Gypsy of Spirits: Prequel to So Fell the Sparrow (5 page)

Grace glared at the front door where Nellie had left, shaking her head. No way she’d have a bed by nightfall. Much less sheets, blankets, and food.

“Better look up the hotel,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her cell phone from her purse.

She made her way into the kitchen and felt behind the fridge for the cord, figuring she may as well plug it in—if the electricity was even turned on.

It hummed to life as power shot through it, and she reached over to turn on the kitchen light. A pale-yellow glow filled the kitchen as she stared down at her phone. When she realized the battery had died, she slapped the device onto the kitchen island and laughed bitterly.

Of course. Why shouldn’t her cell be dead? Everything else in her life was a mess.

It was like they always said—when it rains, it pours. And she had her own personal storm cloud.

THE SELF-ABSORBED AND
distrustful nature of city dwellers had long since hardened Grace’s outlook on humanity. However, she couldn’t deny that the people of Mad Rock Harbor came through for her.

Nellie had dragged Johnny Hayes from his well-worn sofa at home and persuaded him to call up his three best employees to help haul an antique, wrought iron bed frame, mattress, and an oak dining table set over to The Sparrow House. Then she’d rallied together a few of the neighborhood wives to contribute linens, cookware, plates, and food, which they brought over in waves of welcoming smiles, chenille sweaters, and flowery perfume. One of them had brought over a bottle of Merlot to Grace’s enormous relief. After the day she’d had, she desperately needed a drink.

“There.” Nellie beamed as she laid the last casserole dish in the fridge, labeled with baking instructions on the lid. She faced Grace with a pleased smile. “See? Didn’t I tell you I’d get you what you needed?”

“Thanks.” Grace nodded absently, uncorking the Merlot. She fought back a tired yawn as she poured herself a glass.

Nellie looked around the room as if to assure herself she hadn’t forgotten anything. “Think nothing of it, child. Now, you get some rest in that nice new bed of yours, and I’ll be by to see you tomorrow.”

Grace leaned against the counter, wine glass in hand. “Let me know what I owe you for the bed and the table.”

Nellie waved off the comment. “Consider it a welcome home gift.”

Grace chewed on the word ‘home’ for a second, wondering why it irritated her. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“Shut your mouth and accept the gift,” Nellie stated flatly, eyes bright with humor. “See you tomorrow.”

Sipping her wine, Grace watched Nellie turn to leave. The woman paused in the doorway, facing Grace one last time. “Welcome to The Sparrow House, Grace. You’re going to love it here.”

Grace held onto the words as Nellie left, an odd feeling settling over her. She drank more wine and closed her eyes, more tired than she had ever been. Even long hours at the hospital didn’t compare to the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion that plagued her.

It wasn’t just physical but emotional. Her soul was lonely, her mood dark. It grated against her insides and crept into the recesses of her mind, burrowing to fester like a disease.

Depression
was
a disease. One that she’d never experienced before. She regretted all those times she’d tried pathetically to talk others out of depression. It wasn’t something you could switch off. It was
internal
. It was a part of her now.

Much like the house was now a part of her. She knew she should just put it on the market, take the money, and go vacation in the south of France. That’s what the old Grace would have done. Before
it
happened.

Now everything had changed. What would she do with the house if not sell it?

Never had her future looked so out of focus. Never had she felt lost in her own skin, unable to find her purpose. How could life go on from here? How could she cope with the mortifying blow that life had dealt her?

Her eyes stung as she imagined her father’s face, laughter lines fanning out from his brilliant blue eyes. He had been her rock, her protector, and her hero, all wrapped into one. By far the greatest man she had ever known.

She could almost picture him, walking toward her in the kitchen of The Sparrow House with a good-humored smile, salt and pepper hair neatly combed. He would reach out and cup her face in his gentle, comforting hand, and tell her she would be okay. Tell her the world wasn’t so bad, that it wasn’t actually out to get her.

If only he’d known he would be taken from her so violently, so pointlessly, in the blink of an eye. Maybe then he would have realized that the world is bad, and that it was always out to get everyone. That was just how it worked. That was life.

Feeling bitter, she downed the last of her wine. She grabbed the bottle and stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, furious at the tears that burned in her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was cry. She knew once she got started, she’d be unable to stop.

She tore into the master bedroom, ignoring her new wrought iron bed. Instead of choosing the comfort of fresh blankets and pillows, she stumbled into the corner of the room and collapsed onto the floor. Setting aside the wine, she pulled her knees up tight against her chest. Her body trembled as she wrestled with her grief, unwilling to let it win.

Moonlight crept in through the window, casting strange shadows along the wood floor. Her cello lay in its case in the corner, neglected. Since the accident, she hadn’t been able to play. It reminded her too much of what she had lost.

