I didn’t tell Carroll about the encounter with Steve when she came in from her phone call. Instead, to keep the mood light for our upcoming meeting, I showed her the library, which neither of us had spent much time in before. She took a researcher’s interest in the array of subjects represented on the shelves. We chatted as we each moved around the room.
“I’m glad you’ve got Morgan on board for this project,” she mused. “He seems like a conscientious guy, and he really likes Victorian stuff. Not everybody does.” She paused to squint at a gold-lettered spine. “Did you grow up in a Victorian house? Or neighborhood?”
“No, just an ordinary midcentury colonial, nothing fancy. But I didn’t know any better then.”
“What is it you like about this style?”
“Well, for the well-built houses, their sense of space, I guess. Not that anybody needs ten-foot ceilings, but they’re pleasing. The big rooms are notoriously inefficient to heat, but I guess they had servants to put up storm windows and such. And they must have been kind of dark, before electricity. Gas lighting is not very bright.”
“You do realize you just told me several reasons why you don’t like Victorian houses.”
“I guess I did.” I hadn’t noticed. “Plus, they were ostentatious and self-indulgent and hard to keep clean—think about dusting all those carved moldings! Or cleaning all the velvet draperies and lace curtains.”
“I get it! They’re big and fussy. Fair enough. Well, at least they provided a lot of jobs for poor people.”
“There is that. Probably not very fun jobs on the whole, but jobs nonetheless. But obviously, I do like these houses. And Henry’s place is special. Starting with electric lighting—that would have made a real difference to the quality of life. And I’m coming to believe the place was a labor of love. I have a hunch he built it to make Mary happy—I’ve never known a guy who was all that into ornate interiors, even if he wasn’t responsible for cleaning them.”
“That’s a nice thought.”
“It’s speculation, but I like to think it’s true. How do you get to know historical people in a personal way—more than what you can glean from vital records and a few press clippings?”
“It’s hard, honestly. Unless they left some kind of personal account behind. You know Samuel Pepys?”
“I can’t say that I do.”
“English guy, member of Parliament, mid-seventeenth century. He famously kept a very detailed diary for about ten years of his life. It got published much later, and it contributed a lot to historians’ understanding of that period. Without that kind of account—and surviving artworks, of course—cultural history involves a lot of guessing.”
“Great. Well, guessing it is, then. Hopefully, we can cobble together some kind of interesting narrative to sell this place to the public.”
“It’s got a lot to recommend it. And if all else fails, you can fall back on the ‘murder house’ angle, right? People love a murder house. Just look at—”
At that moment, we both heard a jangling of keys, a door opening and closing. It was the back door. I braced to meet whoever might be coming down the hall, though Carroll seemed fairly calm about it. Then again, she hadn’t had the ominous meeting with Steve I’d just experienced. Josh walked in.
“Hey there,” he said.
“Hi. I wasn’t sure I was expecting you this morning.”
“Oh. Well, I’m here.” Did he seem distracted? “You know, I came in through the back door, and it wasn’t even locked. You should be careful about that.”
“I know.” I felt a surge of peevish annoyance. As if I wasn’t paying attention to security? “And I’d forgotten that you had a set of keys still. We need to establish some protocols around comings and goings in here—between us and the new workers, a lot of people have access now.”
“Are you saying you don’t want me to have keys to get in?”
“I’m not saying that, exactly.”
“Hey, you two,” Carroll piped up. “Maybe this would be a good conversation to have … later? It’s ten of eleven, and everybody else should be here soon. I mean, keys are definitely important to talk about, but…”
“You’re right,” I said. “Let’s talk later. I’ll start over. Hi, Josh. Thank you for coming to our board meeting.”
“Yup,” he replied. “Glad to be here.” He didn’t quite smile, but there was a softening in his expression. Soon I heard a rap on the front door, and we all decamped into the hallway to let in the crowd.
The Asheboro town liaisons arrived first. Lisbeth, Mac, and Ted strolled in together, talking about a home-gardening movement that had swept the townspeople this season. They waved to me as they walked past, and continued talking in the parlor. I heard a voice nearby, and, poking my head out onto the front porch, I found Ryan pacing back and forth and talking sternly into his phone. I watched him with amusement, reflecting on the comforting quaintness of other people’s problems, until he hung up, said a brief hello, and walked inside.
That just left Morgan. I stood on the threshold with the door open, letting the light breeze rolling in from the fields play over my skin as it flowed silently into the mansion. Then I saw Morgan’s truck crest the low hill and begin the winding descent toward the house. I squinted as he approached. Was there … someone else with him? When his vehicle reached the house, I saw that he’d brought Bethany along in the passenger seat. That was odd—not that I minded her being here, but we hadn’t discussed inviting the subcontractors to this meeting. I stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind me, as the two of them walked up the front path.
“Hi, Morgan. Bethany, you really didn’t have to be at this meeting—I hope you’re not missing anything for this. We’re just getting together with the board to talk business.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.” She looked sideways at Morgan. “I got the call about an hour ago, but I wasn’t busy. My wife and I had just finished breakfast, so the timing worked out.”
“Why don’t you head on inside,” I said to her, trying to keep my voice neutral. I wasn’t mad at her, just … confused. “Carroll’s in the parlor there, and she can introduce you to the other board members.” She nodded and then crossed behind me and disappeared into the house.
