The House of Secrets

by Elizabeth Blackwell

  Alissa gazed at him, acknowledging the invitation in his eyes. Once, that look would have made her heart pound. She was tempted for a brief moment, seeing Brad in this sultry setting, as he turned the full force of his attention on her. But changing her life had taken all her strength and nerve. Slipping off to Brad’s apartment would only send her spiraling backward.

  “I’d better not,” she said.

  “I get it.” Brad smiled as if he’d been joking all along. “You’ve got to get up early to strip floors.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You sure you’re not pushing yourself too hard? No one can believe you’re renovating that huge place by yourself.”

  Alissa flashed to an image of Danny working in the kitchen. Sitting on the front porch eating a sandwich, laughing when she pointed out the plaster in his hair.

  “I’ve got some help,” she said.

  “Weren’t you going to start your own design firm? What happened with that?”

  “I’m focusing on the house right now,” Alissa said defensively. For years, she’d talked about leaving her job and starting over. Now that she’d finally made the leap, what did she have to show for it? She had almost no career left, very little money and no social life. Just the house.

  “I knew that place would wear you down,” Brad said.

  “You never liked it,” Alissa said.

  “I didn’t see what the big deal was. It put some kind of spell on you.”

  He would never understand. Neither would most of the people she’d thought of as friends. Only Danny knew what the Brewster house meant to her. How important it was to preserve it. Like Alissa, he felt the house deserved the work they put into it, no matter how exhausting or time-consuming.

  It would be easy to slip back into old habits, to let Brad take the lead and point out her mistakes. But she was a different person now. Yes, it was fun being in a hip restaurant for a night, but she no longer felt as if she belonged in this world. She’d found her home. And Brad had no place there.

  “You and me—it didn’t have anything to do with the house,” Alissa said. “We would’ve broken up even if I hadn’t bought it. You know that, right?”

  Brad scanned the room, as if checking out his other prospects, before setting on Alissa.

  “Yeah,” he finally agreed. “Just so you know, I did try to make it work.”

  “Me, too.” Alissa reached across the table and gave his hand a quick squeeze. The feel of his fingers under hers was comfortable, nothing more. There was none of the electricity she felt with Danny.

  “Maybe you should give Erica another try,” she suggested. “She must have some good points if she convinced you to go to the theater.”

  They laughed together, a shared joke between old friends. Alissa could imagine a future—faintly, as if squinting at a far-off, blurry photograph—when she and Brad could talk occasionally, happy for each other as they each built new lives. When the thought of him with another woman had lost its sting. They weren’t quite there yet. But one day they might be.

  Alissa drove home with the windows down, not caring that the wind tangled her hair. She turned up the dance music on the local Top 40 radio station and bobbed her head to the music. She felt liberated. A tiny but persistent thread had connected her to her old life, subtly tugging at her whenever she tried to move forward. Now the thread had been cut. There were no more lingering doubts.

  As Alissa pulled into her driveway, she was surprised to see Danny’s truck parked out front. Her headlights illuminated his lean figure standing in the back, reaching into the flatbed. Returning to an empty house had never bothered her, but she was surprisingly relieved to see him.

  Alissa stopped her car and stepped outside. “Hey there!”

  “Hi. Sorry to bother you. I was at my friend Ed’s house, and he had these extra tarps, so I thought I’d drop them off since it was on the way home. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

  “Sure.” Alissa started to climb the front steps, then turned back. “You want to come in? I was going to make some tea.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks,” Danny said.

  Alissa wasn’t nervous or doubtful as she walked to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. She searched the plastic storage cart she used for dishes now that the old cabinets had been torn off and found two mugs, both chipped but acceptable. When Danny came in, it felt right to turn to smile, to tilt her head up, without a word, and watch him lean down toward her. To feel him take her face in his hands and kiss her.

