Monarch Manor

by Maureen Leurck

  My mother leaned forward and glanced around my shoulder before she whispered, “I have to tell you, I didn’t want to jinx anything, but I can already see a difference in Will.”

  I glanced back at him, his eyes sleepy from the long day of opening gifts and consuming sugar. The house was still on the market, but we didn’t want to wait to enroll him in Lakewood Academy. So we scraped together enough to enroll him for the rest of the year, from liquidating some of Luke’s 401(k). He had only been there for about six weeks, but from the first week he already seemed happier. I had texted Traci a picture of him walking into the building on the first day, a hint of a smile on his face, and her response was: Told you. Go get ’em, Will!

  We continued to measure things according to Will’s own scale. Usually, on birthdays he would scream and cry if we tried to sing to him. It resulted in one of us having to console him while everyone else sang to Charlotte. This year, after much prep and help from his new teachers, he sat for the whole song and almost smiled. Twice.

  I picked up my phone and swiped to the picture I snapped of the two of them behind the cake, candles blazing, as we sang. It was what I had wanted for so many years, just a photo of them as children on their birthday. Of course, I had one from their first birthday, all chubby arms and cake-covered cheeks, but nothing after that. Until now. It felt as though the missing years of photos represented me, what I missed. How I was lost. And now, finally, I had returned. Once I let go of what I wanted for me, I was able to remember what was really important: Them. Their happiness. Their smiles.

  “I see it, too,” I said to my mom. I set my phone back down and crossed my arms over my chest. I looked around the dining room, at the popcorn ceiling we never got around to scraping, at the notched molding along the walls. “This time next year, we will be in a new house.” I rolled my eyes. “God willing.”

  My mom leaned forward and put her arms on the table. “Well, that’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” She looked at me, her mouth pressed in a line and her cheeks soft. “Your father and I have decided we want to help you. Help you and Luke. All of you,” she said. Her voice broke off at the end and she looked down.

  “What do you mean?” I said, and cocked my head to the side. “With money? If so, no way. We aren’t taking anything. We will figure it out on our own.”

  She held her hands up, palms in the air. “Just listen.” She put her palms down on the table. “We finally got an offer on Grandma’s house in Powers Lake,” she said with a smile. “It’s for . . . a lot of money. From a builder who wants the lot to build some state-of-the-art smart house on the hill. Anyway, the owners want the privacy of Powers Lake, and hers is one of the biggest lots available. So, they made us an offer we couldn’t refuse.”

  I took a deep breath. “They’re going to tear her house down?”

  She nodded. “I know. Bummer. But I’m only okay with it if the money goes toward something good, something she would want. And what’s more important than what’s right here? What’s more important than our family?”

  “Mom, still. You and Dad should take that money, and buy a condo in Florida with it. Or take a cruise around the world. It’s your inheritance,” I said. I wrapped my black sweater around my waist and tucked my legs up on the dining room chair, which protested with a squeak.

  “It’s already been decided. Don’t try and talk me out of it. You know it’s pointless to argue with me when I’ve made up my mind. It’s just a house, Erin. A house that had a whole lot of junk inside.” She chuckled. “But just a house. The stuff we leave behind—just that: stuff. You guys—Luke, Charlotte, Will—are what’s important.”

  “Oh, Mom. I don’t know what to say,” I said. I put my hands over my face and tried to hold back tears.

  “Now stop that,” she said. “Or else I’m going to start hoarding stuff of my own that you’ll have to clean out after I die. Deal?”

  I laughed and dropped my hands from my face. “Deal,” I said.

  My mom reached her hand across the table, and I shook it. She held on to my hand and smiled. As she did, Will wandered into the dining room and climbed onto my lap. I closed my eyes and listened to the chatter of Charlotte in the next room with Luke and my dad, with Will’s humming as the background.

  Everything was as it should be. Not perfect by most standards, but by my own.

  There wouldn’t be any more What Ifs.

  Only What Is. Because that was more than enough.

  CHAPTER 39

  AMELIA

  Amelia sat on the grass, the blades sharp beneath her dress, her blue-veined legs in front of her.

  She rested a hand on the grass and looked at it. Her hand looked like it belonged to someone else, surprising her with the purple veins and age spots running across the top. “I’ve earned them,” she always said to herself, although it never really made her feel any better. Looking in the mirror made her feel even worse. So instead, she looked ahead. This time, toward the edge of the water, where the grass met the rocks.

