The Peregrine Passage

Chapter Three: Adam

 I jog ahead to where Hazel is, almost halfway up the long path. She's about a foot shorter than me, but that doesn't stop her from beating me up the hill. When I finally catch up to her, we walk the rest in silence—taking in the scenery. This place really is gorgeous, especially in the fall.

The home itself was built in the late 1700s, around when Maple Ridge was founded. We used to have to come here all the time for elementary school field trips, but I haven't been over here since. When I was little, my family and I would come around every September at the start of the school year to pick pears from the orchard. My mom would make this delicious cobbler while my dad and sister battled it out over Monopoly. I would play, too, but I was never as competitive as they were. I guess we stopped going a few years ago when mom got too busy with work and she and my sister fell out. Piper still lives at home, but hardly ever talks to my mom anymore. They were never close, but my mom was always uptight about us going to college and following in her career-motivated footsteps. When Piper decided to skip out on college, become a full-time waitress and start a band, my mom lost it.

Today the orchard is almost entirely empty, aside from a couple of families. I see a little kid perched on his dad's back about to take a bite out of one of the tree pears. His mom yells at them both and I give a quiet chuckle at the familiar scene, remembering when I was small enough to sit on my dad's shoulders.

The bright-eyed young family contrasts the dark and cold weather that's come down over Maple Ridge. It wasn't supposed to rain today, but the gloomy clouds would suggest otherwise. In front of the charcoal clouds sits the Peregrine Mansion, its front painted a chipped light brown. Boarded evergreen shudders cover every window. The house was fun to run around in as a kid, sure, but the backyard was always my favorite part. There's this huge garden with loads of wooden benches, a gazebo in the center, and a little duck pond we used to throw bread in on those field trips. Behind the garden and orchard lies the cemetery with the family crypt, which I've been too scared to ever go near.

When we finally reach the front door, Hazel is staring intently at the map, her brow furrowed.

"What's up?" I peer down over her shoulder.

"Nothing, I just feel like something is wrong. It's almost accurate, but there are some places where I don't remember there being rooms or exits. Maybe this map was from initial construction or something? I know they blocked off some rooms because of lead poisoning or something a few years ago. Do you think it could it have something to do with that?" I get the feeling she doesn't really care what I think, and that she's asking as a way of verbalizing her own thoughts. I still answer her.

"Maybe, but I have no idea. Let's start by looking around. I haven't been here in forever." She looks distracted for a few seconds and I can see her start to dissociate a bit before she responds.

"Yeah, it's been a while for me, too."

I pull open the heavy wooden door and gesture for Hazel to go through. She thanks me as she passes, and I pull it shut behind us. We enter through the grand foyer, where there's a clear view of an open dining room set with a fully decorated table. It's artfully designed to resemble a dinner from the period and I'm impressed with the attention to detail. There's a tour guide in the corner talking to an old couple but aside from them, the home appears to be completely empty. Hazel guides me across the dining room and through a set of double doors. Pushing them wide open, she reveals an overflowing library. The doors close loudly behind us and I jump a little. I can see her resisting the urge to make fun of me, even though I wouldn't blame her. The walls of the room are lined with plum wallpaper from floor to ceiling, complementing the chestnut floorboards. The banisters have been freshly painted ivory and a large ornate rug stretches across the center of the floor. Matching cream bookshelves are lined side by side, which cover the entire room.