August 2, 1931
Will returned home late this evening after being away in Brandenburg for over a week. He looked exhausted, thin and sickly, like a hollowed-out version of himself.
Maggie was in the nursery, sound asleep.
“Will, darling, have you eaten? Have you slept?” I asked as I kissed his scruffy cheek, dusted mud off his good coat. “There’s a chicken in the oven—I’ve been keeping it warm. I wasn’t sure when to expect you. You get cleaned up, and we’ll sit down to a nice dinner. I’ll pour you some brandy.”
“That can all wait,” he said, taking off his hat. “I have news.” He looked nervous, but excited. His fingers worked their way over the band of his hat, fidgeting, plucking. He had dirt under his nails.
“What is it?”
“We’re moving to Sparrow Crest.”
I nodded, now more worried than ever. “Of course we are,” I said. “Before the first snow, right?”
“Next week,” he said, a wide, almost frantic-looking smile taking hold of his face.
“But…” I stammered. “The house isn’t finished.”
“No, but it’s finished enough to live in. The roof is on, the outside walls are up. I’m having the men finish up our bedroom and bathroom right now. And the stove will arrive tomorrow. There’s a lot to be done still, but there’s no reason we can’t move in. It’ll be fun. A great adventure! And I can supervise the final stages of the building more carefully. There will be no more going back and forth. If we’re there, the men will work harder; I have no doubt things will progress much more rapidly.”
“But… next week, Will? Really?”
He nodded. “I’ve hired some men and trucks to help us move.”
“Oh.” It was all I could think of to say.
He came, wrapped his arms around me. “Isn’t it wonderful, Ethel? We can start packing right away. Tonight!”
chaptertwenty-nine
June 21, 2019
My father and I spent the afternoon in the rose garden. He’d gotten it into his head that it should be pruned, so despite the heat, we donned heavy leather gloves and went to work with the pruning shears we found in the garage. We shaped the bushes, deadheaded, and trimmed errant runners. It felt good to have work to do: a physical task to keep us occupied. We took breaks for cold beers and to stand back and admire our progress. “I think Gram would be pleased,” I said.
“I wish I could see a picture of what it looked like back in the hotel days,” my father said. “My guess is that your great-grandmother and grandmother didn’t make many changes. I bet it looks pretty much the same.”
“It’s strange to think about,” I said. “The rose garden and springs being here this whole time. The hotel burned, Sparrow Crest built. Lexie used to say she wished the roses could speak and tell stories.”
Ted smiled. He’d found Lexie’s stash of pot in an old cigar box up in the attic. He lit up a joint, and together, we smoked it sitting on the old bench in the gazebo. I hadn’t smoked pot since college. He asked me, “Do you think you’ll keep Dracula’s castle?”
“My and Lexie’s summers here were such a huge part of growing up. I feel like they shaped the person I turned out to be. This house and I… we’re bound. I don’t feel like I can sell it,” I said honestly. “Gramwanted it to stay in the family. I feel like I owe it to her, to me, and Lexie, too, to keep it.”
“Will you move out here? Pick up and leave your life in Tacoma? Your practice?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I looked at him. “What do you think I should do?”
He barked out a laugh. “You’re askingmefor advice?”
I laughed with him, but then said, “Yeah, I guess I am.”
It was funny, here was this man I’d spent years trying to change. And now, sitting here with him like this, I realized he was exactly the way he should be. I really didn’t want him any other way. I felt like we got each other in the way only family could. I trusted him, felt like I could be vulnerable with him. And, crazy as it seemed, I actually wanted his advice, valued his opinion.
He thought a minute. Rubbed his beard in a philosophical kind of way. “A part of you is always going to be here. You, Lexie, your mother, your grandmother and aunts, great-grandparents—you’re all as much a part of this place as this rose garden; as the mortar that holds the stones of that old house together.” He looked at me. “Does that make any sense at all?”
I nodded and hugged him.
We went into the house and raided the kitchen, then went into the living room, where I put on one of my sister’s old-time records, Fats Domino. I closed my eyes, floating from the pot.A part of you is always going to be here. I knew he was right. He was right about Lexie, too. I felt her here—her presence was so strong.
