House of the Golden Butterfly

by B. Groves

  She fired her literary agent the moment she decided to move to Lingate. She was in negotiations to buy back all the rights to her novels with her publishing company.

  They were putting up a fight since her series was their biggest seller, but she had no doubt she would eventually settle with them.

  The morning she left New Jersey she stopped one more time at her beloved grandparents resting place and promised she would visit often. Her Uncle Ben promised he would look after the gravesite for as long as he could to make sure it was kept neat and clean.

  Claire hit the road and drove seventeen hours straight. After all those hours driving, Claire stopped at the edge of Lingate out of pure exhaustion and bought a hotel room for the night.

  She saw little from the road, but checking her GPS she was only about ten miles from the house.

  She could have made it, but she wanted to arrive at the house during daylight so she could get a good look at it, and be well-rested from her move.

  She picked up some fast food, secured her trailer, and collapsed on the bed after eating her food.

  It was not her first time on a road trip, but it had been a long time since she’d driven that far.

  Claire woke up early the next morning, dressed, and made her way to the hotel lobby for coffee and a quick breakfast.

  The hotel staff was setting out the breakfast buffet when she arrived and she grabbed her coffee and head outside to watch the sunrise in the east.

  The sky was turning from a deep purple to pink and orange with scattered clouds interrupting her clear view.

  She checked her phone and went back inside and found the dining area bustling with weary parents and their hungry kids on various road trips, businessmen dressed in their expensive suits and ties, and what looked like some people heading to the Smoky Mountains for camping trips.

  A man who looked like he’d seen too much on the road tried flirting with her at the waffle station, but she ignored him and went to sit near a family so he wouldn’t bother her again. Thankfully, he got the message and walked out of the room.

  She ate her waffle and was one the road again before the sun peaked over the treetops.

  She set her GPS and pulled out of the lot. From what she could see on the map, Kinsey House was easy to get to once she got past the downtown exits.

  It was on the upper left-hand corner of town, and George told her it was one of the grandest historical private homes.

  He’d sent her the keys and the alarm code weeks before when she said she would move in, along with other paperwork, including a copy of Rose’s will.

  Claire remembered reading over the will while she talked to George a second time and he walked through her what it all meant for her.

  He said her grandmother would have been ecstatic that she decided to move there, but that left Claire even more confused than before.

  They set an appointment date, and Claire had all utilities turned over into her name.

  George told her that Rose owned an older computer but had WIFI after some convincing by him.

  Claire would have the WIFI turned back on later in the week and the rest of the transfers into her name completed.

  George also recommended that she keep Rose’s accountant. He came highly praised from what Claire had seen over the internet and took care of high profile clients.

  Claire couldn’t contain her nervousness. She was starting over and that was always scary, but most of all she would discover more about her past, her parents, and her brother.

  Was she prepared for what she might find? She questioned herself as she maneuvered through downtown traffic and listening to the robotic voice on the GPS telling her where to go.

  She might finally fill in the puzzle pieces missing from her early life now that she was moving into Kinsey House, and she hoped to discover more about her mysterious, elusive grandmother and to learn how her brother wandered off and drown in the river.

  Claire’s phone told her the exit was coming up.

  She gripped the steering wheel while her heartbeat elevated. This was it. She would arrive at her new home any minute now.

  Claire turned onto the street from the highway and made sure her small trailer was making the turn safely behind her. The last thing she needed was an accident on her first day in town.

  She was on a four-lane highway known as Route 19 and needed to make a right in another two miles.

  She looked around and admired the tree-lined street with the perfectly manicured median dividing the road.

  The street lamps were already decorated for the holidays with bells, bows, and other Christmas decor.

  She passed a strip mall and could see a glimpse of the Smoky Mountains in the distance.

  She couldn’t wait to get settled and take a drive to the mountains.

  She traveled to California with friends when she was in college, and even though the mountains here weren’t as jagged as the Rocky Mountains, it didn’t take away from their beauty as they reached for the sky behind the town’s skyline.

  Claire passed a bakery and coffee shop. The place was jumping for early in the morning.

  They must be delicious, she thought, thinking about stopping there after she settled.

  Her turn came up, and Claire gasped as she turned onto her street.

  The homes were not close to each other. Each property had several acres to a home as she kept driving, and most were hidden behind either huge brick walls, wrought iron gates, or thick patches of trees.

  These weren’t just regular middle-class houses, they were mansions.

  She could only catch a glimpse since she needed to keep an eye on the road, but her mouth hung open from the grandeur.

  Did I live here?

  She couldn’t grasp that she once lived in this neighborhood, but some fleeting memories were returning. Little glimpses of the past that her stubborn mind kept hostage for so long.

  A vision of her gazing out of the backseat of a car while two dark figures sat in the front seat passed before her eyes.

  She breathed in and continued her journey.

