by HR Mason
He remembered the first time he’d met her. She had been so lovely and full of life. Marie’s laughter danced across the street to where Henry was standing, grabbing his heart and not letting go. One look at her and Henry had never been the same. He’d had a million dreams of their life together. But it wasn’t to be. It couldn’t be. Marie’s parents had seen to that.
“When is the wedding?” Henry’s voice cracked on the last word. He couldn’t imagine the woman he loved marrying someone else, let alone that beast Marshall Ross.
“In two months. Marshall says we will be married once the house is built,” Marie answered sadly.
“That house is a monstrosity.”
“I know it is,” Marie whispered.
Henry gritted his teeth. He should have been proud of Desolate Ridge, as the house had been named. After all, he was the foreman of the building crew. The house would be brought into existence because of him. Every brick that made up the home would bear his fingerprint. Each nail would be hammered into the foundation under his watchful eye.
It was to be the grandest, most beautiful house in the entire state. But the thought of Marie living there with Marshall Ross was enough to turn his stomach. He couldn’t bear it. He had to do something.
The wind rustled the leaves on the trees, moaning and wailing loudly, like a newborn baby. Henry pulled his wool tailcoat a bit closer to his body.
Marie shivered. Her walking dress and pelisse offered much-needed warmth, but the chill originated from deep within, and no amount of velvet could chase it away. She’d felt cold and dead inside ever since the day her parents told her the news that would forever change the trajectory of her life.
Perhaps she should have been honored to be the chosen bride of Marshall Ross, the wealthiest man in Ohio. A lot of girls in her position would have been pleased. The Stockton family wasn’t affluent, so the prospect of a man of Marshall’s standing taking an interest in Marie should have been flattering.
She knew Marshall’s interest had nothing to do with her character or virtue and everything to do with her beauty. He believed he should have the loveliest woman in town, and that was Marie. Marshall said her chestnut curls and sapphire eyes had captivated him with only a glance. He’d known in an instant that she belonged to him.
For the first time in her life, Marie cursed her face, wishing she’d been born with an unremarkable countenance. Her loveliness had betrayed her, her beauty sentencing her to a life she’d never wanted.
Her parents had been celebrating for weeks, oblivious to the fact that their daughter grew more despondent by the day. They could see nothing beyond Marshall’s wealth, but Marie saw other things, darker things, and the thought of marrying him consumed her thoughts by day and haunted her dreams by night.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about Marshall terrified her. Maybe it was the fact that his smile never reached his eyes, or that his laughter rang hollow. There appeared to be no emotion in the man whatsoever. His heart seemed a cold, vacant place.
When Marie looked at him, she saw nothing but a deep, dark void. His hands were as cold as ice when he helped her in and out of his carriage, and his touch made her blood run cold. Marie believed he didn’t love her so much as he desired to possess and control her. Marshall Ross was a man of secrets, and she was afraid of what she would find once they were unlocked.
There was also the strange disappearance of Marshall’s sister, Eleanor. It had happened last spring, right before work began on Desolate Ridge. Eleanor had gone to church one Sunday. She’d walked home alone after services, and she’d never been seen again. It seemed the young woman had simply vanished.
There was talk that Eleanor left Rossdale, the town named after her own family, because she was angry about the house Marshall wanted to build. There were no facts to back up the rumors, only supposition, yet the whispers lingered, hanging in the air like a puff of smoke from her father’s pipe.
The idea of Eleanor leaving town was plausible. Considering her wealth, the young woman had the means to go wherever she wished. Mr. and Mrs. Ross had left their children a vast inheritance upon their untimely deaths the previous year. Rumor had it that Marshall and Eleanor were bequeathed millions, and their parents’ will stipulated it should be split evenly between the children.
The Ross fortune was larger than anyone in town could fathom. The family’s power was even greater, controlling every aspect of Rossdale.
Marie glanced at Henry and thought about how different he was in comparison to her betrothed. She had loved him for years, and they had always intended to marry. Henry was warmth, compassion, comfort, and hope; he was all of the things Marshall Ross was not.
Marie’s heart ached to be with Henry, but she had no choice in the matter. Her parents had decided her fate, and they would not entertain any other ideas. Marie’s opinion on her future counted for nothing.
“What if we ran away together, Marie?” Henry’s deep voice cut into the silence of the woods.
“Ran away?”
“We could leave right now and never come back.”
The idea of eloping had been circulating in his mind for weeks, and although he knew it was dangerous, he had no choice but to offer. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to change her mind.
“Henry, we can’t.”
“Yes we can.”
“There is nowhere we could go that Marshall wouldn’t find us. He is powerful and determined. I will not risk his wrath on you. I love you far too much to put you in jeopardy.”
The tears Marie had been trying so desperately to hold back finally broke free and coursed down her face, flowing like the Walhonding River. It was no use. Marshall Ross had made up his mind. He wanted her, and no one could prevent it. No amount of love for Henry could change it, and she would not endanger him to save herself.
“But I love you, Marie. And I fear for you. Something is not right about that man, or his mansion.”
