House of Echoes: A Novel

by Brendan Duffy

  Ben tried to immerse himself in his book. Sometimes, this part of his day filled him with dread, but today he was thankful for the distraction. He’d reached the book’s second part. The Revolution had begun, the snows had fallen, and he had finished the chapters that played through his mind the night before: the action-filled scenes of the Iroquois attack. Now he was up to the difficult middle pages: the morning after the winter morning that changed everything.

  Ben had set the stage and introduced the players in the first part of the book. Henry, the strict and religious patriarch. Elizabeth, the kindhearted but weak-willed daughter. He’d also set out some of the backstory of how the Swann family first found themselves in the house between the mountains. This was all essential to understanding their actions during the long disaster of the Winter Siege.

  What, exactly, that long disaster entailed had somewhat eluded Ben. He knew that there would be death and that there would be terrible cold and even more-terrible hunger. But from the accounts Ben had heard at the Preservation Society, when the snows finally melted, the Iroquois were simply gone. Not much of a climax. And difficult as that winter must have been for the surviving townspeople, it did not seem quite so significant that it would still play such a part in their lives. The valley’s entire political and economic structure appeared to be informed by the events of the winter of 1777, and Ben could still not make sense of why.

  This was why the words had not been working for him. He typed himself in circles as the sun crested the horizon. After a time, creaks sounded from the floors above. When he reached for his coffee to find it empty, the mug ice cold, he discovered that hours had passed.

  He put on some more coffee and made waffles. Bub liked waffles.

  “You didn’t come back to bed,” Caroline said from the doorway. Bub writhed in her arms.

  “I couldn’t find Hudson,” Ben said. “I thought if I stayed in the kitchen, I’d be able to hear him paw at the door.”

  “He spent the night out there?” Caroline asked. She put Bub in his high chair. “What are you going to do?” The alarm on Caroline’s face somehow made it more real to Ben. Hudson was supposed to be here right now, curled at his feet.

  “I don’t know.” He paused to let the lump in his throat recede. He supposed he could search the forest tree by tree, but Hudson knew how to get back to the Crofts. Beagles did not get lost. And if he’d hurt himself, Ben thought, he’d still be able to howl or bark. Yet the forest’s silence had been unyielding. He refilled his mug with coffee. He moved to fill Caroline’s, but she stopped him.

  “Mrs. White gave me a new batch of tea that I wanted to try.” She sighed as she filled up an infuser with the latest concoction. “I was thinking I’d bring her some leftovers today. Last night must have been so frightening for her. I hope it’s not a sign of things to come.”

  “Tell her I said hi,” Ben said. It felt like a decade had passed since he’d encountered Mrs. White in the middle of the road, but it was good to change the subject.

  “I got an e-mail. The furniture’s coming today,” she said.

  “Great.” He wondered what beagles might eat in the wild.

  “I’m going to a fabric store in Gracefield,” Caroline said. “But I should be back in time. If not, I’ll tell you.”

  “I’m meeting with Lisbeth Goode at around eleven.” The night before, Ben had made an appointment to look at her archives of the Swannhaven Dispatch. He hoped that these papers might shake something loose and get him back on track with his book. “And I need to pick up Charlie at three.”

  “The big table’s supposed to be in this shipment, so I thought next Friday would be a good day for that dinner with the villagers.”

  “That soon? I thought maybe we could do it after Christmas.” This morning, the idea of playing host filled Ben with dread.

  “Christmas is the perfect excuse for a dinner party. And we may as well get it over with.”

  “If you don’t want them to come over, then why invite them?” He didn’t understand what drove Caroline to continuously add stressful new items to her list of tasks. Between the house and the holidays, taking on anything else seemed like a self-inflicted wound.

  “The only thing that matters is the inn, Ben. We need them to support it. Now, we were going to invite the Swannhaven Trust plus the Bishops?”

