Flint House

By Nancetta Liles

An epic haunted house novel that puts the reader’s nerves on edge while telling an all too human story of need, love and haunting history. Rhian Montrose travels to the mountains of Western North Carolina to care for a mentally ill woman living in a home built by her family in the late 1700’s. Rhian’s catatonic charge is only one of the residents in Flint House. Others are quietly walking the mansion’s halls looking for an understanding of their lives as slaves serving a cruel master. Wrought with fear and a desire for revenge, Flint House lives beyond the final page for those who read it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancetta Liles
• Release date: Nov 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452409252

Nancetta Liles

Flint House is my first published book.I drew upon many of my life experiences to write the book, and thank all of those who supported me during the process.

Book preview

We’ve all heard those strange sounds that come in the middle of the night, usually when it’s late and we are all alone. Creaking floors, muffled voices, the high-pitched sound of childish laughter—but we know that no one is there. Perhaps it’s just the house settling or the wind whipping around its corners. I’ve lived in such houses. But there are houses where every one of your senses feels the rips and tears in the ethereal veil that separates us from those who have lived before. I know of such a place.

Flint House commanded a prominence in the foothills overlooking Asheville. Massive and imposing, you could see it through breaks in the trees long before arriving at its main gates, and from any vantage point, it drew your eye to its cold and ancient stone. Built in the late eighteenth century, it had grown in size, style, and stature as successive generations of family endowed it with their own tasteful additions and retrofits so that it evolved as a living portrait of all who had inhabited its walls. Slowly, as the decades wore on and the manicured grounds matured, the estate seemed not to be constructed in the mountains, but more perceptibly of the mountains—its facade now aged to blend with the escarpment behind and above it, lichens splotched on the weathered limestone blocks and thick vines of ivy framed its corners. Flint House belonged here and nowhere else.

Only as I finally entered the main drive did I consider that this manor, surely one of the grandest homes ever built in the most unlikely of places, had somehow escaped the tourist guides that touted the sites of North Carolina. In any event, it wasn’t open for public viewing and its well-to-do residents had long since withdrawn from any visible role in the social activities of the community. Flint House was a private residence, talked about by the locals who viewed it from afar with a mixture of pride, suspicion and curiosity, but few found either cause or opportunity for closer inspection.

As for me, I hadn’t known such a place existed until three days before I arrived to care for its peculiar mistress.

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Chapter Two

Dr. Trembley called me into his office early Monday morning and managed to see me promptly despite the fact he had a preexisting appointment with a psychiatric patient. It wouldn’t take long, he told me, and he promised his waiting patient that he anticipated there would be no more than a ten-minute delay. I took a seat opposite his desk in the now-familiar office and he came right to the point. He’d recommended me for employment with an influential family in North Carolina. I was told the work wouldn’t be physically taxing and the position would provide me with a lovely place to live while I reinserted myself back into everyday life. He said there was a young woman in the house who required twenty-four-hour care although she was attended by nurses for most of the day. The woman, unfortunately, was completely withdrawn from reality, unresponsive to nearly all outside stimuli, and spent her days sitting in a chair or lying in bed. My job would be to oversee her caretakers and the staff that managed the house.

Initially I replied that I was very hesitant about moving away from Charleston. It had been my home for the better part of my life and I so loved its old-world charm and Southern gentility. But my circumstances had changed dramatically in recent months and, upon further reflection and gentle encouragement from Dr. Trembley, I found myself warming to the idea. We agreed it was best for me to pursue a bold new direction. I no longer had any family ties holding me to Charleston, having lost my devoted Aunt Beth some four years earlier, and certainly the events of the past several months left me feeling estranged in a town that now seemed clannish and hostile. My once-promising career was in shambles, and the professional acquaintances I’d foolishly mistaken as friends had completely disappeared. The only person remaining for me in Charleston was my oldest and truest friend, Janet Kusak, though I had grown to believe that even she could not long endure the attention I’d demanded of late. Yes, I had to find a new home and a job, and I needed to somehow build a new life. The further away from Charleston I ventured, perhaps the easier it would be to forget the events that brought me into Dr. Trembley’s care.