  At the edge stood John with his wife, Paige. His hair was just as blond as she had always known, but it was flecked with dark streaks of brown. She had only seen one small strand of gray, despite his forty years. They held hands and looked out at the water, their gazes somewhere off in the distance. Occasionally, she saw him drop her hand and sign something; from what she could tell from farther away, it was usually him repeating a story about the lake that she had told him or some memory of growing up on that very grass.

  Farther away, with their feet in the water, were his and Paige’s children, twins Michael and Maelissa. John and Paige had met back in Adare, and the three of them immigrated to New York City to be with Eleanor and her family ten years prior. But they hadn’t been back to Lake Geneva before then.

  Amelia looked over her right shoulder, at what was left of Monarch Manor. It had fallen into disrepair in the years since she had last seen it, so many years ago. When Paige pulled the car up the gravel driveway, Amelia had gasped and grabbed the back of the driver’s seat. Although she had been warned that it wasn’t as she remembered, it was still difficult to see it drooping toward the ground like it was in pain.

  She turned her head to the left, toward the gardens of milkweed, still in bloom, and spotted a monarch butterfly flitting along the stems. Still, they remained. Her mother, father, and sisters were long gone, but the butterflies still came. And Matthew, too, was gone.

  Six months after she arrived in Ireland, she was in her cottage, peeling carrots at her worn wooden table while John played with his wooden toy horse on his bed. It was January, and a winter wind whipped around the cottage, across the meadows, and through the wood fence that surrounded the property.

  The green door blew open, and she had slowly stood before turning and sighing. It was the third time that had happened that morning, and another reminder to fix the latch.

  “Amelia,” said a voice at the door.

  She had frozen in her spot, her hands at her sides. She saw John look up, his eyes wide, before his face broke out into a brilliant smile as he signed back, “Hello.”

  “Amelia,” said the voice again. “Hello?”

  She had kept her eyes closed as she turned, afraid to look, afraid that what she believed was, in fact, there. Afraid that the things she had only allowed herself to think about, to wish for, to dream about, had happened. Because if they had happened, if he was really there, she wouldn’t be able to say no this time.

  Yet Matthew was there, in her cottage, standing in the threshold with the door open behind him, so that the winter sunshine created a blinding outline behind him. His hat was in his hands, and a suitcase was at his feet.

  “I had to see you. Your sister told me how to find you,” he had said. When she didn’t say anything or move at all, he dropped his head. “I’ve made a mistake. Eleanor was so sure you would be happy to see me.”

  John had slowly walked forward, the smile still on his face. He stood next to his m
other and glanced up at her, a questioning look moving across his face when he saw she didn’t hold the same smile. She had put a hand on his shoulder and looked up again at Matthew.

  “Why are you here?” she had asked, without realizing how harsh it sounded. She took a step toward him. Her feet felt heavy underneath her, but her head felt light, like she had just woken up from a long night’s sleep and stood up too quickly.

  She had run toward him and kissed him before he could say another word. Her body fit into his arms like it always had, like two puzzle pieces that were made side by side. When she had slowly opened her eyes and looked into his, she didn’t have to ask why again. She could see what she always did but never allowed herself to understand: He loved her. More than anything else. More than traveling, more than the future. And she loved him the same.

  He had held an arm out and pulled John into their embrace, the final missing piece.

  She had closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest, one arm around him, one arm around John, and felt as though she had been brought back to life, like the first signs of spring after a long, harsh winter.

  She held him and didn’t let go until his final moments years later, when she held his hand as he drifted away.

  Once, she had a choice. Only it wasn’t really a choice, because John was everything.

  And as she watched him and his wife walk along the shore of the lake she loved as a child, with their children splashing their feet in the same water, she could see Monarch Manor in its glory, and everything that it held, and she knew that her past and future finally fit together like two hands clasped in prayer.

  She was home.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  From the moment I began writing Monarch Manor, I knew the book would be different. The dual narrators, historical setting, and family mystery were all new story elements for me, but the largest difference is how many personal connections I have to the story. The most significant of which is that, like Erin and Amelia, I have a child with special needs. I identified with their emotional journeys and wanted to explore the enormous amount of choices that mothers are faced with and the varied opportunities for sacrifice: physical, emotional, mental. Yet, sacrifices aside, I most importantly wanted to write about the beauty in parenting a child with special needs, and the gift of the way it changes a family—for the better.

