The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story

by Irina Shapiro

  “Are you feeling better?” Amelia asked as she deftly sliced the top off her egg.

  “Yes, much,” Sophie lied. She had no appetite, but she forced herself to eat a slice of buttered bread and a boiled egg to demonstrate her point.

  “We’ll be taking luncheon with my parents,” Amelia announced. “They long to see you. Too bad George won’t be joining us. He might have come, it being Sunday, but the roads are knee-deep in snow. It would take him hours to get here.”

  “Yes, that’s a shame,” Sophie agreed.

  “We’d best get going or we’ll be late,” Amelia announced. She drank the last of her tea and patted her mouth delicately with a starched napkin. “Would it be blasphemous to say that I hate going to church?” she asked as she rose from the table and headed for the door. “What could be more torturous than a two-hour sermon as one’s bottom goes numb from sitting on a hard bench and one’s feet nearly fall off from the cold? I’d much rather go back to bed and stay there until at least noon,” Amelia complained.

  So would I, Sophie thought. In her state of nervous excitement, sitting through the sermon would be even more difficult than usual.

  Sophie accepted her cloak, hat, and gloves from the maid and followed Amelia into the snowy morning. The world was swathed in white, the trees sagging beneath the weight of the heavy wet snow. Thick clouds nearly obscured the colorless sky, promising more snow to come. She offered up a hasty prayer, asking God to hold off on the snow until she and Teddy got away, then stopped in mid-sentence, realizing she was asking God to help her escape from her lawfully wedded husband with a man she’d lain with outside of wedlock and with whom she meant to break her marriage vows. Pretty brazen, she thought with a hysterical chuckle as she got into the carriage.

  It was slow going, but they made it in time and took their seats just as the service was about to begin. Letting the words wash over her, Sophie tried not to allow her imagination to run away with her and catalogue all the things that could go wrong between now and this evening. As long as no one knew what she was up to, she was safe.

  She caught Lionel Holland’s gaze and acknowledged him with a civil nod. His wife didn’t bother to look at her. It wasn’t until after they were wed that Sophie had realized George’s parents hadn’t approved of the match. They’d wanted someone else for their only son, someone who’d bring wealth and position to the family. Now she wished they’d have forbidden George to marry her, but he’d gotten his way, as he always seemed to in the end. Behind the bland exterior, he was a cruel and conniving man, one who fooled all those who came across him into thinking him charming and kind. She’d certainly been taken in, just as she had been by her in-laws, but they were not the people she’d believed them to be.

  Luncheon was a dull affair, with Mrs. Holland complaining about the weather, Mr. Holland lamenting that his shipments weren’t getting through, and Amelia whining about young Jeremy’s nursemaid, who failed to keep him sufficiently quiet during the night to allow her to sleep, a transgression Lionel Holland felt needed to be severely punished. No one cared that the baby was suffering or that he might need to feel his mother’s affection from time to time. Strange, but that most basic of human emotions was difficult to come by in a world where everyone seemed to see their children as either a means to an end or a burden to be dealt with. Would Sophie have grown to feel that way about her baby? Would she think of him as a nuisance, or scheme on how best to position him to benefit her own situation?

  Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Holland asked her anything, carrying on as if she weren’t even there after the stiff greeting they’d bestowed on her and the pointed stare at her middle. She could almost feel their hostility, as if she’d failed them somehow. And no one mentioned her father’s death, either because George had forbidden them to bring it up or because they simply couldn’t care less about her loss. Sophie sat patiently through the meal, then asked Mr. Holland if she might have a word in private, catching Amelia’s frown as she stared at her.

  “I only need a moment, Amelia,” she promised. “I’ll be ready to leave presently.”

  “All right,” Amelia said, sitting back down and asking for more tea.

  Mr. Holland invited her into his study and sat behind the desk, leaving her to stand before him like an errant child. He didn’t offer her a seat, nor did she wish to get too comfortable.

  “Mr. Holland, it has come to my attention that you were the one to see to my father’s estate,” Sophie began.

  “That’s an awfully grand word for what your hapless father left behind.”