So it was that I met with Meredith Chastain the following Wednesday at the restaurant 82 Queen. Entering through the garden gate and strolling along the quaint, brick path between the restaurant’s two adjacent buildings, I felt exposed to the glare and scrutiny of diners. I was meeting a woman I didn’t know, but I was mindful that she’d probably heard a good deal about me from the local gossips and was perhaps already predisposed to having an opinion I might have scant hope of changing. I was nervous.

I am joining Meredith Chastain for lunch. The maitre d’ smiled politely and asked me to follow him down the path out to the courtyard. It was charming. Tables covered with lace tablecloths were arrayed around a large tree that stood in the center of the courtyard. Patrons chatted as they sipped from crystal wine glasses and ate elegantly presented meals upon delicate china plates. On the far side of the tree, at the end of the courtyard, were four tables set a bit apart from the others. Two smartly dressed women occupied one where they’d used a vacant chair to hold several shopping bags. Two tables were unoccupied. At the fourth table sat a tall, thin woman who appeared to be in her mid to late sixties. She was dressed very stylishly in a sea-green dress of soft silk. As I approached, she put down her cigarette, stood up, and held out her hand. You must be Miss Montrose, she said with a lovely Charlestonian accent. And you appear just as I imagined!

I took a deep breath, wondering what she meant by that comment and yet quickly deciding not to pursue it. Extending my own hand, Yes, I’m Rhian Montrose. Please call me Rhian. And you must be Mrs. Chastain.

Yes, indeed I am. Please, dear, have a seat. Why don’t you look over the menu while we chat. It’s getting rather late in the day, so you must be hungry. I know I am.

I took the large menu offered to me by the maitre d’. Your server will be right over, the young man smiled as he backed away from the table and then turned to cross the courtyard.

Have you been here before? Mrs. Chastain asked.

No. I haven’t.

The food is wonderful. I highly recommend the she-crab soup. It’s one of their specialties.

Thank you, but I’m a vegetarian. Why did I always feel so embarrassed to say that?

Then let me suggest a delightful alternative. They have fried green tomato sandwiches that are simply wonderful.

What a relief. She didn’t comment on the vegetarian diet. That sounds terrific and that’s exactly what I will have.

Mrs. Chastain raised a thin index finger in the air without looking to see if anyone was paying attention and motioned towards our table. Immediately, a small young woman appeared. My guest would like to try your fried green tomato sandwich. Then to me, What would you like to drink, dear?

I looked from her to the server. Water is fine.

Yes ma’am. I will put that with your order, Mrs. Chastain. She smiled and moved away from the table.

Mrs. Chastain turned her attentions to me. She crossed her thin arms and rested them on the table. She wore a large diamond ring over what appeared to be a wedding band on her left ring finger. You come to me highly recommended by Dr. Trembley whom I have known for many years. He tells me that you are looking for a home and a job. He also tells me that you are no longer under his direct care.

Yes. That is true. Did he tell you the nature of my illness?

He informed me that your condition was not physical in nature and not debilitating, if that’s what you mean.

Yes, I answered awkwardly. That is what I meant.

Well, how do you think you are doing now? Do you feel fully recovered?

I believe I am fine. I am concerned about not having employment or a place to live, but I feel confident that I am ready to face the world head on. Did Dr. Trembley tell you anything else about me?

