Page 18 of Wildwood

But John seems unbothered. “That is correct.” He gives me a smile, showing rows of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth, like he was raised by an orthodontist. “Madeline wears the pants in the family. She wasn’t changing her name so . . . I am now John Windsor Brook.”

“Ah, I caved too quick,” I say smiling at Topher.

We are two-thirds of the way up the drive, when it forks and leads up to the three separate residences. We veer up the middle to Madeline and John’s federal estate. The brick is a warm red, and the windows are all alight, and set against the backdrop of the sinking sun, the house seems to glow from the inside. As we get closer, I can hear the sound of classical violin music playing and the chatter of voices.

John leads us through a large, wooden front door, framed with windows. We enter a grand foyer. A wide spiral staircase leads up to the second floor and a chandelier hangs from the high ceiling. I recognize it, I realize, from the Vogue article. I think there was a shot of Madeline and John with their arms around each other’s waists, leaning against the banister. Unable to keep from glancing around, I notice a massive grandfather clock tucked beside the front entrance and several large oil paintings in gold frames on the walls.

“Elinor, wonderful to see you!” Madeline floats into the room in a soft cream-colored sleeveless dress, red hair pulled back in a loose chignon.

“Thank you for having us. I love your dress,” I say earnestly, as she pulls me in for a hug and kisses me lightly on the cheek. She smells like expensive flowers.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you. It’s from our summer line. Most people don’t know you can wear cashmere in the summer.” She shakes her head at me, like we are sharing a joke.

I realize that when she stopped by, she had never directly mentioned her family owns a wool and cashmere company but must just assume that everyone knows who she is.

“Oh, well, it’s gorgeous.”

“Come into the kitchen to meet Stuart and Isabelle,” she says, turning gracefully on a heel.

We follow Madeline down the hall and into an enormous kitchen. Standing beside an island that should really be called a continent are the elderly couple I’d stalked online.

Stuart holds a rocks glass of whiskey and comes around to shake hands. “Wonderful to meet you both.” His hand is trembling, and it looks as though he’s going to shake the whiskey right out of the glass.

Isabelle joins her husband. The two of them are nearly the same height, both hunched with age and looking like a soft breeze could knock them over. She peers up at us, her eyes like twin crescents, beaming.

“It will be so nice to have more young folks around here.” She takes my hands, and while her skin is papery, her grip is strong. It’s hard not to think of my grandmother. I feel my eyes well a little, but there’s a warmth in my belly at being so welcomed.

“Drinks?” Madeline holds a pitcher of sangria. “We also have beer, wine, and a full bar, so we can accommodate whatever you like.”

“I’d love to but I’m actually pregnant.” I smile, making a vague gesture to my midsection.

“Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations, you two.” Madeline comes forward and hugs me, her heady perfume making me instantly on the brink of a headache. As she pulls back, I notice a look pass over her face, though I can’t pinpoint what the look means or why it should mean anything at all.

“Where on earth are Julian and Joan?” Madeline asks John, looking a little flustered.

“Julian just texted. Said they’d be here in thirty minutes.”

“Let’s do a quick tour then, shall we?” Madeline leads Topher and me out through a set of stunning French doors to the patio. My breath catches at the view.

Chapter 16

The Brook estate is even beyond what I had envisioned. While from the front the property lines between the three homes seem relatively apparent, from behind, the properties converge into one. I know the Brooks collectively own two thousand acres or more, much of which I’d have to imagine is wooded, yet there is a massive sprawl of meadow and outbuildings that look like they cover at least fifty acres. We walk past rows of apple trees, a cider mill, and a sugar shack, and then we come upon a series of barns enclosed by an electric fence. Standing inside the fence are hundreds of bleating sheep. Many are enormous, with long curling horns and what looks like eight inches of wool. Some are younger and run nipping for their mother’s teat.

“Spring is an exciting time here,” Madeline tells us. “March is when the lambs are born and when we collect sap from the maples.”

“It sounds incredible,” says Topher.

Madeline leads us down another mowed path that leads to yet another fenced-in barn. Outside of this one are what I think are goats. Though they don’t look like any goats I’ve ever seen before. They have long, silky white coats and elegant horns that sprout from their heads and look like scythes.

“And these are our prized cashmere goats,” Madeline says fondly, gazing at the herd.

“Oh!” I laugh. “I didn’t even know cashmere came from goats.”

“Oh yes,” says Madeline. “They are incredible creatures.”

“My uncle’s neighbor used to keep some too,” I say.

“Yes, well, these are a very different breed.” Madeline laughs. “But that’s right, you used to visit here as a child, right? Stuart and Isabelle said they thought they remembered it.”