  “Nevertheless, putting aside the fact that no one saw fit to inform me of my father’s death or wait for me to come for the funeral, you were the person who disposed of his belongings. Were you not?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “What became of his things?” Sophie demanded.

  “Things?”

  “The printing press and all the supplies, his books, his savings, his watch and my mother’s wedding ring.”

  “My dear girl, I used the money to pay for the burial.”

  “Surely no burial costs that much. The printing press alone had to be worth a great deal.”

  “It was old and outdated.”

  “Not so outdated that you couldn’t find a buyer. What happened to the money, Mr. Holland?”

  Lionel Holland slowly got to his feet, splayed his hands on his desk, and glared at her as if she were a piece of filth he’d scraped off his shoe. “You brought virtually nothing to the marriage. Your dowry was laughable, but my son, stubborn fool that he is, had his heart set on you, so we relented. Any proceeds I made off the sale of your father’s worthless clutter have gone to offset the cost of the wedding I’d been forced to pay for and the gowns and shoes George had to provide you with since the attire you brought with you was downright embarrassing.”

  “My father considered you a friend,” Sophie snapped, stung by the cruel words.

  “I was his associate, but your father was too obtuse to know the difference. He gave me a reasonable price on my orders, and I, in turn, humored him with the occasional jar of ale at the public house. Now, if you were hoping to get something from me, your hopes are grievously misplaced. Even if I were of a mind to pass on the proceeds, I would give the money to my son, not to you. As a woman, you cannot have money of your own or own property, so I suggest you wipe that angry scowl off your face and apologize for your impertinence. My son takes better care of you than you deserve. Be grateful.”

  “I see that you won’t part with the money, Mr. Holland, but I ask that you return my father’s watch and my mother’s ring. They’re keepsakes, and I’m entitled to them.”

  Mr. Holland considered her request for a moment, then turned and opened an ornate box that stood on the windowsill. He extracted her father’s watch and the thin gold band that had belonged to her mother and tossed them onto the desk. “These won’t fetch much anyway.”

  “Thank you,” Sophie said, glaring at him across the expanse of the desk. “And thank you for your condolences,” she added sarcastically. “They were much appreciated.”

  She turned on her heel and walked out the door, hoping that was the last she’d see of her father-in-law.

  Amelia poked her head out of the dining room. “Are we ready to leave?”

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” Sophie retorted. She couldn’t bear to remain in that house a moment longer.

  “You really are in a mood today,” Amelia said as she climbed into the carriage. “I felt so angry when I first became pregnant. It wasn’t anything specific that upset me; it was just everything. I wanted to either rage or cry. Are you sure you’re not—?”

  “I’m not,” Sophie snapped, suddenly wondering if that were a possibility. Could she be with child? She feverishly counted the days since her last courses. Nineteen. She’d have to wait another week to find out if George’s seed had been planted in her belly. “No!” she moaned, startling Amelia.

  “No, what?”
/>
  “Nothing. I’m sorry, Amelia. I’m not myself today.”

  “I’ll say,” Amelia retorted, looking at her archly. “When George said you needed a rest, he clearly wasn’t being overly dramatic.”

  “I think I’ll lie down for a while before dinner.”

  “Excellent notion. You look near collapse,” Amelia replied, fluffing out her skirts and picking at an invisible piece of lint with her gloved fingers.

  “Did you know my father was dead?” Sophie asked. It really didn’t matter at this stage, but some part of her needed to know if Amelia had been in on the conspiracy of silence.

  Amelia’s cheeks colored slightly, and her eyes grew moist. “Sophie, I’m so sorry. George asked us not to tell you. He said you weren’t well, and the news would upset you.”

  “Is that why you didn’t try to stop me when I said I was going to the printshop? You wanted me to discover the truth?”

  “Your father was your only remaining family. Surely you had a right to know.”

  “I appreciate that, Amelia,” Sophie said softly.

  “Look, Sophie, George can be a bit—for lack of a better word—high-handed, but his intentions are good. He was only trying to protect you.”

