“I’m quite hurt you haven’t offered to paint something for us,” he continued. “We could hang one of my brother’s masterpieces over the mantel, couldn’t we, darling?”
“Alas, I have put my paintbrushes away for good,” Will said smoothly. “Evelyn—it’s time I was going. Mother will hold me responsible if supper is late.”
“Oh, yes!” Charles urged. “Don’t keep Mother waiting!”
Will nodded to Evelyn. She wanted to tell him how much she loved the house he’d created for her. She wanted to say that he had turned this imposing building into a home. Instead, she let Will walk away with nothing more than a quick goodbye.
“Still in thrall to Mother,” Charles said, shaking his head. “You’d think it would drive him mad, living back in that house after all those years in Europe.”
Until tonight, Charles hadn’t seemed concerned about the time Evelyn spent with Will. But she had seen something register in his face this evening, an acknowledgment of the intimacy she and Will had long since taken for granted. Although she had done nothing wrong, Evelyn knew she needed to move the subject away from Will.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Gower you’re home,” Evelyn offered. “Are you hungry?”
“I had a late lunch at the club,” Charles said. “We’ll eat later.”
Evelyn nodded. The seasons had shifted from spring through summer since her marriage to Charles. Already, scattered leaves in the garden were showing touches of brown. But Evelyn was no more comfortable with her new life. The headstrong young governess of a year ago had been replaced by a shy, unsure bride, dependent on her husband for guidance. Had Charles been a different sort of man, she might have confided her worries in him, her fears of never being able to live up to the Brewster name. But Charles despised weakness. He expected her to make his life run smoothly, not upset its balance. If only she knew how to please him.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Gower to serve at eight,” Evelyn said. She walked slowly down the hall toward the kitchen, preparing to face an evening with the husband who remained a stranger to her.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALISSA PUT ASIDE the newspaper announcement of Charles and Evelyn Brewster’s wedding. She had stared at the photo of the couple for a long time, hoping for some insight into who they were, but their solemn faces revealed nothing. The story itself gave only a brief summary of the event: the wedding was held April 20, 1904, at the Oak Hill Episcopal Church. More than three hundred guests attended. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Brewster would be honeymooning in New York before returning to their home on Mrs. Alma Brewster’s estate.
Alissa had just finished sifting through a pile of Brewster Shipping business records when she spotted something familiar. She carefully pulled out a faded newspaper article with a photo of her home’s grand staircase, winding up from the foyer. The bottom of the crystal chandelier hung at the top of the frame. In the middle of the picture was a young woman, her hair pinned on the top of her head in a neat arrangement of curls, wearing a simple white blouse and dark skirt. The picture was too grainy to get a good look at her features.
Alissa read the caption.
Mrs. Charles Brewster welcomes the Chronicle to her new home. The former Evelyn O’Keefe is graciousness personified, and we look forward to her presence at Baltimore’s most glittering affairs.
Alissa scanned the article. It was a fawning appreciation of all things Brewster, from Charles’s good looks—“the most eligible bachelor in Maryland”—to his wife’s modesty, recounted as “Mrs. Brewster is loath to accept credit for her good taste.” There were three other pictures: the parlor, filled with overstuffed furniture and knickknacks; the dining room, with a dark wood table big enough to seat twenty; and the lovingly tended garden, with flower-filled beds and neatly trimmed hedges. The contrast to the current ramshackle state of the backyard was striking.
Alissa pulled a small notebook from her purse and wrote descriptions of the design elements she could see in the pictures. The article mostly gushed over the house without offering specific details, and Evelyn herself was only quoted a few times. Everything she said was frustratingly vague. Alissa read on.
Mrs. Brewster takes an active interest in the garden. For her, it is a place of refuge. While this new bride has yet to entertain on a grand scale, she promises that we will not be denied her hospitality in the months to come. “I have been so warmly welcomed into the family,” she says. We eagerly await details of Mrs. Brewster’s future endeavors, which assuredly will be a triumph.
Alissa put the article aside and looked through the rest of the box. There were a few more clippings from the same newspaper, including a short piece headlined A Grand Celebration for Charles Brewster:
A Who’s Who of Baltimore society celebrated at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Brewster on Saturday evening. The occasion was Mr. Brewster’s birthday, and credit for the night’s great success goes to his charming young wife, Evelyn. The house sparkled into the early morning hours, and our ladies have never looked lovelier. Mrs. Brewster was attired in an elegant gown by Foster of Philadelphia, a creation of lilac satin and crepe, accented with a sash of miniature lilies at the waist. Guests toasted Mr. Brewster with champagne and dined on roast beef, duck and venison. After dinner, the home’s parlor was transformed into a ballroom, where the Roger Vellum Orchestra—well known in New York society circles—played to great acclaim. It was, all agreed, the most glamorous event seen here in recent memory. Mr. and Mrs. Brewster are rightly acknowledged as the young couple of the moment.
