The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story

by Irina Shapiro

  “And who is this?” Sophie asked, trying to figure out if the baby was a boy or a girl.

  “This is our Libby,” Molly replied proudly. “She’ll be six months come February first. You mind holding her while I get breakfast on?” she asked, clearly not trusting her husband with the baby.

  “Of course.” Sophie took the child and settled the little girl on her lap. Libby had dark hair as fine as corn silk, and her eyes were a dark brown like her father’s. She reached out, grabbed a fistful of Sophie’s hair, and pulled with all her might. Sophie yelped and Molly laughed at her surprise.

  “They’re mischievous little devils, babies are,” she said as she added water to yesterday’s porridge and mixed it in to thin the gruel. “A few more months and she’ll start walking, and then we’ll really be in for it. Won’t be able to keep her in one place.”

  Sophie’s gaze flew to Teddy, who was watching her with the baby. She’d longed to hold Theo in her arms, to love him and nurture him, but she knew nothing of babies. She’d never even held him before he was taken from her. How would she know how to care for him, if it came to that? How would she keep him healthy and safe?

  “Molly knows a lot about babies. Don’t you, Mol?” Brock said, smiling at his wife indulgently. “The oldest of twelve, she is.”

  Molly gave Sophie a reassuring look, and Sophie realized that they knew where Teddy was headed. He must have explained while she was dressing.

  “Will you help me if…” Sophie couldn’t finish the sentence due to the lump that welled up in her throat.

  “Don’t you worry, lamb. I’ll give you all the guidance you need,” Molly said, and patted her hand. She took Libby from her and settled the child on her hip before returning to stir the porridge.

  After they ate, Sophie escorted Teddy to the barn and looked on as he saddled his horse. It’d be slow going in the snow, but life didn’t come to a halt because of the weather. Teddy tightened the straps and then held on to the reins as he turned toward Sophie, his expression one of regret.

  “I hate to leave you so soon after I found you, but time’s not on my side,” he said, smiling down at her.

  “Godspeed,” Sophie said. She willed herself not to cry, but her eyes were swimming with tears.

  Teddy reached into his coat and took out a leather purse, which he handed to Sophie. “Don’t let Brock or Molly see this. Hide it well. It’s in case something should happen to me. There’s enough there to see you safe for a while.”

  Sophie nodded. “Come back to me, Teddy, with or without Theo,” she said.

  “I should be back in a week or two. Keep the faith, love.” He kissed her tenderly and held her close before letting her go. “Now, go back to the house and find something to keep you occupied. And don’t fret. I’ll be all right.”

  “I know,” Sophie said, not knowing anything of the sort.

  Sophie waited until Teddy was gone from view before returning to the house. She was cold and heartsick, but the sight of Libby lifted her spirits. The little girl was sitting on the floor, playing with some pegs and smiling. She had four teeth, which made her look like a chipmunk.

  “She’s sweet,” Sophie said as she watched Libby play. “Is there anything I can do to help, Molly?”

  “Ted’s not paying us to exploit you,” Molly replied.

  “I’d be most grateful for something to occupy my time. Otherwise I shall go mad with worry.”

  “All right, then. You asked for it,” Molly said with an amused grin. She fetched a basket from the corner and handed it to Sophie. The basket was full of linens: Brock’s shirt and hose, Molly’s shift and stockings, and Libby’s baby gowns.

  “Those all need mending. Haven’t gotten around to attacking that pile yet. The linen’s so threadbare, it tears easily,” Molly warned as she fetched a small tin box that held her sewing implements and several skeins of thread. “Just do your best.”

  Sophie took out a baby gown and surveyed the damage. Molly was right. The linen was practically see-through. The gown must have been fashioned from an old garment of Molly’s or Brock’s, the fabric too precious to simply throw away. There was a tear in the sleeve by the inseam. Sophie threaded the needle and went to work, grateful to have something to do to fill the endless hours of the morning. By the time Molly set a plate of sliced pork and bread on the table for their midday meal, Sophie had mended three garments.