  As their lips met, Alissa’s arms reached around Danny’s waist, and he pulled her close. He kissed her gently, waiting for her to set the tone. They stood together, their lips expressing what they had been too afraid to say, as the kettle hissed, forgotten, in the background.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EVELYN WOKE to someone knocking on her bedroom door. She pulled the blanket tightly around her as if it could block out the force of Charles’s anger.

  “Ma’am?” Not Charles. Peggy.

  “Just a minute.” Evelyn pulled herself out from under the covers and unlocked the door.

  “Sorry to wake you, only it’s your usual breakfast time….”

  “No, no, it’s all right,” Evelyn said, ushering her in.

  Peggy usually chattered aimlessly as she brought in the breakfast tray, but this morning she was uncharacteristically silent. She dropped the tray on the bedside table with a loud clatter and avoided looking directly at Evelyn. Evelyn realized she was still wearing her clothes from the night before, when she had run into the bedroom and locked the door against Charles’s onslaught. No doubt Peggy would be describing her disheveled outfit and matted hair—not to mention the locked door—to the rest of the staff as soon as she got downstairs.

  “I was so tired last night,” Evelyn said, forcing a smile. “I didn’t even bother to change.”

  “Do you need anything else, Mrs. Brewster?” Peggy asked.

  “No. Oh—actually, there is one thing. Is Mr. Brewster breakfasting downstairs?”

  Peggy shook her head. “No, ma’am. Mrs. Trimble told me Mr. Brewster woke her husband late last night and had him saddle up one of the horses. He said he’d be gone a few days.”

  “Thank you, Peggy. That’s all for now.”

  She was safe. Charles would throw himself into his work and distract himself with other women until he decided what to do with her. In the meantime, she could plan her next move.

  Evelyn remembered the sound of his fists beating against her door. What would he do the next time? She considered packing a suitcase and running to the train station. Some of her friends from college lived in Philadelphia. Surely they would let her stay if she appeared at their door, desperate for help. Charles would never think to look for her there.

  But that would mean leaving Will. She could write to him once she was safely away, but any letter sent to the main house would be easily intercepted by Alma. No, she must tell Will first, in person. Before she made her escape, she had to make sure he was ready to leave everything behind for her.

  EVELYN CONTINUED with her normal routine in the following days. She had her mother for lunch that afternoon, as she did every Friday, and met with Mrs. Trimble to discuss menus and shopping lists for the following week. All the while, she worried Charles would come back for Alma’s Sunday dinner. She left an urgent note for Will under the garden bench, and although it was gone by Saturday morning, there was no reply.

  Luckily, Beatrice provided some distraction. Evelyn had invited her niece over for the day, and Beatrice was clearly thrilled.

  “Can we have a tea party?” Beatrice begged as she ran into Evelyn’s outstretched arms.

  “What a lovely idea.”

  Beatrice threw her head backward, gazing up at the glittering chandelier above. “Can I stay here when I’m grown up?” she asked.

  Evelyn looked around the grand foyer. She loved this house. But if staying here meant living with Charles, she wou
ld gladly give it up.

  “We can live together!” Beatrice exclaimed. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  Evelyn pressed her face to the girl’s shoulder. She wanted to tell her how much she loved her. How she’d been a bright spot in a very dark, difficult time. But she could give no hint of her plans in case Alma got wind of it. Already, her heart ached at the thought of Beatrice’s bewilderment when she found out her aunt had disappeared without a word.

  The following day brought the event Evelyn had dreaded: dinner at Alma’s. Although Charles did not return home earlier in the day, Evelyn knew there was a chance he would go straight to his mother’s house. When she entered Alma’s parlor in the late afternoon, she saw only Lavinia’s family and Will. She smiled with relief, then caught sight of her mother-in-law’s disapproving frown.

  “Evelyn,” Alma said, nodding in her usual brusque fashion.

  “Good evening, Alma. Have you heard from Charles? Will he be joining us?” Evelyn asked.

  Alma stared at her disapprovingly. “Do you not even know where your own husband is?” she asked. “He’s in Washington seeing to some business matters. Although I don’t see what could be so very urgent on a Sunday.”

