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“It read like Connor and Arabelle had a good, long life here. A bunch of kids.”
“One of their daughters was the second bride. Don’t sugarcoat it, Trey. Is that vodka?” Frowning, Owen pointed toward the stove. “You’re putting vodka in there?”
“It’s essential for pasta in vodka sauce.”
When Owen got up to take a look, Trey pointed to a stool. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Do I need to?” Sonya sat, reached down to pet Mookie when he walked to her.
“Her name was Catherine. She married William Cabot. They spent their wedding night at the manor with plans for a honeymoon, early spring, in Europe. She went outside that night, or early that morning. In a blizzard. She froze to death.”
“She went out in her nightgown, just her nightgown,” Sonya murmured, “and bare feet. She—she didn’t feel the cold. She didn’t feel it. There was a woman in a black dress by the seawall. And she walked allthat way in the snow, in her bare feet. The woman took her hand—took her ring? Wedding ring? Then she felt the cold. She said something—the woman in the black dress. I couldn’t hear. And Catherine tried to get back, but she was so cold, and she kept falling. Then she didn’t get up again.
“I dreamed it.” Pressing a hand to her bouncing heart, Sonya rubbed it there. “How could I have dreamed it?”
“I’m going to give you creepy on this, Sonya.” Cleo went to her, hugged her hard. “That’s a horrible dream. It’s horrible. Is that what happened?”
“No one could explain why she went out in the storm. But when they found her the next day, she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring. They never found it.”
“Hester Dobbs’s curse, according to local legend.” Owen stirred the sauce. “A bride every generation dies—on her wedding day, or within the year. At the manor. I’m not sure about the ring thing.”
“Johanna would be the last? Now there’s me?” On an expelled breath, Sonya picked up her wine again. “Good thing I’m not a bride.”
“I never bought into the legend. Some, like Lillian Crest, died in childbirth. Unfortunately, not that uncommon. Especially back then, and carrying twins. I’d have to refresh my memory,” Trey added. “But I think one, at least, died choking on some food. Also not that uncommon in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. And you had others, like Connor and Arabelle, who lived long lives here.”
“But seven, like on the mirror.”
“Someone wanted you to know.” After another squeeze, Cleo went to get a pot to cook the pasta.
“Collin wanted you here. He wanted to give you this. I knew him all my life. He’d never hurt anyone.”
“He was a good guy,” Owen agreed. “He cared about family. You’re family.”
“You’re family.”
“Yeah.” Leaning back on the counter by the stove, Owen looked Sonya in the eye. “And he gave me what I wanted, what I needed. It’s appreciated. I wasn’t sure what I’d think of you—long-lost cousinfrom Boston—but I figure Collin had his reasons for wanting you here. And you’ll figure it out.
“How soon is this ready to eat?”
“It needs another twenty.”
“I’m getting another beer. Don’t let the witch scare you off.”
“My grand-mère’s a witch—so she says. I’m going to ask her for advice. I’ll be back here to stay as soon as I can.”
“This pisses me off.”
“Here comes the stubborn.” Cleo carried the pot of water to the stove.
“Determined. I likedetermined. So no, I’m not going to let some dead, murderous witch scare me off. It’s not her house. It’s mine. I don’t believe in curses, but if I did? If you can cast one, you can break one.”
Cleo picked up her wine, toasted. “That’s damn right.”
“It’s easy to say that when I’m sitting here with three people and two dogs, but I mean it.”
The music rang out. “It’s Gonna Be Alright.”
“The Ramones.” Owen walked in with a beer for himself, another for Trey. “Now we’re talking. You’ve got Trey’s number in your phone?”
