Chapter 4

Savannah continued to look around as her dad took the wheel and drove up to the house. Even the driveway was better than their old house. She shielded her eyes from the sun, taking in the look of her new home and giant yard. The terrain was a lot like that of the ranch, with aspens, blue spruce, dog brush, current bushes, and gooseberry brambles hugging outcroppings of mica-laced, pink granite. By the end of the month, all the trees and brush would bud out, and green would coat the yard and hillsides in numerous shades. Yellowed mountain grass tufted sporadically through breaks in rock and gravel, sprouting thicker along the half-circle drive. Where they used to live inside a canyon that allowed about six hours of direct sunlight each day, less in the winter, the new place took the top off the mountain, providing long views of mountain ranges from each angle.

Savannah turned to close the gate, stopping dead when she read the name above the driveway.

“No way,” she drawled, reading the name “Witcher” slowly to herself, trying to make it easier to believe. That’s coming down by morning. There was nothing more to say on the subject. She’d get her dad, his Sawzall, and a step-ladder, and creepy would no longer greet her upon arrival at home. Case closed. Without a second glance, she followed the truck past a tall wooden barn to get a better look at what her parents called a “Victorian” home.

Two rounded rooms on each side and a sprawling veranda added some personality to the ancient house. Windows peered down the nose of the porch roof, making the second floor completely unfriendly. The peak of the roof was like a third story, but there weren’t any windows, and the pitch likely made it too tiny for a room to be up there.

A patron of finding something good about every situation, Savannah decided she liked the size of their new home. At least it was big. Her little brother and his stinky beast of a dog would have their own room, as would her little sister.

The porch was the best part of the house. A swing hung to the right side of the front door, and if a person started at one end of the veranda and kept walking all the way around the other side it would take a while. Spring sun cut angles onto the painted plank floor, and a faint breeze reminded her that such a wonderful set up begged for the addition of the old heirloom wind chime from back at their old house.

Chaz and his mutt bailed out of the truck as she approached, the dog woofing and stomping up the front stairs behind him. The screen door smacked loudly after them, clapping out an echo that rattled Savannah’s nerves. She caught the door as it swung out for another run at slapping shut, shaking her head. Loud noises always set her on edge, not that her bratty brother cared.

She would be eighteen in just under two weeks, so dealing with his carelessness would soon be a thing of her past. She’d graduate and then be off to college.

Mother stood inside the doorway, taking in the dusty, forlorn look of the foyer. More of what Savannah would call a mud-room, the walls held a smattering of coat hooks screwed to the walls in unreasonable places, and a grand, wooden door announced the true entryway just a couple of yards farther in.

Canine feet shuffled above and Chaz claimed his bedroom, screaming “This one’s mine!” and slamming his new door.

Mother shook her head, blinking. “Well, here we are.” She slung her mammoth, faux leather purse onto a plush sitting bench. “We could play cards on the porch, huh?

“Mm hm,” agreed Savannah although, of all the children, it was no secret Savannah would be the last chosen to play games with. There was an amount of awkwardness between them, and it grew at the same rate Savannah did.

“The place seems to need a little something, though. And that name over the gate out there?” Savannah asked, gesturing with a nod. “Can we take it down?”

“I’ll talk to Dad about the gate. Judging from the looks of this little room, the house needs a woman’s touch.” Caroline pulled out a pack of Pall Malls and lit one, dropping a lighter back into her bag. She blew a gust of thick smoke above her head and smiled, studying Savannah for an idea of her thoughts.

After a moment watching her mom puff away, she admitted, “It’s going to be good. We can make it home.”

Caroline pulled her into a smoky embrace as Savannah held her breath. “We’ll get it livable.”

Savannah waited as long as she could stand it, then leaned away so she could walk inside to see the rest of the house. The smoke had the tendency to bother her eyes when she wore her contact lenses.

No one had mentioned the house remained fully furnished with grand, Victorian style furniture, right down to the dishes in the buffet. Their old bedsteads and couch looked cumbersome and old compared to the plush, velvet and overstuffed armchairs in the den and living room. Dark wooden chests of drawers and armoires stood empty in each bedroom.

Dropping an overstuffed backpack onto the hardwood floor, Savannah claimed one of the round bedrooms upstairs for herself, content with the large amount of ambient light from a horizontal row of thickly-paned windows. The bedroom set was cloaked in drop sheeting that held an impressive amount of settled dust, so she carefully rolled each long piece of fabric to keep the room clean. Soon, she beheld a four poster bed, a vanity with an ornate, round looking-glass type mirror, and a tall dresser.

“Not bad.”

The gate to the horse trailer squealed, announcing someone was outside beginning the long process of unloading boxes. Savannah left her new sanctuary and headed downstairs. Dad was at the bottom of the staircase, one hand on his chin, surveying something on a wall beyond view, so she hurried down to see. He’d hung a giant painting of a mountain lion just above the couch in the den.

“It’s straight, if that’s what you’re contemplating,” she told him, squishing close.

He put a warm arm across her shoulders, pulling her in. “What do you think? Is that a good place for it?”

“I guess,” she said, squinting at the lion’s face. “What’s wrong with its eyes?”

“What do you mean?” He furrowed his brow, glancing between her and the picture.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean, it’s real pretty. It’s just that mountain lions’ eyes aren’t like that.” She stepped across the room, getting a better look. “Where did this come from?”

“It was stashed in the canning cellar out at the ranch,” he said, joining her in front of the painting. “A shame. Such a nice piece of art, stuck down there so no one could enjoy it.”

“Yeah, as if,” Molly said as she joined them. “That thing’s creepy as heck.”

“Yeah,” Savannah said. She looked deeper into a dark swirl of fog below the cat’s perch. The darkness there was undefined, lending a rather ominous sense of depth. The artist had penned their name in the corner, but it was just a little too far above her head to be able to read. She shrugged. “Well, I’m going to go find my clothes. Bye, Daddy.”

“I’ll be right out to help with the trailer,” he said, still admiring the art.

She turned for the front door with Molly just behind her.

“I so love my room,” Molly said. “It’s so bright in there. I’m going to make a sun-catcher out of tissue paper. It’ll look just like stained glass. Want one?”

Savannah held the door open for her sister. Molly was the artist in their family. She was always cooking up some sort of craft in her room and the older she got, the better the finished products became.

“I don’t think so. Thanks though. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my room yet. I might change my mind when I see yours.”

They stopped at the mouth of the trailer, surveying the stacks of boxes squeezed and tucked all the way to the roof. The rest of the day would be a long trek of unpacking, but at least the sun shone on the top of the mountain.

***