Clipped to the article was a sepia photograph on heavy cardstock, showing the celebrated Mr. and Mrs. Brewster in their finery. Charles stood perfectly straight, like a man used to being the center of attention. His dark eyes gazed steadily at the camera. Next to him, Evelyn appeared significantly less confident. One of her arms was hidden behind Charles, as if she were clinging to him for reassurance. Her dress, the same gauzy concoction described in the article, made her seem even less substantial. Unlike Charles, her eyes looked slightly off to one side as though she wasn’t comfortable having her picture taken. Alissa tried to imagine what it had been like for a girl from her background to throw such a party. The pressure to succeed must have been enormous.
Still, it seemed she had impressed her guests. The last papers in the box were mostly clippings from newspaper social listings, mentions of parties the Brewsters had attended or charity events Evelyn had helped organize. The very last clipping was dated 1905, the year after the wedding. At the top of the page was an illustrated portrait of a handsome, dark-haired man whom Alissa immediately recognized as Charles Brewster. The picture was surrounded by a thick black border.
Hundreds Mourn Charles Brewster, the headline announced.
This was it. She would finally find out what had happened to him.
A solemn crowd gathered yesterday in St. Matthew’s Church for the funeral of Charles Brewster. The eulogy was delivered by Senator G. Howard Flintock, a friend of the family. Sen. Flintock praised Mr. Brewster’s charm and business acumen, saying the entire state of Maryland had suffered a great loss. Others paying their respects included…
Alissa skimmed the list of local dignitaries who had shown up. Clearly, this funeral had been as socially significant as any party.
Mr. Brewster’s accidental death last week has devastated his family. His wife, Evelyn, who has remained in seclusion since the tragedy, carried herself with dignity during the service, but was not well enough to attend the reception held later that afternoon at the home of Mrs. Alma Brewster. Another notable absence was that of Mr. William Brewster, Charles Brewster’s older brother, who was traveling at the time of the accident and could not be reached.
Alissa had seen this mysterious William mentioned only once before, in the list of guests at Charles and Evelyn’s big party. It seemed strange they couldn’t track him down for something as important as his brother’s funeral. Then again, those were different times. No cell phones, no twenty-four-hour cable news. If
someone decided to travel without a fixed itinerary, they’d be unreachable. Alissa tried to imagine what it must have been like for him to come home and find his brother dead. She thought about Evelyn, grief-stricken, living alone in the house. What had happened to her?
Alissa surveyed the stacks of paper on the table in front of her. For an hour, she’d been caught up in the life of the Brewsters. But she still didn’t know how Charles had died. The newspaper had referred to an accident, but that could mean anything—a fall from a horse, a hunting trip gone wrong.
Alissa turned to the photograph she had set aside. Charles and Evelyn all dressed up for his birthday party, looking forward to a long, happy life together. They had no idea their world would be shattered less than a year later.
Carefully picking up the photo and a few clippings, Alissa stood up and walked to the library counter.
“Could I make some copies?” she asked Claire.
The elderly librarian looked at her warily. “Ten cents each,” she said, as if Alissa couldn’t be trusted to come up with such a vast sum.
“That’s fine,” Alissa said. “Also—do you have a scanner?”
Claire pursed her lips and waved her toward a back desk. “I think that’s what that is. But you’ll have to talk to someone else about using it. I don’t have the faintest idea how, and I don’t care to learn.”
Alissa walked around the librarian’s desk and saw a familiar flat black shape. “I’ve got that same model in my office,” she said. After some cajoling and a donation to the Library Restoration Fund, she scanned the party photo and e-mailed herself the file. She would contact a company that created custom artwork for some of her clients and commission them to make a full-size reproduction. She could already picture it hanging in her foyer. It would be the Brewsters’ homecoming. Maybe, somehow, their presence would bring happiness back to the house.
During the five-minute walk home, Alissa waved to the few neighbors she passed along the way. In Baltimore she had kept to herself, barely speaking to the people who lived on the same floor of her condo building. Here in Oak Hill, thanks to Elaine, she already knew the names and stories of everyone within a two-block radius. As she started up her driveway, she was surprised to see an unfamiliar truck parked in front of the house. She might be on friendly terms with a number of people in town, but she didn’t think any of them would show up unannounced.
“Hello?” she called out.
As she got closer, she saw that the man standing on the porch, turning toward her, was Danny.
“Hey there!” he said. “No wonder you didn’t hear me knocking.”
“I was at the library,” Alissa said. “Can I help you with something?” They’d agreed he would start the next morning. What was he doing here?
“Yeah,” he said. “You didn’t say what the first project would be, so I wasn’t sure which tools to bring. I was driving by here anyway, so I decided to stop by and check.”
His earnestness made Alissa relax a bit. “The kitchen is my top priority for now.”
“Great,” Danny said. “I’ll prepare myself for demolition work.”
“I drew up some plans,” Alissa said. “I figured we’d go over them together.”
Danny nodded. “Sounds good.”
“Okay, then, I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.”
“See you then,” Danny agreed. “By the way—did you find what you needed?”
Alissa looked at him, puzzled.
“The library,” he explained. “It doesn’t have much of a collection. I usually go to the one in Carlsville.”
“Actually, I was doing some research on the couple that built this house,” Alissa said.
“Really?” The way he asked, his eyes widening with curiosity, reignited Alissa’s excitement about her discoveries.
