“Hello,” Ryan said. He smiled at her and leaned forward to kiss her cheek once she settled in the passenger seat.
“Hello,” Lauren replied, blushing. “Hi, Tyler,” she said, turning around to greet the little boy. Tyler was strapped into his car seat, a toy in his hand.
“Hi,” Tyler replied.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Lauren asked him.
“Hey, that’s cheating,” Ryan said, but not before Tyler said, “Auntie Ann’s.”
“And who is Auntie Ann?”
“Well, now that you’ve ruined the surprise, I might as well tell you,” Ryan said as he pulled out of the driveway and maneuvered the car down the narrow lane. “Auntie Ann happens to be Ann Oliver, the president of the Heritage Society. I know how much you wanted to talk to them, so I arranged a home visit.”
“And how is it that you have such pull with the Heritage Society?” Lauren asked, extremely pleased with Ryan’s answer.
“Ann Oliver is also one of my mom’s oldest friends. They met in kindergarten.”
“Is she very stern?” Lauren asked. She always pictured historians as being dusty old relics who were more interested in the past than the present.
Ryan laughed. “I’ll let you judge for yourself.”
As they drove onto Main Street, Lauren asked Ryan to stop at a bakery. “I can’t show up empty-handed.”
“Almond cookies,” Ryan said as she prepared to get out of the car.
“What?”
“Her favorite. Almond cookies.”
“And what are Tyler’s favorite cookies?” she asked softly so Ty wouldn’t hear.
“Chocolate chip,” he called from the back seat.
“May he have some?” Lauren asked.
“Sure,” Ryan replied. “Is that it, then?”
“How do you mean?”
“Don’t you want to know what my favorite cookie is?” he teased.
Lauren’s cheeks suffused with heat. “Of course. What is it?”
“I don’t like cookies,” Ryan replied haughtily, making her laugh.
“I don’t believe you. Everyone likes cookies.”
“Okay, you got me. I like the tri-colored ones.”
“All right. Cookies for everyone,” Lauren announced, and got out.
She bought a box of cookies for Ann Oliver, several chocolate chip cookies for Tyler, and tri-colored cookies for Ryan. It was the least she could do to repay him for his kind gesture.
“I want my cookie now,” Tyler cried as soon as she returned. “Pleeease.”
“All right, but only one,” Ryan said.
“And then another one,” Tyler countered.
Ryan rolled his eyes, his face a mask of paternal suffering. “All right, give him two.”
“Three,” Tyler exclaimed, sensing victory was close at hand.
“One,” Ryan replied.
“Two,” Tyler screamed.
“Two it is. I’m glad you saw it my way.”
“Interesting negotiation technique,” Lauren said, chuckling at the exchange.
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Would you like one too?” she asked.
“Maybe later. We’re nearly there.”
Ann Oliver lived in a charming house on a tree-lined side street. Her front garden was already in full bloom, azalea bushes lining a white-picket fence that surrounded the property. Ann came out to greet them, smiling broadly when Tyler waved to her from the back seat. Lauren smiled shyly when their eyes met. She had to admit that Ann Oliver was not at all what she’d expected. The woman had to be in her mid-sixties, but she clearly thought sixty was the new thirty. Her gray hair was short and spiky, and she wore skinny jeans and a hot-pink top accessorized with a black and fuchsia silk scarf artfully tied at her throat. She looked young and stylish, and not even a little stern.
“Hello, sweetie,” she said as she opened the back door and reached in to unfasten Tyler’s seatbelt. “I see you’ve been eating chocolate.” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped Ty’s hands and face before scooping him out of the car seat. “Would you like to go on the swing?”
“Yes!” Tyler cried, and made for the backyard as soon as his feet hit the ground.
“I guess that’s my cue,” Ryan said, and took off after him without making an introduction.
“Hello, Mrs. Oliver,” Lauren said, feeling like the new kid on the first day of school.
“Please call me Ann. Come on in,” she invited. “Tea or coffee?”
“Tea would be great,” Lauren said, offering her the box of cookies. “Ryan said almond cookies are your favorite.”
“They sure are. Thank you. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”
She escorted Lauren into the living room and disappeared into the kitchen. The room was just like its owner: tasteful, colorful, and welcoming. Lauren sank into the chenille sofa and admired the eclectic paintings and the numerous plants that filled the room. The effect was charming.
Ann returned with a tray and set it on the coffee table. “I like real tea, not the stuff that comes in bags,” she said as she poured tea from an adorable teapot painted with poppies. “Orange pekoe, one of my favorites. Tastes even better with almond cookies,” she joked.
Lauren accepted the tea and added a spoonful of sugar. It did taste better brewed fresh.
Ann leaned against the cushion and studied Lauren over the rim of her cup. “Ryan tells me you’re interested in the history of Holland House.”
“I am. I don’t know if Ryan mentioned it, but I’m a writer, and I’d like to write a story that incorporates the history of the house.”
“Why?”
The question took Lauren by surprise. “I just feel—” She allowed the sentence to trail off, unable to say ‘a presence’ out loud.
“You feel a connection,” Ann supplied.
