It is remarkable. It has a soul of its own, an incredible feeling. It's as though you can still sense the woman it was built for. I tried to get Jimmy and Kathleen to use it as a summerhouse years ago, they used it once, and Kathleen hated it. Jimmy told her a lot of nonsense about ghosts and terrified her, and she would never stay there again. It's a shame, it's the most romantic place I've ever been. He smiled at her as she said it, but he spent most of the time battling the snow as they drove there. The storm had really picked up, and the wind was blowing the snow into high drifts all around them.
They went as far as they could on the road, and Mrs. Palmer told him where to leave the car. He could see nothing but trees all around, and he was worried they'd get lost, but she only smiled at him, as she tightened her coat around her and beckoned. She knew exactly where she was going.
I feel like Hansel and Gretel in the forest, he said, and they both laughed. You should have told me to bring breadcrumbs, he said, with his head bowed, holding on to her so she wouldn't fall. He had a firm hand beneath her elbow, but she was strong and spry, and she was used to coming here in all kinds of weather, although she seldom came now. But just being here made her smile, and she looked at him as though she were about to give him a present. Who was the woman it was built for? he asked, as they walked along, with their heads bowed against the wind. He remembered that she had said a Frenchman had built it for a woman.
Her name was Sarah Ferguson, she said, holding on to him then so she didn't stumble, and he walked close to her. They were like mother and son, and he was faintly worried about her. The storm had gotten worse just in the last few minutes, and he was serious about being concerned about being lost in the forest. And if they were on a traveled path, he had no sense of it, but she did. She never hesitated for a moment. And then she began telling him Sarah's story. She was a remarkable woman. She came from England all alone. The stories about her are quite mysterious and very romantic. She fled a husband who was terrible to her ' the Earl of Balfour ' Just hearing the words sounded exotic to Charlie. She was the Countess of Balfour when she came here in 1789.
How did she meet up with the Frenchman? Charlie asked, intrigued now. There was something about the way she told the story, with little hints, and only the merest glimpses of what lay beyond, that inevitably hooked him.
That's a long, long story. I've always been fascinated by her, Gladys Palmer said, looking at him, but squinting in the storm, she was a woman of immeasurable strength and courage. But before she could say more, the trees parted suddenly and they stood in a little clearing. Even in the snow, she had known exactly the road she was on, and Charlie found himself staring at a beautifully built, perfectly proportioned small chateau, just beyond them. It sat next to a small lake, which Gladys Palmer said had once been filled with swans, but they were long gone now, and even at a distance, in the blinding snow, Charlie was well aware of the extraordinary beauty of the location. He had never seen anything like it. It looked like an exquisite little jewel, sitting there, and as they approached it almost reverently, he could hardly wait to get inside it.
Gladys was smiling as they walked up the front steps, and he was startled to see that they were marble. And as she took out the old brass key and fit it in the lock, she looked over her shoulder at Charlie.
One of the most remarkable things about the place is that Francois de Pellerin had it entirely built by the Indians and local craftsmen. He showed them everything, and taught them how to do the work. It all looks as though it was done by master craftsmen brought over from Europe.
And as they stepped inside, they were instantly in another world. The ceilings were high, the floors were inlaid and beautiful, there were long, graceful French windows leading out of every room, marble fireplaces, and the proportion of each room was perfect. It was so beautiful that Charlie could easily imagine it filled with graceful, elegant people, brilliant sunshine, extravagant flowers, and exquisite music. It was like a trip back into history, and yet the warmth and beauty of the place made one want to sit down quietly and just be there. Charlie had never felt this way anywhere, and all he could do was look around and stare. Even the color of the walls was perfect, there were warm creams, and butter-yellows, and pale grays, a blue the color of summer sky in the dining room, and a pale peach in what had apparently been Sarah's boudoir. It was the most beautiful house he'd ever seen, and he could only picture it filled with laughter and love and happy people.
Who was she? he whispered reverently as they walked from room to room, and then he looked up in surprise as he noticed murals and gold leaf edging the ceilings. Everything was in exquisite taste, every detail had been seen to, and executed with utter perfection. Charlie wanted to imagine her as they stood in what had been her bedroom. Was she beautiful, was she young, was she old? What had caused the French count to build this tiny perfect palace for her? What had she been that had made him so extravagantly love her? Charlie knew only that he had been a count, and she a Countess, but there was so much more here. Something about the beauty and the spirit of the place told him without actually saying it that they had been real people. And suddenly, he was starving for information about them, but Gladys was very sparing in what she told him.
Sarah Ferguson was very beautiful, I've been told. I've only seen one drawing of her, and a miniature they have at the museum in Deerfield. She was quite well known around here. She bought a farm when she came, and she lived alone, which apparently created quite a stir' . and when he built this house for her, they lived together before being married, which, for the locals of their day, was considered utterly shocking. He smiled at what she was saying, wishing that he could have seen her. He wanted to go directly to the local historical society and read everything he could about her. But the count who had built the house for her fascinated him as much as she did.