  In my previous book, Cicada Summer, I wrote about a woman who loves old houses, and that is also a passion of mine, as seen through Erin’s love for her own house and Amelia’s attachment to Monarch Manor. I’ve always been fascinated with the idea that every person who lives in a house leaves a piece of themselves behind—the true magic of a home. I’ve also always been interested in the historical era of Lake Geneva, with all of the storied estates and glamorous parties. I took a tour of Black Point Estate on the lake, a preserved treasure from a bygone era, and gleaned a lot of inspiration from my time there. It was such a delight to hear about the drama of the wealthy families, intermingling and intermarrying, with huge family complexes on the lakefront. To this day, when I am out on the lake I can almost see the white tablecloths on the lawn, and glasses of champagne next to fine china.

  In addition to Lake Geneva, another place in the book that is special to me is Amelia’s adopted home of Adare Village in Ireland. A few years ago, I was fortunate enough to travel there, and from the moment I stepped foot on the cobblestone streets and laid eyes on the thatched-roof shops I fell in love. And once I saw the incomparable Adare Manor, I was sold. I felt an undercurrent of magic when I was there, and I knew I wanted to have it make a cameo in my writing. When it came time to choose where Amelia would make her new home, there was no question that it would be Adare Village.

  Monarch Manor is peppered with many personal connections, and writing about each of them truly brought together many things that I love. It is my tribute to the special places and people that I hold close to my heart, and I feel so fortunate to share it with readers.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Monarch Manor is a book that evolved throughout the years, both on the page and in my head, before coming to this final incarnation. And for that, I have many people to thank. First and foremost, to my agent, Holly Root, who never once told me to stop rewriting this story over and over. (And over and over.) To my editor, Esi, who understood exactly what I was trying to do, and pushed me to take the book to the next level. A huge thank-you to everyone over at Kensington, who astound me daily with their hard work and dedication to the book.

  A big thank-you to everyone at Black Point Estate in Lake Geneva, for all of the information and inspiration. There are pieces of the estate and the stories I heard sprinkled throughout the book, and into the very foundation of Monarch Manor. And also to Mary Burns Gage and Ann Wolfmeyer, authors of Lake Geneva: Newport of the West, which was an invaluable resource while I was researching the history of the estates around Lake Geneva.

  To everyone who e-mailed or contacted me after the publication of Cicada Summer: It truly made my day every time I heard from each and every one of you. Lake Geneva and the surrounding area hold a very special place in my heart, and it was wonderful to know that so many others feel the same way.

  To the Kilmer-Lipinski crew: Thank you for always making me laugh, and especially for always forcing me to watch terrible movies. (The year 2018 was truly the year of Birdemic.) And to the Leurck family, for all of your support and love throughout the years. To my friends, both old and new (Wheaton tribe represent!): Thank you for all of the offers of child care, words of encouragement, and for showing up every time I needed you guys, without question and usually with a glass of wine. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Jill Cantor, author friend extraordinaire and fabulous writer—I’m sorry for all the neurotic e-mails!

  And finally, to Kevin, Ryan, Paige, and Jake: Thank you for being the reason I do everything, and for always reminding me that the best is yet to come.

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  MONARCH MANOR

  Maureen Leurck

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  The suggested questions are included to enhance

  your group’s reading of Maureen Leurck’s

  Monarch Manor.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. A major theme in the book explores the sacrifices (emotional, physical, financial) that parents make for their children. Who do you feel had to give up more in her journey, Erin or Amelia?

  2. How would you describe Erin and Luke’s marriage? How does it change by the end of the book?

  3. Throughout her life, Amelia was unable to let go of her feelings for Matthew. Do you think she made the right decision in pushing him away throughout the story, or should she have accepted the relationship sooner?

  4. What does Monarch Manor symbolize and represent in the story?

  5. Who did you connect with more in the story, Erin or Amelia? Why?

  6. How do Will’s needs affect and change the way that Erin parents Charlotte? In what ways do these needs affect Erin’s relationship with Luke? How do John’s challenges affect the way that Amelia sees the world? In what ways does it affect her relationships?

  7. Do you feel that Erin and Luke made the right decision in sending Will to a therapeutic school?

  8. How does Erin’s relationship with Traci affect her thoughts on Will’s future?

  9. Amelia has a very strong connection to Monarch Manor. How does this affect her decisions and plans for the future?

  10. Erin and Amelia both have complicated relationships with their parents. In what ways are their relationships similar? In what ways are they different?

  11. Throughout the book, Erin comes to terms with the idea that what she wants for Will might not be what’s best for Will. Have you ever had to let go of an expectation for your or someone else’s future?

  Photo © Rich Hein

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Maureen Leurck graduated from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, and currently resides in a suburb of Chic
ago with her husband and three children. She escapes up to the Lake Geneva area when she can for a good fish fry. Visit her at maureenleurck.com.