The House on Blackberry Hill - SAMPLE

Chapter Two

Whatever Abby expected, it was not the massive Georgian-style home that greeted her at the end of the lane. White and imposing, it was both majestic and intimidating. With the unpruned shrubs around the yard and a tangle of ivy grown over several of the windows, Abby couldn't shake the idea that the house looked a bit, well, eerie.

Abby slammed the car door, then started up the uneven pathway to the front porch. As she got closer, she saw the chipped paint around the trim and rungs missing in the railing that ran between two scarred pillars of the verandah.

It really was neglected. For a moment she felt almost sorry for the old home. It was a shame that something that had once had been so grand and beautiful could fall into such a state.

The boards of the stairs creaked wearily beneath her feet as she climbed the three steps to the covered porch and took a key from her purse. Walking carefully, Abby silently prayed that the floor was termite-free and structurally sound before fitting the key into the lock and pushing the solid wood door open with the groan of long-unused hinges. Hesitantly, Abby stepped inside, searching along the wall for a switch in the dim light. She found it and flipped it on. Thank goodness the power had been reconnected before her arrival.

The place was strangely silent and her shoes made hollow sounds on the hardwood floors as she went further inside. She shivered. With the house shut up and all the curtains closed, it reminded her of a tomb.

The first thing she needed to do was get some natural light into the dreary rooms. The dim glow of the wall sconces barely penetrated the dust and stale air. She entered the room on her right—what appeared to be a formal dining room—and went directly to the window, spreading the heavy brocade curtains wide and tying them back with silky tassels. Sunlight spilled in through the gap and she went to the next window, and the next, until the room was flooded with warmth through the dusty windows.

Turning around to finally get a good look at the room, Abby gasped. The antique dining table and chairs, which she'd only seen in outline, were now clearly visible and utterly magnificent, ornately carved and even under the layer of dust she could see they had to be real mahogany. It could easily seat a dozen. A set like this would have cost a fortune. Worth even more now if it was as old as she suspected.

Who on earth were the Fosters, and why had this all been kept a secret from her side of the family? At times, her grandmother had barely made ends meet.

A fireplace with a white mantle graced one end of the room, but the mantle was empty except for a single, framed portrait. Abby went closer, her fingers gliding over the silver frame as she examined the face behind the glass. The woman was beautiful, perhaps in her twenties, with long dark hair and full lips. Her dress appeared to be chiffon, cut in a V at her throat; a necklace of oval stones embraced her neck. Even in the black and white photograph her skin seemed to glow as she sat in a wing-backed chair with a baby dressed in unending ruffles cradled in her arms.

Abby turned the frame over and slid the old photo out, careful to keep her fingers on the edge of the paper. There was nothing written on the back, no indication of who the woman was or when it was taken. Disappointed, she put the picture back inside and placed it precisely in its spot on the mantle. Was this Marian? Perhaps Marian's mother, Edith? Abby frowned, feeling a brief surge of anger at being left in the dark about her own family. She and her grandmother had been very, very close. How could Gram have kept something as big as a family mansion from her only granddaughter?

Shaking off her melancholy, Abby turned her attention to the rest of the room. A gilt-edged mirror hung above the fireplace and it reflected an unlit chandelier over the table. For a brief moment she imagined the clinking sounds of silver on china and crystal. She figured out that the Fosters had been well-off when she'd seen the value of the estate. But this... this was living on a grand scale.