“What in the world?” she whispered. “Haddie, do you hear that?”
Haddie looked up from her drawing. “What, Mommy?”
“It sounded like crying. It must have been the wind, but . . .” She shook her head, mustering a smile for her daughter. “Wow, kind of spooky the way a breeze sounds coming through these old walls, huh?”
“It’s just a memory, Mommy.”
Scarlett frowned. “What do you mean, Haddie? My memory?” Did Haddie think she was hearing things coming from her own mind?
“Lilith House’s memory.”
Those goosebumps rose higher. “What do you mean, baby?”
Haddie shrugged, focusing back on her drawing, humming softly.
Scarlett stared at her daughter for a moment, opening her mouth to demand that she explain her comment further, but Haddie seemed perfectly content and Scarlett didn’t want to push her child and potentially alarm her when there was really nothing to be alarmed about. Add that comment to the list of hundreds like it she’d heard from her over the years. She turned her head, staring out the window, mostly unseeing for another few minutes, attempting to warm from the chill that had settled under her skin as Haddie continued to draw. No more sounds came from the walls. Trees shifted outside, swaying gently. There was definitely a strong breeze. Finally, convinced she’d heard nothing more than wind rattling the rafters, she looked at her computer screen, rubbing at her eye as she tried to find the motivation to do some more work on the remodeling plans. She drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, instead opening a browser window and typing in the name of their new house. Several links popped up immediately. Thank you, Louis, for bringing Lilith House into the modern century.
She’d looked Lilith House up once before from their apartment in LA, but more so to view as many pictures of the interior as possible . . . to determine if it was right for what she had planned. In all honesty, part of her had been hoping it wouldn’t be. She’d come upon the sale so unexpectedly, and the idea that had almost immediately planted itself in her head felt far too ambitious . . . ill-advised . . . crazy, even. But also . . . right. She’d never been particularly impulsive, and when she had been, she’d usually ended up regretting it in at least some way or another. But the more she’d clicked through the available pictures, traveling remotely from room to room then each outdoor space, the more her excitement level doubled, tripled, soared. It was as though someone was quietly, but urgently, nudging her along.
At the time it was the physical attributes of the house and property she’d been most interested in, so she hadn’t taken much time to find out more about the history. She did that now, perusing slowly through the websites that mentioned the house, gathering its history.
Before the California Gold Rush in 1849, hunters had flocked to the state to take advantage of its enormous wealth of resources. One such man, Hubert Bancroft, made his fortune as a fur trader and in 1876, then built what was later named Lilith House. Though the family—who only grew wealthier as trade increased and they delved into other business ventures—would eventually build on and expand the dwelling, it was considered one of the finest mansions of its time, especially in a part of California that remained relatively poor.
When more recent generations, apparently lacking the same ingenuity and grit as their forefathers, all but squandered the family fortune, Black Monday was the final nail in the coffin of their wealth, and in 1987, Wendell Bancroft, now penniless, walked into the forest and hung himself from the branch of an ancient ponderosa pine. The bank took possession of the house.
In 1988, the leader of the Women’s Ministry in Farrow reported receiving a directive from God that they purchase the Bancroft house and turn it into a Christian girl’s school to house troubled young women. The Women’s Ministry members pooled all of their resources, and with the townspeople’s help, they raised the money for the purchase of the property. They named it Lilith House, and began accepting applicants in the fall of 1989.
Scarlett clicked on the image of an old brochure, a logo at the top with a tagline beneath: My utmost for His glory! She read it once and then again. What did that mean? Some Biblical phrase, she assumed. There was a block of copy below and she zoomed in on it: Lilith House seeks to mend and rebuild the characters of girls who have consistently turned toward Satan and away from their Savior.
Scarlett squinted one eye. Maybe she wasn’t the most religious person—though she’d count herself as spiritual—but that copy sounded downright disturbing. Who read that and thought, that’s where I’m sending my child?
Parents at the end of their ropes, she realized with a sigh.
She zoomed in on the photo on the cover. It was a group of twelve girls standing stoically in front of what was now Scarlett’s home. As her eyes moved from face to face, a chill moved through her, born of what she wasn’t entirely sure. These were supposedly defiant troublemakers, and yet each one of them looked empty-eyed and slack-jawed, staring vacantly at the camera. Her eyes were drawn to two young women at the edge of the group, one with vibrant red hair, and the other tall and dark haired. An older woman stood just next to them, wearing a gray dress and a choker of pearls. She was unsmiling, but there was an out-of-place . . . almost . . . perverse satisfaction in her expression that caused Scarlett to instinctively lean away from her photograph.
She glanced quickly through the rest of the brochure that talked about programs and amenities, and then looked back at the photo, averting her eyes from the gray-haired woman. The students were wearing burgundy uniforms and they all sported the same short haircuts devoid of any real style—which, was it just her, or was that sort of odd?—so Scarlett couldn’t tell what year the photo might have been taken. Kandace wasn’t in it, so it had to be taken prior to her arrival. She’d run away from Lilith House just before the fire broke out and the school shut its doors forever, so no brochure would have been created after Kandace left.
If it was taken just before Kandi arrived, these might be the twelve students who died tragically in the fire. Scarlett swallowed, her shoulders drawing up as her gaze again bounced from one unsmiling face to another. Troubled girls, sent off by their families, never to return.
She tried to picture beautiful, stylish Kandi in one of those boxy, nondescript uniforms, a choppy haircut, and no makeup and couldn’t. Kandace, who had always favored tight jeans and bright lip gloss.
Scarlett did another Google search about the fire that had occurred in the small chapel that had once sat behind Lilith House. She knew the twelve young women living there at that time had died tragically in the fire, along with five staff members. Seventeen souls had perished. What she didn’t know was that it was thought a lightning strike had caused the fire. “How awful,” she murmured.
“What, Mommy?” Haddie asked.
Scarlett brought her head up. She’d become too involved in her search, fallen down the rabbit hole of Lilith House’s past. But what a past it had. “Nothing, honey. But guess what? The movers are going to be here tomorrow with our beds and our other things,” she said to Haddie with a smile.
“No more camping?”
Scarlett smiled. “No more camping.” She tilted her head. “You know how I told you I thought we needed a whole new fresh start?”