Chapter Five

 

Ivy went through the rest of the day eating and taking in the festival's weirdness, barely aware of her father collecting her at six o'clock, pie in hand. She and Lornie made plans to stack the odds in their favor of being partnered up for the upcoming climate study assignment at school, and then she walked her dad to the festival's west entrance.

"Are you sure? I can wiggle my way out if you'd rather me stay for the weekend," her dad said, earnestness replacing his pie smile. "I can tell Woodbridge they'll have to wait until Monday for a new design."

Ivy worked her father's excuse of the last half an hour of explanation back through her head. Occasionally he had to make sudden onsite changes to city designs, usually after an impromptu meeting at some town he was working with had another planner come in. She was fine with it, usually staying a night with Lornie or Camille or having them stay with her, and sometimes, stay on her own overnight. "I'm fine. I'll go home soon and have mac and cheese tonight."

He was digging in his pants pocket, nodding. "All right. If you're sure." He held out two bills. "Take something home from the Fest if you'd rather. Pierogi and Pagoda has your favorite dumplings, I noticed. Grab some. I'll leave now, swing by the house and get my bag together, and text you when I leave. Okay?"

She nodded. "Sure, Dad. Sounds okay."

For a moment the reluctant smile stayed on his face. "Okay. Call me if you need anything, and before you go to bed, and if—"

"Okay, Dad. I've done it before." She stuffed the twenty dollar bills into her shorts. "I'll be fine."

"All right." He kissed her cheek quickly. "See you later, Ivybelle. Don't stay too late."

"I won't." She watched him leave, waving halfway to the parking lot across the street. She returned the wave, feeling a twinge of isolation. She shrugged it off.

The festival music turned to a pop tune Ivy hated—but knew all the words to. "I will not sing," she breathed adamantly. Instead, she hummed a tune she couldn't place the name from in her memory bank.

She set off back into the fray of people and vendors, the lights now sparkling brighter in the dimming late afternoon light. She found herself meandering back to the rows of paintings at the stage. A country-western group was now singing onstage, a mournful ballad for four guys in belt buckles and cowboy hats. Nearby, a row of line dancers waited.

The woman in the mist painting was gone.

Ivy frowned, searching among the colorful artwork still on easels and leaning against the vendor's table. She only found clowns, carousels, animals, a few people, and landscapes. The styles were completely different than the woman in the mist painting. A heavy woman behind the table was doing a crossword puzzle, smiling quickly at Ivy when their eyes met.

Ivy turned away, wondering why she cared to see the image again. According to Lornie, she'd already spent the afternoon studying the painting.

 

By the time Ivy was halfway home, she got the second text from her dad. He was in Woodbridge, already working. "Love you, Ivy. Call anytime. Love, Dad." She smiled and quickly texted back a reply. She tucked the sack of dinner under her arm as she hit the letters. Rather than mac and cheese, she'd opted for a calzone from Crazy Calz's and potato and chive pierogies from the festival. She'd already eaten half of the calzone on the way.

"Hey, there you are!"

Ivy turned to see Dred jogging up the sidewalk behind her. He was in a black T-shirt and jeans, a black vest jangling with a chain from one pocket as he moved. "Hi."

"Turning in early?"

"You were at the festival, too?"

"Yeah, I thought I saw you, with someone. Some old cat." He sniffed. "What's in the bag?"

"That old cat was my dad." She moved the bag away as he leaned over it for a good whiff. "My dinner tonight."

"Oh. Your dad. Where is he now?"

"Working." She turned and stuck her phone in her pocket, walking on.

He fell into step with her. "How come you're not with Lornie or Camille?"

"I was." She eyed him, trying to gauge him. "Lornie is working her uncle's booth."

He nodded. "Yeah, seen that." He glanced up and down the quiet street. "So, your dad is an architect?"

"Who told you that?"

"Lornie, kind of." He focused on something in the distance. "Is that why you liked the Hall?"