  “Yeah,” Ben said. He was sure he could count on Lisbeth Goode, the Stantons, and the Bishops coming, but he didn’t know about the others. Walter Harp was always polite enough, but Ben had never gotten the impression that Harp had warmed to him. They would love for Mrs. White to come, but they’d have to see how she was doing. And Roger Armfield always seemed to be flustered to the point of incoherence around him—then again, for all Ben knew the man was like that all the time.

  “What about Father Cal? Having another non-villager would be nice.”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  Bub threw a waffle slicked with syrup at Ben. It left tendrils of stickiness clinging to his sweater when he peeled it off, but all Ben could muster was a sigh. He could feel Caroline staring at him.

  “If we’re both going out, you should make sure that Jake knows about Hudson so he can keep an eye out,” she said.

  “What about Hudson?” Charlie asked. Ben hadn’t heard him come down the stairs. He moved as quietly as a ghost, and this morning he looked as pale.

  “Hudson ran out last night and didn’t come back,” Caroline said. “You’re late, but I’ll fix a waffle for the drive to school, okay?”

  “He went into the forest?” Charlie asked.

  “I’ll cut up half a grapefruit, too,” Caroline said. “You need your fruit.”

  “He was there all night?” Charlie asked.

  “He ran into the forest right after you went inside,” Ben said. “I looked for him but couldn’t find him.” There was much he wanted to say about last night’s excursion, but right now he didn’t have the energy.

  “You went into the forest?” Charlie asked. His face was taut: an expression that Ben couldn’t read.

  “I called from the edge of the trees,” Ben said. “Why?”

  “You can help Dad look for Hudson after school, can’t you, Charlie?” Caroline said.

  “In the forest?” Charlie looked as if he’d slept as poorly as Ben had, but there was something off about him that could not be explained by fatigue.

  “Where else?” Ben asked. “You like the forest, don’t you, Charlie?” He watched his son carefully.

  “Better run and get your things now,” Caroline told Charlie.

  Charlie looked from Caroline to Ben. He opened his mouth once before closing it and heading back up the stairs to his room.

  “I’d like to tell Cal to schedule that session with the school counselor,” Ben said once Charlie was out of earshot.

  “I think it’s an overreaction,” Caroline said. She picked up her mug, cradling it in her hands for a few moments before taking a sip. “But if it will make you feel better.”

  “It will.” He’d expected another fight but was happy to be wrong.

  Charlie came down the stairs, his backpack listing from side to side as he walked. He had the face of a prisoner awaiting execution. He let Caroline kiss him before heading outside. The door banged on his way out.

  Ben put on his jacket and moved to follow him.

  “I’m sure Hudson will show up, Ben,” Caroline said.

  Outside, Charlie stood by the Escape. He looked even paler in the bright morning light. Before school Ben often found him staring dreamily at the trees, but today he was fixated on the car door, pulling urgently at its handle, waiting for Ben to unlock it.

  28

  Ben had not been gone ten minutes when the ladies arrived. Sometimes Caroline thought they purposely waited until he pulled from the drive. This morning it was Mary Stanton along with Ruth Wyatt.

  “Good morning, Caroline,” they chirped from the doorway. Caroline let them in, wishing she’d had the foresight
to stuff Bub into a jacket when she’d first heard their car doors slam.

  “Mary, Ruth,” Caroline said. “How nice.”

  “I wanted to thank Ben for his help during last week’s cleanup at the farm,” Ruth said. Even in a coat three sizes too big, she was all angles. She thrust a pie toward Caroline as Mary stooped to the floor to greet Bub.

  “That’s so kind of you,” Caroline said. She took the pallid thing by its sweating aluminum foil pan. “Ben was happy to help.”

  Caroline had originally been pleased when Ben volunteered to help the villagers dispose of the plague-stricken cattle. Community integration was essential. But he spent so much time lugging around chopped-up cows and working on his book, Caroline had to prod to get him to do anything around the house. She hated being that kind of wife, but he seemed to demand it from her.

  “We missed you at last Sunday’s service,” Mary said. She pursed her lips in a way that was somehow both conspiratorial and admonishing.

