Winterhouse

by Ben Guterson

  “If I don’t tell you anything, then you have nothing to do with it, right? I just want to borrow that key for a few minutes, and then I’ll bring it right back. In fact, why don’t you just keep working, and I’ll ‘sneak in’ here and take the key without you seeing me, okay?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Just say yes.”

  Freddy clamped his lips together, narrowed his eyes at her, and then, with an exaggerated motion, lowered his head and began working intently on his canister. Elizabeth skirted the table, plucked the key from its hook, and departed.

  As she left Freddy’s workshop behind, Elizabeth began to have second thoughts about what she was doing. Her steps became slower and more deliberate as she walked down the long corridor on the third floor, turned a corner, and then came to the T. She stopped, looked to her left, peering down the dim hallway at the door to Gracella’s room. All the unpleasantness of a few days before had passed, and she didn’t want to stir anything up or create trouble in any way. But ever since the final events in the library, Elizabeth had found her thoughts returning to Gracella—and her room—more often than she would have imagined. This was the one place in Winterhouse she was most curious to investigate, and now that Gracella was gone for good, Elizabeth told herself there would be no harm in seeing what her room held. Perhaps there was something more to discover.

  I’ll just take a quick look and then leave, she thought.

  She stepped forward.

  As she unlocked the door, Elizabeth checked to see that no one else was in the hallway, and then she slipped inside and turned on the light in the room.

  It was, to her relief, completely unremarkable. A bed sat in the corner, done up with a wool quilt and blue pillows; a hulking bureau lined the wall beside it; and a bare bookshelf loomed against the wall opposite. The room was nearly empty aside from a few pieces of furniture, and the blinds were closed tightly against the window. Elizabeth sighed. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but this ordinary little room was a disappointment; she realized the door had been locked, most likely, because of some superstitious association with Gracella and not because there was anything unusual within.

  The sound of wind pressing against the window—a gust from an evening storm that had arisen—made Elizabeth give a little jump; and without warning, the feeling descended. A panic filled her as she tried to gain control of the sensation. It had been three days, ever since that moment with Gracella, since she had attempted to summon the feeling herself. For whatever reason, perhaps because she had been so overwhelmed with the stories of her mother and the pleasure of her remaining time at Winterhouse, she had decided to give her exercises a rest. And now the tightening of her vision and her thoughts had come to her unbidden.

  A noise came from inside the bureau, a sharp crack as though a slingshot had been fired within; the feeling passed. Without hesitation, Elizabeth crossed the small room, opened the top drawer of the bureau, and found a single book within, splayed open and upside down as though someone had dropped it carelessly there. She picked it up. If there had been a jacket on it at some point, it was gone, and the book was merely a featureless gray hardback with the title: The Secret Instruction of Anna Lux by Damien Crowley. She opened the book and read the first sentence: “There once was a girl so intrigued by magic and spells and all sorts of hidden things, she decided to become a witch.”

  Elizabeth dropped the book back in the drawer, closed it, and hurried out of the room. Just as she turned off the light, the faintest flash of crimson rimmed the far wall, and she slammed the door tightly and tested the handle to be certain it was locked.

  Why, why, why did I want to look in this room? she thought. And as she hurried back to Freddy’s workshop, she told herself it had been idle curiosity and nothing more.

  “All good?” Freddy said as she entered.

  She gave him a thumbs-up and returned the key to its hook. “All good.”

  “I’m almost done here,” he said. “Want to go for one last swim?”

  A feeling of relief filled her. Gracella was dead; the danger had passed. “That’s exactly what I’d like to do,” she said.

  * * *

  Elizabeth found herself rushing in the morning to get her things together. Norbridge had invited her and Freddy and Leona to his room for breakfast before she was scheduled to board the bus to depart Winterhouse, and she didn’t want to be late. Most of all, she didn’t want to stop to think that this was her last hour in the hotel, because she felt if she did, she would start crying and wouldn’t be able to stop.

  “I wish I wasn’t going home,” Elizabeth said when, finally, she was seated at Norbridge’s table with the other three. The reality of it was sinking in, and it was impossible to feel anything other than a deepening unhappiness.

  “I leave tomorrow,” Freddy said. “And I don’t want to go, either.”

  The silver tea platter, the plates of eggs and waffles, the candelabra at the center of the table, the vase of flowers, and the lace tablecloth made the gathering feel cozy and ordered. Elizabeth thought about what the table in her aunt and uncle’s house would look like during that awful first meal she would be eating with them the next day.

  “But what would your parents say, Freddy, if you didn’t come home?” Norbridge said.

  “Honestly, I don’t think they would care.” A huge frown appeared on his face. “That’s just how they are.”

  “Now, Freddy,” Leona said.

  “Well, it’s true,” he said.

  “Let me show you something,” Norbridge said. He stood, walked to the bookcase, and took a blue envelope from the top shelf. He held it up as if to display a ticket to a special show.

  “What’s that?” Elizabeth said.

  “A letter we received yesterday,” Norbridge said. He examined the front of the envelope. “From Mr. and Mrs. Donald and Doris Knox.”

