The glint of a smile lit Haddie’s face. A pinkie swear was like gospel to Haddie. She raised her own hand, linking her pinkie with her mother’s and shaking.
**********
An explosion of dust burst before Scarlett’s face and she sputtered, flapping her hand around in an effort to dispel it. “God, this place is a mess,” she muttered. Still, there was life left in the old girl and she’d found it in an attic suite of rooms, rich with exposed beams and what she assumed were original hardwood floors that would be gorgeous once they were re-sanded and stained. There was only one window in the bedroom she’d designated her own, but it had a lovely view of the gazebo and towering conifers behind the yard, and featured a beautiful stained-glass transom window that made rainbow-colored light flood the space.
Haddie’s new room was much smaller, but spic and span now that she’d spent the morning cleaning it, and the shared bathroom—though rusty and under about seven layers of grime—was in working order.
They’d found the livable space after wandering what felt like an endless labyrinth of hallways and corridors, some doors still locked from within. Scarlett had mentally added a locksmith to her list of professionals to call, eyeing the antique glass doorknobs that featured large keyholes. When she’d bent and squinted one eye, pressing the other to the small opening, she’d discovered that a keyhole cover concealed her view.
The door to the attic stairs had stood wide open, that rainbow light shimmering on the walls, and drawing them toward its source. It had felt right the moment they’d entered.
Temporarily, she’d set them both up in what would be her bedroom and then started cleaning as soon as they’d woken up and disentangled themselves from the sleeping bags and blankets they’d snuggled under to camp on the floor. There were repairs over repairs to make, walls to repaint, fixtures to replace, furniture to buy, but for now . . . it was livable and that’s all they needed to get the more major work underway. Which was a boon because before they’d arrived, she hadn’t been sure the place was habitable, or whether they’d have to rent somewhere nearby as the remodeling work was being done. This attic space was going to save her a good amount of money—money that could be well used elsewhere.
At the thought of money—the money—a spear of guilt pierced her stomach, but she ignored it. She’d gone down this route. Too many times to count. She’d made her choice and she wasn’t going to spend the rest of forever beating herself up over it.
She focused back on the room around her. Yes, this space would be perfect once there were events at Lilith House that would spill out to the surrounding grounds, some of which might go late into the night. She’d considered the idea of having a small house built on the property, but this was better, and she’d be spared another expense. The expansive attic space was practically soundproof with its thick walls and solid-wood floors, and being so far away from the main floor of the house. Another white noise machine or two, and she and Haddie would still have their own quiet privacy.
Scarlett had contacted a handyman in Farrow, the town beyond Lilith House, and he was supposed to be by that afternoon. She wasn’t sure of the extent of his skills, but she hoped he could at least get the water running in the kitchen, tell her if the wiring seemed sound, and recommend a company that would do the heavier lifting of the substantial renovation she had planned, and a landscaping company that would help beautify the grounds.
The grounds were crucial to the success of the business she had planned.
Scarlett gave the top shelf of the closet another swipe, her hand bumping into something that slid backward, hitting the wall with a soft clink. Frowning, Scarlett went up on her toes, reaching blindly for the item, her fingers meeting what felt like cool metal. She gripped it, bringing her hand out and holding the item up in front of her.
A silver crucifix, darkened with tarnish.
Scarlett frowned, turning the item this way and that, taking in the fancy scrollwork, the lifelike metal rendering of Jesus, and the gemstones decorating all four points. They appeared to be diamonds, but Scarlett figured they were probably just cubic zirconia. Who would have left something as valuable as a diamond-encrusted crucifix behind?
For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, a chill moved down her spine. She had the strange urge to drop the crucifix as though if she held it too long, it might scald her flesh. She’d thought of this place as a haunted house just the day before, and this discovery definitely did nothing to diminish the creep factor.
Just as she was about to toss it right back on the top shelf where she’d found it, she caught sight of something at the top of the cross where two winged angels were entwined. She brought it closer, studying the dark red substance staining the grooves of their wings. She used a fingernail to dig a speck of it out, looking at that too. Was that . . . it looked like dried blood. “Creep factor, officially heightened,” she mumbled.
Scarlett placed the crucifix back on the highest shelf, pushing it all the way into the corner. For a moment she just stood there, considering . . . wondering if the creep factor might translate into good marketing. She’d read there were vague spooky legends about the canyon nearby, and of course, the fire in what had been a small chapel that killed the young women and staff who’d once lived here was absolutely tragic. But she hadn’t thought about using any of those stories to her advantage. She hadn’t thought about whether it could be an advantage at all . . . but maybe. Or was it obscene of her to even consider using the story of the lives lost on this property and whatever spooky tales may exist about the area for financial benefit? Scarlett stepped down off the stepstool. Probably. She’d have to learn more about the area and think about all that later. Because at the moment, there was nothing at all to market anyway.
At the moment, the place was only barely livable.
And likely haunted.
By benevolent spirits, if any at all, please and thank you.
Scarlett picked up the bottle of glass cleaner which was on the floor with the other sprays, sponges, scrub brushes, and old rags and took it to the window, misting some on the thick windowpanes and beginning to wipe them clean.
Through the glass she spotted Haddie in the dress she’d picked out that morning. Scarlett smiled, always enchanted by her girl’s penchant for dresses, the frillier the better, clothing that seemed so at odds with her almost . . . somber personality. To see the way pink satin or white eyelet—or in today’s case, blue gingham—made her daughter’s green eyes widen with delight never ceased to bring forth a grin from Scarlett. She smiled now, watching as Haddie moved forward, stepping slowly into the trees. Her smile faded and she raised her hand to knock on the glass, to attempt to get her daughter’s attention, to call her home, when she saw Haddie bend down and pluck something from the ground. A yellow flower. Haddie was being a little girl, collecting wildflowers. She’d never had a yard before. To Haddie, this must feel like one giant park.
Scarlett bit at her lip for a moment, conflicted as she stared at her child through the glass, watching her from afar. In some ways, it felt like a metaphor for her relationship with Haddie. She knew most mothers had a hard time letting go, but Scarlett had always had this vague sense that she couldn't hold on to Haddie even if she tried. It would be a useless attempt. In some way she couldn't explain, not even to herself, she knew Haddie existed on a plane all her own. She could walk beside her daughter through a mist she had no name for, she could love her fiercely—and she did, oh she did—but there was too much inexplicable distance between them to ever truly grasp the whole of her.