She moved to Paula. “A little bit of everything, thank you.”

  “No need to be stingy with me. You can load me up,” Ace told her.

  “Now that you’ve had some time,” Deuce began as she worked her way around the table, “how are you liking Poole’s Bay? Not just the manor, but the village, the area.”

  “I like it very much. I never really expected to move out of the city, or far from it in any case. It’s a big change, but it feels right for me. I like everything.”

  She sat, then looked up at another slam. “Or almost everything.”

  Seth looked up with her. “I’m not sure I could get used to that.”

  “I’ll let you know if I do. Right now I’m trying to figure out how my mother’s going to react when she’s here next weekend.” And since no one made gagging noises as they ate, Sonya concluded she’d done well enough on the meal.

  “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you.” Corrine sipped from her water glass. “And where you’re making your home. Does she know the history of the house?”

  “I’ve given her bits and pieces. I’ve been reading the book,” Sonya said to Deuce. “The Poole family history. And I’ve been documenting the … incidents.”

  “That shows a practical nature,” Corrine commented, then took another bite of beef. “That would be helpful in a move like this. Poole’s Bay and the manor are a world away from Boston. A good quality for a woman building her own business, I’d think. Honesty would be another key, wouldn’t it?”

  “If you’re not honest with a client, you’ll lose the client.”

  Corrine nodded as she ate. “Honesty in business, and in personal matters, is essential to building relationships. And yet, you weren’t honest with us.”

  “I—I’m sorry?”

  “You said you weren’t much of a cook, and I’m finding myself just a little irked that your pot roast is better than mine. It is, isn’t it, Deuce?”

  “I take the Fifth.”

  “And we all know what that means.” Now she picked up her wine, and those steel-blue eyes shifted to Sonya. “I think false modesty’s just a dangling hook for compliments.”

  “I think you just gave me one,” Sonya said as Anna didn’t bother to smother a laugh. “And on my first attempt at pot roast.”

  “This is your first? And to think I was disposed to like you. Well, I want your recipe.”

  “It’s actually my mother’s but—”

  “Check with her. She may not want to share outside of family. But if she will, I’ll trade my pound cake recipe for it, which I don’t offer lightly.”

  “She does not,” Deuce confirmed.

  “You’ll sample that for dessert, if anyone has room after this meal. Anna made it for tonight. Do you bake?”

  “I put frozen pizza in the oven. That’s the height of my baking skills. Wait, I warmed up these rolls without burning them.”

  Corrine smiled. “I expect living up here you’ll learn enough to get by.”

  “I’m hoping my friend Cleo handles most of that end of things.”

  “An illustrator,” Paula said. “It’s so nice to add more artists to the community.”

  They talked art and food, local events and impressions. And with conversation, the fire simmering, second helpings, and a fresh bottle of wine, Sonya put her first dinner party at the manor in the success column.

  “I thought we’d have coffee and dessert in the music room.”

  “What a lovely idea. It’s one of my favorite rooms,” Paula told her.

  “Would you play, Grandma?”

  She smiled at Anna. “I could be persuaded.”

  “Why don’t we let the younger generation deal with that.” Corrine rose. “And I’ll start persuading. We know the way,” she said to Sonya.

  Sonya got busy with the coffee. “I wasted a lot of nerves on tonight. You’ve got a great family.”

  “We do, and the meal didn’t hurt. It was better than Mom’s, and if you tell her I said that,” Trey added, “I’ll sue you for slander.”

  “Lips sealed. Oh God, Anna, that cake’s gorgeous.”

  “Tastes even better,” Seth told her. “Do you want me to start on the dishes? I have experience.”

  “And I may call on it before we’re done. But let’s leave all that for later, and keep this party rolling.”

  As music drifted in, she glanced toward the doorway. “She really can play. It’s the first time I’ve heard the piano when I know someone’s playing it.”

  “You hear piano music when there’s not?”

  She shrugged at Seth. “Sometimes, late at night.”