  “Oh, I know,” Caroline said. She shook her head in mimed exasperation. “Bub’s been out of sorts with the teething, and Charlie’s been off, too. And Ben—well, he probably didn’t even notice it was Sunday.” Not lies, exactly.

  They’d gone to Sunday services at the small church in the village several times. These had been bleak affairs, filled with interminable dirges and brimstone sermons from the town’s elders. The village was a dire place and had a religion to match.

  Ben had gotten a kick out of it, but, then, he got a thrill from everything these people did. “That was interesting, wasn’t it?” he’d invariably say at the end of the service. As if it were performance art and not part of the actual life they were living.

  For him, Swannhaven was a time capsule stuffed with colorful anecdotes that would someday fill an acknowledgments page. To Caroline, the village’s claustrophobic society grew less endearing by the day.

  “I just have a few minutes before I need to run some errands,” Caroline said. “But maybe you’d like a cup of something? Some of Mrs. White’s teas? Or coffee, if you’d prefer?” Hospitality was a virtue the region seemed to value above all others, and Caroline did her best.

  “Maybe a little coffee,” Mary said, looking at Ruth.

  “But we won’t keep you,” Ruth added.

  Promises, promises, Caroline thought, as she got two mugs from the cabinet.

  “How’s Ben doing?” Mary asked.

  “Oh, fine,” Caroline said. “Busy. We’re always busy around here,” she laughed. She gave the women their coffee and made herself more tea.

  “And his new book, it’s going well?” Ruth asked.

  “Absolutely,” Caroline said.

  She hadn’t dared talk to Ben about it, but she actually got the sense from his mood that the book wasn’t going well at all. This, his usual flakiness, and the masculine sense of entitlement that came with the work of the cattle cleanups was not a winning combination. If poor Hudson was really gone, Caroline could only imagine the nightmare the holidays would be.

  “It must be very hard to write a book and fix up a house at the same time,” Mary said.

  Yes, impossible even, Caroline thought. “Well, at least he’s not entirely on his own with one of those projects,” she said.

  “Poor dear. You must end up doing just about everything around here,” Ruth said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say—”

  “We’re all wives here, Caroline. We know who ends up doing the real work around a home. But it’s important not to overexert yourself,” Ruth continued.

  “You have to think of your health,” Mary said.

  “My health?” In the corner of the kitchen, Bub crashed a toy airplane into a firehouse, shouting the delighted sounds of explosions.

  “If you ever need a break, someone to watch Charlie and Robert—you know you can count on us,” Mary said.

  Caroline smiled. She didn’t know if they were referring to the pressures every mother had or the particular troubles she suffered in addition to these. But how could they know?

  “And the holidays can be so stressful,” Ruth said. There was something in the woman’s gaze beyond concern. Something Caroline had recognized so often in the faces she’d found across from hers, something she dreaded more than anything else: pity.

  Caroline’s mind rattled.

  Could Ben have said something? Maybe at one of those town-council meetings. The kind of joke a man tells about his wife to get a laugh and a little sympathy. She tried to imagine Ben talking to these people about her.

  Paranoia—something I must always be vigilant for.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Mary asked.

  Caroline realized she was massaging her temples. An ache had set in behind her eyes. She must look every bit the crazy woman they now knew her to be.

  “Fine,” she said. “Thank you so much for your offer. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. And if you two need a break from your kids, I’d be happy to help you out, too. Sometimes an afternoon to ourselves is all we need to recharge our batteries, you know?” she said.

  “Exactly, exactly,” Mary said.

  Caroline sat around the island with them, chatting and smiling and sipping. Saying all the things she was supposed to say in just the way they were meant to be said. But she was thinking of Ben. She thought of him splattered with blood, sweating with the other men on those frozen fields. She tried to imagine him betraying her, telling them all her problems. Yeah, she seemed a good purchase at the time. I just wish I’d sprung for the ten-year warranty. Ben could always get a chuckle from a crowd when he wanted one.

  When Caroline asked herself if it was possible Ben could betray her, she found that the answer was yes.