“Morgan, it’s okay that Bethany is here, but you didn’t have to—”
“Look, Kate—it wasn’t my first thought either. I apologize if I’ve made a misstep here. But I got a call from Steve this morning saying that you’d invited him to come to the board meeting, and I figured if he was going to meet everyone, she should too. Honestly, I don’t know why you’d invite one and not the other.”
“I … didn’t.” I furrowed my brow in confusion. “I’m sorry you had that impression. No, I absolutely did not invite Steve. He’s not here. What did he tell you?”
Just then, the telltale crunch of the gravel driveway announced Steve’s arrival, small rocks flying beneath the wheels of his silver pickup.
“Well, I guess it’s a party.” I threw up my hands. What was happening to this day, which had begun so innocently? Morgan looked at me with a mix of apology and confusion in his eyes. “It’s fine. I’ll tell you about it later. So, we’re all here. We can make it work. When we go in, I’ll introduce you around, and then you can brief everyone on your vision for the place so far, the approximate budget, and our plan of action. Sound good?”
“Can do, ma’am.” Morgan tipped his hat at me. We both turned to regard Steve, stepping out of his vehicle and walking up to the house. Behind him was Lars, stumbling to keep up, looking slightly embarrassed. Steve said nothing about having crashed the party, nor about bringing his brother, who may have been an unwitting accomplice in the matter. I offered the two of them a tight smile, just to keep the day moving along, and we all walked in together.
Morgan performed splendidly for the assembled team—I was surprised at his professional bearing among this diverse group, considering the rusticated demeanor with which he usually presented himself. He walked everyone through the important elements of the kitchen: its new dimensions (taking into account the revealed staircase), a period-authentic lighting plan, which of the appliances could be saved and which would have to be approximately replaced, and at what cost. Then, to my surprise, he walked us upstairs and showed everyone where the hidden staircase would emerge on the second floor, gave an impromptu lecture on wall-building materials of the late nineteenth century, and even described a cooking demo we could try as programming for visitors, using the giant fireplace left intact from the bones of the old farmhouse kitchen. I hadn’t realized his interests were so thorough and so wide-ranging.
Morgan then passed the focus to Bethany, who described her plan for rewiring the place from top to bottom, demonstrating an impressive grasp of historical materials and modern techniques. Steve didn’t say much, but threw in comments here and there, and Lars was as silent as a church mouse, though he nodded enthusiastically as the others spoke.
Listening to Morgan and Bethany talk about the house and its potential with such interest, intelligence, and humor renewed my own confidence in this huge undertaking. I was practically floating by the time we adjourned to the first floor. The group chatted about this and that, with Morgan and Ryan pulling off to the side to go over some budget items. Carroll and I stopped in the library to confer about plans for the evening, and some of the others began to file out to their cars, waving goodbye as they went. Josh came in.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you mind if I stick around here for the night? I want to get a leg up on grading and sort through some thoughts for my book. I could use a little quiet time in the carriage house.”
“Sure,” I replied. I wasn’t sure why he was asking me, since it sounded like he had made up his mind already. I pushed down a spark of annoyance. It had been a long day, but a good one. “You’ve got the keys, of course. Carroll and I were just talking about dinner plans anyway. Do you want to eat with us before you retire to your quarters?” I offered a hopeful smile.
“No, thanks. I think I’d better get in as much work time as I can. But things went well today. Thanks for inviting me in.”
“Of course. I’m glad you could come.”
There was a silence between us, not quite charged but holding in it a sense of something unfinished, a cloud of anticipation. Carroll broke it by clearing her throat.
“Well, friends … I’m going to head out to the car. See you there in a minute, Kate?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively in my direction.
“Yes. I’ll be right there.”
Carroll left through the front door, leaving me and Josh staring at each other in the hushed room. He spoke first.
“I think that went well—really. But I’d like to talk to you about my ongoing participation in the project. Do you have some time, maybe tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I said, somewhat warily. His participation? Oh no, Kate, have you got a dropout on your hands already? I shrugged off the twinge of fear. “Yes, it would be good to talk about some things. Let’s say tomorrow night, if you’re free.”
“Great. We’ll talk then.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek before retreating. I wasn’t sure what to make of that—or the whole conversation, for that matter—but I resolved to speak with him honestly tomorrow, no matter what he wanted to say. I hoped he wasn’t going to cut and run from the Asheboro project; his background in industrial history in the region was valuable, and his academic affiliation gave the project more legitimacy as a small-town undertaking.
I looked up from my thoughts and realized that everyone seemed to have left. I walked back down the long hall to the kitchen to lock the back door and heard voices. Morgan, Steve, Lars, and Bethany were all standing around the big kitchen table, talking. I didn’t catch anything they were saying before I walked in, but they all stopped speaking and looked up when I entered the room. I felt like the out-of-town cowboy who’s just strutted into the saloon, and suddenly the player piano screeches to a halt.
“Hi, folks. I’m going to head out—I need dinner. Morgan, you’ve got your set of keys, yes? Do you want to lock up whenever you’re done here?”
“Absolutely.” He glanced quickly at Bethany, who returned his look, and then at Steve, who did not. Lars stared mutely at his own feet as if wishing his way out of this room. I waited another moment to see if anyone would speak again, but no one was forthcoming.
“Well … I’ll be going. Thanks for today. That went really well.”
“I think so too,” Morgan said, looking weary. “You’ve got a good team behind you, Kate. We might take another trip through the basement to make plans, but I’ll be sure to lock the place up. Let’s talk in the morning.” He nodded to me and turned back to his crew, standing expectantly around the big kitchen table.