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“The front door was standing open.”
“As though it were beckoning you to enter?” He was teasing.
“No,” Toby said, “as though the wind had blown it open. You have to remember how old houses are. Doors and windows and floors creak.”
“My bedroom at home was built in 1528 and it’s one of the newer rooms.”
“But the question is whether or not it’s haunted.”
“Swords clash every night,” Graydon said as he shut the door and hand
ed her the key. It had two dolphins on the top of it.
She held it up. “Is this so I can escape if your seducing of me gets too passionate?”
“That’s to lock the door so no one can come inside and interrupt us. Where should we start?”
“The bedrooms, of course,” she said as she put the big key in the lock. Laughing, they went up the stairs.
The old house was well lit even through very dirty windows, and they saw no sign of damp on the walls or the floors.
The main staircase led the way up to two bedrooms with large fireplaces and en suite bathrooms. “This is my favorite,” Toby said, and led him into the room where she’d had the first dream. In spite of the dirt, it was easy to see it had once been beautiful.
Graydon sat down on the dusty little sofa. “I like this too. I’d like to fill those shelves with books.”
She sat down by him. “And what would they be about?”
“I think that for here I’d like a collection of books about Nantucket. I’d like to know more about this island. What about you? What would you like to see in here?”
“Novels that I like to read and reread, gardening, and I agree, history books. I think I would like to know some more about this house.”
“Did you tell Daire all the details of your dreams?”
“Yes,” she said seriously, “and he was especially interested in hearing the kissing parts.”
There was a flash of anger across Graydon’s face before he realized she was teasing him. “You devil!” he said and made a lunge for her, but Toby was on her feet and running.
She went out a side door that Graydon hadn’t noticed, took a right down the hall, and he heard her footsteps on what sounded like stairs—but he didn’t see any. He opened doors to two bathrooms and two bedrooms before he found the narrow stairs tucked between walls. It was so dark he could hardly see his feet, and he wished he’d brought a flashlight.
At the top of the stairs was a solid door and when he opened it he saw a big, bare attic. The wide, thick, roughly sawn floorboards attested to the age of the house. The steep roof made a sharp pitch in the ceiling height. Toby was standing at the end, in front of a window.
“It’s as though I know this room. Wet laundry was hung over there.”
When Graydon looked where she was pointing, he saw some big iron hooks in the beams. Perfect for a clothesline.
“Herbs dried over there. There were a lot of them needed for the candles.” There were holes where smaller hooks had once been.
“We … I mean, they sold candles. The children played in that corner. Young Thomas cried because the toy his father made him fell through the boards and we couldn’t find it.” Toby threw up her hands. “This is strange. Why do I keep making up these things? Maybe I should tell Victoria and she can use the stories in her books.”
“Or you could write them yourself.”
“No, thanks!” Toby said. “Being a writer is too isolated for me.”
“So what do you want?” he asked, his face serious.
“I’m an American. I want it all. Husband, kids, nice house, a career that makes me feel that I’m doing something to help people. You ready to go downstairs?”
“After you.” As he followed her downstairs, he said softly, “That’s exactly what I want out of my life too.”