What happened to them eventually? Did they go back to Europe, or stay?
He died, and she lived in this house for long years after that. She never left. In fact, she died here. She was buried not far from the house, in a little clearing. There's a waterfall near here, which the Indians say is sacred and where they were seen to go walking almost every day. He was very involved with the Indians, and very respected by all the local tribes. He was married to an Iroquois woman long before he married Sarah. Just listening to her filled Charlie's mind with more questions.
What brought them together then, if they were both married to other people? He was fascinated and confused and he wanted to know all of it, but even Gladys didn't know all the details.
Passion brought them together, I suppose. I don't think they were together for many years, but it was clearly a deep love they shared. They must have both been very remarkable people. Jimmy swears he saw her here the summer they stayed in the house, but I don't really think he did. I think I had probably just told him too many stories. Sometimes that can create an illusion. It was an illusion Charlie would have loved to experience. There was something about the house and the place and the feelings that nearly overwhelmed him, and that made him want to know everything about Sarah Ferguson. It was almost as though she were a woman in a dream, and he was suddenly desperate to find her.
It's the prettiest house I've ever seen, Charlie said as he walked from room to room again. He was unable to tear himself away, and as they went downstairs again, he sat on the stairs, just taking it all in, and thinking.
I'm glad you like it, Charles. Gladys Palmer looked so pleased. The house meant so much to her, it always had. Even her husband had never quite understood it, and her son had always made fun of her. But she felt something there that was impossible to explain, or to share, unless the other person also felt it. And it was obvious that Charles did. He was so moved, he could barely speak as Gladys watched him. It was as though he was communing with his own soul there. He felt a kind of peace that had eluded him for years, and for the first time in months, he felt as though he had come home to a place he had been seeking. Just sitting there, lo
oking out at the snow, and the valley far below, made him feel something he'd never experienced before, and all he knew was that he didn't want to leave here. His eyes were filled with something very deep as he looked at her, and she knew exactly what he was feeling.
I know, she said softly, and took his hand in her own. This is why I never sold it. She loved this house more than any other she had ever lived in. Her house in town was beautiful, and comfortable in its own way, but it had none of the charm or grace or soul that emanated from this one. This house had a spirit of its own, and it was still filled with the warmth and loveliness of the remarkable woman who had lived there, and Gladys knew it always would be. She had left an indelible mark on everything she had touched there, and Francois's love for her had bathed everything in light and magic. It was an extraordinary place, and Gladys was startled by Charlie's next words, but not entirely. She wondered if that was why she had been compelled to come here with liim.
Will you rent it to me? he asked with a pleading look in his eyes. He had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted to live here. He believed that houses had souls and destinies, and hearts of their own, and he could feel this one reaching out to him as no house had ever done before, not even the house he had loved so much in London. This was very different. It was an immediate bond he had felt, for reasons he didn't understand, almost as though he had known the people who lived here. Tve never felt anything as strongly, he tried to explain to her, and she looked pensive as she watched him. She had never wanted to rent it to anyone. She had lived there herself for barely more than a year, nearly fifty years before, and Jimmy and his family had stayed there for a few months, but other than that it had literally been uninhabited since Sarah Ferguson herself had lived there. None of Gladys's family had actually lived in the little chateau. They had simply owned it, as an oddity, and an investment. They had even talked of making a museum of it, but no one had ever done it. And all things considered, it was quite remarkable that it was still in such good condition, but that was to Gladys's credit. She had always made a considerable effort to maintain it, and visited it often.
I know it sounds crazy, Charlie explained, hoping to convince her of what he so desperately longed for. But I feel as though this is why I came, why we met ' as though it was meant to be. I feel as though I've come home, he said, sounding awestruck, and as he looked at her, he knew that she understood him, and she nodded. There was a reason why their paths had crossed, a reason why he had been led here. Their lives were so separate, they were years apart, and yet they had so much to give each other. She had lost so many and so much, and he had lost Carole, they were both alone, but their lives had converged to bring each other something precious and rare. It was a force of destiny neither of them completely understood, and yet they felt the power of it as they stood there. He had come from London, and then New York, and it was as though she had been waiting for him. He was her Christmas gift, and now she wanted to give something to him, and she knew that if she did, he would stay near her. For a while at least, long enough for her to enjoy his company for a few months ' a year ' maybe more. It was all she wanted. He wasn't the son she had lost, but he was a special gift. He had come to her so unexpectedly, and now she couldn't deny him. She knew he would take care of it. It was obvious, looking at him, that he already loved it. No one in her family had ever felt remotely as he did about it. Only she had.
All right, she said quietly, feeling her heart tremble a little bit. It was an act of faith renting it to him, but she knew he realized the enormity of the gift, and he already loved it. And without saying another word to her, he strode toward her then, put his arms around her in a tight hug, and kissed her just as he would have his mother. Her eyes were filled with tears when she pulled away from him, but she was smiling, and he was beaming.
Thank you, he said, looking down at her with a look of unabashed excitement. Thank you ' I promise you, I'll take good care of it' . He was almost speechless with delight, as they stood together in the lovely salon, looking out the windows at the snow falling silently in the valley.