  A rich baritone joined the piano.

  “That’s Ace.” Obviously familiar with the kitchen, the butler’s pantry, Anna got out cake plates, coffee cups, and saucers. “They’re a hell of a pair.”

  Together, they loaded up the dessert cart—a first for Sonya.

  When they rolled it into the music room, she saw dogs piled together at Deuce’s feet. Ace stood with his hand on his wife’s shoulder, singing “One for My Baby.”

  When they finished, she applauded. “You’re hired!”

  “Do you play, Sonya?”

  Sonya shook her head as Paula played some sort of trill. “My mother plays—not like that, but she plays a little. When she tried to teach me, we both agreed my talents lay elsewhere.”

  “Do one more before dessert,” Anna insisted. “Do ‘Embraceable You.’”

  “Are you up for a duet, sweets?”

  Paula glanced at Ace over her shoulder. “I could be persuaded.”

  “I asked them to sing this at my wedding. Our first dance.”

  “I’ve still got the moves.” Seth turned Anna into a dance.

  “It meant the world to them to sing at Anna’s wedding,” Corrine murmured.

  “Their voices just mesh, don’t they?”

  “They do. Deuce grew up in a musical household. He can play, and he has a strong voice. I have no musical talent.”

  “Yours lay elsewhere. In your photography, your family.”

  “They do. Johanna played.”

  Glancing over, Sonya saw Corrine studying the portrait. “You were friends.”

  “We were. Trey told me you’d found her portrait. Seeing it? It’s like time stopped. They’d like that you put her in here. This was one of her favorite rooms, too.”

  “It felt like the right place.”

  “Because it is.” She surprised Sonya by linking their hands for a moment. “She’d never hurt you.”

  “Do you … Do you think she’s here?”

  “We’ll talk sometime. I’ll help with the coffee. I know how everyone likes it.”

  Since she felt she had to leave it at that, Sonya sliced cake.

  And considered the idea of post-dinner in the music room a perfect choice when Anna sat down to play and dragged a clearly reluctant Trey with her to add his voice.

  Anna stopped abruptly, and with wide eyes, pressed a hand to her belly.

  Seth had already shoved up from his chair when her face lit up like the sun. “I felt him move! I felt the baby move!” Though she gripped Seth’s hands, she looked at her mother. “Mom.”

  “You’re okay?” Seth pressed his hand over hers. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “Too early for you to feel,” Corrine told him as those steel-blue eyes went damp. “Right about on time for Anna.”

  “It’s normal?” Trey gripped his sister’s free hand. “It’s a good thing?”

  “It’s a normal, lovely thing.”

  “When do I get to feel him?”

  “A few more weeks, Daddy.”

  Because it seemed like a family moment, Sonya slipped out. She’d give them a few minutes, and get the dishes started.

  She walked into the kitchen and found it spotless. The dishwasher hummed, the sink sparkled, and when she checked the fridge, she found the leftovers—a fraction of what she’d feared and expected—efficiently tubbed.

  “I—oh jeez—I appreciate it. You didn’t have to do all this.”

  She still stood, at a loss, when Trey came in.

  “No way you’re this fast on KP.”

  “No, not me.”

  “Well, okay. I think everyone’s going to head out. I was going to stay and give you a hand with all this. But no need for that.”

  On cue, the tablet played “Stay.”

  She heard the nerves in her own laughter. “Somebody likes having you around.”

  Yoda came in, danced, whined.

  “Oh, you want to go out. Of course you do. Give me one minute.”

  “I’ve got him. Mookie’s going to want to go out with him. And when I say they’re about ready to head out, it always takes a while for them to actually get out.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “Seth, be a good boy and take the cart back to the kitchen for Sonya. Ace and I should take our old bones home. As Corrine said, we’ll leave the younger generation to help with the cleanup.”

  “It seems someone from what must be a much older one already took care of that.”

  “You’re not kidding?”

