Burning Ember

Chapter 1

The realtor had said this house was a diamond in the rough, and with enough polishing, I would have the home of my dreams. After everything I had been through with Gabriel, I needed this. The trip to Maine was exhausting, but it was also as far away as I could get from him. When the inheritance from my grandfather's passing came in, I used my share to buy this place and pay for my divorce. I took my out and hauled ass. My sister Ivy let me stay with her for the week that I had to wait on the rushed closing of the house.

She had moved to Atlanta several years back, and I hadn't seen her but twice since I married Gabriel. It had been four years since the last time—since things had gotten worse. But he was in my past now, and most importantly, he had no clue where I had gone. I cancelled all my cards, closed out accounts, all except the one I had opened for my inheritance. I bought a new phone, with a new number, and the only thing I still had left was to change my name. Well, my last name.

Gravel crunched under the tires of the taxi as it rolled into the winding driveway that was canopied by trees. The driver accidentally passed the house once, and we had to turn around and go back to find it. It was a secluded house, and the entrance to the driveway blended with the tall hardwood trees that lined both sides of the desolate road. I knew what I was getting myself into, or so I kept telling myself, and Ivy. Trips to town were going to be a hassle for sure, but for a fee, a few places in Dover-Foxcroft were willing to make deliveries. It would have to suffice until I got a new car.

The skies above were clouded and grey, and not at all ominous as I got out of the car. The driver popped the trunk so I could grab the four suitcases that contained what was left of my life. As soon as I set them all on the ground and closed it, he peeled out of the driveway, leaving me standing in front of an old Victorian house—alone.

It was obviously once a grand place, but in person, it just looked foreboding. The intricate woodwork of the gables stood out against the smokey sky like faded white lace as the fretwork and spindles cast convoluted shadows on the weathered siding. The covered porch that wrapped around appeared as if it once held leisurely afternoons and relaxing sunset views, but now, with the peeling paint on the banisters, dusty rounded windows, and a few cracked boards on the floor, looked as if it were harboring secrets. The steps leading up to it creaked as if they wanted to tell.

Rosebushes lingered like long neglected ghosts, their reaching arms scraping the edges of the porch with the gentle wind. I carried my bags two at a time to the porch and stood anxiously before the heavy dark wooden front door that had been polished by time into a soft sheen. Intricate carvings framed the panels of the door, swirling spirals and flowering motifs that hinted toward the care and elegance put into the design. The brass knob held a patina only time could have bestowed upon it that matched the slot in the middle for letters. A reminder of when communication was both tangible and personal. Even the lionhead knocker above held a stoic expression as if it had been patiently waiting for its next chapter to begin.

The hinges of the door squealed with protest as if it had not been opened for decades. Dust flowed through the air as the breeze carried through the open door, sending spirals of it into motion along the hardwood floor. I left my bags at the entrance to explore my new home. High ceilings were guarded by finely carved crown molding. The wallpaper beneath was a tapestry of intricate patterns and was peeling at the edges. Just beyond the door in the foyer, was a staircase, the banister polished and worn smooth by countless hands. I wanted to go straight up them, but the first floor was my focus—for now.

The parlor to the left sat beyond a spacious archway and was a cavern of memories with faded and cobwebbed portraits along the walls, frames sitting on shelves. Furniture that was once loved, left to wither beneath sheets that were coated in dust like everything else. This was going to be hell to clean this mess. The brick fireplace was stained with soot, a remnant of the warmth that it once held. I moved on to the next room down the hall. The kitchen.