past that one—and finally came to what I was looking for, fiction. As I studied the spines for titles that interested me, the books themselves seemed to be whispering and cooing, drawing me in.

I chose
The Hound of the Baskervilles
,
Wuthering Heights
,
Rebecca
, and a couple of modern-day mysteries that I hadn’t yet read. But then I realized that I had chosen only eerie tales—my life itself was eerie enough these days—and I made a point of finding
The Shell Seekers
to balance things out. My arms loaded, I headed back out the door, excited to slip into a hot bath and lose myself in a good book.

But then I heard it again, the same small, singsongy voice, way off in the distance, as though it was coming from the past.

“
Jack and Jill went up the hill / To fetch a pail of water
…”

I snapped my head around to look toward the door of the east salon, and the image of a blond girl in a white gown was hovering there, in the air. But then she flickered and faded from view.

I stood there, frozen in terror. I didn’t know if this was a hallucination or one of the ghosts Mrs. Sinclair told me was floating around Havenwood, but at that moment, I didn’t care. Something inside of me snapped. I found my feet and pounded blindly down the hallway as though the devil himself were chasing me. I had to get out. I threw open the front door and ran outside, no coat, no boots, no gloves. I didn’t care. I would’ve run all the way back to Chicago through the foreboding wilderness rather than go back inside that house of horrors.

“Julia!” It was Drew, coming around the side of the house. “What are you doing out here?”

I didn’t stop. I didn’t answer him. I hurried down the front steps and into the driveway, oblivious to the cold.

“Julia!” Drew called again.

He reached me in an instant, grabbing me by the arms and turning me around toward him. “What’s the matter? Where are you going?”

I could barely catch my breath and leaned against him. “I saw something inside the house,” I panted.

“Come on,” he said gently, rubbing my arms. “You must be freezing. Let’s get you back inside.”

I shook my head. “No!” I cried, the image of the little girl floating through my mind. “I…” But my words trailed off. Looking into Drew’s eyes, seeing his expression of gentle concern, I suddenly felt very silly. And, all at once, cold.

“Come on,” he repeated, leading me back up the steps and through the still-open front door.

I shook my head. “I don’t know what came over me,” I said.

“You said you saw something?”

I took a deep breath, my pounding heart slowing as we walked
together through the foyer. “I went into the library to get a couple of books,” I said. “And I noticed people in the east salon.”

“The east salon?” He furrowed his brow. “Are you sure?”

“They said they were opening it up, per Mrs. Sinclair’s request.”

He frowned. “And that frightened you?”

I didn’t quite know how to go on. How was I going to tell this man I had seen, and heard, the apparition of a little girl?

“Not that, exactly,” I began. “It’s just, I don’t know, Drew. Ever since I got to Havenwood, I think I’m seeing—and hearing—things that aren’t there. It makes me feel like I’m going crazy.”

He looked at me for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something, and then closing it again. Finally, he spoke, his voice warm and gentle. “You’re not crazy. Far from it. I mean, look at all of us here at Havenwood, Julia. We’re a collection of oddities, the whole lot of us. You’re the most normal person among us.”

I thought of Mrs. Sinclair dressed in full riding gear the day before, and somehow managed a chuckle.

“But you did look terrified just now,” he went on, leading me up the grand staircase. “And that’s no laughing matter. I’ll make you this promise, Julia. You are safe here at Havenwood. Whatever it was that you saw, or thought you saw, it’s not going to hurt you.”

Somehow, I believed him. This man I barely knew had such a way of making me feel calm and secure.

“You need to promise me something in return, however,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“No more running outside into the snow,” he said. “Seriously, Julia. Night is falling. It’s going to be below zero tonight, and you were out there without so much as a coat. What if I hadn’t come upon you when I did?”

I truly didn’t know the answer to that. I hadn’t been thinking clearly; that was obvious. I wondered what sort of horrible situation I might have gotten myself into out there in the frozen woods, alone.

“You need to promise me you’re not going to do that again,” he pressed. “Please, Julia. This is why I made sure you knew you
could come to the stable at any time. If ever you feel like you have to get out of this house, and believe me, we all feel that way at times, come to the stable. That’s your refuge, night or day. Do not attempt to leave the property on your own. It’s too dangerous. Can you promise me that?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“If you really want to leave Havenwood,” he continued, “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Agreed?”

I smiled at him. “Agreed.”

By the time we reached my room on the third floor, I was completely calmed and feeling slightly chagrined.

“I’m really sorry about this,” I said to him as we stood together in the hallway by my door. “You must think…” My words melted into a sigh.

“Not at all,” he said, giving my arm a squeeze. “Are you going to be all right here? I’ve got some things to attend to before dinner.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

“Anytime, Julia. Anytime.”

Back inside my room, I found that Marion had finished with the dresses and gone, somehow leaving a snack of crackers, cheeses, and figs and a pitcher of water with lemon on the nightstand. Perfect. I hadn’t realized it, but I was starving.

I nibbled on some cheese and opened the door to the walk-in closet to take a look at the dresses—just the thing to put that embarrassing episode out of my mind. They were hanging in neat rows of teals, purples, blacks, and deep reds, each more beautiful than the last. They were old-fashioned and lovely, like something out of another place and time—which, I assumed, they were. Some were slim sheaths with plunging necklines and low backs, their fabrics glittering and shimmering. Others were more modest, with full skirts and cap sleeves. Accents of lace and pearls and embroidery adorned them. To me, they looked like something Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn would have worn—I had never owned anything like them. I hoped they’d be at least close to my size.

I noticed shoes standing beneath the dresses, delicate heels and flats. I slipped my foot into one of them—a perfect fit.

On top of the dresser sat a jewelry box that hadn’t been there before. It was open, revealing strands of pearls, long silver chains, and dangling earrings.

I was excited to play dress-up in these clothes, whomever they had originally belonged to, and glide down the grand staircase to the formal dinner that awaited me in a few hours. It occurred to me that the same thing had been done at Havenwood for more than one hundred years—guests dressing for dinner and joining their hosts for drinks in front of the fire. It gave me a sense of timelessness that I couldn’t quite define. I was at once in the present and the past, and they were both the same. I wondered if Havenwood had that effect on everyone.

I poured myself a glass of water, grabbed the copy of
Rebecca
, and headed to the bathroom, where I found a steaming-hot tub of scented water and several candles flickering here and there. Again, perfect. That Marion really had a knack of knowing just what to do, I thought. “Thank you, Marion,” I whispered into the air, and peeled off my sweater and jeans.

Before I slipped into the claw-foot tub, a thought knocked at the corners of my mind, interrupting the serenity of the moment. Our “visitor.” Had he got what he wanted? Would he be back?

I pushed aside the curtains and peeked out the bathroom window. I’m not sure what I was looking for—more footprints in the snow? A man lurking around? But what I saw surprised me.

Adrian and Drew were standing with a third man, whom I had never seen before. They were looking toward the forest where Drew and I had found the campsite, and Drew was talking to both of them. That was when I saw the third man was carrying a rifle. I watched as he walked off into the woods, and Drew and Adrian went their separate ways, Drew toward the stable and Adrian toward the house.

I slipped into the steaming water, wondering what all that was about.