Monarch Manor

by Maureen Leurck

  “Jeannine said that you usually list a house for about ten percent higher than what you want to sell it for, and then agree on a ten percent price drop. If it sells for what she thinks it will, we can send Will to Lakewood,” he said.

  I leaned forward. “That’s wonderful! I—”

  “But,” he said quickly, “I don’t think we can buy another house and send him to the school. There just won’t be anything left for a down payment. So we would have to rent for a few years until we saved more.”

  “Rent?” I let the word float around the car as I absentmindedly rubbed Will’s foot. Even as a baby, he loved to have his feet rubbed and touched. It always calmed him down. “But . . .” All of my protests died before I could say them. Is that wise? How long will it take us to save? Is this a good idea?

  I knew that our path with Will would be filled with turns and twists, with surprises and setbacks, and all we could do was make each decision as it came. And I knew that this was the next, best step. For all of us. If we had to rent somewhere, but it meant that he would be happier, it would make all of us happier and be worth the sacrifice.

  I took a long, slow, deep breath and leaned forward. “If that’s what we have to do, then let’s do it.”

  He stared straight ahead. “Erin, I’m not going to lie when I say this still feels like a step back. One for him, and one for us.” He held a hand in the air when I made a strangled sound. “But I trust you, and you know that I would do anything for Will. So if you really believe this is the right thing to do, I will do it.”

  The next day, the FOR SALE sign was in the front yard, next to my beloved maple tree. Jeannine’s face stared out at it, and I swore her eyes followed me around the yard like one of those creepy haunted-house paintings. While Will was inside working with his behavior therapist, Kendra, I sat on the porch swing, my legs kicking back and forth as I stared at the sign.

  “Mommy?” Charlotte appeared on the porch, one of her pigtails askew. She had fallen asleep on the drive home from school, and I had carefully transferred her to her bed.

  I patted the swing next to me and she climbed up, her body fitting underneath my arm in a nook like a puzzle piece.

  “I couldn’t sleep. Will woke me up. He’s crying about something,” she said in an exaggerated, exasperated, five-year-old way.

  “I know.” It was the reason I came outside in the first place. Kendra had warned me the session wouldn’t be pretty. They were working on his coping strategies, and trying to get him to the point where he could come out of a meltdown on his own, without needing so much adult intervention. Unfortunately, that meant the behavior would increase at first for a while.

  “Why does he get so mad all of the time?” she said quietly.

  I opened my mouth, the words escaping me. I knew that she could tell he was different, but we had never said the word autism to her, and I didn’t know when we would. I pulled her closer to me, wishing I could shrink her and put her in my pocket and shield her from the outside world. “Well, his brain works a little different from yours. Things upset him more, and that’s why he needs extra help in school, and at home with Kendra.”

  She nodded against my side. We had talked about this before; she had heard this already. And that day, thankfully, it was enough. “He still loves us, though, right?”

  My eyes pricked with tears. “Of course he does, honey. He loves all of us—and especially you—very much.”

  She sighed contentedly and put an arm around my waist. “Oh, that’s good.”

  I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, which smelled like the lavender shampoo she had insisted I buy at Walgreens because it had pretty purple flowers on the front. “You’re his angel,” I said. I closed my eyes and let the tears drip on her head, mixing with her braids and rubber bands.

  What did her future look like? Would she have to care for Will for the rest of her life? Would she think of him as her burden? Would she have to fall in love with someone in the most discerning of ways—someone who would love not only her but him as well? And not just love him, but be willing to share the responsibility of his care. For the rest of their lives.

  When I found out I was having twins, I remember thinking, They will always have each other. A built-in best friend for life. I never imagined that would become a necessary fact, rather than a joyous one. No matter how many different ways I could color the situation, to try to find the silver lining, the fact remained that he might someday have to rely on her the way he relied on us.