“Want to know what I found out?”
He did. Alissa sat down on the front steps, with Danny beside her. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out the photocopied articles.
“These show what the house looked like right after it was built,” she began. “Here’s the living room, or I guess I should say parlor. Just look at those wonderful rugs. Kind of overcrowded with furniture, though, don’t you think? This room in the back—I’ve been calling it the greenhouse, because it had all these dead plants inside, but they called it the conservatory. You can see it a little bit here in the background. And check out the garden! Isn’t it beautiful?”
Danny watched Alissa’s wavy brown hair bob against her neck as she turned back and forth, pointing to the pictures and then passing the pages to him. He’d been wary of taking on a designer as a client, concerned she’d second-guess every decision he made. But listening to Alissa’s voice rise with excitement, Danny found himself caught up in her enthusiasm. He flipped back to the picture of the parlor.
Alissa stopped as Danny began to laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not making fun of you. It’s rare to find a client so enthusiastic.” He took one of the pages and examined the picture of the parlor.
“There’s a definite Arts and Crafts influence,” he said. “You can see it in these chairs. The wallpaper looks like it could be William Morris.”
“You think so?” Alissa asked.
“A family this rich could afford to import it themselves,” Danny said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some of this furniture was European, too.”
“Have you got some designer credentials I don’t know about?” Alissa asked.
Danny shook his head. “No, I was an art history major,” he said.
“Really?”
Danny nodded. “Yeah, at Boston College. Fascinating, but completely useless from a career perspective.”
“I was an art major at the University of Virginia,” Alissa said. “An equally useless degree.”
“UVA’s great,” said Danny. “It was one of my top choices for grad school.”
“More art history?” Alissa asked.
Danny shook his head. “An MBA at Georgetown. But that’s part of my old life. I’ve moved on.”
Moved on to what? Alissa wanted to ask. Why bother getting such an expensive, prestigious degree if all he was going to do was fix other people’s houses? His determination to change the subject only made Alissa more curious.
“Getting back to the house,” Danny said, “I think you’re on the right track. Update where you have to but keep the original style intact.”
Alissa nodded, but before she could steer the conversation back to Danny’s career, he pulled out another sheet of paper and asked, “Who are they?” Alissa looked at the copy she had made of the Brewsters’ wedding picture.
“These are the original owners, Charles and Evelyn,” Alissa said.
“She looks scared,” Danny said.
“You think so?”
Alissa leaned over Danny’s shoulder. For a moment, she was distracted by the feel of his arm against hers. Then she quickly pulled away, wondering if she had lingered just a moment too long.
“I mean—she must’ve been nervous,” Alissa said. “She was young, she didn’t have any money and she was marrying into a wealthy family. This isn’t a very good picture, anyway. I found a much better one of them, all dressed up for a party. I’m going to order a copy to hang in the foyer, or maybe over the fireplace. You know, welcome them back to the house….” She saw Danny smile and her voice trailed off.
“I get it,” Danny said. “I’m all for appreciating a building’s history. But don’t let yourself get obsessed by it.”
“Obsessed?” Alissa protested.
“The past can be a trap,” Danny said. “It’s possible to spend so much time looking backward that you never move forward.” Softening his tone, he added, “That’s just my opinion.”
Danny handed the papers back to Alissa and stood up.
“Look,” he said, “I understand why you’re curious about the Brewsters. Maybe there’s some way I can help you find out more. My mom knows every gossipy o
ld lady in the county.”
Eager to show there were no hard feelings, Alissa agreed. “That would be great.”
“I’d better get going,” he said.
As he walked away, Alissa slid the photocopies into her bag and turned toward the front door. She was surprised how much Danny’s criticism had stung her. Already, it seemed, she valued his opinion. But maybe his lecture about the past had more to do with him than her. She tried to imagine Danny—with his stained jeans and ratty T-shirts—sitting in a management class. Had he flunked out and been too embarrassed to say so? Or had he gotten a job and made a mess of it, something humiliating enough to drive him out of the business world?
She wanted Danny’s respect, the same respect she expected from anyone who worked for her. If forced to be completely honest with herself, she would even admit to the first faint stirrings of a crush. But no matter how good-looking Danny was, Alissa wouldn’t completely trust him until she found out more about the man he used to be.
CHAPTER SIX
EVELYN HAD NEVER planned a seduction. Imagining what might be required made her so nervous that she never would have followed through if she hadn’t been desperate. It was six months since the wedding, and Charles hadn’t softened into a loving husband. If anything, he treated Evelyn more formally than ever. Intimate relations were less frequent—once a week, at most—and ended without a word. Charles either fell asleep immediately afterward or left for his study to continue working. Most mornings, she woke up alone.
Evelyn tried to confide in her mother, but Katherine was willfully oblivious. She only wanted to talk about Evelyn’s beautiful house and the parties she attended. For Katherine, her daughter’s life sparkled with possibility and Evelyn couldn’t bring herself to disillusion her. If she hadn’t longed for something else, she might have been content. She could have been one of the many women she’d met who tolerated rather than loved their husbands. But that was no longer enough. She had fallen in love with Will.
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