  Her GPS signaled she was at the house. Somehow Claire knew already when she put on her blinker to turn into the driveway.

  She turned in and drove down the stone driveway with a few bumps that made her slow down since she was pulling the trailer.

  Trees rose on either side of her but it wasn’t long before she pulled up to the entrance of the house.

  If she thought the house was huge from the pictures, it was even more humongous in person.

  Did I live here?

  It was a question she kept asking repeatedly in her mind as she put the car in park and stared at the Queen Anne style home.

  Claire didn’t want to move, she wanted to sit and stare at her new home for a few more minutes while absorbing its grandeur.

  She searched her memories, but the time she lived here was still too far off inside the foggy darkness.

  Why didn’t she remember living here? Why were her memories of the time she lived here with David so elusive?

  Why didn’t her grandparents tell her more about this place?

  Claire hoped to have these questions answered now that she arrived and would move into Kinsey House.

  The porch light was on because George told her he would stop by and check on the house before she moved in, otherwise the rest of the house was dark from the inside.

  Claire exited her car and stood before the mansion in awe. It looked worn down, but nothing that wasn’t easily fixable.

  George told Claire he put Rose’s car in storage until she decided what she wanted to do with it.

  Claire looked around the huge property and was overwhelmed by the site.

  Claire thought she ought to explore her new home instead of standing in the middle of the driveway looking silly.

  Looking to her left, she could see through the leafless trees to one of her neighbor’s home. On her right, the forest was too thick to see the other homes around
the neighborhood.

  She reached back into her car and grabbed her cell phone. She walked around taking a few quick pictures of the house and immediately posted them on her Facebook page.

  She told her followers she arrived and was ready to start her new life.

  Claire walked up the stairs and onto the porch. The wood beneath her feet protested her footsteps as she walked to the bay window and peered inside.

  Not seeing much, she decided she might as well go in and explore.

  Claire walked back, unlocked the door, and swung it open, hoping for a flood of memories to rush her mind.

  No memories came back but the sense she’d been here before was strong and she felt a mysterious pull goading her to step inside the house.

  She did and made sure she turned the alarm off when she found it on the wall next to the door.

  Claire’s eyes took in the foyer with its expensive wooden flooring and two side tables that held busts of people she didn’t know.

  She set her gaze down the hallway, and the feeling that she’d been there before grew stronger with each passing moment.

  The foyer opened to a staircase that curved to match the tower on the outside of the house.

  “Wow,” Claire whispered as she tried to peer up the stairs and into the second floor.

  Next to the stairs were double doors with golden handles. The doors were closed. She would explore the room later.

  To her left was the living area.

  Claire stepped into the living room and found an expensive sofa, and an even more expensive entertainment center with a recliner, end tables with lamps that probably cost more than her old apartment and a granite fireplace with kindling, logs, and newspaper ready to be lit.

  A modern digital television hung above the fireplace and the remotes were sat on a tray table next to the recliner.

  Leaning next to the tray table was a cane, and Claire walked over to lift the cane and examine it.

  She found the cane to be handmade with some symbols, but she didn’t know what they were.

  As she placed the cane down the subtle smell of cleaning fluid tickled her nose. She frowned knowing why the cleaning fluid smell was there.

  Claire shivered knowing this was the area where Rose passed away but tried to shake it off and realized the cleaning fluid smell came from this area.

  Claire found heat and cooling controls on the nearby wall.

  The sofa had an afghan thrown over it. The coffee table had used coasters, some magazines were placed neatly inside a wicker basket, and another remote control sitting on top.

  There were side tables inside the living room with lamps and one light that hung from the ceiling.

  This room was well used, Claire concluded. Rose must have spent most of her time in here.

  The floors were also wooden but polished with an area rug underneath the coffee table.

  Claire turned to see a light switch near the doorway. She walked over, flicked it, and the whole room lit up sending the shadows into the corner.

  I already knew where that light switch was, she thought.

  Shaking her head, she walked out of the room and back into the hallway.

  The feeling of familiarity returned and the double doors had to be the parlor for entertaining guests.

  She had a fleeting memory of someone telling her one time she was not allowed in that room.

  There were a lot of expensive things in there and she was too small to play in there.

  Now she was an adult, and she slowly opened the squeaky doors and discovered she was right.

  It was a parlor.

  She stepped inside and gazed in awe at the elaborate setting before her. Her fleeting memory of someone telling her she couldn’t go in when she was a child was probably right.

  This place was not meant for children to play in.

  The wallpaper looked yellowed and Claire could see it tearing in one corner of the room.

  A decorative gold lamp hung from the ceiling which needed a paint job.

  Molding covered the top and bottom of the walls.

  Upon closer inspection, Claire found their intricate designs looked hand carved.

  She was impressed by the craftsmanship.