  I sniffled into her hair. She was so small and so young—too young—to understand what her life might hold and what she would be asked to do. I’m so sorry, I thought. My baby girl, Will’s angel.

  She looked up from my lap and wiped away a tear from my cheek. “Don’t be sad, Mommy. I love Will so much. He’s so funny, and he always wants to give me hugs. Rachel says her brother puts sand in her hair and pulls the legs off her Barbies.” She frowned and shook her head in horror.

  I laughed and nodded. “Well, that’s not very nice.”

  She solemnly narrowed her eyes. “Not at all. I’m glad he’s not my brother.”

  It was so simplistic, yet so profound. I kissed her again and she scampered off inside, ready to raid the pantry for her favorite cheese crackers. I swung a few times on the swing, trying to forget that soon, I hoped, another family would live there.

  I looked down at my phone and saw I had a message on Facebook. It was from Therese Diamond.

  My pulse quickened as I read through the message.

  Erin—

  How wonderful to hear from you! We, too, have always wondered about our relatives on the other side of the Atlantic. Yet, despite our best intentions, we never looked into it very much. So we are so glad that you sent us this message! We own a hardware store in the village, and live in an apartment above it. We would absolutely welcome you if you choose to visit our small corner of the world.

  Your other query, about the mother and the child, is very interesting. We had not heard that story before. Yet, if my genealogy serves correctly, they would have been first cousins with my grandmother. While my grandmother died when I was a child, and did not know much about her life growing up, she did talk to my mother about having American relatives, and how they were a fancy lot, and had parties like no one had ever seen. (Neither had she—as she had never traveled there!) And while my mother is also gone, I did speak to my sister, and she seems to remember our mother talking about an American cousin who came to live here, and needed a fresh start.

  So I went through some of the old boxes of photographs stuck in our attic (which is why it took me so long to get back to you—I apologise!), and found a few black-and-whites. One was marked with a caption as being of the “American cousin.” I wonder if this might help you in your search? I do not know if it is the same woman, but I wanted to share. I had my husband scan the photo and have attached it to this e-mail. I hope it helps.

  Again, it was so good to hear from you, and please, keep in touch.

  Best,

  Therese

  I had tunnel vision as I clicked on the attachment and waited for it to download. The only thing I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears. Finally, the pie circle turned dark and the photo was downloaded.

  I opened it up, and it was a picture of five people, standing in front of a fence, with a large, hilly field behind them. There were three women and two men. In the center was a woman with wide eyes and beautiful curls. I zoomed in with two fingers, and my heart stopped. Although she looked slightly older than the last photograph, it was Amelia. She was dressed in a simple light-colored dress, with a white apron around her waist. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. No one in the photo smiled, just stared grimly into the camera lens.

  The second photo was the inscription, written by someone who had perfect handwriting, like calligraphy: Welcome for the American cousin. Adare Village. August 1, 1923.

  I clicked back to the first photo, hoping I h
ad missed something. Or rather, hoping I had missed him. That maybe he was in the background, hiding somewhere, or was camouflaged by a tree. But John was nowhere in the photo.

  My phone fell from my hand as I added everything together. The accident happened in May. John had been sent to the school in June. Amelia went to live in Ireland by August. It seemed I had my answer as to what had happened to them.

  I felt frozen in place on my front porch. I could hear Will still crying upstairs and the rustling of Charlotte raiding the pantry. I couldn’t move from the front porch. My insides felt hollow as I pictured John staring out the window of the school, alone for the rest of his life, while Amelia was halfway across the world.

  CHAPTER 31

  AMELIA

  Rose Savington and Georgina Lindemann had successfully taken their life jackets off, despite the rain that had begun to fall around them. The captain left his vantage point and ran to them, urging them to put their vests back on. To remain safe.

  With the captain busy and the rain falling around them, Amelia rose and took John’s hand. Her vision went almost black, except for the image in her mind of her and John, together.