“I know. Every time I see the house, I feel as if someone’s hands are on my throat, squeezing, tightening, and stealing my breath.”
“What?” Henry’s voice registered shock upon hearing Marie’s words. He stepped closer to her, tenderly placing his hand on her arm.
“I can’t explain it, but it’s like Desolate Ridge is alive. And it’s warning me.” Marie shook her head and forced a small laugh. “It sounds ridiculous when I speak the words out loud.”
“I agree. There is something wrong with the house. Every week there is a new accident or strange occurrence at the building site.”
“What are you talking about, Henry?”
“The crew tells me about tools disappearing, odd whispers, unexplained voices, and visions of things that aren’t there. Marie, I think the house is cursed.”
Marie shook her head. “Enough. No more. We mustn’t talk of such things.”
“Not even if they’re true?”
“I need to go now, Henry. This is the last time I will meet you, so please don’t ask me again.”
“But, Marie—”
“I cannot put myself through the agony any longer. I must accept my fate. I will marry Marshall Ross.”
Marie wiped her eyes with the handkerchief Henry offered. She started to give it back to him, then stuffed it into her reticule instead. She would keep it as a memento of what her life might have been. She would need her memories of Henry to make it through the dark days ahead.
“I fear for you, Marie,” Henry repeated.
“I fear for myself, and my future children. I worry I won’t be able to stop what is coming, and if I can’t, the darkness will consume us all. The terror is so strong that some days I feel it strangling me. I pray my trepidation is unfounded.”
Before Henry could argue, Marie leaned forward, kissed him softly on the lips, gathered her dress and pelisse into her hands, and dashed through the woods toward home.
3
Seattle, Washington — 2019
She walked to the back room and removed the blue apron from her waist, hanging it on her hook before grabbing her coat and purse and making a quick beeline for the door. She didn’t say goodbye to any of her coworkers, and they didn’t even bother looking up as she left. It didn’t matter; she was there to collect a paycheck, not to make friends.
It wasn’t as if Aubrey set out to be rude. Connecting with people didn’t come easily to a woman like her. As a ward of the state for most of her life, Aubrey learned early on that opening herself up to others only led to pain and disappointment. She’d been through more foster homes than she could even count, each one worse than the last. Life had taught her to be tough, and she’d figured out the only person she could depend on was herself.
She had no family, not a single friend, and barely any acquaintances. She didn’t want them. She was polite and efficient at her job, but aside from that, she made no effort to let anyone behind her wall. She was alone, and she preferred it that way.
Aubrey had been with only two men in her life, and both had crashed and burned, ending in disaster. She wasn’t one to point fingers; she knew the fault had been hers, and she placed the blame entirely at her own feet. She was closed off, safely defended behind a barricade of her own construction. If a person attempted to get too close, she shut them down. Aubrey believed it was always best to end things first, because eventually everyone left. It hurt less if you were the one who did the leaving.
In typical Seattle fashion, it was raining. It wasn’t a downpour but was just enough of a mist to dampen her cheeks and cause her unruly curls to frizz. Aubrey pulled the hood of her raincoat over her head and walked briskly toward her apartment. She lived just two blocks from work, which was convenient. It was one of the only perks she could find in either her shabby apartment or her dead-end job.
“Excuse me, Ms. Ross. Can I please speak with you?”
She immediately recognized the voice behind her to be that of Mr. Wilson Wayfair. Aubrey stopped abruptly and turned to face the man.
“You just don’t give up, do you? I figured you’d be on a plane on your way back to Ohio by now,” she said with a shake of her head.
“I can’t leave until I convince you to go to Rossdale.”
There was a sense of determination in his voice that hadn’t been there the day before.
“But I already told you I’m not interested. Why won’t you just leave me alone?”
“I can’t. The house is yours,” he insisted.
Water droplets beaded on the brim of his bowler hat. Aubrey watched as the rain collected at the edge, preparing to drip onto the lapel of his trench coat.
“Mr. Wayfair, in case you haven’t noticed, I live in Washington,” she stated with a sigh.
“You could just as easily live in Ohio. In the house that belongs to you. You have nothing to hold you here,” he replied.
“How do you know what I have?” Aubrey thought Mr. Wayfair was an awfully presumptuous man to assume she could just pack up her life at a moment’s notice.
“I’ve done my homework. I told you I’ve searched for you for a very long time, and now that I’ve found you, I’m not giving up until you go to Ohio and claim what is rightfully yours.”
He set his jaw. It was easy to see the strange man could be very stubborn when the mood struck.
“What’s in it for you? Why do you care so much about my inheritance?”
He paused, his face progressing through a myriad of emotions until finally landing somewhere between melancholy and wistfulness.
“It’s my job to care. I’ve worked for the Ross family for many years. I wish to see Desolate Ridge in the hands of its rightful owner. I wish for things to finally be made right.”
Aubrey knew there was more to his story, but she didn’t push him. She had the feeling he would eventually share the real reason behind his mission to see her claim her birthright, so she waited silently until he continued.