  “You should have a rest after dinner,” Molly said. “You look worn out.”

  “I didn’t sleep well,” Sophie admitted.

  “Up you go, then.”

  Sophie didn’t argue. She was exhausted, having been up since the small hours. She climbed into the loft and lay down on the pallet, pulling the blanket over her. As her mind drifted, she briefly wondered what the Hollands must be thinking and if anyone was searching for her. Had George been informed she was missing, and if so, would he come to Boston to conduct his own inquiry? Sophie smiled drowsily at the notion of his helpless fury before she fell asleep.

  Chapter 37

  As the days passed, Sophie grew restive and melancholy. After living in Boston and then in Cambridge, which was like an ever-simmering cauldron of intellectual debate, the Langford farm might as well have been on the moon. The absence of news was difficult to bear, as was the lack of company. Brock was not a man given to idle chatter, and Molly was too accustomed to laboring on her own all day to pay much attention to the emotional needs of her guest. Sophie did her best to keep busy and not get underfoot, but when she climbed to the loft at night, her fears got the better of her and she often found herself weeping into her pillow. She grew more despondent by the day, convincing herself that Teddy would either find no trace of Theo or discover that he had died shortly after being taken from her.

  More than a week had passed since Teddy’s departure when Brock announced he was going into town to sell the cheese and butter Molly had set aside for their regular customers. The Langfords supplied as many as ten households with their products and relied on the coin they earned to supplement their finances and get them through the winter months.

  “You make sure to mention what a harsh winter this is turning out to be,” Molly reminded Brock as he loaded the cans of milk and several baskets of muslin-wrapped cheeses into the wagon. “Don’t let your pride get the best of you.”

  “Quit nagging, woman,” Brock replied affectionately. “I know what I need to do.”

  Sophie wasn’t sure what the Langfords were talking about, but Molly was quick to explain.

  “Sometimes the housekeepers who purchase our goods give Brock the household castoffs, things too worn and shabby even for the servants of Boston’s finest families to wear. But we’re not so proud, are we, Brock?” she asked with a smile. “Some of those garments still have plenty of wear left in them, and what I can’t use for us, I’ll cut down for Libby once she’s out of gowns.”

  “That’s clever of you,” Sophie replied, thinking that George would sooner burn the clothes then allow someone like the Langfords to have them at no cost. She hoped Brock wouldn’t return empty-handed.

  “Brock, if it’s not too much trouble, could you purchase a newspaper in town?” Sophie asked, holding out a coin. She didn’t dare ask him to incur the expense of buying her a newspaper. “The Boston Gazette,” she added. “It’s a weekly publication, but perhaps there are some left over from last week’s printing.”

  Brock silently accepted the coin and slipped it into his pocket before mounting the bench of the wagon and driving out of the yard.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Sophie asked Molly, who also looked as if she’d just bit on a lemon.

  “He can’t read,” Molly replied without rancor. “I suppose he was too embarrassed to tell you so. Don’t worry, he’ll get the paper. He’ll ask someone if he requires help.”

  Sophie nodded and went back into the house, where she lifted Libby off the floor and settled the child on her lap. The little girl was the only ray of sunshine in he
r otherwise colorless days, and she sang softly to her, gratified to see Libby listening intently.

  “She likes you,” Molly said. “You have a way with children.”

  “Do I?”

  “You’re a natural. There’ll be others, you know,” Molly said as she began to peel carrots and potatoes for the stew she was making.

  “Other what?”

  “Other children. You concentrate on that. It’s always better to look to the future than hanker after the past,” Molly advised, her knife flashing in the sunlight that filtered through the window.

  “You think my baby is dead?” Sophie asked, nearly choking on the word.

  “I think that’s a possibility, and I’d be lying to you if I pretended it wasn’t. Lie with your man as often as you can before he goes off again. Mayhap by the time he returns, you’ll have something to show for it.”