  She looked down at John and nodded, seeing the rain fall from his blond hair down onto his cheeks, and led him to the edge of the boat. Before anyone could stop them or clearly saw what happened, she jumped over the edge, pulling him with her. Except once she hit the water, his hand fell from hers.

  She screamed and yelled for him, before she started swimming in a panic, toward the three blinking lights on the shore, praying with each stroke that John remembered the plan. He was wearing a life jacket but could swim through the water with ease. She had made him practice it with Michael over and over before they left for Lake Geneva.

  She swam until the boat grew farther from her, and Monarch Manor was a blurry illumination against the water.

  With each stroke, her gown grew heavier and heavier, and her arms burned with the weight of keeping her body moving against the choppy waves. She stopped for a moment, water dripping down her face and into her mouth, ears, and eyes, and screamed his name again, into the darkness, even though she knew he wouldn’t hear it.

  She wiped her face and then began swimming again, cupping large handfuls of water as she did each stroke, each movement bringing her closer to the shore, closer to being with John, and away from everyone who wished to take him from her.

  Finally, she was close enough for her feet to lightly touch the bottom, her bare toes brushing against the rocks on the bottom. She struggled to stand and then took two more strokes forward until she could lift her head above the water, her feet wrapped around two smooth rocks on the bottom of the lake. She wiped the water from her face and peered at the shoreline, where she saw Alfred standing with the light, flashing it off and on. Next to him was Eleanor, soaked through in her bridesmaid dress, one hand shielding her face and the other lifted in the air.

  She had told Alfred of her plan when she last made a trip to the house, the first weekend the estate opened for the summer. He was the only one she could trust, and she needed someone who could move around town and make arrangements easily, without suspicion. He didn’t bother to try to talk her out of it but simply listened and nodded. She and John would jump off the yacht and swim to shore, take a train first to Chicago, and then disappear.

  “I will do anything you ask. Anything for you and John,” he had said quietly as he continued to stir the lemon cream sauce for the chicken dish to be served at dinner.

  She had wanted to tell Eleanor and have her in on the plan from the very beginning, but she couldn’t risk it. She knew Eleanor would try to dissuade her from leaving, tell her that she would shelter them from the Cartwrights, but Amelia didn’t want to live a life of constant worry that John would be swept away, like the sand on the shoreline that is swept to the center of the lake each autumn.

  So, instead, she had Alfred tell her sister after she was already on the boat. “Feed the bunnies,” she had told her, which was Alfred’s code to fill anyone else in about the plan should they say the words.

  She ran through the water, to the edge, her feet slipping and aching in pain as she stepped on the irregular, sharp rocks. Eleanor rushed forward, her slippers splashing in the water, and held her arms out, grasping at her sister and pulling her out of the water. Amelia slipped and fell to her knees, a sharp pain running through her body. Alfred came to her other side, the lantern in his other hand.

  Amelia took a deep breath and stood, her legs shaking. Eleanor tried to pull her in for an embrace, but she inched away. Her gaze was on the tree line just beyond the water, searching for him.

  “Where’s John? Where is he?” she said.

  Her body froze and her blood turned to ice when neither of them said anything.

  “Where is he?” she repeated, her voice rising. She asked again, her scream cutting through the air. “Tell me he reached the shore before I did.” When they didn’t answer again, she whirled around, her eyes scanning the water for his figure. But it was too dark to see anything other than the distant lights of the various estates on the south shore of the lake.

  She started to run back into the lake, water splashing around, but Alfred and Eleanor grabbed her arms.

  “It’s too dangerous, Amelia,” Eleanor said. “You can’t swim back out there.”

  “Too dangerous? Then I have to go. It’s John! He’s terrified, alone, somewhere out there.” She whirled around to Alfred. “Keep doing the lights! He knows to swim to the lights! Why did you stop?” her voice screeched out, nearly shearing the leaves off the nearby trees.

  Alfred fumbled around with the lantern, nearly dropping it into the water.