  If only I’d had someone to protect me from George, Sophie thought bitterly. She wondered how much Amelia really knew of George’s nature. Probably not much. What would a younger sister know of a man’s sexual appetites or perversions? Amelia loved George and looked up to him. She genuinely believed that Sophie had lucked out and should be thankful for the match providence had sent her.

  “Yes, George has been very ardent in his devotion,” Sophie replied, making Amelia grin.

  “He’s very romantic, isn’t he? I wish Jeremy would be more like that.” She giggled. “He can be so uptight sometimes, like he has a great big stick up his arse. Men are an enigma to me,” she confessed. “They can be so rowdy and fun with their friends, but so humorless with their wives and children. It’s almost as if they don’t even like us.”

  “Maybe they don’t,” Sophie replied. “After all, how well do any of us really know each other before we wed?”

  “And how well do we know each other after?” Amelia replied. “What goes on in Jeremy’s head is a mystery to me, which is why I prefer when he’s not at home. Makes life easier for all involved. Marriage is certainly not the exciting adventure I thought it would be.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Sophie agreed, and huddled deeper into her cloak. She was shivering, and not just because it was bitterly cold outside. She was so tightly wound she had no idea how she was going to get through the rest of the day.

  Chapter 34

  Lauren

  The bedroom was bathed in moonlight, the outlines of the furniture clearly visible in its silvery light. Lauren lay sleepless, her body tense. Now that her parents knew she’d put the apartment on the market, there would be questions. Of course, the obvious answer was that she simply couldn’t remain in the home she’d shared with Zack, and that was what she’d tell them, but that wasn’t the whole truth. The apartment had felt lonely after Zack died, but Lauren had found solace in its familiarity. It had made her feel closer to Zack. They’d shared so many happy hours in their little home, but now it was all ruined. The memories were tarnished, counterfeit. Even the pictures of the two of them that dotted the apartment seemed fake, like the staged photos dating sites used to entice potential clients. Look at the happy couple having fun on the beach or dressed up for someone’s wedding. You could be half of such a couple, someone who belongs, someone who is loved. Lauren scoffed audibly. Appearances could be deceiving.

  She was distracted from her bitter thoughts by a slight movement at the desk. Sophie was back. Lauren hadn’t seen her since the night Sophie had rescued her from the fog and had hoped that wasn’t the last she’d see of her reclusive ghost. Lauren held her breath as Sophie settled herself at the desk, a shawl draped over her nightdress, her hair loose. Lauren was surprised to notice that several strands were silvered by the moonlight. She was older than when she’d seen her before, Lauren realized.

  Sophie sat still for several minutes, just staring out the window, her back ramrod straight, as if she were tense. Then, she reached into the drawer and withdrew a single sheet of paper, which she placed on the desk before her. She picked up a quill and dipped it in ink but didn’t start writing. She sat there, quill suspended above the sheet of paper, her brows knitted in deep thought.

  “Sophie,” Lauren called softly. “Sophie, can you hear me?”

  The woman sat up straighter, her head turning to the side as if she’d heard something coming from the direction of the bed. She listened intently for a few moments, then shook her head, as if it were nothing, and returned to contemplating the blank page.

  “Sophie,” Lauren called again. “Who are you writing to?”

  This time Sophie didn’t seem to hear her. She dipped her quill in the inkpot again and began to write, but she stopped after a few moments and set down the quill, her gaze straying toward the moonlit bay.

  As Lauren studied Sophie’s tense profile, questions swirled in her head, questions she’d need to answer before she could turn Sophie into the main character of her story. What would keep a deceased woman tethered to this world? The obvious answer was love, but most people left behind someone they loved when they died, and they didn’t all hang around for hundreds of years, writing ghostly letters by moonlight. The more logical answer would be the loss of love. A tragic loss, the kind someone didn’t easily come back from.

  Sophie had to be pining for her husband. They had clearly been separated, but why? What would cause a husband and wife to live apart in a time when women were defined by their men? They must have seen each other at some point, since Sophie had been pregnant in one of her visitations and had been holding a baby in the next. Did George come to Cape Cod to visit his wife? Did he see his children? If he needed to remain in Cambridge to look after his business, why would he send his family away? Lauren had looked carefully, but she’d seen no gravestone for George Holland anywhere near the Holland family plots. Where was he buried? When did he die? She should have asked Brooke.

