Greenbriar Manor

The Skeleton Key

Mari woke up in the barn loft. She was worried but she did not know exactly why only that something felt different today. She had not seen Brooklyn at dusk waiting for her.  Today was the day that Mack was to come home. She remembered that strange feeling from yesterday. Something had changed things here were better and also on edge. The horse paced anxiously in his pen. Ingrim had not been out to see him since the accident. She was concerned that the stable hand was not coming home. Her mother was pacing the kitchen floor staring at unwashed silver spoons in the sink. What did she know? Who was that man that she kept an eye on him? Maybe she was worried about Brooklyn not coming home yet too. She knew in her bones that Fran needed to come home. The house was beginning to forget them. Fern's mother had been unconsolable when she returned to the tiny house yesterday. Afraid that they would have to leave. The finest set of linens had been damaged from some strange stains after line-drying. They were oily in the center and no amount of scrubbing could get them clean. Her mother assured her that the manor was big enough for all of them. It had once held ten children after all. 

Meanwhile, Brooklyn was walking on the edge of the property back and forth waiting for his father and Ingrim to come home. There was never supposed to be another horse here. His mother had already grieved enough. Mari's hair ribbon had washed up on the far side of the creek this morning. But he didn't remember it being green before. There was no news about Mack and Fran had not responded to any phone calls from his mother. He wondered if anything else would come calling in the meantime. His father's pulse was thready when they had loaded him in the ambulance after he collapsed. Without his father and Fran this place was empty. He had been here long enough to know that everyone who left allowed the house to bring back someone in their place. The doll was gone. He had not seen Mari since yesterday. Even their trusty dog was not around this morning. As he walked back to the Manor he saw  the horse pacing too. He went into the foyer and then quickly into the library he noticed the ball room was open. There was a piece of music on the piano. Mack must be home. He rounded the corner only to see a lithe dark headed girl about the same age as his sister seated at the piano bench. A green ribbon dangled from her hair. The doll that his sister had been nursing all this time looked exactly like her, His ears rang with nervous fear. Bridget was back. But how? She had not changed at all. Surely, Mack was coming home. Mari must not see her. She must never know what Vera kept secret. They were family here too. The house shook violently and the library doors slammed closed. Louder than they had the night of the great storm. A great flash of light came from the great chandelier above him and he woke up in the clearing beyong the house in a daze. Maybe it had all been just a dream. 

Meanwhile: At the nursing home Daniel woke up with a start and grabbed his journal. He had the dream again. Lightning and piano keys clanging and horses galloping across the sky like one great myth his sister would have written long ago. The letter had been sent and the first knell had sounded. Nine Green children had grown and gone. Cousins had come and taken their places in the Manor. Family blood and borrowed resided there. But, Fran she was special. Mack and her would not only find the key they would open the long grown over eves and illuminate  the Manor's secrets. Fern was a maid she had said and a laundress but she was much more than she appeared. She was the bravest of them all. But the most impetuous. When Mack came home it would be dusk. The horse would be well. The child home by the fire of the great hall back from her party. Everyone would be ready for bed. The stableman lay in a bed in the hospital across town while his wife washed dishes and cups and linens with gnarled soapy hands. Their love was sure. But he could never stay the job he had come to do had been done. He would go again. The boy would keep searching for the key. Mack would help him find it. He smiled at the knots in the treehouse wall and the attic in that tiny rickity shack full of baseball cards and old heros no one would know today. As Daniel driftefd off to sleep he saw a huffy, heavyset woman walking the hall with a rolling pin...they must have left something in the kitchen for the morning...

In Vermont:

Mabel fell out of bed with a loud THUNK. Her hand was bruised from landing on one of her set of metal Jax. It made a perfect X pattern on her tiny hand. She missed her cousin already . Mack turned on the flashlight in the hotel room they rented halfway between Vermont and home. His mother had gotten so sleepy driving home that he begged her to pull over, The room was drab green and yellow walls and brown scratchy bedding. He wished they had made it home. Something was different tonight. He missed Mabel. The power must be out. Trees swayed casting shadow on the window blinds. His friend's father had called muttering something about Sultan and the stable hand. There was static on the line. As he tried to go back to sleep he thought he saw a a dog trotting across the yard that looked like Brooklyn's Terrier. What was it doing out in the storm. He tried to call to it but it kept wandering into the trees at the edge of the property. A huge flash of lightning rent the sky. He jumped back afraid and went to crawl back under the covers and put the pillow over his ears to drown out the noise. 

His mother slept fitfully. At 6 am a loud wrapping knock woke them up. Housecleaning had come early. Fran loaded their things into the Beetle and as she was pulling her scarf out of the glovebox out rolled a tiny perfect gold key. The size of a music box. What in the world had that gone to or come from? She laughed maybe one of the boys was up to some mischief. She cranked the car and it sputtered to life. The car phone blinked. A message. A breathy man's baratone voice came over the reciever, "Come home to the glen of gray home to the wilderness wild. Past the treehouse where we used to play. Home to the wayward child. Home for the maids in washing and mending work weave and spin and toil. Home to the music that brings and sends away with sugar and bitter oil. Home where the key in your pocket is the answer. Home where the Manor lies deep in the heart of a broken old man bright in the tears of a child."  Chills ran down her arms. She had heard that song once long ago. Her uncle had sung it the day that she had first seen the bird in the attic it had come from her aunt's old ballerina music box. One that sat broken in her room at the Manor. There was something happening at her home and she had to get there soon. The winds were shifting and Fran needed to know why. She sped home as fast as she can and pulled into the gate at midnight. Everything was quiet but the sound of a whinnying horse in the barn and wind that sounded like wailing down by the stream. An old water loon begging its mournful song she assumed. She opened the door to her room. Mack had already gone searching for Ingrim and fallen asleep in the library easy chair. She left him there to rest afterall he was home. When she closed the door behind her she turned to the window. But she noticed that somehow a piece of lead grey mica had been added to the wall. A oval mirror about the size of her hand. As she approached it she saw her brush and in the spindles was several ink blackstrands of hair darker even than Mari's doll. She yawned and walked over to the strange mirror smiling at her sleepy reflection. For a brief moment she saw two green eyes and emerald as any cat staring at her from behind the armoire door. They winked and disappeared. She froze and backed away. Maybe it was only road weariness she reasons. She retired to bed and had fitful dreams. 

Brooklyn watched from the stable as Mack went into the house. Something was right at least for now anyway. He smiled at the uneasy horse and walked down into the thicket to meet his mother.