“Yes, a connection,” Lauren agreed, and noticed the sparkle of humor in Ann’s eyes. Did she know about the ghost, or was Lauren just being overly sensitive?
Ann studied Lauren with interest as she nibbled on her cookie. “There are no actual documents that support any of the stories that have swirled around that house for centuries, but there’s local lore.”
“I’d love to hear it,” Lauren assured her. “My story will be a work of fiction, so I don’t need to document my sources. I’m particularly interested in Sophie Holland and her family.” Lauren was grateful Ann didn’t ask for her reasons.
“As you already know, Holland House was built in the first half of the eighteenth century, but it wasn’t called Holland House until some fifty years later, during the Revolutionary War when Edward Holland used the private dock to smuggle in ammunition and ferry rebel spies.”
“What was it called before?” Lauren asked.
“Those who profited from the residents of the house called it ‘The House on the Hill.’”
“And those who didn’t?”
“Those people referred to it as ‘The Witch’s House.’ It’s said that the name was first used by Reverend Josiah Martins, the spiritual leader of the Puritan settlement. He called on his parishioners to shun the family for fear of catching their evil.”
Lauren set down her teacup and stared at Ann. “Why? Was Sophie Holland a witch?”
“Was any woman?” Ann asked archly. “Sophie Holland lived in a time when a woman who was different or a little too independent was instantly suspected of being an instrument of the Devil. It was only about thirty years after the Salem witch trials, you know. Superstition and fear were alive and well.”
“What made them think she was a witch?”
“There were some who suspected her of adultery and thought she might even share her bed with more than one man.”
“Why would they think that?”
“There was a young man who lived at the house. He was supposedly in the employ of the family, but he was certainly old enough to have fathered her children, and he was alone with Sophie for lo
ng stretches of time.”
“What of her husband?” Lauren asked. “Did he not have this house built for her?”
“The husband was rarely seen after the family settled in.”
“Is that all?” Lauren asked, amazed that something so trivial would be enough to accuse a woman of witchcraft.
“There was something else. Totally unrelated, I should think, but the events were given credence at the time. Shortly after Sophie arrived, several children died in quick succession at the Puritan settlement. Given the religious zeal that passed for faith in those days, it was immediately assumed the deaths were the result of some spell she cast on the settlement as payback for some minor slight. Of course, most people would not have made that connection had it not been suggested from the pulpit, but Reverend Martins used the tragedy to further his own agenda.”
“Which was?”
“To hold the community in the death grip of fear and ignorance. It’s hard to manipulate folk who are educated and well informed, but it’s a piece of cake when the people’s only source of information is the Sunday sermon.”
“Was Sophie threatened?” Lauren asked, intrigued by this new angle.
“I don’t know if she was threatened, per se, but she certainly wasn’t made welcome. And there were other rumors about her as well.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“People said the house was built using blood money, and that her husband never showed his face because he was a wanted man.”
“Was this based on anything concrete or just more insinuations from the pulpit?”
“Shortly after the family took possession of the house, two men came looking for them. They went up the hill, but never came back down. The most likely explanation was that they simply left the area, having fulfilled their mission, and no one had seen them go, but the Reverend Martins turned their disappearance to his own advantage as well, bidding his parishioners to remain vigilant for the disciples of the Devil in their midst who’d just as soon kill a man as allow him to get away with his soul intact.”
“So, there was absolutely no proof that any harm came to the men?”
“None,” Ann replied. “It was all conjecture.”
“Why did Sophie remain here, I wonder?” Lauren asked, hoping Ann would tell her something of Sophie’s marriage. Had she come to Cape Cod to get away from George? Had he banished her to Orleans as some sort of punishment? Or had she run off with Teddy?
“I’m sure she had her reasons. Little is known of the woman. She kept mostly to herself, which is always an invitation for people to speculate.”
“And what became of her children?”
“They lived into adulthood, married, and had children of their own.”
“Did anything out of the ordinary happen in this area around the time Holland House was built?” Lauren asked, still hoping for something concrete to go on.
Ann laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, that depends on what you consider to be out of the ordinary. The period you’re asking about was known as the Golden Age of Piracy. It began around 1650 and continued well into the 1700s. People always associate piracy with well-known figures like Captain Kidd and Edward Teach, who you might know by the name Blackbeard, but there were many others who didn’t limit their activities to the Caribbean, as the movies would have you believe. These pirates sailed as far as the West African coast and the Indian Ocean and came as far north as Maine.”
“Were any of the pirates American?” Lauren asked, feeling a little foolish for her ignorance.
“Quite a few. The earlier pirates were mostly of Anglo-French origin, but the later surge of piracy is attributed to Anglo-American sailors and privateers who lost their livelihood when the War of the Spanish Succession came to an end after thirteen years of fighting. There was one American-born pirate who was quite notorious,” Ann said. “Captain Theodore Mercer.”
Lauren’s stomach flipped when she heard the name. Theodore. Teddy. Now she was finally getting somewhere. “What made him notorious?” Lauren asked, not sure she was ready to hear Ann’s response.