  Lauren kept her gaze fixed on Sophie until the woman began to fade, becoming completely translucent before vanishing completely as the night finally gave way to the gray light of a new dawn. Unable to get back to sleep, Lauren rose as soon as the first rays of the sun lit up the window and illuminated the top of the writing desk. Lauren’s laptop was there, just as it had been last night, but a single sheet of paper lay on top, Sophie’s words as black and fresh as if she’d written them only a few minutes ago. With a shaking hand, Lauren picked up the unfinished letter. There were only two lines.

  Dearest Teddy,

  Last night I dreamed of you…

  Lauren stared at the words on the page. Who the heck was Teddy, and what had been his relationship to Sophie? And more important, had Sophie left the letter to send her a message? If she had, then Lauren was clearly on the wrong track. It wasn’t George Sophie was pining for, but Teddy, whoever he was.

  Chapter 35

  Sophie

  January 1728

  The snow began to fall again just as dusk painted the world outside a lovely shade of violet. Thick flakes silently fell from the sky, settling on rooftops and branches. Sophie stared out the window, her heart hammering as she counted the chimes of the clock in the parlor. One more hour until she was either set free or her heart was irrevocably broken. She tried not to imagine what would happen if Teddy failed to show up. She’d dreaded going back to George, but after seeing Teddy, seeing the love in his eyes and feeling his arms around her, returning to George was unthinkable.

  Sophie took out her spare gown, shift, stockings, and stays from the trunk at the foot of the bed and rolled them up as tightly as she could, tying the bundle with stockings to keep it from unraveling. She couldn’t very well leave in just the clothes on her back but coming down with a valise would ar
ouse suspicion if she encountered someone on the stairs.

  She waited until a few minutes before nine, then crept downstairs and fetched her cloak and hat. Thankfully, Amelia had retired a half hour before, and Jeremy hadn’t returned unexpectedly. The servants had all retreated to their quarters, so the house was quiet and dark, the doors locked for the night. Sophie slipped the cloak over her shoulders, pulled up the hood over her cap, and carefully turned the key in the lock of the back door. It opened soundlessly onto a backyard carpeted in nearly a foot of freshly fallen snow.

  Sophie glanced up at Amelia’s window. She could see the light of her candle through the thick drapes but didn’t think Amelia would hear anything untoward. Peering into the darkness, Sophie searched for Teddy, but all she saw was the ghostly outline of the ancient oak and the houses of Amelia’s neighbors.

  “Oh, Teddy, where are you?” Sophie moaned under her breath. She stood still, waiting and listening. Only a few minutes had passed, but to her, they felt like hours. She had to either leave the house or return upstairs, but she hesitated, hoping Teddy would still come. The world beyond the backyard was silent and dark, the snow coming down from an overcast sky. There wasn’t even moonlight to see by. Amelia blew out her candle and the yard was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the whiteness of the snow.

  And then she heard it, a low whistle coming from the darkness. “Sophie.” The whisper was carried on the wind, but to her it sounded like the blare of trumpets. “Sophie, come on.”

  Sophie stepped outside and shut the door behind her, trudging through the snow in her inadequate boots. Her feet grew cold as snow came over the top of the thin leather and soaked her stockings, but she didn’t care. She walked as fast as she could, falling into Teddy’s embrace as soon as she finally reached him. Behind him, tethered to the tree, was a black horse, its mane sprinkled with snowflakes. The horse looked mildly curious as Teddy gave Sophie a leg up, then settled in behind her. It’d be a slow ride, but the streets were deserted, and the hoofbeats swallowed up by the cottony softness of the snow. Sophie leaned against Teddy’s chest and closed her eyes, the tension of the past few hours turning into crippling fatigue. She wanted only to lie down, curl up against him, and sleep until she finally felt ready to face whatever tomorrow would bring.