  The wing-backed chairs sat on opposite sides of another dusty coffee table and in front of another fireplace made of wood, not granite this time. This fireplace was not used for heat.

  Claire ran her hand over the dusty coffee table and sighed. She had a lot of work ahead of her.

  Another area rug was set atop the wooden floor and underneath the chairs and coffee table.

  There were more side tables and lamps.

  Above the fireplace was a portrait of a woman dressed in Victorian-era clothing.

  As Claire’s gaze focused on the painting, she would have sworn that was her mother in the painting, but she couldn’t be sure. The woman resembled her mother. Based on her pictures, the slight bend of the nose was same in the portrait as she had seen over the years.

  Was the woman another family member or her mother as the model for the portrait?

  She couldn’t quite tell. She’d have to come back to it later and make comparisons.

  Candles sat on either side of a mantle clock on above the fireplace.

  More candles were placed at the base of the fireplace with a decorative guard in front.

  Claire still could not accept that she lived here at one time and that she inherited such an elaborate house.

  Why hadn’t Rose been in contact with her?

  That question nagged at Claire as she left the room and shut the doors behind her.

  She realized she left the front door open and thought it was fine since she was about to unpack anyway after exploring a little longer.

  Claire walked down the hallway.

  She remembered there was a guest bathroom on the left and when she opened the door, she was right.

  A small guest bathroom with a toilet and sink were inside with some hand towels hanging from the wall above the sink.

  Another small basket with linens sat beside the toilet, and handrails were on one wall near the toilet.

  Rose must have needed help in her older years, Claire thought.

  She turned the light off and closed the door.

  Another memory came back and she found a coat closet next to the bathroom right where she remembered it was.

  Then, she turned and gasped.

  Along the wall were portraits. The portraits looked about 20 x 24 inches from her untrained eye.

  Her eyes first settled on a young couple with a little girl. The man had to be her grandfather, the woman was obviously Rose and the little girl had to be her mother.

  Claire remembered seeing a photo like this once that Mary kept in a photo album.

  She remembered Mary telling her that Arthur Kinsey was once Mayor of Lingate but he died when her mother was seven in a skiing accident in Colorado.

  The next one was of her mother as a teenager.

  Then Claire set her eyes upon the portrait of her mother and father on their wedding day.

  Her mother’s dress was surprisingly simple from what Claire remembered from pictures.

  Mary once told her that her mother never liked having the stigma of spoiled rich girl amongst her peers, and she rebelled against it when she and her father met.

  They were a type of bohemian couple who lived simply when both Claire and David were born, but if Janie needed help, she always had her mother to turn to.

  She said Janie and Rose were close despite some of Janie’s rebellious nature. The night her father and mother were killed in the car accident, Mary described how Rose had to tell her that her only son was dead.

  “I’ll never forget those screams in the background,” Mary said.

  Then Mary turned to her granddaughter and said, “I heard them again when she had to tell me about David.”

  Claire remembered Mary closing her eyes, lost in the memories of losing her only son and grandson.<
br />
  Claire’s eye caught another portrait. She almost dropped her phone as she stared at her brother and herself in the picture.

  Claire couldn’t have been over four years old and David—sitting on a chair in front of her—had to be no more than one years old.

  Claire smiled at both children’s wild blonde hair and how untamed they were in the portrait no matter how elegant it was painted.

  Claire didn’t know how long she was standing there staring at the portraits of her family.

  She could have sworn they were coming to life before her eyes. She’d only seen small pictures over the years, but to see them painted on canvas caused a different reaction within her. One where she felt dizzy from stepping back in time to view her past.

  That big gaping hole she held onto for so many years re-opened in the pit of her stomach.

  These were people she never knew. She had no decent memory of her parents, and what she should have had of David was a constant blur.

  Claire couldn’t help but feel depressed. She had no one left. She was truly alone in this world.

  Yes, she had obscure family, but it wasn’t the same.

  Thanksgiving was only a week away and she would be spending it alone with a turkey breast and some wine to keep her company.

  She understood she made a choice to move down here. If she stayed in New Jersey she would have been invited to her great-uncle’s house, but she hadn’t been close to that part of the family.

  What little close friends she had in New Jersey before she left were married and busy with their children nowadays so Claire was left to fend for herself after her grandparents passed away.

  Claire stood up straight after a few more minutes absorbing the portraits on the wall determined not to feel any self-pity and tried to look forward to new beginnings down here in Lingate.

  Claire moved on down the hallway. Her next thought was the study.

  Yes, the study. She remembered that much.

  She opened the door and peered inside.

  Claire was greeted with massive bookcases filled with books from God knows where and who knows how many authors.

  It was three walls full of books.

  She stepped inside and turned on the light switch.

  On the far wall were three huge windows covered with lace curtains and a roll-top desk sitting in the middle.