  Sophie couldn’t argue with Molly’s logic, but the words still cut her to the quick. Teddy had gone on a fool’s errand; Molly and Brock obviously thought so. He was looking for Theo to humor her, to prove to her that the child was gone so she could finally say goodbye and turn her attention to the present. She supposed they were right, but she simply couldn’t let go of the dream of Theo. In her mind, he was a sturdy little boy with sky-blue eyes and chestnut hair, like Teddy’s, who was good-natured and affectionate. He was real to her, even though she’d never seen him or held him in her arms. In her heart, he was alive.

  And, in truth, she couldn’t focus too much on the future, since she had no way of knowing what it would hold. What would happen once Teddy returned? Sophie refused to entertain the idea that he wouldn’t. Where would they go? Where would she be safe from George and his vengeance? She hoped Teddy had a plan, but given that they’d been reunited purely by chance, Teddy had to be making it up as he went along, and any sense of safety she experienced at the out-of-the-way farm was purely an illusion.

  When the wagon rattled into the yard in the late afternoon, Sophie fought the impulse to run out and demand to see the newspaper. Brock would be tired, and he’d have to see to the horse and wagon before paying any mind to her, but he came straight in and handed her the newspaper with a flourish. “Snatched the last one,” he announced proudly.

  “Thank you, Brock,” Sophie said, clutching her treasure to her chest. Some small part of her was afraid of what she’d learn, but the greater part simply needed to know something of what went on outside the farm. The light was fading, but she dared not ask for an extra candle to read by since she had no wish to sit at the table where both Molly and Brock would be watching her.

  Sophie settled by the window, where there was still enough light to skim through the paper and see if anything of import caught her eye. She could read the rest tomorrow. Sophie’s searching gaze instantly picked out the name Holland, and she brought the paper closer to her face and began to read even as the words became more difficult to make out in the gathering darkness.

  “Messrs. Lionel Holland and George Holland of Holland’s Book Shoppes have mounted an exhaustive search for Mrs. George Holland, who went missing from Major Dawson’s home on January 6th of this year. Despite all their efforts and appeals for information, they were unable to learn anything of the lady’s whereabouts. A substantial reward has been offered by Mr. Holland Sr. Anyone who has any pertinent information regarding the disappearance of Mrs. Holland or the vicious attack on his son will be handsomely rewarded.”

  Sophie looked up at Brock, who’d just come in after stabling the horse. His cheeks were ruddy with cold, and he rubbed his hands in anticipation as Molly heaped stew into a bowl and cut several thick slices of brown bread.

  “Brock, it says here that there’s been an attack on George Holland but offers no other information. Have you heard anything about it while in town?”

  Brock sat down at the table and took a mouthful of stew before replying. “George Holland was set upon near Gray’s Wharf. Beaten within an inch of his life, or so I hear.”

  “I wonder what he was doing there,” Sophie mused. No ships from England arrived in January, the Atlantic being too dangerous to cross during the gale season, so George wouldn’t have been at the docks to inquire after a shipment.

  “Looking for your fine self, presumably,” Brock replied. “Town’s abuzz with gossip. Everyone is wondering what happened to poor Mrs. Holland and if they should start locking up their women.”

  Sophie felt a pang of guilt at Brock’s words. Poor Amelia had probably gotten the brunt of the blame, from both George and her father, and from Major Dawson, who hadn’t been there when Sophie absconded, but would probably be blamed by association and expected to order his regiment to join the search even though this was in no way a military matter.

  “Don’t fret,” Brock said, noting her anxious expression. “The Hollands are no longer your concern.”

  Oh, but they are, Sophie thought miserably. In the eyes of the law, she still belonged to George Holland, and if he ever got his hands on her, there’d be hell to pay and no one would come to her aid, especially not the authorities, who’d see any abuse as a domestic matter. Sophie folded the paper and set it aside. She’d learned enough for one evening.