A pinpoint of pain stabbed her forehead, like a mini, intense headache. "Yeah, I guess so." She followed his gaze. The peak of the Hall poked from the tall trees lining the street. "I like the styles."

"Want to see inside?" An opportunistic grin spread across his face. "Maeve's there, so I'm not putting the moves on you, Ivy."

She resisted the blush creeping up her jacket, but not the draw of the huge house. "Is it okay?"

"Yeah, sure, it's fine." He shrugged. "It's an interesting house, and when we were looking at that play practice, you seemed fascinated with the setting design. Got to thinking, the Hall's got what you called character."

She smiled a little. "I think so, yeah."

This time there was no whisper of her name when Ivy passed through the door into the room Dred called parlor three. It was more cheerily lit, with the cream-colored drapes with the burgundy cabbage roses pulled back to allow more natural light in and more lights were on deeper inside the Hall.

"Come on," Dred said, tugging at Ivy's jacket sleeve when she paused in the room. He headed for the arched doorway. "You'll like the staircase. Like Twelve Oaks."

Ivy felt herself drawn with him. "Twelve Oaks? Like in Gone with the Wind?"

"Yeah. I looked it up online." He looked sheepishly back at her. "Majestic. You'll see."

She didn't believe him.

The archway led to a small hallway off a mostly stone room, what Dred called the old kitchen, which was now a storage area for winter coats and boots and firewood, and further on, the hallway turned into a wider room that split off into three other halls. They took the center one, heading to a better-lit room beyond.

Ivy's attention was divided between the masonry of the old kitchen and the cream and tan painted tall plastered walls leading to the wider space beyond. Their footsteps were hushed by ornately designed navy and burgundy runners. When Dred stepped through the final archway, Ivy found them in a wide entry hall that spread to the base of a staircase. The main entrance double-doors were to the far right above a two-high stepped platform.

"You're right," she said, barely breathing as her eyes took in the staircase.

It angled down from the second floor, like the Twelve Oak's case, except it turned only once and was narrower. It curved to the second floor high above where balconies ran to either side, its gray paint, worn and chipped. It was void of runners, but its handrails were a metal gray that seemed to sheen in the glass chandelier hanging over the entryway.

Ivy's eyes traveled up the staircase, then followed it down to the entryway where a stone fireplace at the far left wall held a meek fire. Two upholstered chairs faced each other at an angle, tall and covered with hunter green brocade. She looked to her right, where the main entrance raised to the two wide steps and faced the street. Two imposing doors inset with elaborate metal decorations were closed, muting all outside sound.

"Oh, it's huge, Dred," she said without thinking. "It does look like the one in the movie."

. . . bring her . . . wafted through the air.

The fire in the hearth cut low.

Ivy looked at it, then to Dred. "What was that?"

"A draft." He cleared his throat and looked uneasily up the staircase. "I'll go see if we can go up. Sometimes the others aren't ready for guests."

"What others?" Her skin bristled. "We don't have to go up, Dred." She gripped the sack of take-out tighter. "I should go now."

A chord struck up from another first-floor room, a lilting sound that turned throatier.

"Don't go yet." Dred's eyes squinted as he looked up the staircase. "We don't get many visitors, so no one tidies up much."

"That's okay. I—"

. . . Stay . . .

She shivered.

Dred chuckled. "I'll run up and see if the art room is open. Uh, drawing room."

She looked closer at him. "A real drawing room?"

He nodded. "Be right back."

She watched him run up the stairs, the creak of wood echoing in the large room.

The violin music continued, a slow tune that seemed to draw her in. It came from a room beyond the staircase, around the back of it where the house continued. Light flickered from a doorway, where the music was loudest.

She stepped to the side of the staircase, closer to the music.

It beckoned her in, but she remained where she was.

". . . her here. What are you doing?"

Ivy looked up the staircase at the second male voice in a whisper. She didn't know it, nor was it loud enough to determine how far away it was.