  Anna patted Seth’s butt. “Come on. I’ll go with you. I’ll protect you and get my cake carrier.”

  “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” he said as he wheeled the cart away.

  “Myself, I wouldn’t mind an invisible maid. But,” Corrine added, “it must be disconcerting.”

  “A time and energy saver, and yeah, disconcerting’s one word for it. I have, by my current count, the maid, a house disc jockey, a firewood hauler, the door slammer, the piano player. At least one of them likes dogs because they taught Yoda to shake. I need to write all that down, too.”

  “When you do, if I could see it? With what I know of the family and house history,” Deuce told her, “I might be able to help identify some of the … occupants.”

  “Sure. I’ll send it to you once I get it together.”

  “You’re a sturdy young woman.” Paula offered a hand, then closed her other around Sonya’s. “And we had an absolutely wonderful evening. Thank you so much.”

  Sonya got coats as Trey brought Yoda back. “I put Mook in the car. They wore each other out.”

  He lingered in the foyer as his family left. “You’re okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “I’ll call.”

  “This was great, and I think you’re what the house needs. I hope it’s what you need.”

  She felt her heart flutter, just a little, as he stood close with his eyes direct on hers.

  “It feels like it.”

  “Good. I’ll see you soon.”

  She closed the door behind him.

  “He was thinking about it. I’m not wrong about that. He was thinking about making a move.” She looked down at the dog. “Should I have made the move? I’m gun-shy, that’s what it is. I have to get over it. But tonight, I’m pretty worn out, too.

  “Let’s go to bed, Yoda.”

  * * *

  She dreamed someone played the piano, but not in the music room. In the front parlor Astrid played something lively and quick. An older woman sat by the fire, working with a needle and an embroidery hoop while she tapped her foot in time.

  In the grate, a log fell; embers flew.

  Collin Poole stood beside Astrid and turned the page on her music.

  Someone had pushed the furniture back, so three couples formed two lines, weaving back and forth as they danced.

  She recognized what had to be Collin’s twin, Connor. And the way he looked at his partner, she knew her for Arabelle, the woman he’d marry. The doomed Catherine’s mother.

  But young now, all of them, except the woman by the fire, and she saw the man sitting nearby, smiling, sipping his whiskey as he watched the dancers.

  Astrid’s parents, she thought, not certain why she felt so sure of it. She moved through the room, a ghost among ghosts.

  She smelled the flowers—roses from the hothouse. The candle wax made by a family in the village, the woodsmoke from the logs a servant named John split and stacked.

  It was early April—she knew it—only weeks before Astrid Grandville would marry Collin Poole. The first bride to marry at the manor.

  The first to die there.

  When the dance ended, Collin took Astrid’s hand, brought it to his lips.

  It all froze.

  Astrid turned her head and looked at Sonya.

  “We were so happy this night. A prelude, Collin said, to all the parties we would host, with friends, with family. We had everything ahead of us.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Find the rings. You’re the last who can.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “Play, won’t you, Astrid?”

  “Of course.”

  The six dancers stood in their two lines. Collin stood at Astrid’s shoulder.

  She played the same song, exactly as before. Everything moved, exactly as before.

  The old woman plied her needle and tapped her foot. The old man smiled and sipped his whiskey. Collin turned the page while the dancers wove.

  In the grate a log fell with a shower of embers.

  And Sonya woke standing beside the bed.

  The dog slept on, so she hadn’t disturbed him. She moved quietly out of the room, down the stairs, into the parlor.

  The furniture stood exactly as it should. Then again, she thought, it hadn’t been the same furniture in the dream. Or experience.

  No fire burned, no candles flickered, no oil lamps glowed.

  She wandered the room, but the only scent she caught came from the Asiatic lilies she’d bought the day before. At the piano, she ran her finger lightly over the keys.

  Then she walked into the foyer, looked up at Astrid’s portrait.

  “I heard you. I don’t know what it means or what to do about it, but I heard you.”