  By the time the ladies finally finished their coffee, Caroline’s headache hummed like a drill. Luckily, Mrs. White had a treatment for this, too. It required an entire garden’s worth of herbs for the crazy woman between the mountains to maintain a grip on herself.

  “So good seeing you, Caroline,” Ruth said on her way out. “You keep up your strength, now.”

  As soon as she shut the door, Caroline fumbled through the drawer where she kept the salves. Shopping for fabrics in Gracefield was the last thing she wanted to do, but she was determined to be strong. She had to be strong, for Bub, for Charlie. Even for Ben. She’d be strong for Ben, even if just to spite him.

  Finally she found the jar she’d been looking for. As she watched the women’s cars descend the gravel path, she dabbed a pat of ointment on each temple.

  When the ladies were out of sight, she dumped the pie they’d brought into the trash.

  29

  When Ben returned from dropping Charlie at school, Caroline’s car was gone and Jake’s pickup was parked by the shed.

  He spent the hours before his meeting with Lisbeth calling for Hudson and searching the south woods. He didn’t have any luck, and he was beginning to admit to himself that he hadn’t expected any. When he told Jake about Hudson running off, the kid had managed to smile, but Ben could tell it was forced. A beagle was not going to survive a December night in the forest, the look on Jake’s face told him. Now that Ben thought about it, Charlie’s face had held much the same expression.

  To think of Hudson alone or dead in the cold made Ben’s insides hurt. But he had no idea what else he could do.

  Hudson would have fought to be included on this trip to Lisbeth Goode’s home, but Ben pulled up to her house alone. She lived in an old Victorian not far from the village’s overgrown square. It might have been a handsome house once, but time had caught up to it. The paint was well maintained, but the roof was patched with mismatched shingles. The wooden steps to the house felt soft under his feet.

  Lisbeth answered the door almost immediately.

  “Hello, sugar; you come on in,” she said. Her voice was welcoming, but Ben did not miss the strained smile on her face.

  “I’m sorry, bad time?” he asked. A part of him would have been grateful to reschedule.<
br />
  “It’s been a day for the devil, but I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Now, let me take your coat. Oh, you need a much thicker coat. Tea?”

  “That would be great, thank you.” Her home had a nice-size foyer and living room, but they were so cluttered with furniture and their walls were so heavily laden with photographs that the space felt constricted.

  Lisbeth walked down the hall toward what Ben assumed was the kitchen.

  “Was over at the Kirkwoods’—you know them?” she called over her shoulder.

  “No,” Ben said. He chose one of the armchairs in the living room and sank into it. Its fabric was worn, but it was comfortable. A battered butter churn was on display in the corner of the room, and ancient oil lamps were arranged carefully in the breakfront.

  Lisbeth’s voice came from the kitchen. “Bank finally had it with them. Looked like they were going to get another month, but someone somewhere figured another month wouldn’t matter any. Not to anyone but the Kirkwoods, that is.”

  She bustled into the room with a silver tea service. The tray and its vessels looked freshly polished. Biscuits, milk, sugar, and lemon slices were arranged carefully around the teapot.

  “I wish you hadn’t gone to such trouble,” Ben said.

  “Any excuse to use the thing,” Lisbeth said. “Makes me think of my grandmother. Now, what was I saying? Oh, the Kirkwoods. Shame, too, because Lord knows the bank will never sell that land to anyone else. Makes more sense to let the Kirkwoods have it and pay what they can when they can, rather than leave the place empty. But, then, I didn’t ever really have a head for business.”

  “I thought most of the farmers around here leased their land from the Winter Families,” Ben said. That was the impression he’d gotten from the Swannhaven Trust meetings he’d attended.

  “Used to be the case for all of them. But times come in both good and bad. All the families have had to sell some land over the years. Think of the Swanns: once the richest in the land, but in the end the bank got it all. Fortune comes hand in hand with misfortune around here. But you know that,” she said. Ben looked up at her. “You live in their house. Wouldn’t you say they had a taste of both?”