  “Oh.” How typical of Charles to inform Alma of his plans but leave his wife in the dark. Perhaps it was a strategy to keep her always on edge.

  “Aunt Evelyn!” Beatrice said happily, running toward her. “Grandmother says I can sit next to you!”

  “Wonderful,” Evelyn said. Evelyn’s place at the dinner table had been the same every week since her marriage, between Charles and Lavinia. Today, however, she found herself seated between Beatrice and Will.

  “Evelyn, you’re looking well,” Will said casually as they sat down. He could have been addressing a distant cousin.

  “Thank you,” Evelyn said. Seeing him here, so close, filled her with longing. It would be so easy to reach under the table and brush her fingers against his. But she didn’t dare. Once she caught hold of him, she might never let go.

  “I hear my brother is unable to join us this evening,” Will said.

  “Apparently, he is quite burdened with business obligations.”

  “A pity.” Will’s eyes twinkled, mocking his words.

  “Yes, it’s a shame,” Evelyn agreed.

  The dinner-table conversation followed the usual progression. Alma commented disapprovingly on acquaintances and neighbors; Lavinia scolded Beatrice; Will attempted to lighten the mood with humor; and Winslow bored them all with stories about his childhood escapades. As Evelyn responded to Will’s questions with exaggerated politeness, she grew increasingly desperate. She had to tell him she couldn’t wait much longer to escape. But how?

  Alma seemed determined to keep them apart. After dinner, when Will challenged Evelyn to a game of cards at a table in the back of the sitting room, Alma urged Lavinia and Winslow to join them. When Evelyn moved to the couch, Alma sat next to her. Finally, after the sun had long since set and everyone had drained their second cups of tea or coffee, Will offered to escort Evelyn home. Alma insisted she ride in Lavinia’s carriage instead.

  “Surely that would be most convenient for everyone,” she said. “There’s no need for Will to traipse around in this weather—it looks like rain.”

  As Evelyn descended the front steps behind Lavinia and Winslow, she could only turn and give Will a brief, pleading glance. Perhaps he would leave a letter for her tonight.

  Evelyn returned to an empty house. Usually, she looked forward to these quiet Sunday evenings alone, free from the servants’ constant surveillance. Gloomy Mrs. Trimble and her silent husband spent the weekends in their cottage on the edge of the property; Peggy and Mrs. Gower took advantage of their evening off to stay with relatives in town, returning to work Monday morning. In the early weeks of their marriage, Evelyn and Charles would arrive home after dinner at Alma’s and go their separate ways: Charles retreating to his office while Evelyn sat in the conservatory, curled up with a book. After being surrounded by other people all day, such solitude was liberating.

  But tonight, for the first time, the empty house frightened her. Peggy had forgotten to light the lamps before she left, so Evelyn arrived to find the house plunged in darkness. She felt her way down the hall to the kitchen, where she found matches and a candle. Moving back toward the front of the house, she heard what sounded like breaking glass. Startled, she peered into the parlor. She heard the tinkling sound again, but all the windows here were intact. Through the window, she saw sleet beating down outside. That must have been the sound she heard. Miserable weather to complement her miserable mood.

  She lit a lamp on a side table, then paused. Was it worth lighting up the room just to sit here alone? Perhaps she should go upstairs. Light the fire in her bedroom and settle in bed with a book. Yet she found herself unwilling to move. The thought of climbing the stairs and walking along the hall with only a candle made her nervous. Could Charles have come back while she was at Alma’s? Was he waiting for her in the bedroom, ready to surprise her? He knew the servants were gone, and he could do what he liked….

  A floorboard creaked at the back of the house, and Evelyn froze. For a moment, she considered running upstairs and barricading herself in her room. No, that would be foolish. Charles wouldn’t sneak up on her—he would confront her face-to-face. He enjoyed seeing her fear.

  “Evelyn.”

  The whisper came from the far end of the parlor, near the conservatory. Staring into the darkness, she saw a figure approaching. Will. Her Will.

  The force of her embrace made him catch his breath.

