Page 19 of The Women of Wild Hill
Brigid could see the pain on her sister’s face. “Bessie is watching out for us,” she reminded Phoebe. “The Old One, too.”
Phoebe shook her head. “I still don’t feel safe.”
“Okay,” Brigid relented. But she wasn’t going to act immediately. Disposing of Calum could wait a little longer. Their mother, seeking some alone time with her fuck boy, had signed them up for a weeklong summer school program at Barnard College that was supposed to start the following Monday. “We’re leaving for the city in a couple of days. We’ll be there for a week. It’ll give us plenty of time to come up with a plan. Then when we get back, we’ll deal with Calum one way or another.”
Phoebe flung her arms around her sister. “Thank you,” she said.
FOR YEARS, PHOEBE WOULD WONDERif she was the one who had invited death to Wild Hill.
Death Comes for Flora
Ithink we found the source of that bad feeling you’ve been having,” Brigid said when they arrived back at the house.
Yellow police tape roped off all the entrances to the caretaker’s cottage.
Just as Phoebe had predicted, something bad had happened and it was all Calum’s fault. Alone in the house that afternoon, he’d gone down to the basement to do a load of laundry. He wasn’t responsible for the pipe that burst. Even the girls couldn’t blame him for that. What he shouldn’t have done was call a plumber right out of the phone book.
Aunt Ivy had left a short list of tradespeople who were allowed to work on the house—mostly locals who owed her favors. Whether or not they would have turned a blind eye to the skeletons uncovered by the flood was debatable. The plumber Calum hired had called the police.
It was clear from the start that the bodies had been buried long before anyone in the house had been born. Still, the cops cordoned off the cottage while they searched for more corpses. Flora gave Brigid her credit card and put the girls on the train to the city the next morning. Calum, loyal and supportive as ever, remained by her side.
Phoebe told herself it was time to relax—and her sister agreed. The event she’d been dreading had just taken place. It had led to an inconvenience, nothing more, nothing less.
A FEW NIGHTS LATER, BRIGIDdreamed of her mother sitting alone on the crest of Wild Hill with her back against one of the ancestors’ tombstones.As the sun rose in the east, Flora opened a small bottle and swallowed its colorless contents. Within seconds her head fell forward against her chest. Flora’s fingers opened, releasing the bottle. Brigid watched as it rolled down Wild Hill and was washed away by the waves.
Brigid woke with a jolt of panic. She was out of the bed and halfway to the door before she remembered where she was. Brigid looked back and saw her sister still sleeping on the twin bed on the opposite side of the Barnard dorm room. Phoebe had passed her paranoia to her.
She’d had a dream, not a vision, Brigid told herself. Their mother was at Wild Hill, but she wasn’t alone. There was no chance she would have killed herself, anyway. Flora had never suffered from depression. She would have been the first to tell you her life was charmed. But even if she had contemplated suicide, Bessie and the Old One wouldn’t have allowed it. Flora was one of The Three. No one had ever told Brigid otherwise.
Having convinced herself there was no need to worry, Brigid didn’t wake Phoebe. She pulled the curtains together to block the rising sun and fell back into a deep slumber.
She woke again hours later to the telephone ringing.
Their mother had passed away, the police told them. She’d died by her own hand.
IT WAS HARD FOR BRIGIDto believe that their mother had abandoned them. From the very beginning, Phoebe refused. Their mother loved them, she sobbed. They needed her. Few of the family secrets had been shared with them. They still had so much to learn. Flora wouldn’t have left them helpless and heartbroken. She wouldn’t have given up on the family mission. Brigid held her sister and listened. But she didn’t say anything. She knew exactly what their mother had done. There were no words to describe the hopelessness she felt.
THE SAME DAY BRIGID ANDPhoebe laid their mother to rest beside their ancestors, Calum Geddes offered to buy Wild Hill. Brigid would have killed him right then and there if she’d been able. Instead, she told him to go fuck himself. If he thought for one moment that Flora would have wanted him to have Wild Hill, Calum hadn’t known their mother at all. So he’d gone around the girls’ backs and made an offer to their fathers. The authorities had notified Simon Laguerre and Francois Voyante of the tragedy, and both men had quickly arrived on the scene. Brigid’s father was clearly eager to sell. Phoebe’s dad seemed overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events.
Fortunately, the negotiations ended quickly. Flora had lived in the moment and had never been known for forward thinking. But for once, she had dotted everyiand crossed everyt. The estate and the fortune that went with it had been placed in an unbreakable trust for Brigid and Phoebe. No one—not even the girls—could touch it until they were both of age.
Phoebe didn’t say anything then, but she was convinced Calum was responsible for their mother’s death. But she couldn’t point to a shred of evidence. Calum had been in the city when their mother died. Then there was the fact that Flora had left her daughters a letter written in her own hand and tucked into the pocket of the dress she’d died in.
Death is part of the cycle and a small price to pay. You three will work wonders.
Your ancestors and I will be with you always. When your time comes, I will be waiting. Until then, know that I love you. Your faith in me will see you through.
“That’s it? That’s all she had to say? It doesn’t even make sense!” Brigid raged. “Who the fuck are the three she’s talking about?”
“I told you.” It was the first thing out of Phoebe’s mouth in ages.
“What?”
“I told you he was going to do something terrible. You didn’t listen.” Her voice shook with rage, like the bars of a cage holding a furious beast.
“Are you high?” Brigid demanded. “I hate Calum, too, but he didn’t murder our mother.”
“Yes, he did,” Phoebe snarled. “I don’t know how, but he did. You know Mom wouldn’t have killed herself. You know how much she loved us.”
