In the Shadow of Lakecrest

by Elizabeth Blackwell

a violent blast of heat, and turrets and walls and paintings crumbled around me. Lakecrest was dying, and I was content to see it burn. I woke into that eerie uncertainty when a dream feels as real as a memory. I could make out the usual shapes from my bed: the bureau against the wall, the arched entrance to the bathroom. There was no smell of smoke, no sound other than my husband Matthew’s