Page 3 of Halstead House

After another hour of GPS navigating small islands, along with a ferry ride that had caused me to question my resolve, I pulled into the parking lot of the Sand Dollar Motel on Lavender Island. The vacancy sign was flipped open, and I smiled to myself as I confidently entered the motel to book a room for a week. I wasn’t sure what exactly my plans were, but I knew I’d need to find something a little more permanent if I decided to stay for the entire three months of my sabbatical.

The Sand Dollar wasn’t nearly as depressing as the previous night’s room had been. Of course, I allowed, that might be because this motel was given a huge boost by being located right across the street from the ocean. Done in whites and blues, the room was small but refreshingly beachy. I opened the curtains and smiled at the sight of the people walking past my window, casting shadows on the sand, set against the backdrop of waves. I was darn near waxing poetic over the entire scene. I needed to get closer.

I propped open the window and breathed it all in.

For a woman who lived life in quiet lulls, what greeted me felt explosive. The constant sound of gulls calling to each to each other, of waves gently reaching land, the happy chatter of tourists, skateboards clattering over pavement, and the shrill whistle of a lifeguard in his shack were mesmerizing. The sounds were in harmony with the sights: kites caught on the breeze and colorful beach umbrellas swaying in place. The humidity was indescribable. It was as though I could feel the heavier air entering my lungs and sticking to my skin. It was heaven.

It wasn’t heaven for the temperature of my room, though, so I closed the window and let the AC do its job of keeping things cool. I efficiently unpacked my bags and hung my clothing before flopping down on the bed. In this state of happiness, I decided not to listen to Mother’s warnings at all. She’d been convinced that I was walking into the biggest disappointment of my life. However, I told myself that of course, Halstead House would be as beautiful as I’d always imagined. Of course, the island would live up to my expectations. Of course, everything would be fine.

Of course...

CHAPTER 2

I stood on the street facing Halstead House mid-morning of the next day, soaking up the sunlight that felt like divine approval of my decision to be here. This, this was how I was meant to see it for the first time, with its proud and timeless face bathed in golden island light. I’d always loved sunlight, but here on Lavender Island it felt thick enough to reach out and touch. I imagined that the old house was preening under the warm beams.

Curls of excitement traveled upward from the soles of my feet as I surveyed the grounds. Palm trees lined the path to a large sweeping staircase, inviting visitors to come inside, the same way they had for a hundred years. The color of the mansion was slightly different in person than it had been in the photographs Mary had given me, along with the pictures I’d seen when doing online research. That was okay. I liked this color better. It had more reds in it, and somehow it looked even better against the backdrop of well-manicured greenery than I’d imagined it would.

A smile lifted my lips. The movement alerted my dazed brain, and I mentally shook myself. Here I was, standing on the public street, ogling a building with a look most people reserved for people they were head over heels in love with. Years of training kicked in, quickly wiping the smile away in favor of a calm expression, and I reminded myself of the plan.

I’d given it a lot of thought on my flight, and overnight, and decided that I didn’t want to simply barge in and present myself to the Halsteads. To be totally honest, I still wasn’t sure how that conversation should go down.“Hey, I’m Grace, the non-relative who your Great Aunt Mary took under her wing as an honorary granddaughter. I know she’s passed away, but here I am. Surprise!”

I’d decided that I wanted to take the tour first. I wanted the quiet moments to gaze in wonder at all the mysteries the house had to share. I wanted to scope it out and let the old building tell me its stories in an unbiased way. Okay, truth moment: I’d used most of my bravery in just getting here, and I needed a bit of processing time to pump myself up for introductions. There were only so many ways to pop in and announce one’s self... and none of them made my stomach happy.

I tightened my grip on my purse and turned away from the inviting glow of the mansion’s front entrance in order to follow the ticket office signs, which led me to a side path that was paved in cobblestone. My heels click-clacked on the worn stones while my starved gaze drew it all in. I felt as though I knew every detail of this house thanks to Mary’s stories, and it was a little puzzling to know it so well but to be seeing it for the first time.

I passed through more beautiful gardens and allowed myself a small pause to look closer at a fountain to the side of one path. It was a simple two-tier fountain with a small wishing pool at the bottom. Mary’s husband, Charles, had proposed to her at that fountain. Her eyes had crinkled as she’d described his fear that she’d knock the ring into the water before he could get it onto her finger.

