face against the glass. Trees swayed
heavily with the force of the rain and heavy winds. The grounds
were barely visible, the woods only a curtain of darkness in the
distance. I strained my eyes to see something in the rainy mist, but my breath clouded the window, obscuring my view.
Water puddled near the doors and threatened to run farther
into the room. The thick towels I’d thrown down could only soak
up so much water, and it took two trips to the bathroom, wringing them out in the tub, to get it all tidy again. In final frustration, I dropped them into the bath. Dirty towels were better than a dam-aged floor.
I wanted nothing more than to put on my pajamas and go to
bed. My body ached like I’d just run a marathon, and my head
hurt. When I reached into my overnight bag, I knew something
was wrong. I had always been fastidious with my packing. I had a
88
ELLEN J. GREEN
system. Samantha teased me about it. Underwear on the bottom,
followed by socks neatly folded together. Jeans and casual wear
were next. Items that wrinkled easily were always packed on top
so I could take them out and hang them right away. I even carried one of those travel steamers.
The clothes in my bag were in disarray. A sick feeling in my
stomach spread through my body and ended up in my throat. I
dumped the contents of my bag onto the bed. My journal. I knew even while my hands scattered clothes across the bed that it was
gone. My journal chronicled my every thought and feeling from
the past two years. Every fight, every annoyance, every aberrant
behavior of my husband’s was in there. Every emotion I had after
the accident, every bit of self-loathing and self-pity. It wasn’t just paper, it was my soul. Someone had taken my soul.
Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. I took the bag and threw
it against the wal . With that one simple move, all my frustration instantly transformed into rage. Mostly directed at Cora. Charging upstairs and demanding my journal back wasn’t an option. She
would deny it. It would get ugly, and I’d end up back at the hotel.
But every bit of intuition in my being told me Nick was right. I
needed to be here. In the house.
Besides, now Cora had set the ground rules. Two could play
the snooping-and-stealing game.
CHAPTER 20
CORA
“I’m worried about you. Please don’t make me sorry for helping
you,” he said.
She stood in the woods, perhaps three hundred feet from the
clearing. The sun was coming up, but the sky was so overcast she
had difficulty making out objects right in front of her. She could see the light from the guest room through the trees. It was only a small flicker, but to her it was a beacon. That stupid room. It was a stigma. A scarlet letter. The fire that had burned that part of the house over a hundred years ago had branded the family forever.
People might have forgotten what happened had her father at
least attempted to fix it. Instead, he’d just boarded up the room and left it, as if he didn’t care. It was a constant reminder of things best forgotten. When she was little, she’d walk to the back of the house and stare at it. She felt shame even back then, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Then she’d walk through the tunnel and go up the
narrow steps. It was a quiet, forbidden place that was all hers. She’d sit amid the charred wood and listen to the vibrations of the past.
The fire had been more than just the intentional burning
of stone structure and wood supports and furniture. It was the
90
ELLEN J. GREEN
burning of the good Monroe name. It was the burning of an era.
It was the burning of the sins of the entire family, those alive and those not even born yet. Nick included.
“Why, Harry?” she asked.
He was staring through the woods at that same light. Mackenzie
must be up. “I remember those years after Nick left as being the
darkest,” he said. “I don’t want to relive them. I don’t want you to relive them.”
She shrugged.
heavily with the force of the rain and heavy winds. The grounds
were barely visible, the woods only a curtain of darkness in the
distance. I strained my eyes to see something in the rainy mist, but my breath clouded the window, obscuring my view.
Water puddled near the doors and threatened to run farther
into the room. The thick towels I’d thrown down could only soak
up so much water, and it took two trips to the bathroom, wringing them out in the tub, to get it all tidy again. In final frustration, I dropped them into the bath. Dirty towels were better than a dam-aged floor.
I wanted nothing more than to put on my pajamas and go to
bed. My body ached like I’d just run a marathon, and my head
hurt. When I reached into my overnight bag, I knew something
was wrong. I had always been fastidious with my packing. I had a
88
ELLEN J. GREEN
system. Samantha teased me about it. Underwear on the bottom,
followed by socks neatly folded together. Jeans and casual wear
were next. Items that wrinkled easily were always packed on top
so I could take them out and hang them right away. I even carried one of those travel steamers.
The clothes in my bag were in disarray. A sick feeling in my
stomach spread through my body and ended up in my throat. I
dumped the contents of my bag onto the bed. My journal. I knew even while my hands scattered clothes across the bed that it was
gone. My journal chronicled my every thought and feeling from
the past two years. Every fight, every annoyance, every aberrant
behavior of my husband’s was in there. Every emotion I had after
the accident, every bit of self-loathing and self-pity. It wasn’t just paper, it was my soul. Someone had taken my soul.
Tears welled in the corners of my eyes. I took the bag and threw
it against the wal . With that one simple move, all my frustration instantly transformed into rage. Mostly directed at Cora. Charging upstairs and demanding my journal back wasn’t an option. She
would deny it. It would get ugly, and I’d end up back at the hotel.
But every bit of intuition in my being told me Nick was right. I
needed to be here. In the house.
Besides, now Cora had set the ground rules. Two could play
the snooping-and-stealing game.
CHAPTER 20
CORA
“I’m worried about you. Please don’t make me sorry for helping
you,” he said.
She stood in the woods, perhaps three hundred feet from the
clearing. The sun was coming up, but the sky was so overcast she
had difficulty making out objects right in front of her. She could see the light from the guest room through the trees. It was only a small flicker, but to her it was a beacon. That stupid room. It was a stigma. A scarlet letter. The fire that had burned that part of the house over a hundred years ago had branded the family forever.
People might have forgotten what happened had her father at
least attempted to fix it. Instead, he’d just boarded up the room and left it, as if he didn’t care. It was a constant reminder of things best forgotten. When she was little, she’d walk to the back of the house and stare at it. She felt shame even back then, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Then she’d walk through the tunnel and go up the
narrow steps. It was a quiet, forbidden place that was all hers. She’d sit amid the charred wood and listen to the vibrations of the past.
The fire had been more than just the intentional burning
of stone structure and wood supports and furniture. It was the
90
ELLEN J. GREEN
burning of the good Monroe name. It was the burning of an era.
It was the burning of the sins of the entire family, those alive and those not even born yet. Nick included.
“Why, Harry?” she asked.
He was staring through the woods at that same light. Mackenzie
must be up. “I remember those years after Nick left as being the
darkest,” he said. “I don’t want to relive them. I don’t want you to relive them.”
She shrugged.
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