The House Of Secrets. Elizabeth Blackwell
to speak. “Well, if that’s it…” But she wasn’t ready to leave. She needed more time here, time to savor the atmosphere of this magical place.
“When was the house built?” Alissa asked.
“It’s more than a hundred years old—1904, I think. It was built for a young married couple.” Elaine smiled, continuing in a softer tone, “It’s actually a very romantic story.”
Alissa kept her eyes focused on Elaine, ignoring Brad’s impatient sigh.
“You’ve heard of the Brewsters?” Elaine asked, leading them out the front door. The late-afternoon sun sent their shadows sprawling down the wide steps and circular gravel driveway. Alissa shook her head.
“There aren’t any left, at least around here, but they used to be the richest family in the area,” Elaine said. “Made their money in shipping. Do you know Brewster Street near the harbor in Baltimore?”
Alissa nodded. “Yes, my dentist’s office is there.”
“That street was named for them,” said Elaine. “Sometime in the mid-nineteenth century, the family built an enormous country estate, which became their main residence. The city was filthy back then, and the air was supposed to be healthier out here. Which it still is, no doubt!”
Brad nodded politely, but Alissa could tell he was anxious to speed things along.
“So, is this where the family lived?” she asked.
“Oh, no. They had a far grander home about half a mile that way.” Elaine gestured beyond the backyard. “It was one of those sprawling Gothic manors that seem to stretch on for miles. It was demolished in the sixties to make room for the highway. A tragic architectural loss, but the house was completely impractical for modern families.”
Elaine paused, then gestured back toward the existing house’s facade. “This was built for Mr. Charles Brewster, the eldest son of Edward Brewster, who built the original estate. Edward had three children, and homes were to be built for each of them on the property once they were married. Charles was one of the wealthiest, most eligible bachelors in the county. But when it came time to get married, he chose the daughter of his mother’s dressmaker. It was quite the scandal.”
“She must have been very special,” Alissa said.
“Her name was Evelyn,” Elaine continued. “Apparently she was very lovely. Educated as well, which was unusual for someone from a working-class family. Charles’s mother fought the match, but they were simply too much in love. It was a whirlwind courtship, and Charles had workers here day and night to finish the house for his bride. I’ve always thought of this place as his wedding gift to her.”
“And they lived happily ever after, right?” Alissa said.
Elaine shook her head quickly. “I’m afraid not. Charles died only a year later, and Evelyn moved away. The memories were simply too painful. The house eventually passed out of the family. For the past thirty years or so, it’s been owned by Mrs. Foster, who lived here first with her husband, then, when he died, with her sister. After a while, though, it became too much to keep up on their own. A house like this needs a fair bit of maintenance.”
From what Alissa could see, the two sisters hadn’t been able to keep up with the house for some time.
“How long has the house been empty?” Brad asked.
Elaine adjusted her necklace, avoiding his eyes. “A few years.”
“How many, exactly?”
“Oh, about three.”
“And it’s been on the market since then?” Brad asked. This, he seemed to imply, was the kiss of death for real estate.
“Oh, off and on,” Elaine said vaguely. “The family considered renovating, then thought they’d try to find a buyer as is—so many people prefer to do their own updating. There have been some offers, mostly from developers looking to tear it down. The family would prefer to see the home remain intact, so they’re waiting for that special person who sees its potential.” She gave Alissa a hopeful smile.
“Well, thank you for showing us around,” said Brad, reaching out to shake Elaine’s hand. “We’ve got your card if we have any questions.” He walked swiftly down the steps and started along the driveway.
Alissa hung back. “You didn’t tell us the price,” she reminded the Realtor.
Elaine smiled. “Well, as I said, the family is looking for someone who appreciates the historic nature of the home. For the right person, I believe they’d be willing to be flexible.” She named a figure so absurdly low—a number not much higher than the price Alissa had paid for her condo a few years before—that Alissa let out a shocked laugh.
“You’re kidding,” she said.
Elaine lowered her voice and leaned in closer. “This isn’t an easy house to sell,” she confided. “The family doesn’t need the money. If they did, they would’ve sold to the developers. They have a sentimental attachment to the house, and I know they’re happy to make accommodations for someone who truly cares for the place.”
Alissa glanced at Brad, who was already standing by the gate at the end of the long driveway. He jingled his car keys impatiently.
“Thank you,” Alissa said, shaking Elaine’s hand. “It’s a wonderful house.”
“It’s just waiting for a nice young family,” Elaine said with a wink.
“Oh, we’re not married,” Alissa protested. For years, she had halfheartedly daydreamed about standing at an altar, saying “I do” to Brad. Those fantasies had gradually faded.
“So sorry,” Elaine said with the practiced grace of someone used to extracting herself from awkward situations. “Well, I can see you’re in a hurry. Do call if you have any questions.”
“Yes, I will.” Alissa scurried down the driveway and nudged Brad forward with one hand. “Okay, we can go now.”
As they drove off, Alissa stole one last glimpse at what she already thought of as the Brewster house. She imagined herself as a young bride, being carried over the threshold by a man who had risked everything to marry her. Their house must have been a refuge from a disapproving world. What would it be like to be so in love that you were willing to defy your family and break all the rules?
Alissa had always had an active imagination. It was the key to her professional success. Being an interior designer took more than sorting through paint chips and fabric samples; it took a talent for envisioning a space as it should be, not as it was, then convincing clients that she could make it happen. As soon as she was old enough to hold a paintbrush, Alissa had begged her mother to let her paint her room. By her teens, she was sewing slip-covers for the living-room furniture and making her own bedspreads. Bringing the Brewster house back to life would be the ultimate test of her talent.
Brad eyed her from the driver’s seat. “That place looked cool from the outside, but c’mon—it was a dump.”
Alissa felt her shoulders tense. “It just needs some work,” she said.
“And you think you can save it?” Brad asked. “You’d go bankrupt.”
“There’s the money from my mom…” Alissa began, then stopped. The money her mother had left when she died of cancer a year ago, which she’d told Alissa to use to “follow her dreams.” Alissa had assumed she’d put it toward a wedding, a fairy-tale affair so magical it might make up for her mother’s absence. Clearly that wasn’t likely now, given the state of her relationship with Brad. Had her mother hoped for something else?
“Besides,” Alissa continued after a moment, “wanna guess the asking price?”
Brad perked up with surprise when she told him.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Alissa