  “So much for being discreet.” He laughed, running his hands down her back.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice angry even as her body sagged with relief. “How did you get in?”

  “I broke the lock in the conservatory,” he said. “One of the many unsavory skills I learned in my youth. I’ll tell you the story one day.”

  Evelyn clung to him, afraid to let go and be alone in the darkness again.

  “I know it’s awfully rude to turn up like this,” Will said, “but I didn’t want Peggy announcing me at the front door.”

  “The servants have Sunday off,” Evelyn said. “There’s no one here.”

  “So my trespassing was entirely unnecessary!” He laughed. “That would’ve saved me a very wet walk through your garden.”

  Evelyn looked down at his trousers and shoes, which were dripping water onto the floor. She ran her hands down his sleeves, which were also soaked, and felt the chill of his fingers.

  “You must be freezing,” she said. “Come—I’ll get some towels.”

  She led him down the hall to the kitchen. She found Mrs. Gower’s stack of white dish towels on a shelf and started patting at Will’s clothes.

  “Can’t say I feel much warmer,” Will said.

  “You need dry clothes,” Evelyn said. “I could get you something of Charles’s.”

  Will looked at her doubtfully.

  “It’s better than catching the flu,” she insisted. “Why don’t you light a fire in the parlor, and I’ll be right back.”

  Upstairs, Evelyn’s candle created a small halo of light in the darkened hallway. She entered Charles’s room. The space offered no clues about its occupant—no pictures on the wall, no cuff links on the nightstand. It still looked like the sparsely decorated guest bedroom it had once been. Evelyn rifled through the clothes in the armoire. She pulled out a pair of tweed trousers and a wool shirt she’d never seen him wear. Tonight, she wanted no reminders of her husband.

  She left the room, her pace quicker now as she returned to Will. As she opened the door to the parlor, she stopped at the sight before her. Will sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders. He was leaning toward the fire, and the heat of the flames flushed his face.

  “Sorry,” he said, looking up at her. “I was so cold.”

  Evelyn remained in the
doorway. She wanted to hold on to this image. The man she loved, waiting for her, caught in a moment when anything seemed possible.

  “Come.” He spoke gently, but the word had the force of a command. Evelyn walked toward him, Charles’s clothes dropping from her arms as Will pulled her down next to him. She moved her hands along his shoulders and down his back, pushing aside his drenched shirt. She pressed herself against him, trying to warm him with her touch.

  “Evelyn, whatever happens,” he whispered, “don’t ever doubt that I love you.”

  “How could I?” she said. And it was true. Here, now, with Will, all her fears evaporated. Of course they would be together. When it felt so right to be with him, how could she be anywhere else?

  They lay together in the glow of the fire. When Will reached tentatively for her blouse, she helped him undo the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons, laughing as their fingers tangled. His kisses made her light-headed. He waited for her approval before touching her in places Charles never had. He was careful, so careful and patient. She found herself responding to him in ways she never thought possible. Slowly, easily, their clothes slipped aside. Evelyn felt Will’s breath on her neck, ragged and desperate, and she clung to him, pressing her lips to his lean shoulders and arms. As they came together, she was overtaken by the waves of pleasure that blazed through her body. In Will’s arms, she felt complete.

  Afterward, Evelyn reached for her blouse and skirt.

  “Are you cold?” Will asked.

  “No, not really.”

  “Then let me look at you.”

  She blushed, and Will folded her into his embrace. The firelight flickered over their bodies as they lay entwined. She could have drifted off to sleep. Already this evening had taken on the hazy unreality of a dream.

  Then Evelyn caught sight of Charles’s shirt lying on the floor. A reminder of the life she had tried so hard to escape for one night.

  “Will, we need to talk.”

  “Yes.” His voice was a lazy drawl.

  “Charles will never agree to a divorce. He suspected I might be leaving him for someone else—I denied it, of course—and his anger was terrifying. If he were to walk in now and see us…” Evelyn’s voice rose with panic.