Spring House

by Mary Ellen Taylor

All houses are haunted. All persons are haunted. Throngs of spirits follow us everywhere. We are never alone. —Barney Sarecky

How many times had the two of them sat here over the years, mourning the loss of one of their own? Like her, Samuel surely must feel closer to the dead now than to the living.

the weather and ocean gave as easily as they took.

The veil separating her from death was so painfully thin now that spirits were just as easy to see as the living.

Though he could not have been much older than Scott, he seemed to carry the burden of Atlas on his shoulders.

Samuel drew in a breath and nodded. If Samuel and she understood any truth, it was the power of unfinished business and secrets, which anchored the living as well as the dead.

Victoria had given birth to a son at Winter Cottage, and Claire had turned the child, Samuel, over to the Jessups. Claire had been nearly one hundred years old when she made the tape and had no reason to lie.

She was not going backward. She couldn’t. As much as the future scared her, her past was too painful and filled with disappointments to revisit.

“Jemma and Sarah are going to live with cousins. I’m going with the Buchanan family, and you’re going to live with the LeBlanc family. The boys are going to move in with the Jessup family.”

Promises are like butterflies. Beautiful. Colorful. Easily crushed and broken.

We are rich in each other.

Promises are like butterflies. Beautiful. Colorful. Easily crushed and broken.

There was so much goodness crammed into this moment that she wished some of it could be saved, wrapped up, and parceled out later when her spirits were low.