Under the Hill(7)

Bewildered, Abby nodded. She sank back into the chair. Ned disappeared toward the kitchen, and she could hear the sound of water filling a kettle, the clink of china, a refrigerator opening and closing. She closed her eyes and made a conscious effort to relax. What on earth had happened? And then the memory came back. She shut her eyes: to remember it better or to blot it out? She wasn’t sure.

She opened them again when Ned reappeared with a silver-plated tray bearing a teapot in a tattered cozy, two cups, a sugar bowl, a milk pitcher, spoons, and a delicate flowered china plate with some store-bought sugar cookies. He set it down on a low table next to Abby’s chair, then took the chair on the other side of the table. Leaning forward, he studied her face.

“All right, now. I wish I could say you were looking better, but you’re white as a sheet.”

Abby stared at him for a moment, and then to her horror she burst into tears. Even as she attempted to control her sobs, she felt a moment of pity for poor Ned, stuck with this dripping female that she didn’t even recognize as herself. He was trying so hard to be helpful, and she just kept making things worse. Wordlessly he handed her a small napkin from the tea tray, then sat back to wait out the storm. Finally, Abby swallowed a few times, blotted her eyes, and ventured a watery smile.

“I’m sorry. This is so not like me. But . . .” She hesitated, afraid that if she went on, he would think she was loony. Oh, well, what the heck—she didn’t have anything to lose. “When I walked into the dining room, something weird happened. It was like I was watching a film of people in that room, except . . . they weren’t real. They weren’t there, were they?”

She looked at Ned to see how he was taking her odd statement. He didn’t look contemptuous. In fact, he looked curious.

“Interesting. Was there something that triggered it, or did it just start up out of nowhere?”

She gave an inward sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to laugh at her. “All I know is, one moment I was about to walk into the dining room, and the next minute I was watching some kind of melodrama. There were three people there, and one of them—the one I was seeing through or something—was holding a baby, and they were all upset. Well, not the baby, but the others were.”

“Did you recognize anyone?” Ned asked, concentrating on pouring two cups of tea. “Sugar?”

“And milk, please. No. They were dressed like people were a hundred or more years ago. Is that part of the house tour? Some hidden projector shows you what life used to be like in the house?” That would be such an easy solution—but it hadn’t felt like that. She accepted the cup of tea that he held out to her, and when she took it, she realized her hands were trembling. She tightened her grip on the cup and sipped cautiously. It was hot and delicious. “Is this Darjeeling?”

He nodded.

“It’s good.” Now that Abby was feeling almost normal, she was beginning to wonder about this man. “Don’t you have to watch the door or something? And how come you know where all the tea things are? Do you live here?”

Ned laughed. “It’s okay. It’s nearly time to close up, and I doubt that anyone else is going to show up today. Saturday’s usually the big day. Anyway, I’ve done this for a couple of years, so I know the house. Actually, no one lives in it these days—it belongs to the private school next door, and they use it for functions, entertaining, and such, so they keep it stocked with basic supplies. Not that I’ve ever had to deal with a problem like yours until now, but I’m glad that I was prepared. Tea and sugar make most problems better, don’t you think?”

He has a nice smile, Abby thought.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked again.

“I’m fine. I probably tried to do too much today, and it caught up with me. I’m just embarrassed about causing you so much trouble.” She sipped again at her tea, at a loss for words.

“Well, don’t hurry. We can sit here until you’re sure you’re all right. Do you live around here?”

“I just moved to Waltham last month, and I read about the house tours, and I thought it would be nice to see some of the big old places like this. They’re beautiful.”

“They are grand, aren’t they? This city’s had its ups and downs—there was a lot of industry here in the nineteenth century. Watchmaking, mostly. You’ve heard of the Waltham Watch Company? This was the place. You saw the Paine house? A lot of that was built by H. H. Richardson, and Frederick Law Olmsted designed the grounds. You know—Richardson’s the one who designed Trinity Church in Boston, and Olmsted laid out Central Park in New York.” He looked at her expectantly, and Abby wondered if she was supposed to know what he was talking about.

“Yes, I started with the Paine house today. It’s gorgeous. But I guess I didn’t do all my homework. You certainly seem to know a lot about the houses. Are you from around here?”

“More or less. I work in Lexington, and I’ve lived in the area for most of my life.”

“What do you do?” Not an original question, but it was the best Abby could do.

“I work for a company that does DNA analyses—that’s my day job. But my avocation is historic architecture, and New England history. That’s why I help with the house tours, things like that. It means I get to see more of the behind-the-scenes stuff than I would if I was just a visitor. You know—attics, basements. The bones of the old houses.”