But Harrison had made a promise to her father years before and would keep that promise. In public, Harrison was fiercely devoted to his wife, despite her delicate condition. Neighbors would often notice him walking the length of his front porch, pushing Celeste in a wheelchair, pointing out this ship or that one on the horizon. It was not unusual to find the two of them sitting together on a porch swing wrapped in a quilt, him reading to her, she with her head upon his shoulder. Although plenty of tongues wagged in town about other rich men and their mistresses, there was no hint of impropriety with any of the half dozen maids that kept the Connor household running, the brass polished, the woodwork gleaming, and the child dressed, fed, and escorted to and from school. What Harrison truly felt in his heart was known only to him.
Celeste died when Hadley was just a small child. Despite the doctor’s report that Celeste’s heart had simply given out, whispers of addiction and an overdose of medication spread through the town like wildfire. With Celeste gone, Harrison began to pursue what was really in his heart for the first time in his life. Instead of marrying any of the legion of single women in town who would’ve sold their souls to become his wife, he lavished all his attention on the one person he loved above anyone else: Hadley.
Picnics, boating parties, snowshoeing in winter, horseback riding, hiking along the shore, canoeing—townspeople would regularly see Harrison and Hadley trekking out of doors together and wonder why they, too, couldn’t seem to derive such pleasure from the company of their families as Harry Connor seemed to.
If a child’s success in life is an indication of how well a parent did his job, then Harrison Connor earned top honors. Hadley grew into a fine young woman. She finished school, went on to college （it wasn’t often the case for a girl to receive such an education in those days） and created a happy life of her own. The brown-eyed beauty married a handsome man by the name of Malcolm Granger. They had two children, Fred and Harry. Fred, in turn, had a daughter, Kate, who was now pulling into the driveway of the former home of her great-grandfather.
These days, Harrison’s House functioned as an upscale bed-and-breakfast with a fine restaurant and a comfortable wine bar tucked into what had once been the home’s library. The room’s dark-wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leather chairs, and marble-topped tables made it a favorite with tourists and locals alike. Kate especially loved coming here because of the family history it contained. Pictures of Harrison, Celeste, and Hadley still hung on the walls, and most of the volumes of books in the library had belonged to them. Indeed, much of the home was as it had been in Harrison’s day, having been painstakingly restored.
The house had always been in the Connor family. Hadley and her husband, Malcolm, moved back to Wharton to care for Harrison during his declining years. Hadley doted on her father until the end, repaying him for the love and affection he had lavished on her when she was a child with the kind of reverent caretaking that only such an adored daughter could give. She took ownership of the house and the family fortune after he died. Hadley herself lived well into her nineties, taken care of in her later years by her grandson, Kate’s first cousin, Simon, the son of Hadley’s son Harry. When Hadley finally died, in her sleep in the house that she loved, the house went to Simon, for his loving caretaking of his grandmother.
Simon and his partner, Jonathan, were in the process of restoring every inch of the enormous structure. Every fixture, doorknob, and plank of wood flooring was original, or, as Simon liked to say, a damn good fake. Much of the furniture and accent pieces were original as well （refurbished, of course） and what wasn’t antique blended old and new seamlessly. The only part of the house that hadn’t been restored was the third floor—a ballroom. Simon planned to get to that project in the coming winter when the tourist season wound down.
The grandeur of the place, in addition to its standout restaurant, made it the hottest ticket in town, commanding top dollar for the privilege of spending a night under its perfectly restored roof, though it was Simon’s unwritten policy that close family stayed for free.
“It was our great-grandparents’ home,” he’d say to Kate. “You’ve got as much right to be here as I do. You’re going to pay to stay in this house? Please. I don’t think so.”
But Kate didn’t take him up on this generous offer too often. She and Kevin had spent their honeymoon there, and, a few times each year, they’d come and stay in one of the Jacuzzi suites for a night or two during the off-season, just for the romance of it all.
Walking through the enormous wooden front door of this house always gave Kate a shiver. It was something about the history hanging in the air, the immediate and unbroken ties to her family’s past. The photos on the walls always haunted her—young, vibrant, happy people, smiling in blissful ignorance of the fact that, one day, their great-granddaughter would be looking at those photos, while they themselves lay in their graves.
When she was in this house, Kate could clearly see Harrison and Celeste as a young married couple, their daughter being born, growing up, and eventually dying there. Kate loved walking the same hallways, sleeping in the same rooms, eating meals around the same table as her ancestors had long ago. It gave Kate the feeling that life was so fleeting, over in an instant. A moment ago, Celeste sat here, shepherding her daughter through polite dinnertime conversation as she enjoyed the expansive view of the harbor. A century passed in the blink of an eye, and now it was Kate’s turn to enjoy the view. When she was here, she felt very close to those ancestors of long ago, as if they were still here, living their lives in their own time, just beyond an invisible barrier that Kate could almost, but not quite, penetrate. It seemed like, if she held her breath and became very still, she could feel them, just there. She did not know that, indeed, their spirits and others roamed these halls, sat at these tables, and floated among the guests in the dining room, unable or perhaps unwilling to leave this magnificent house for the hereafter.
That day, Simon was standing in the doorway waiting for her.
“Well, it’s about time.” He enveloped Kate in a bear hug as Alaska bounded inside. They stood, holding each other for a long moment before he whispered, “How are you?”
“I’m good,” Kate said, but knew he wouldn’t buy it.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you’re good.” He pulled back and squinted at her. “Everyone’s good after their world falls apart. Now come over to the bar and sit down and tell me everything. I’ve got a bottle of wine with your name on it. I’m pouring, you’re talking.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
After dissecting Kate’s situation with her husband, Simon crinkled his nose at her.
“There’s something else that you’re not saying. I could tell the moment you got here. Out with it.”
Somehow, he always knew. There was no use trying to keep anything from him.
“I’ll tell you,” Kate said. “But you’re going to think what I’m about to say is really strange.”
“Strange in what way?”
Kate shifted in her chair. “Strange in a ‘Kate needs a straitjacket’ sort of way.”