Элизабет Чандлер: Legacy of Lies

I put on a clean shirt and took out a comb, running it through my hair, then looked around the room for a mirror.

Above a dressing table, where a mirror usually would hang, was a framed piece of embroidery: the Ten Commandments. Well, that’s nice, I thought, a friendly reminder to guests to behave themselves! I used the mirror on the medicine cabinet in the small bath attached to my room.

As I emerged from the bathroom, I heard my cousin’s Jeep circling the house. I quickly finished putting away my things and headed downstairs. At last I had someone my age to hang out with. When I reached the landing with the clock, I could hear his voice.

“She shouldn’t have come. I told you before, Grandmother, it was a bad idea to invite her.”

Surprised, I leaned forward to hear Grandmother’s response, but she spoke too softly.

“It’s just a gut feeling,” my cousin said. “No, it’s more than that. You haven’t been acting like yourself since you first got this crazy idea.”

I walked noiselessly down the steps, straining to hear Grandmother’s answer, but the library door was partially closed and her voice muffled.

“I really don’t care,” Matt insisted loudly. “She’s not my cousin-she’s adopted-and you’ve always been the first to point that out. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me she was coming today. I don’t know what you’re up to.”

This time I was close enough to hear Grandmother.

“Worried?” she asked.

It was tempting to sneak up on them. But two long weeks loomed ahead and embarrassing Matt wouldn’t make things easier. Give him a chance to change his mind, I told myself. I pounded down the last few steps, so they would hear me and have time to switch topics.

Grandmother was sitting at her desk again. Matt’s backpack was on the floor, his back turned to me.

“Hello, Megan,” Grandmother said, then glanced in Matt’s direction.

“Hello,” I replied, and followed her glance. Matt reached for a book high up on a shelf and began to page through it, keeping his back to me. I doubted he was as interested in the book as he pretended.

Well, okay. I could play this game. I sat down with my back to him.

“Grandmother,” I said, “I was hoping you’d have some family pictures hanging up.”

“There are three in the upstairs hall,” she replied.

“The ones from the 1800s? They’re cool. I was hoping you might have some of my grandfather and you. I’d love to see pictures of Mom and Uncle Paul when they were growing up.” I glanced around the room. Despite the space available on the desk, the long fireplace mantel, and walls of shelves, there wasn’t a family photograph in sight.

“I don’t like to display photographs,” she said.

“Oh. Well, do you have some picture albums?”

“No.”

“How come?” I asked.

“I don’t approve of taking pictures of ourselves. It’s vain. It glorifies our own image.”

I frowned. “It also allows us to remember the people we loved.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matt turn his head slightly.

“You mentioned my cousin,” I said. “Does he visit Wisteria often?”

Her eyes flicked sideways, watching Matt. “He lives here.”

“Oh, good! Will he be here for dinner?”

I caught the look of amusement in her eyes. “Yes.”

“What’s he like?”

A sly smile lit the corners of her mouth, as if she were enjoying the game. “You’ll have to decide for yourself, Megan.”

“Good point. It’s not fair to judge people before you actually meet them.”

The pleasure she took in our rude standoff convinced me to put an end to it. I rose and walked over to my cousin. “Just so I don’t misinterpret things,” I said, “I want to know, are you shy or a snob?”

He carefully closed the book and set it back on its shelf, so I got a good look at his profile, a tanned face that was too strongly cut to be described as “cute.” His hair was brown and thick.

When he finally turned to me, I was ready to glare back and treat him to what my brothers call “the hot coals.” But his eyes took me by surprise. They were dark and beautiful, fathoms deep, like a river on a moonless night. Now I knew why three girls were riding around with him in his Jeep.

We both took a step back. His intense gaze made me unsteady. “I’m Megan,” I said, anchoring my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t twist my hair.

“Matt.”

He kept staring at me. I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. I wished he was either less good-looking or less of a jerk. I’d rather not be drawn to rude and arrogant guys. Until now, I hadn’t been.

“Nice to meet you,” I told him.

He nodded, then turned and walked past me to pick up his backpack. “Are we eating at six, Grandmother?”

“As always,” she replied.

Apparently our little family reunion was over. “May I go for a walk before dinner?” I asked. “I’d like to look around.”

“Keep the house in view,” Grandmother warned. “We don’t want to have to search for you.”

“Would anybody like to come with me?” I added, giving friendliness another try. Maybe Matt would behave better when Grandmother wasn’t around.

“No.” Her reply was blunt, but it was more of a response than I got from my cousin, who left the room silently.

“Sorry, Matt,” I called. “I didn’t hear your answer.”

He turned back in the hall, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “No. No, thank you.”

I shrugged, wishing it was as easy to toss off the strange attraction I felt toward him.

After promising Grandmother I wouldn’t get lost, I headed outside. I made a circle of the house, awed by the expanse of lawn and even more, the tall trees. I found the herb garden, which fit neatly into the L-shape created by the main house and back wing. The brush of my fingers against the plants shook loose a dozen delicious smells. When I exited through the picket gate, I saw what appeared to be another garden, surrounded by a red brick wall with creamy roses tumbling over it. I hadn’t noticed it when Ginny drove in, for it was on the far side of the circular drive and I had been focusing on the house. Curious, I strode toward it.

As I got closer, I could see that it was a cemetery, probably a family burial plot. I opened the wrought-iron gate and stepped inside. Some of the gravestones were extremely old, round-shouldered, and leaning forward as if they were tired, their names and dates no longer readable.

There were new markers made of shiny granite and I walked over to look at them.

Thomas Barnes, I read. My mother’s father. I touched his stone lightly, then turned to the marker next to his. It was fancier, with roses carved into it. Avril Scarborough. The name echoed in my mind, as if someone had spoken it from the end of a very long hall. I read her dates, then drew back. I did the math again: She was just sixteen when she died-she was my age.

The grave gave me an eerie feeling. I didn’t want to touch her stone. I turned, suddenly compelled to get out of there.

As I left I glanced toward the house. The lowering sun flared off the panes of glass; still, I noticed it, the movement of someone stepping back from a second-floor window, as if trying not to be seen. After a moment I realized the person had been watching me from my bedroom. I walked quickly toward the house, but the reflected light made it impossible to see in.

A vague uneasiness seeped into me. Since my arrival, neither Grandmother nor Matt seemed interested in getting to know me. But obviously, someone was interested enough to keep an eye on me.

I returned to the house forty minutes later, feeling a million times better, full of the clear blue and gold light of the river and setting sun. I entered by way of the herb garden, walking up onto a covered porch and opening a door that led into the back hall. The small hall, which ran under the stairs, connected the back wing with the center hall of the main house. It had service doors to the dining room and library, and steps leading down to the back wing.