"Relax, I'm showing her the Hall." It sounded like Dred.

The music got louder, something in the melody drawing Ivy to it. She followed, rounding the staircase and stopping before the light shedding out of the open doorway beyond. She could see a shadow moving inside, with the music, a beckoning pulling at her. She stepped closer, peeking around the chalk-white trim of the doorway.

Inside the room, a man stood near a piano, the violin at his shoulder, playing it with smooth glides of the bow, his head arched over the instrument. He wore a long, older style suit jacket, black, that dropped nearly to his knees, and riding styled boots. She could see little of his stiff white shirt collar, hidden by his long, blond hair. He moved as he played the violin, turning, but not enough to see her, as if feeling the music rather than hearing it.

She stepped closer, recalling the tune from the first time she'd been there.

He moved back, still playing, his face now visible, eyes closed, his narrow features shadowed in the overhead gaslight chandelier.

Ivy felt something in her soul reach out to the music, something that made her immobile.

The man turned more, his age uncertain, she determined, somewhere in his early thirties. A deep moan of the violin made Ivy hold her breath, and then the man opened his eyes, peering straight at her. His eyes sharpened, and Ivy felt her heart flinch.

"Are you lost?" he asked.

She nodded, unable to move.

"It's a big house."

She nodded again. He had an accent, European, she thought. His collar gathered in a loose ascot beneath his cleanly shaven face, and a sable and gold embroidered vest fit his chest. She stepped back.

"Don't leave," he said, leaning back to the edge of the piano behind him. "You may stay."

She shook her head, unmoving. The room was bright under the chandelier, but the cobalt damask drapes were mostly pulled at the tall windows. Slits of late sunlight spread in, lining the Oriental rug. Ivy looked at the piano propped open, then to the tall harp to her left. A music stand stood near it beside a short wooden stool.

"Would you like to sing?"

Ivy's attention shot back to him. "I don't sing," she stammered.

"You may try." A thin smile came to his lips. "Try, Ivy."

She blinked at her name. "How do—?"

"There you are," Dred said, charging into the room.

Ivy nearly didn't hear him. She stared back at the violinist.

"What the hell are you doing?" another, vaguely familiar voice demanded.

Ivy's head turned at the new voice.

Vohn stood at the door, staring at Dred.

After a full summer of following Vohn Lugori around with Camille and Lornie, she knew his silhouette well. The glare he leveled at Dred made her step away.

"You shouldn't be here," Vohn growled, his eyes now on her.

"She may stay," the man said.

She looked to him, wishing he'd resume playing. "You play well."

He smiled more, which prompted Vohn to step between them.

"Ivy, this is Mandrake," Vohn said, turning to her. "Now, if you'll please—"

"I brought her here," Dred said, taking Ivy's arm before Vohn could reach her. "Let's go, Ivy."

She remained caught in Mandrake's stare, something captivating holding her.

"You did this," Vohn snapped at Dred. He cleared his throat. "Ivy, you can now leave."

Ivy blinked a few times, shaking her head. She looked back to Dred, then Mandrake again. He nodded at her.

Dred pushed her out the door. "Okay, let's do this another day, Ivy. It's getting late."

"Come back soon, Ivy," Mandrake called, his deeper tone echoing into the hall. "Charming," he added lower.

Ivy glanced over her shoulder as Dred's arm ushered her past the staircase. "He lives here? Mr. Mandrake?"

"Yeah. He's . . . a relative."

She caught her breath as something inside her ears popped. "He plays so well."

"Yeah." He grinned. "I'll walk you home."

She nodded, following him back through the hallways. "You have a nice house, Dred."

He stopped, staring at her for a moment. "It's nice, yeah. Kind of, been in the family, you could say."

She felt her mind clear, Mandrake's melody still trapped in it. "A family homestead?"

He nodded slowly as they stepped outside into the growing twilight. "In a way. Let's go. We'll see the Hall when there's better lighting upstairs."