Chapter 4
CHARLES WENT TO all the local stores in Shelburne Falls the next day, and he went to Greenfield's shops for whatever he couldn't find there. Mrs. Palmer had an antique bed for him in the storage room over her garage, and a few modest pieces of furniture, a chest, a desk, a few chairs, and an old, weathered dining room table. He insisted that it was all he needed. He had rented the house from her for a year, and whether he went back to London or to New York eventually, there was no reason why he couldn't stay in Shelburne Falls for the next several months. He was fascinated by everything about it. And if he went back to Whittaker and Jones again, he could come up from New York on weekends. And whatever he did, he knew that if his plans changed, Mrs. Palmer wouldn't hold him to the agreement. But he also knew that if he wanted to, he was welcome to be there for a year at least. She seemed as happy with the arrangement they'd made as he was.
They both looked like happy children when they went back to her house, and he was talking animatedly about everything he needed. He took her out to dinner to celebrate, and it was three days before Christmas when he went to Deerfield to complete his shopping. He stopped at a little jewelry store too, and bought a pretty little pair of pearl earrings for Mrs. Palmer.
He moved into the house on December twenty-third, and as he stood there and admired the view, he couldn't believe his good fortune. He had never been anywhere that was so overwhelmingly beautiful, and so peaceful. And he spent the night exploring every little nook and cranny. He was up half the night unpacking his tilings, and settling in, although he still had very little with him. He didn't even have a phone yet, and he was glad that he didn't. He knew that if he did, he would have been tempted to call Carole, especially over Christmas.
On the morning of Christmas Eve, he stood at his bedroom window, looking at the view, and he felt melancholy as he remembered back to other Christmases. Only a year before, he reminded himself, he'd been with her. And he sighed as he turned away from the window.
But his first night in his new home had gone very smoothly. There had been no problems, no odd sounds, and he smiled at the ghost stories Mrs. Palmer had told him her son had teased them all with, and his claim that he'd actually seen Sarah. Charlie was still fascinated with her, and wanted to know everything he could about her. He had already promised himself to go to the local library, and the historical society, right after Christmas. He wanted to read everything he could about Sarah and Francois, he was anxious to learn everything there was to know about them.
And although Shelburne Falls was obviously a quiet little place, for Charlie, there was a lot to do here. He had bought a sketch pad and some pens and pastels and he was itching to get out and do some drawing. He had already sketched the house several times, just playing with some ideas, and he had made quick drawings of it from several angles. It was amazing even to him how much he loved it. And Gladys Palmer was thrilled to hear it when he drove by to visit.
When he came to have dinner with her on Christmas Eve, he found three of her friends visiting her, and when they left, all he could do was talk about the house. He had already discovered several hidden cabinets, and what he thought was a secret cupboard, and he was dying to get into the attic. He sounded like a boy to her, and she laughed as he rattled on, and she listened.
And what do you think you're going to find there? she teased. A ghost? Her jewels? A letter from her to Francois? Or perhaps a letter to you? Now, that would be something! She couldn't resist playing with him. It made her happy to be able to share her love of the house with someone. All her life she had gone there to look and think and dream. It had always been the place where she had gone to find comfort. And when Jimmy died, she had spent a lot of quiet afternoons there. And she had done the same again after she lost Roland. Going there had always helped her. It was as though Sarah's benevolent presence eased her anguished spirit.
I wish I could find a drawin
g of her somewhere. I would love to know what she looked like. You said you saw a sketch of her once, he reminded his new friend. She had bestowed the greatest gift of all on him, her trust along with the gem of a chateau that had been built by Fran+oois for Sarah. Where was it?
She thought about it for a long time, as she handed the cranberry sauce to him. She had made a proper turkey dinner to eat with him on Christmas, and he had brought her a bottle of wine. He was sleeping at the chateau that night again, but he was planning to come back the next day to give Gladys the pearl earrings. But as she looked at him, she finally remembered. I'm almost positive the historical society has a book about her. I tliink that's where I saw the drawing. I'm not certain, but I'm fairly sure of it.
I'll go in and check after Christmas.
I'll look through the books I have as well, she promised Charlie. I might have a book or two about him. Fran+oois de Pellerin was quite an important person in this part of the world in the latter half of the eighteenth century. The Indians all considered him one of theirs, and he was the only Frenchman around here whom both the settlers and the Indians were genuinely fond of. I tliink he was even quite respected by the British, which was a real feat for a Frenchman.
Why did he come here? Charlie asked her again, he loved hearing everything she knew about it. I suppose the Revolutionary War brought him here initially. But there must have been another reason why he stayed.
Maybe just because of his Iroquois wife ' or perhaps for Sarah. I don't remember all the details. I was always more intrigued by her, although I loved hearing about both of them when I first heard the stories. My grandmother loved to talk about it. Sometimes I used to think she was almost in love with what she knew of Fran+oois. Her grandfather had actually met him. He died a long, long time before Sarah.
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