Page 105 of And Still Her Voice
“This home?” Mr. Jones asks.
“Anyhow, it was in Normandy where I immediately fell in love with the architecture of theChâteau d’Ételan, the castle where we stayed one summer. Situated on a site overlooking the river Seine, it was originally designed as a castle where kings and queens, even the Medici stayed.”
Thomas and Roy exchange looks.
“Finally, the tour ended and I returned home to my beloved where he wasted no time driving me here to Woodside. Goodness was I surprised to see it was no longer just a vacant piece of land. Except for the smaller size chateau, of course, the gargoyles and a few other flamboyant touches, you’d never know we weren’t in Normandy. Out front, an emerald front lawn rolled gently all the way down to the creek that trickled through the property. My darling had built me a palace, a peaceful place I never wanted to leave.”
“Anna, you’re scaring me.”
“Darling, I told you I’m Phoebe.”
Shoving his hands into his vest pockets, Roy rocks back on his heels, an invitation for me to tell him more.
“It’s so wonderful to see how you’ve kept—how you’ve managed to care for much of the original furnishings.” Her hand taps the surface of the table. “I wonder how it’s come to be that Mr. Jones owns my house. As I was saying, Wesley carried me across the threshold into the foyer. He then took my hand andled me through this home filled with antiques bought at auction at Christie’s in London. The royal blue velvet drapery matched the chairs in the dining set. You know, this set had been in the Normandy castle and was rumored to have been given as a wedding gift to King Luis XII by Henry VIII after he’d arranged the marriage of his sister Mary Tudor.”
“This home?” Mr. Jones does not break his eager smile. “I did not know that.”
“And then as we entered the chamber room, I remembered how he caught me as I collapsed with emotion. Standing there, in the center of the room, all regal, shiny and black, stood a nine-foot Steinway.”
“The piano was worth more than this house,” Mr. Jones responds, and I can almost see him calculate its worth. “And you have no idea what happened to it?”
“Darling, can you hear the music? Can you feel the joy?” Tell me again, Mr. Jones, how you came to steal this house?”
***
The baby kicked rhythmically to Beethoven’s “Für Elise,” but when I opened my eyes, I saw no piano. The baby had stopped kicking. Outside, the watery shadows of the sycamores dissipated as the sun set over the Verdugo’s. The air in the house had cooled and mixed with the sweet smoky fireplace remnants, the same fragrance I remembered as the fire crackled in the fireplace, as my sisters danced from flower to flower across the Oriental rug, while I played piano. Moonlight now filled the room like a bathtub; it felt as if the moon might be tugging me home.
“Anna, are you okay?” Tommy asked, bending slightly.
It’s late. Tommy, a silhouette tall as a slender pine, stood next to me and I could barely make out his curious face. In the softlight, I thought he could have been Wesley, but I realized I’d never met my grandfather. I was confused.
“Feeling any better?” Tommy asked.
I nodded as Mr. Jones had turned on a Tiffany lamp and then I looked up to see both men staring at me as if I were some sort of bloated goldfish floating around in a bowl. I wiped the drool from my mouth. Tommy’s mouth, which in the past had been generous and kind, now slashed across his face in a single straight line.
“What do you mean you’ll haunt me?” Mr. Jones asked.
“What?” I asked, mind reeling.
“And who is Wesley?” Tom asked.
Oh shit. Wesley? What have I said? Or worse, what has Mrs. Buttinsky been saying? Every cell in my body woke up to sound off alarms. Sensing Grandma wanted to speak again, I clamped my jaw shut. It hurt me to see Tommy, whose career had been to rescue people, looking so helpless.
Mr. Jones pulled up a chair as if preparing for episode two of the Phoebe Masterpiece Theater. “It’s interesting the things you were saying about this house. Like how Dr. Wesley LeMar had been murdered and how you’d been left to fight everyone off to save this place and raise your son.”
I said all that?
“Anna, why am I just now hearing about this?” Tommy asked. “Who is this Wesley character?”
I didn’t know how to respond. I’d never found the right time to share about all the madness, the suicides and the murder. When would the time be right? But then with the baby coming, I’d felt the pressure of revealing a little here and there about my background and so then that’s when Grandma took it as an invitation to draw Tommy a fuckin’ roadmap to this crazy house.
“Wesley was my grandfather,” I said, scooting toward the edge of the sofa, so ready to get out of there, but then a cramp seized me back.
“Why yes, Phoebe was his wife—your grandmother.” Mr. Jones seemed excited to connect the dots.
I felt Tommy’s eyes sear into me as I nodded, puffing little short breaths.
“Are you okay?”