A few birds sat on the side, dipping their beaks into the water and then chattering at each other. It was so ridiculously idyllic that I couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. Places like this were meant for storybooks, not for the real world. I had always known that I wasn’t a princess, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a fairy-tale castle when I saw one.

I stopped to look between two buildings as the cobblestone path transitioned into a large red-bricked courtyard. Both buildings were made of that same red brick that was now under my feet. The first building was straight ahead and had three large, rounded doors that looked as though they’d once been open archways. I recognized it at once as the carriage house. The second building, to my right, was much smaller with one regular-sized door flanked by two small windows. It had originally been a dual work and storage shed but now functioned as a ticket office and the beginning of the public tour. It could have been a porta-potty and I’d have thought it was the loveliest thing I’d ever seen.

Stepping out of the morning sunlight into the dark little building came as a bit of a shock, and I blinked a few times while I waited for my eyes to adjust. When my vision was restored, I gazed around to see the former storage shed had been turned into a gift shop. There were some books and calendars, a few jars of food preserves, and some post cards. Signs above two doors in the back wall marked them as restrooms. Finally, in a side corner, I saw a counter top with a computer monitor and a young woman, her head down, reading a magazine and bopping her head to some music only she could hear through her headphones.

The girl’s head popped up as I walked toward the counter, her short dark curls continuing to bop for a moment with the sudden movement, and she smiled as she removed her headphones.

“Hi,” she said in a rich, deep voice. “Sorry, I didn’t realize we already had people coming to see the house. We usually don’t get much business in here until the afternoon when it gets hot on the beaches and people are looking for something to do indoors.” Her smile reached her dark eyes, making her entire face seem to glow.

“It’s not a problem at all,” I returned with a small smile. “How much are tickets?”

“How many?”

“Oh, just me,” I said easily, used to doing things on my own.

“That’s ten dollars,” the girl stated before turning slightly to type something into the screen in front of her.

I dug out a crisp ten-dollar bill and handed it to the girl whose name tag said Jayla. As soon as the money was put in a cash box under the counter, Jayla reached into another box and pulled out what looked like a small handheld radio attached to an earbud. She began wiping it with a disinfecting cloth while explaining that it was the guided audio tour of the mansion and that I should simply follow the instructions, push the buttons when prompted, and enjoy myself at my own pace. When I was done, I should bring it back to the ticket office.

I lifted one side of my mouth and nodded before putting the ear bud in and giving Jayla a thumbs-up sign. Jayla gave me one in return and I turned around, thrilled to begin the tour I’d been waiting to take my entire life.

The recording suggested I start the tour in the carriage house, but I didn’t have the patience for it. I was itching to get inside. I’d been itching for that for as long as I could remember, and now that I was here, I wasn’t going to waste one precious moment with modes of transportation. I’d circle around to the carriage house later, assuming I could get myself out of the mansion.

Walking through the majestic front doors into the large grand foyer felt like a dream. It was the equivalent to me of having had a dream as a child of owning a unicorn, but now as an adult someone telling me they were real and buying one for me. It was thrilling. Pure magic.

I stayed in that dream-like state for the entire tour. At long last I was seeing for myself the rooms, the colorful wallpaper, the enormous gaudily framed mirrors, the large stained-glass window, the floors creaking just where Mary said they would. The only person I encountered was the tour guide, who was available to answer questions, but had only smiled as I’d walked by. When the tour came to an end, I couldn’t bear to be done, so I slipped silently back to the carriage house and started it over at the actual, recommended beginning.

If I had been forced to express to someone how I felt, or what I was thinking, I doubt I would have been able to find the words. How does a person describe finding something like home in a strange new place? All I could say for sure was that I was feeling more deeply about this mansion than I ever had about a home I had lived in. Somehow the barrage of joy as I ran my hand along the handrails and let my eyes caress the furniture felt almost like fear.

My stomach began to growl as the second tour drew to a close. I’d been too excited to eat much for breakfast. I made my way back to the grand foyer, intending to return to the ticket office and hand back the hand-held tour recording. My footsteps were slow even though I was starving. I didn’t have a reason to stay, and I really needed to eat, but there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

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