  Freddy looked to Elizabeth, raised his eyebrows in surprise. “My parents,” he said.

  “Correct!” Norbridge said. “They sent this letter to me special delivery from…” He examined the envelope once again. “Venice, Italy.” He unfolded the letter and examined it as if for the first time. “It was addressed to me,” Norbridge said, handing it to Freddy, “but I think you’ll be interested to read it yourself.”

  Freddy looked perplexed, but he lowered his eyes to the letter and read in silence. His expression remained unchanged throughout; after a long two minutes he looked up. Elizabeth was so eager to know what was in the letter, she could barely contain herself.

  “What’s it say, Freddy?” she said.

  He set the letter on the table. His face was so blank, Elizabeth had no clue what he might have read in his parents’ note.

  He looked to her. “They said they met a guy who runs a shop in Venice, and he told them he’d stayed at Winterhouse and thought it was the best hotel in the world. They want to spend Christmas here next year with me.”

  “What do you think of that?” Norbridge said.

  Freddy sat staring at the table. He looked uncertain. “I don’t know.”

  “I told you your parents don’t hate you,” Elizabeth said. She felt herself brightening at the prospect of Freddy being able to enjoy Winterhouse for another visit, this time with his parents. “I think it’s great.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to see how it goes,” Freddy said haltingly. His expression was distant and blank.

  “I think it’s wonderful news, Freddy,” Leona said.

  “I guess I sort of think of Winterhouse as my place,” Freddy said. “But, yeah, it’s nice that they want to come.” He looked warily at Elizabeth. “What about you?”

  “What?” Elizabeth said.

  “I wish you had your parents,” Freddy said.

  Elizabeth looked down. “That’s impossible.”

  “It may be impossible,” Norbridge said. “But you do have an aunt and uncle.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “It’s just … I really detest living with
them.”

  “Remember,” Norbridge said, “one of the things about Winterhouse is to try to bring the essence of the place to people who don’t feel it naturally.”

  “I guess,” Elizabeth said doubtfully. An image came to her mind of herself trying to be polite and generous to Aunt Purdy; she just couldn’t see it happening, or if it did, she was certain her aunt would just treat her even worse. She didn’t want to talk about her aunt and uncle, had even avoided thinking too much about them and how she would shortly be returning to live with them. “They just sit around and watch TV all the time. I’d much rather stay here. I mean, you’re my grandfather, right, so why couldn’t I?” Elizabeth had been thinking over this very point ever since New Year’s Eve.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Norbridge said. “And I have been contemplating the matter!” He smiled and tapped the side of his head. “I intend to have you back here just as soon as I can arrange it.”

  Elizabeth felt a shock go through her. “Is that true?” she said, feeling almost too flustered to speak. “Back here like—”

  “Back here!” Norbridge said. “Now, let’s not get too carried away too quickly. There are rules about these sorts of things. Statutes and regulations and so on. Tariffs or something. I’m not too familiar with the law. I know we can’t just spirit you away to live here, but I intend to figure out how to make it happen just as soon as we can.”

  “To live here?” Elizabeth said, almost not sure if she ought to say the words aloud.

  Leona glanced at Norbridge, and the two shared a look of amazement. “That’s our hope!” Leona said.

  “You have my word on this,” Norbridge said. “After all, you’re my granddaughter. I’ll make sure you return.”

  “So we’ll see each other next Christmas?” Freddy said.

  “I don’t think it can be avoided.” Norbridge laughed.

  “All right!” Freddy yelled.

  Leona looked to Elizabeth. “Besides, I might need to start training someone to take over the library someday. I can’t do this forever.”

  Elizabeth felt something drop inside her stomach; she couldn’t believe how, in the midst of what had been a sadness that seemed to be growing by the minute, everything had turned around. She might be heading back to Drere now, but soon she would be coming back to Winterhouse. “I—I don’t know what to say about all this. I can’t believe it. I can’t really believe what’s happened to me here. I’ll be thinking about coming back here all the time.”

  “And we’ll be waiting for you,” Norbridge said.

  Elizabeth, as though pulled by some magnet, rose from her chair and ran into his arms.

  “I’m so glad I came here,” she said.

  “Faith, Elizabeth,” Norbridge said. “Faith.” He leaned away from her and tapped his watch. “Although right now we need to get you on a bus.”

  Leona came to them, and Elizabeth drew away from Norbridge to give her a hug.

  “I can’t wait to see you again, too, Leona,” Elizabeth said.

  “You’ll have to tell me all about your favorite new books when you come back,” Leona said.

  “Miss Springer!” Norbridge said, lowering his eyes at her. His voice had boomed in the small dining room, and the three others looked to him, startled. He appeared to be angry, though Elizabeth saw just enough of a glint in his eye to know he was up to something. “Will you help me put these dishes in the kitchen?” he said. His eyes moved from Leona to Elizabeth to Freddy and then back again.

  Leona stood straight, took two plates in her hand, and headed for the door. “Don’t get used to this, Norbridge,” she said, and he followed her to the kitchen.

  Elizabeth looked to Freddy. “I guess I have to get going,” she said.