  But the house, and whatever walked in it, stayed silent.

  In the silence, she walked back upstairs.

  In bed she closed her eyes and waited for sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the morning, she documented every detail she could remember. Afterward, she held herself to half a day of work—in her mind to more or less make up for the time she’d taken for personal things during the workweek.

  She put an extra hour in compiling a list of invisible companions. Considering her experience the night before, she included Astrid as the second bride to have seen her, spoken to her.

  That left her free to handle the few domestic chores her invisible housekeeper left for her. Since the sun beamed, and with weekly laundry in the machine, she took a long walk with Yoda. The thinning blanket of snow lured her and the dog to the edge of the woods.

  Then a few steps in.

  She couldn’t deny the wonder of it, the mystery of bare-branched trees, the deep green of pine. The light wind stirred pine needles to a kind of rustling, and from deeper in came the sounds of chirping and chittering.

  Yoda scented the air just as she did, but the snow lay thicker there where the sun didn’t quite reach.

  And she was reasonably sure she saw hoofprints or paw prints, or some sort of animal tracks. While she’d enjoy crossing paths with a deer—getting a closer look—she doubted she’d enjoy crossing paths with anything less benign.

  They’d just leave the woods, for now, to whatever wildlife wandered there.

  “I’m a city girl, Yoda. And that’s a fact.”

  Instead, they walked back to stand at the seawall. Now the wind stirred through her hair and blew cool across her cheeks. With it came the fresh, adventurous scent of the sea.

  And under the clear sky, the sea held boldly blue to the horizon. Waves crashed below, and out on that plate of blue, boats glided.

  To her delight, she spotted her second whale, even picked up Yoda hoping he’d share the thrill.

  But he only wagged and licked her chin.

  “This is it, doggie,” she murmured. “This is it for me. Times like last night I get a little shaky, but this is it. Water and woods and whales. Who knew?”

  When she took the dog back in, she swore she caught the scent of fresh orange oil.

  “She keeps busy,” Sonya muttered, and hung up her coat.

  Very busy, Sonya decided when she found her delicates hanging on the rod in the laundry room. A check of the dryer showed it empty, so she had no doubt she’d find what she’d tossed in it folded and put away.

  Just as she’d found the dishwasher empty, and the dishes all put away when she’d checked that morning.

  How would it feel, she wondered, to spend your afterlife—if that’s what it was—cleaning up after someone else?

  However ridiculous she found it, she took a long breath.

  “Thank you very much. Please don’t feel obliged.”

  The iPad played Kid Rock’s “God Bless Saturday.”

  “Okay, fine.” She couldn’t stop the laugh. “Message received.”

  * * *

  Clear skies gave way to thick, heavy clouds, and a solid six inches of snow fell overnight. Sonya took it as an excuse to indulge in a lazy afternoon. She took John Dee coffee, added a generous slice of pound cake. Then she snuggled in for the day.

  Games of tug with the dog entertained both of them. Cuddled on the sofa on the second level of the library, she streamed whatever appealed.

  She FaceTimed her mother, then Cleo. She watched the dog romp through the fresh snow.

  As normal a weekend, she supposed, as she could ask for. To cap it off, she and Yoda settled down by the library fire, he with a chew bone and Sonya with the book Trey had recommended.

  He wasn’t wrong in that plug, as she gobbled half of it down in one sitting.

  She walked the dog under a pure white globe of moon that shed pale blue light on the new snow. And felt perfectly content, and absolutely home.

  1892

  I look like a queen. No princess am I, as I am a woman grown. My lover, my groom, my husband is a man of stature. As I stand in the chapel for all to witness our union, I stand proud, I stand regal in a gown by Worth.

  I would accept no less than the best on this day.

  I am blessed with an hourglass figure, and it is displayed to perfection in the heavy white satin with its long, lovely train. Its fluidity enhances my waist—a waist so small Owen can span it with his hands.