“You see, Ms. Ross, I felt a sort of grandfatherly attachment to your mother. I never had children of my own, and I always had a soft spot for Anna. I didn’t do enough for her… didn’t help her when she needed it most. I’d hoped she would find happiness somehow, but she couldn’t escape the monsters inside herself. If I can help you, it will almost be as if I’ve helped Anna,” he said with a shrug.
“Well, Mr. Wayfair, that’s a nice sentiment, but even if I wanted to go, I don’t have the money to fly to Ohio,” Aubrey replied matter-of-factly.
“Oh, money isn’t a concern that you need to have.” Mr. Wayfair chuckled as if he were privy to some humorous joke Aubrey knew nothing about.
“I assure you money is a concern I’ve always had, seeing as I don’t have any.”
Aubrey crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the man. He must not know as much about her as he claimed. If he did, he’d know she was basically penniless.
“Ms. Ross, as I’ve said, money isn’t a concern. You may not have had it before, but it won’t ever be a problem for you again.”
“I don’t believe you,” she countered.
“Perhaps this will convince you. It has been worn by the mistress of Desolate Ridge for generations. Marshall Ross, the man who built the house, gave it to his wife, Marie, on their wedding day. It has been passed down to every Ross woman ever since.”
Mr. Wayfair reached into his pocket and presented Aubrey with the largest sapphire ring she’d ever seen. It was clearly an antique, and the blue stone was the exact color of her eyes. Her hand trembled as she opened her palm and Mr. Wayfair plunked the piece of jewelry into it. Mesmerized, she slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, almost as if it were custom-made for her.
It stopped raining, so Aubrey removed her hood and shook out her hair. She nibbled nervously on the skin around her fingernails, which was a nasty habit she’d developed as a young girl and had never outgrown. She shivered as she felt the brush of a fingertip on her cheek and the sound of a woman crying.
Aubrey whipped her head around, certain someone was standing behind her. When she turned, she saw no one but Mr. Wayfair, who appeared unruffled by the sound. He clearly hadn’t heard the woman crying, or felt the brush of someone’s fingertip.
Goose bumps erupted on her arms, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Her eye twitched, and she shivered. It wasn’t particularly cold outside, but Aubrey was chilled to the bone.
Experiencing a physical reaction due to an unexplained feeling or occurrence was a phenomenon she’d lived with her entire life. Aubrey couldn’t explain it, but she had felt something. Oblivious, Mr. Wayfair reached into the inside pocket of his trench coat and pulled out another envelope, this one much thicker than the one he’d given her the previous night. When he placed it into her hands, it was heavy.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I told you I’ve done my homework. I knew you wouldn’t have the means to travel, Ms. Ross, so I came prepared.”
“Prepared? What do you mean?”
“I withdrew a small amount of cash from your family’s account before I left Ohio. It should be more than enough to cover your travel expenses,” he clarified.
Aubrey slowly opened the envelope and looked inside. There were several stacks of cash, bundled into little piles. She flipped through them, noticing each stack was made up of hundred-dollar bills. She gasped and searched Mr. Wayfair’s face for an explanation. She’d never seen that much money in her life.
“How much is in there?”
“I only brought ten thousand with me. I figured that would be enough to cover whatever you might need until
you arrive in Ohio.” He answered nonchalantly, as if he’d handed her a twenty-dollar bill.
“You’re telling me there’s ten thousand dollars in this envelope?” Aubrey knew her eyes were probably the size of dinner plates, but she couldn’t help it.
“Ms. Ross, I don’t think you fully understand what I’m trying to explain. You are the sole owner of Desolate Ridge and the beneficiary of the entire Ross family fortune. The money you’re holding right now is a mere drop in the bucket. You are a very, very rich woman.” He smiled.
Aubrey felt faint. Surely there must have been some mistake. She had lived her entire life below the poverty line, and this strange-looking man was telling her she was rich? Something didn’t add up. There had to be a catch, some sort of caveat Mr. Wayfair wasn’t disclosing.
“I’m sure this is surprising news, but you’ll find it is all true. The Ross family fortune is vast, and it’s all yours. The house, the stocks, the jewelry, the cars, all of the bank accounts—everything. All you have to do is go to Ohio and claim it,” he encouraged.
“What if I don’t want the house?”
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t you want the house?”
“If it’s mine, I can just sell it, right?”
Aubrey had no desire to live in Ohio, but if what Mr. Wayfair said was true, she could sell the house and keep the money. No matter how she looked at the situation, it was worth a trip to the middle of nowhere.
“Ms. Ross, as I’ve told you, Desolate Ridge has been in your family since 1819. I promise that once you’re there, you’ll never leave.”
4
Desolate Ridge — Rossdale, Ohio — 1822
Marie held her son tightly to her chest as she rocked back and forth and hummed quietly. The baby was finally quiet, although the respite wouldn’t last long. She breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed nothing she tried would soothe her boy. He’d been crying for months, and Marie was exhausted.