  “Come, sit, Sophie. Supper’s on the table,” Molly admonished her.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t feel well,” Sophie replied. “Please excuse me.”

  She climbed the ladder to the loft and lay down on the pallet, her heart hammering with fear. The Hollands had offered a substantial reward for information, and now Brock probably knew that. Would a man who relied on the cast-offs of others be strong enough to resist the temptation of such a sum? Teddy seemed to think so, or he wouldn’t have left her with the Langfords, but Sophie knew only too well that people didn’t always reveal their true nature until it was too late.

  Chapter 38

  February arrived with snow and sleet, the winds so gusty, they rattled the windows and banged the shutters. Having no outdoor chores to attend to, Sophie rarely ventured outside, remaining by the window and peering into the distance as if her desperation could conjure Teddy out of thin air. He’d been gone for nearly three weeks and her worry was quickly turning into dread. Neither Molly nor Brock mentioned Teddy at all, their silence making Sophie even more uneasy.

  The only benefit to Sophie’s time with the Langfords was Molly’s tutelage. Sophie had learned how to bake bread, churn butter, prepare simple meals, and tend to a child. These were valuable skills for a woman who’d managed a household but had never done any of the work herself. In the event Teddy never returned, she could use the money he’d left to travel to Rhode Island or even New York. She had enough to sustain her until she could find live-in employment as a domestic, a situation that would not only give her a place to live but make her more difficult to find as she would simply become part of someone’s household. She’d never return to George; she’d rather die.

  It was toward the end of the first week of February that weak sunshine finally sliced through the impenetrable gray clouds that had been hovering on the horizon like weeping harbingers of doom. The snow sparkled playfully, and the wind had died down, the winter day pleasant after nearly a week of endless sleet. Putting on her boots and cloak, Sophie ventured outdoors, desperate to get out of the house. She couldn’t go too far because of the deep snow, but she could go some way up the road that led away from the farm. She walked slowly, enjoying the mild sunshine and filling her lungs with the frosty air. On a day like today, spring didn’t feel so far off, and it was easier to feel hopeful.

  Sophie shielded her eyes and fixed her gaze on the lone rider making his way toward the farm. Her heart skipped a beat when she recognized Teddy. His face was obscured by the shadow of his tricorn and his cloak was gathered around him to protect him from the bitter cold. He held the reins with both hands, the simple gesture making it painfully obvious that he was alone.

  Sophie stood rooted to the spot, her emotions seesawing wildly. She was giddy with relief that Teddy
was back at last, but, although she’d steeled herself for bad news, the bitterness of her disappointment tasted like hemlock on her tongue. Molly had been right, of course. It was too late. Theo was gone forever, and she had to look to the future, but the future was as murky as a muddy pond, its deceptively placid surface hiding what lay beneath.

  As he drew closer, Teddy lifted his hand in a wave, and Sophie waved back, forcing a smile she hoped would mask her heartbreak. Teddy looked tired and lean, a coppery beard concealing the hollows in his cheeks and contrasting with the shadows beneath his eyes. She’d never seen him unshaven, and despite the familiar features, for just a moment, he looked like a stranger, feral and dangerous. Finally, he drew alongside her and smiled, dispelling the impression of danger.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Poppet,” he said, looking down at her upturned face.

  “As are you,” Sophie replied, trying desperately to keep the tremor out of her voice.

  “I need a hearty meal, a bath, and a good night’s sleep, in that order,” Teddy said warily. “Shall we go to the house?” Sophie thought he might dismount and walk alongside her, but Teddy remained where he was, probably too worn out to walk the half mile back to the farm.

  Then, very gently, he pulled aside his wool cloak to reveal a little face, the eyes closed in slumber, dark eyelashes fanned against pale skin. Sophie let out a cry and instantly clamped her hand to her mouth so as not to wake the sleeping child. He looked exhausted nestled in the crook of Teddy’s arm, and so small. Teddy’s grin grew wider as he savored her surprise.