Well, of course he provided me with your resume, which I assume you gave him to pass on to me. After a thoughtful pause, she continued. As for your time spent in his care, I assure you that he honored your doctor/patient confidentiality. Now if you are referring to what precipitated your treatment, I will tell you that I read about it in the paper. I don’t mean to alarm you, but your departure from your former job received a bit of publicity. Dr. Trembley simply told me you were under a lot of stress and it finally got the better of you. From what I read, I believe I can understand. It must be unbearable to work so hard and receive horrible and unjust criticism while devoting yourself completely to something you believe in. She paused briefly and smiled. Dr. Trembley assured me that you are a very dedicated woman, Miss Montrose. That is why he suggested you to care for my niece. With all of the misguided controversy surrounding Safe Haven, it was obvious to many of us that the organization was under attack by social pariahs who have nothing better to do with their time than to destroy the efforts of others.

I felt a wave of shock and relief. Safe Haven was my proudest accomplishment. It was a charitable organization dedicated to the care and rehabilitation of battered women and their children. I had taken a heartfelt dream shared by three generous people and breathed life into a center that housed and cared for more than two hundred women and children in its first year. Having my policies publicly questioned and my integrity attacked by unqualified critics had driven me to the edge of madness.

For more than two months I lived in a psychiatric ward attempting to deal with the accusations and hatred I was sure awaited me outside the walls of the institution. But on this day, the day I was released from care, Meredith Chastain was expressing understanding. Her words caused such a sensation within me that I swallowed hard to ward off a flow of tears. She must have caught the struggle in my facial expression. Her tone was sympathetic, Don’t feel so shocked. I, too, have suffered attacks of rage. I just didn’t do it in front of television cameras. She gave a playful wink and smiled. Now, let me tell you about my niece and what will be expected of you. Gloria suffers from catatonic schizophrenia. Are you familiar with the condition?

I have a vague recollection from college psychology.

"It is a highly unusual condition. We aren’t exactly sure what causes it, but she has been like this since she was sixteen years old. For more than fifteen years now she has stared into space without uttering a word. She has what her doctors call waxy flexibility. You place her in a position and she stays there. Now and then she will voluntarily assume some appropriate or even bizarre posture, but that is extremely rare. She will eat when spoon-fed and her bathroom habits are controlled by placing her on a toilet. We can only assume that on some level she understands what is going on around her. So I want her to be treated kindly and with respect, but the truth is that she shouldn’t be any trouble for you at all. You will supervise morning and evening nurses who see to her needs, but unless you require them, there will be no one with her at night. Does any of this bother you?"

No, it doesn’t bother me in the least. I would like to read more about the condition....

My sentence was cut short. There will be no need for you to study the condition, Miss Montrose. I was alarmed by the harsh and scolding sound of her voice. Gloria has been seen by the very best physicians. Your job wouldn’t be to cure her, but to see to it that she continues to receive the best of care. Do you understand?

Yes. I didn’t mean to imply that I would attempt to treat her. I just wish to have a better understanding.

The young server placed a large serving tray on an empty table beside us and began putting our lunch before us. Her timing was perfect. Things had been moving along so well, the sudden tension in Mrs. Chastain’s voice was unsettling.

Will there be anything else right now? questioned the server.

No dear. We’ll summon you if we need you. With a nod, the older woman dismissed the girl. Her voice had softened back into the slow southern drawl, and her directions were clear. The young server was not to disturb us again until she was needed, and Mrs. Chastain would tell her when she was needed. I was impressed.

As she picked up her soup spoon, she began to speak to me. Her tone was sweet and pleasant. Understanding will come naturally. You will have enough on your hands caring for the household and supervising Gloria’s care. I understand you wish to write a book on business practices. Is that correct?

Yes.

This would be a great opportunity for you. You will have a capable staff that is already familiar with the house, my niece, and all of the duties assigned to them. The bulk of your work is making sure things are running smoothly—which they most assuredly will. With that she smiled and began describing the house. It has been regularly updated throughout the years, but it is quite old. My sister had the kitchen and most of the baths remodeled the year before the incident that claimed her and Gloria’s father. As with most big old houses in the South, the decor is both old and ageless. You are allowed to make changes that suit your comfort, but it will be necessary for you to make a formal requisition to the estate for unscheduled expenditures exceeding $2,000 in any given month. You will not be expected to deal with staff salaries or any bookkeeping duties, but you will be asked to evaluate staff work performances on the anniversaries of their hires. It isn’t very formal, simply a phone call from the attorney the week before the anniversary date of the employee in question. I think you can handle that quite well. Her instructions continued in an uninterrupted flow until she finally sighed and sat back in her chair. You are only my second interview for the position, Miss Montrose. And you are my last. Can you meet me at the house tomorrow at three?

