“The view’s magnificent,” Tom said, again finding himself mesmerized by the ocean. In every direction could be seen the vast, seemingly endless Atlantic. He opened the double doors and stepped onto the balcony. It ran the entire length and width of the house on the east and south, with a glass-brick wall dividing the balcony from the rooms to the west. Joe joined Tom to admire the panoramic view. The air was brisk and cold, smelling pungently of damp earth and autumn decay. They made a hasty retreat back into the bedroom. While Tom looked around, Joe built a small fire to warm the room.
In front of the fireplace were a loveseat and an easy chair, both upholstered in navy-blue suede. A low, walnut coffee table sat in front of the loveseat. By the window in the northeast corner of the room was a small, round dining table and two straight-back chairs.
The walls were wallpapered in navy blue and white plaid. All the wood trim in the room had a fresh coat of midnight-blue paint. The room was carpeted in dark brown, tweed chenille—lush and velvety. To the left of the doorway was a built-in bookcase that took up the entire wall, its shelves filled with collections of poetry—most leather bound, old and well worn.
“Didn’t think there were that many books of poems in print,” Joe remarked. “Not my idea of good reading, but to each his own.”
Tom sighed, thinking, Elise would have loved these books. . . . Well, no sense in thinking about her likes or dislikes now. I’ll move the books to another room one of these days. They're not my idea of good reading either.
“Ready to check out the other rooms?” Joe asked, turning to exit the room.
To their right was the staircase leading up to the third-floor attic. A narrow open room, about ten feet wide, ran the length of the east wall with another set of double doors leading to the balcony. The only furnishings in the room were a high-backed rocking chair and a large, mahogany cabinet filled with a collection of fine porcelain vases and statues.
Joe found the switch that operated the interior light of the cabinet and clicked it on. “What? Look at this! This statue looks just like you! Check it out.” Joe moved aside so Tom could see the statue.
Tom stared at the porcelain figurine. The light shone brightly spotlighting the statuette, as well as a female figurine beside it. Tom had the sense that something unreal was taking place. He reached out to touch the statues—too quickly, too clumsily. His hand knocked one statue, then the other, sending them flying off the shelf where they shattered on the hard, wooden floor. “Damn it! I broke them both. Stupid of me!”
“Guess I’m not the only bull in a china shop!” Joe laughed, then disappeared, returning with a broom and dustpan. As he swept up the broken shards, he let out a soft whistle. “Did you see the face? That statue looked like you, didn’t it?”
“No! Not at all!” Tom replied a bit too quickly. He walked away and down the long hallway to the west. “Come on. Let’s look around, then I need to get on to other things. I still have to call someone about the phones.”
“Well, they’re good about taking care of the residents here. Probably send someone out right away,” Joe answered, following Tom.
There was a room down the hallway, to the east of the stairs, that had been converted into a library. Most of the west wall of the room was taken up by a massive brownstone fireplace with windows that had built-in window seats on both sides. The south wall was mostly windows with a door in the center opening out to the balcony. The two other walls were lined with bookcases. In front of the fireplace were two loveseats with a small, cherry wood, claw-foot table in between them and an overstuffed chair to the right. The loveseats and chair were upholstered in various shades of dark rose. A large desk and chair, also of cherry, were in front of the bookcase on the east wall. Tiffany table lamps were scattered throughout the room. Tom liked the room. It felt warm and comfortable.
“Sure are a lot of books in this house. Guess the Lindemans like to read,” Joe said, running his hand across the spines of a row of books.
“Seems that way. And that’s a good thing, I enjoy reading myself.” Tom walked across the hall. There were two large bedrooms on this, the north side of the house. A narrow hallway, leading to the narrow servant stairs, divided the two rooms. Both bedrooms were empty but would soon be filled with Tom’s own furniture. He'd left most of his furniture in Jamestown to be sold or given to various charities but was having some of it shipped via Coastal Vanlines. It would be arriving in the next few days.
They went down the hall and climbed the wide, steep stairway to the attic. There were two large rooms on the east side of the floor that had probably housed servants at one time. Now they served as storage for dusty old furniture and trunks. The rest of the attic was divided into many small rooms filled with more old furniture, boxes and trunks, some belonging to Tom and some to the previous owners. A narrow hallway separated two of the rooms, leading as they did in the floors below, to the servants' stairway, its door locked and unused. Except for the boxes delivered late yesterday afternoon, everything was coated with a thick layer of dust. “Been a long time since anyone was up here,” Tom said to Joe.
Looking out the window to the north, Tom saw another house about a half mile up the coast. Smoke spiraled out of the many chimneys. “Who lives there?”
“The Harrisons—William, his wife, Vivian, and their two boys, James and William Jr. The Harrisons have owned that property longer than anybody can remember. Probably one of the oldest family names around here. Richest, too. Made their fortune with imports. Family dates back to the late seventeen hundreds, so I’ve been told. Own one of the largest import businesses on this coast. Anyway, they have homes all over the states. That’s one of them. They’re usually here for Thanksgiving and stay till after the first of the year. They come and go in the spring and summer—typical vacation dwellers. Not some of my favorite people, kind of high and mighty, if you know what I mean. But they tip well. No complaint there.”
“Well, I hope they respect my privacy. At least for a while.”
“Don’t get your hopes up! As soon as Vivian gets wind you’re here, she’ll be socializing you up one side and down the other!” Joe laughed. “Not so with me though. I don't fit in their social world! I’ve driven Mr. and Mrs. for over five years. Neither one of them has ever spoken a civil word to me. Orders, that’s all I get from them. Take me here, take me there, pick up this, stop here and on and on. Very important people, yes sir!” Joe’s face flushed. He took a quick breath and brought himself in check. “Well! Enough gossiping. I better get back to the wiring. I plan to get into town and pick up a few switches before lunch. If you need anything from town, let me know. I’ll pick it up.” Embarrassed at having said so much, he walked off, not waiting for further comments from Tom.
Tom was disappointed—he’d hoped to have neighbors he could get to know, maybe spend some time with—but on his own terms. Oh, well. Time would tell. Maybe Joe had the wrong impression of the Harrisons. Tom went to his room and began a series of phone calls on his cell to take care of the phone-line hookup as well as catch up on a few business calls. When he was finished with those, he punched in his sister’s number. Tom drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, listening to the rings. One, two, three, four. . . . She didn’t answer.
Cassie was six years younger than Tom. She was married to Michael Wellington, who Tom thought was one of the finest men he had ever known. He'd worked for Tom as the district operations manager for the past seven years. They had one young daughter, Lizzie, who was eight.
Tom and Cassie had been close as kids but had drifted apart when he met and, two years later, married Elise. Cassie and Elise had not gotten along. When Elise died, Cassie reached out to him. Tom, angry and grief stricken, refused her help and wouldn’t allow her back into his life. That slowly changed when Cassie began visiting him in the private sanitarium.
Their discord over Elise had been damaging. It was painful and difficult to make amends. But they’d been close as kids, and they