Outside, she could hear nothing. Silence. It was such a cold, lonely contrast to the city that had been her home all her life.

At that moment, Grace had the harsh realization that coming to Mad Rock Harbor was a grave and terrible mistake. If she had thought she’d find comfort, she was wrong.

She only felt haunted.

THE SPARROWS WOKE
her. They danced and sang in the trees outside her window, cheerful despite the gloomy fog that spread with greedy fingers over the town.

Grace opened her eyes, only to shut them again and wince as pain pounded in her head. She groaned, regretting polishing off the bottle of wine the night before. It had been stupid,
really
stupid, but she’d been in too desperate a mood to do anything else. Alcohol had never been a crutch for her. Then again, her parents hadn’t been dead before. Things were different now.
She
was different now.

With a groan, she sat up from where she’d fallen asleep on the floor, her mood sour. She glared out the window at the trees, irritated with the birds. What right did they have to be so chipper?

She rose unsteadily to her feet and grabbed the wine bottle, taking it with her as she made her way downstairs. In the kitchen, she unearthed a mug and loaded the coffee maker Nellie had brought by the night before. Once it was brewing, she leaned against the counter and shut her eyes.

Her entire body ached from sleeping on the floor, and she knew she’d have to hunt down her Excedrin once she had something to eat. She also needed a shower and desperately needed to shave her legs. Thankfully, Nellie confirmed to her that the bathroom upstairs was updated with modern fixtures and that everything worked. Otherwise, she’d be hightailing it over to the hotel after all.

Dealing with no furniture was one thing. Living without decent plumbing was another.

The second there was enough coffee to fill the mug she poured it, not even bothering with sugar or creamer. She sipped at the piping hot liquid and left the kitchen, heading to the living room windows that faced the harbor.

The fog hindered her visibility, though she found its presence soothing. It was dark and dreary and just a little sinister, which suited her mood perfectly.

Blue skies and sunshine were for happy people. She wasn’t a happy person.

On impulse, she stepped out the French doors onto the back porch, breathing in the cool scent of the sea. Through the haze she watched a pair of small boats coast by through the water, too far away to notice her yet close enough that she could hear their engines groaning and the men talking.

Save for that sound and the birds flirting in the large, leafless elms scattered on the property, the world around her was eerily quiet. The wind whistled in from the ocean and shivered along her skin.

Her eyes fell upon the lonely dock, hovering in the water down the embankment about twenty yards from the house. She lost herself in thought as she stared at it, unable to look away. Something about the dock disturbed her though she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was probably just the hangover.

Rolling her shoulders to shake off the bad vibe, she wandered back inside. She polished off her first mug of coffee and went to the kitchen to pour another, taking it with her as she began to explore the rest of the house, starting with the upstairs. She hadn’t had much time to do so the night before, not with all the people who suddenly came by and the movers bringing in the furniture.

She found four bedrooms upstairs, one of them slightly larger than the rest. At some point it was decided the bed would go there so she assumed that would be her room for the time being. Not like she could move the bed herself even if she wanted to.

The other three were hollow and vacant, lifeless without even curtains or wallpaper. Part of her wondered if children had once lived in the house, but she shrugged off the thought. What difference did it make?

The bathroom upstairs was small and practical, with a clawfoot tub fitted with a shower head on the wall and surrounded by a gauzy curtain. A toilet and pedestal sink flanked the opposite wall, with a mirrored medicine cabinet built in over the sink. She eyed the tub wistfully before making her way back downstairs, pausing as she stepped into the entryway.

On the wall below the stairwell was a small door she hadn’t noticed the night before. She approached it, brow creased with both curiosity and confusion. Before her hand could grasp the door knob, she froze.

A wave of nausea swept over her, bright and dizzying. Grace frowned, shaking her head to try and clear the sudden and unusual feelings from her system.

Another side effect of the wine, she concluded as she grabbed the knob and pulled the door open. She stared into a darkened stairwell that led down to the basement, irritated that her hands were shaking.

God, she hadn’t had
that
much to drink. She was likely dehydrated and still worn out from the drive. That kind of combination could illicit such symptoms in a person.

Ignoring the feelings, she began to climb down the steps, her hand trailing along the wall searching for a light switch. She found one at the bottom, attached to an electrical box that must have been installed long after the house was built. She flipped it and a single incandescent bulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling burst to life.

What she saw had her eyes widening.

The room was spacious but musty with concrete block walls and a hard-packed dirt floor. Sheets white as snow covered large mounds stacked together in the center of the room with cardboard boxes and a trunk stored along the far wall.

Grace didn’t hesitate as she rushed forward and slid the sheet off the closest mound, revealing a beautiful, handcrafted wood loveseat with royal blue upholstery.