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“My grandfather was stern but kind to me. He wasn’t sure how to love a child, but he tried. I loved him. For a while, I might even have idolized him. I certainly wanted to make him proud, and I still do. In this case, making him proud involves doing things differently than he did, as Gran tells me. Because he was an asshole, and I don’t want to be like that.”
“That’s an insightful view, you know.”
“It’s practical. When you’re a child, your parents and grandparents are larger than life. They’re an ideal. You have a very limited view of who they are.” He held out both hands parallel to each other, to indicate a narrow passage. Then he pulled them out wider. “When you grow up, you get a bigger picture, and you realize they were both so much more and so much less than you thought. That was my grandfather. Stern. Tough. Beloved father figure. And total asshole.”
“And you saidIwas the wise one.”
He chuckled under his breath. “I’m not wise. Now and then, I just happen to get something right.”
“Maybe more than ‘now and then’. We’ll call it your grandmother’s influence.”
“I can agree with that. Though I do question her judgement more often than I used to. At least in terms of romantic partners.” He twisted his lips in a wry quirk.
“Your grandfather’s rampant assholery does sort to make me wonder what she saw in him.”
“She’s never said.” He leaned sideways to nudge her arm. Her skin tingled. “Maybe you can get it out of her. She said you’re going to look through her dresses with her.”
“I am!” Hanna beamed. “And I’m so excited about it. She must have some beautiful pieces, and all of them must have stories and history attached. My grandmother just sent me Christmas and birthday cards with five-dollar bills in them. I never heard anything about her younger days. I’m going to borrow your grandmother for that.”
“Please do. I admit to knowing nothing about dresses. She’s said it would be throwing pearls before swine.” His grin said he knew it for a tease.
Hanna paused a moment, then ventured, “She seems so very sharp. Do you really think she’s seeing the child she lost here?”
Gregory sighed. “I think I don’t have another explanation.”
Test the waters. See what he thinks. At worst, he thinks you’re joking.“It’s an old house. Maybe it’s haunted.” She made spooky, finger-wiggling motions with her hands.
She expected him to chuckle. Or to cock his eyebrow and tell her there wasn’t any such thing. Instead, he shivered. “Let’s hope not. I don’t even like thinking about ghosts. I never have. It sounds stupid, but movies or books about ghosts and spirits creeped me out worse than anything when I was growing up.”
Hanna blinked. “Really?”
“Really. Now you know about my peanut butter problem and my shameful fear.” He hunched over. “Here. More shame. When I was in middle school, one of my friends had a Halloween sleepover. We watched that movie with the girl whose head spun around? You know, where she was throwing up pea soup? I got so scared, I couldn’t leave a lit room. His mom had to call Gran to come get me.”
Hanna shifted to push the tag deeper into her pocket. “It’s okay. Movies about aliens did that to me. After I saw one, I couldn’t go outside alone at night for months. My mom got mad because I couldn’t take the trash cans to the curb after dark without having hysterics.”
“I’m in good company, then.” He smiled again, a little shy and entirely adorable. Hanna’s heart beat faster. “But I knew that. It’s easy to talk to you, Hanna. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as easy to talk to as you are. Maybe–”
A chime sounded. She glanced up. “What was that?”
“The dinner warning bell. Fifteen minutes. Hell. I’ve kept you talking after your nap. You’re probably dying to clean up and change.” Gregory stood up.
I kind of want to beat the chef with a dead fish right now.“I probably should. I meant to before, but the nap ambushed me.”
“Then my mother did. That woman. Still, I’d better clean up myself.” A few short steps, still too many in Hanna’s estimation, and he reached the door. “I hope we can talk again soon.”
“Me, too,” she said, and gave a little wave as he headed out.
Once he was gone, she pulled the tag from her pocket to look at it again. “But not about ghosts, I guess. That’s just a little inconvenient. Like that dinner bell. Really, really, inconvenient.”
* * *
Dinner clumsily walkedthe tightrope between “awkward” and “delightful”. Hanna couldn’t complain about the fare at all, since the chef had made a beautiful beef Wellington to celebrate her arrival. Or, as he said as he checked on the table, “I hoped it would be celebrating the new governess, but I figured, if you didn’t work out, at least everyone would have a nice dinner to console themselves.” It tasted so good, she almost forgave him his inconvenient dinner bell and opted not to concuss him with a deceased salmon.
While she couldn’t fault the food, the conversation tried very hard to give her indigestion. Darlene shot sullen glares around the table and snapped harsh, acidic remarks anytime she felt a need to comment. God forbid Hanna offer up opinions or replies. Darlene would shoot each one of them down.
Vivian, however, took up the burden of conversation with enviable grace. She told stories about growing up as World War II raged on, about listening to radio broadcasts about the war, as well as for entertainment. The war, and the reports about what occurred in Europe at the time, cemented her fascination with the place.
“My mother read mePride and PrejudiceandJane Eyrewhen I was a girl. To hear about shelling and blitzes in the same place where I imagined country houses and romance…” Vivian shook her head and took a sip of her water. “For a very young me, it drove home that places could produce beautiful fantasies while also being very real, with real dangers and terrible occurrences. I think, as I grew up, I wanted to live in a country house to ensure that the war I’d heard about on the radio hadn’t destroyed all the places I’d daydreamed about. That a piece of that had survived.”