“Mercy. He pillaged and plundered with the best of them, but he never killed anyone after a ship had been taken and left enough provisions on board for the vessel to make the nearest port without any casualties. He was known as Mad Ted or Merciful Mercer.”
“Why mad?”
“Because his contemporaries thought it was madness to be so magnanimous. They believed that a captain’s strength lay in his ability to inspire terror, not only among his prisoners, but in his crew, but Ted’s men genuinely loved him and respected his views on unnecessary loss of life.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Lauren said. “I have heard of Blackbeard, of course, and Ryan told me about Captain Kidd and the treasure he supposedly buried right here on Cape Cod.”
“There are all sorts of legends inspired by tales of buried treasure, but Mad Ted shared his booty equally among his crew.”
“What became of him?”
“I don’t know. Unlike Blackbeard, who was killed by Lieutenant Robert Maynard, and Captain Kidd, who was executed on charges of treason in London, Mad Ted sort of just fell off the radar.”
“The Edward Holland you mentioned, the revolutionary, was he Sophie Holland’s son?” Lauren asked, wondering if Edward might have been fathered by Ted Mercer.
“He was her grandson. In fact, rumor has it that he funded some of his more colorful activities by nefarious means.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that no one knew where his money came from. There were those who said he’d found a horde of Spanish gold.”
Or perhaps he’d inherited it, Lauren thought. She was about to ask for more information about Edward’s activities during the war when Tyler burst into the room, a wicked grin on his face. Ryan wasn’t far behind.
“Give me that,” Ryan demanded, holding out his hand.
“What’s he got?” Ann asked, clearly amused.
“A worm,” Ryan replied as a gleeful Tyler dove behind the couch.
“As long as he doesn’t eat it, he’ll be just fine,” Ann said, smiling. “Worms taste awful.”
“Ewww!” came a voice from behind the couch.
“There you have it,” Ann told Ryan triumphantly. “Have some tea, Ryan.”
Ryan accepted a cup of tea and sat down on the couch next to Lauren. “So, have you learned anything interesting?”
“Lots of things,” Lauren replied happily. “Definitely some good material to work with.”
“Where are you two headed now?” Ann asked.
She made them sound like a couple, and Lauren felt an unexpected twinge of pleasure. She hadn’t realized how much she longed to be part of a couple again, and also part of the greater world. She’d shut herself away since Zack’s death, that was true, but she’d had help. Many of their friends, people she’d known for years and had looked upon as a sort of extended family, had gradually drifted away. While she was with Zack, she’d been part of a couple, an acceptable unit suited to any manner of gatherings, but as a single woman, she was suddenly less socially desirable. Some people were uncomfortable with her grief, while others preferred to avoid the awkwardness associated with inviting a single, bereaved friend.
A few friends had remained loyal, like Brooke, but Brooke had been her friend long before she’d met Zack, and their friendship had always been separate from Lauren’s marriage. And Brooke had also been single, although she did tend to change boyfriends quite often. Xavier was always there for Lauren, but the social circle she’d cultivated while with Zack had gradually fallen away. She wondered if the friends who’d turned their backs on her after her loss would come out of the woodwork once she had someone new in her life. Would they be more open to her if she were no longer single, or would she still be someone they left off the guestlist because she was no longer Zack’s wife?
“We’re going back to my house,” Ryan replied. “I feel like grilling tonight.”
“Sounds lovely,” Ann said. “Enjoy. And don’t forget the little rascal who’s hiding behind my couch.”
They all laughed when Tyler shot out from behind the couch and grabbed a cookie on his way to the front door, his giggles filling the house. Lauren grabbed her bag, thanked Ann Oliver again, and followed Ryan and Tyler outside. For the first time in a long while, she felt completely content. She no longer cared if her old friends would come back or if they’d approve of a new man. It didn’t matter, because she no longer wanted them in her life, not after they’d left her alone in her hour of need. There would be new friends, and new experiences, and as she gazed at Ryan, she hoped there’d be new loves as well.
Chapter 41
“Have you ever heard of Mad Ted?” Lauren asked once they pulled out of Ann Oliver’s driveway. Having released some of his energy, Tyler was now sitting quietly, staring out the window.
“Yes. Why?” Ryan asked. “What’s he got to do with anything?”
Lauren filled Ryan in on what Ann had told her, then pulled out the letter Sophie had left from her purse. She kept it in a Ziploc bag to keep the ink from smudging. “Pull over for a moment,” Lauren said. “I’d like to show you something.”
Ryan pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. He looked at Lauren expectantly.
“Sophie left this on the desk.”
Ryan took the plastic bag from Lauren and quickly read the short message before turning to face Lauren, his eyes wide with astonishment. “You think this was meant for Ted Mercer?”
“I do. I think Sophie Holland was his mistress.”
“That’s an interesting theory, but there’s precious little to back it up,” Ryan said, his expression thoughtful. He was about to say something else when his cellphone rang.
“Excuse me,” he said, and took the call. His face grew serious as he listened to the person on the other end.
“I need to go into the office right away. Mrs. Leonard’s dog has been hit by a car. Merielle went to Martha’s Vineyard with my parents,” he said, his expression anxious.
The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story Page 22