  He rose and stood before her. “Yeah, I guess so.” He pushed at his glasses. “I leave tomorrow, but it will be strange to not have you here today.”

  “You still want to stay in touch after we go home, right?”

  “Of course,” Freddy said.

  Elizabeth glanced at the table. A strong emotion was taking hold of her, and she wiped at her eyes because she was starting to feel tears coming on. She thought back to that first morning when she’d met Freddy, and it seemed something like a small miracle that he had become such a good friend and they had gone through so much together. Already, even though he was standing before her, she felt an emptiness in her as she thought about getting on the bus and leaving Winterhouse.

  “It sounds like we’ll see each other next Christmas,” she said. She held out a hand. “I’m not looking forward to this long bus ride, but I’m just really glad we met here, Freddy.”

  He shook her hand. “So am I,” he said, and he looked to the floor. Softly, as if wanting to keep his voice steady, he said, “‘Bus ride.’ You can turn it into ‘Bruised.’”

  She laughed. “You really are good at those, you know.”

  He took a step forward and gave her a light, quick hug. “I’ll miss you, Elizabeth.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” she said, and she was glad Norbridge stepped into the room right then and said, “We’d better get going,” or the tears she’d been holding back would have started to run down her cheeks.

  * * *

  Norbridge walked her to the lobby and out the front doors of Winterhouse. It was strange to retrace the path she’d traveled with Norbridge almost three weeks before when she’d first met him—and stranger still that he remained silent during their entire walk. As they stepped into the brisk morning light, Elizabeth wondered if Norbridge was troubled, if maybe there had been something on his mind he’d not wanted to say in front of Freddy and Leona.

  The bus was before them, and the driver was loading luggage into the storage compartment. Norbridge looked around as though surveying the grounds.

  “Is everything okay?” Elizabeth said. A thought came to her that he might be worried someone was watching them.

  Norbridge dipped his head to her, and his eyes gleamed with kindness. “Everything is fine,” he said. He looked up again, glanced around, and then he removed something from inside his jacket.

  “For you,” he said, handing her a package—the size of a book—wrapped in violet paper with a silver ribbon. “Open it later in the day. It’s just a little something to occupy you, perhaps, on your epic return journey to the land of your aunt and uncle!”

  She laughed. “You make it sound like I’m in The Hobbit or something.” Elizabeth took the package from him and admired it before sliding it into a pocket of her backpack. “Thank you. For everything. It’s been amazing here.”

  Norbridge’s face went a shade darker and he leaned forward. “I wanted to mention one thing.” He patted the base of his neck to indicate the pendant she wore. “You have the necklace and, more important, you have an … awareness of something inside of you now. Protect it. All of it. There will always be forces trying to distract you or lead you astray. Fight against them. That power you have is not to be taken lightly, and it’s nothing to feel proud about. The moment we start feeling better than other people because of our capabilities is the moment we start to lose ourselves. So be vigilant, and be strong, and be good.”

  Elizabeth leaned forward and gave Norbridge one last hug before pulling away.

  He patted the base of his neck. “And keep the faith.”

  * * *

  Elizabeth found a comfortable seat on the bus and then took out the volume of The Wind in the Willows Leona had let her borrow from the library. She settled in to read, felt the story would keep her from thinking all the things she wanted to think about Winterhouse and Norbridge and Freddy and her mother and The Book, the thousand thoughts about the days just past. Within an hour she had nodded off; and when she awoke the bus had descended far into the valley below Winterhouse, miles and miles away from the mountains. A sadness came over Elizabeth, a feeling of time and distance already fashioning a gap between her and the place she had started to consider her true home. She stared out the wi
ndow at the lightly falling snow and thought about all the days ahead she would need to pass through before she could return.

  After the next stop, as a handful of passengers departed the bus, Elizabeth removed from her backpack the package Norbridge had given her and unwrapped the violet paper. Inside was a small book entitled The Secret of Northaven Manor, and on the cover was a drawing of an enormous mansion overlooking an icebound sea. Elizabeth froze when she read the name of the author: Damien Crowley.

  The same man who wrote the book in Gracella’s room, she thought. It made her wonder if Norbridge somehow knew about her visit to the locked room the night before.

  She opened the book and read the first sentence: “Three weeks after she turned eleven, Rachel Aestas decided to ignore the strange stories about Northaven Manor and investigate the mansion for herself.”

  Whatever the reason for Norbridge’s selection, the book had aroused her interest. She held it and watched the snow once again, and she felt glad to consider that it was falling here, on the road, and maybe even at her aunt and uncle’s home, and—most of all—at Winterhouse.

  “Thank you for the book, Norbridge,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I think this is going to be my kind of story.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Rena Rossner for her faith and steady guidance; thank you to Christy Ottaviano for her insightful, generous reading. Gratitude above all to Jacob, Olivia, and Natalie for the creative, caring lives they lead; and to Rosalind, for her selfless and steadfast heart.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ben Guterson was a high school and middle school teacher in New Mexico and Colorado for a decade before working for Microsoft. He lives near Seattle in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. You can sign up for email updates here.

  ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

  Sign up for email updates on Chloe Bristol here.

  Thank you for buying this

  Henry Holt and Company ebook.