  “Give it to me,” Amelia said. She snatched it from his hands. Click, click, click, pause. Her eyes scanned the surface, trying to will his figure to appear, swimming or bobbing in the water, within reach.

  Click, click, click, pause.

  Over and over again, as the precious minutes ticked by. The three of them were silent, the only sound among them the clicking of the lantern. They saw the Monarch Princesses turn around and head back to the estate, surrendering its passengers to their fate.

  Amelia stood there for hours, waiting for John. But he never came.

  CHAPTER 32

  ERIN

  “Mom, no! Press the doorbell!” Charlotte shrieked as I reached for the handle of my parents’ house. On either side of the doorway were fake spiderwebs with small black spiders dotting the netting, and bats hung from the ceiling of the porch. Halloween was only a week away, but my mother had surely had the decorations up for at least a month.

  I relaxed my grip on the brass handle of the front door, a rubber skeleton head hanging from it, and smiled. “Sorry. I forgot.” I carefully pressed one finger on the doorbell as Luke shifted behind me, his hands full of a chocolate chip cheesecake that I had spent the better part of the morning cursing at. Will was still asleep in the car, after a long morning of building an intricate train track.

  A horror scream came from inside, and a spooky voice said, “Go away!” and Charlotte laughed and clapped her hands in delight.

  “Again!” she said.

  I was about to press it one more time when the door flew open and my mom, dressed as a witch, complete with black pointy hat and a green face, appeared. “Welcome to my house!” She bent forward and peered at Charlotte. “I think I would like to use you in one of my spells. My cauldron needs a little girl, and you would fit right in.”

  “Grandma, you’re not even scary!” Charlotte said as she threw open the door and buried her face in my mom’s waist.

  “Oh man. And here I thought the Wicked Witch had nothing on me,” my mom said with a cackle.

  I set down the bags I had brought, carefully packed with snacks, a change of clothes for Will, several games, and an iPad, and took the cheesecake from Luke. “Go ahead and wait with him. He’ll be a nightmare if we try to wake him up now.”

  His face brighten
ed for a moment and then he nodded seriously. “Yes, someone should stay with him.” He retreated to the car, a little too willingly.

  “I have some of your favorite treats in the kitchen: popcorn balls and candy corn,” my mom whispered to Charlotte, and she ran away so fast that she nearly knocked my mother over.

  My father’s birthday was three days before Halloween, and every year he insisted we celebrate in a fashion fitting of the holiday. Growing up, it meant watching scary movies and dressing up in costumes to sing “Happy Birthday.” Unfortunately, one year, the year after Luke and I started dating, my parents decided we should go to a haunted house together. I’ve never heard Luke scream as loud as he did when Freddy Krueger chased him around the Jaycees haunted house with a chainsaw. My parents called him Mr. Krueger the next few times they saw him.

  I followed Charlotte into the kitchen, marveling at the way my parents’ house could still feel so comfortable to me, even after moving out so many years ago. It was all the same: The painting from Hawaii that my parents had bought on their honeymoon and carefully packed in their red hard-shelled suitcase, the framed embroidery piece from a little girl in 1850 that my mom had found in a garage sale, the bulletin board that had invitations to parties that happened two years ago. The carpeted bathrooms and dining room, going against every ounce of logic that existed. Yet in the corner of the (also carpeted) family room I saw something new. In my mother’s old china cabinet were a few of the Precious Moments figurines from my grandmother’s house.

  “I thought you said you were going to sell those to one of your friends from your bridge club,” I said with a smile.

  She shrugged, smiling a crooked smile outlined with black lipstick. “What can I say? I guess the hoarding tendencies didn’t filter out completely through the genes. Besides, she loved those damn things so much, it seemed wrong to just give them away.”

  “Well, are you going to come and say hello or do I have to track you through the whole house?” My father’s voice wafted through the house from the kitchen. “You’d better get in here before I let my granddaughter eat an elephant’s weight in sugar.”