I was thrilled. Yes, of course.

If you can prepare yourself in time, then we can get you moved in and settled by tomorrow.

I will get my things together this evening and be ready for the move.Wonderful. Of course your benefit package includes the usual—health, dental, life insurance, vacations. You will be compensated in respect to holidays, but it will be necessary for most of your holidays to be spent in the house. You are welcome to receive family and friends as if the house was your own, but you will need to be there for holidays.

That isn’t a problem. I was an only child and my parents are no longer living. I will enjoy spending those days caring for your niece.

Excellent. I believe you will find that your salary is quite generous and you’ll be entitled to special bonuses, as well. I'll have the accountant sit down with you tomorrow evening to discuss the details. And, of course, the house is completely at your disposal as if it were your own. You will occupy the master suite as your personal room. Gloria uses the same room she had as a child. The doctors feel the familiarity is important. You are to call me immediately if these arrangements prove unsatisfactory to you. All right?

Yes. Thank you.

Good. Now let’s eat our lunch. How do you like that sandwich?

It wasn’t until I was in my car heading for the home of my friend Janet that I realized Meredith Chastain had never asked me if I wanted the job. She just assigned it to me. I made a mental note to remember her delivery and command of the interview, thinking I might want to work it into my proposed book.

Janet always worked at home on Wednesdays. I burst into the house through the kitchen door screaming, I got the job! She rushed into the kitchen to meet me as I danced in the open doorway.

That’s great. She hugged me tightly then playfully pushed me away. Tell me all about it. What happened? When do you start? Come on! ‘Fess up!

Well, we had lunch..., Janet interrupted as I began to speak.

Don’t you just love that restaurant? Start from the beginning. What did you have?

Screw the restaurant. I got a job! And I had the fried green tomato sandwich.

Screw you, she joked back. You go to a fine restaurant on some rich person’s tab and you eat unripe tomatoes? Haven’t I taught you anything? Did you see any ghosts?

The sandwich was good—I think. I really don’t remember. I was so taken aback by the job offer. And Mrs. Chastain. She’s pretty nice, and interesting. What ghosts? What are you talking about?

When you have as much money as that woman has, it is easy to be nice. And, yeah, both of those old houses that make up the restaurant are haunted.

"Well, she’s also quite sharp. You wouldn’t believe how easily she takes over a situation. And I thought I was good!

So, when do you start?

That’s the bizarre part. I start tomorrow. Think you can help me load my car with all my worldly goods?

Sure, sit right here and I’ll go get your sweater and sunglasses. Oh wait. You’ve already packed your sunglasses! I’ll be back in a sec with your sweater. Janet was playfully referring to my limited assets.

Smartass! Seriously, I want to pack up right away so I can just get up tomorrow morning, shower, and hit the road. I don’t want to be late.

No problem. Except for the clothes in your room, your things are still in boxes in the garage. Come on and we’ll knock it out now. I’ve just finished a load of wash so we can pack your suitcase in no time at all. Then you have to get serious and tell me everything. We hugged again before linking arms and heading out to the garage.

That night, Janet and I talked for hours about what this job could mean for me. She expressed pleasure in my enthusiasm. She assured me that my work with Safe Haven would one day be recognized for what it truly was. We laughed and I cried. Janet had been my best friend since my first day of school after my mother and I moved to Charleston to live with Aunt Beth. I was nine years old and Janet was ten. Although she was one grade ahead of me, we became inseparable. She never abandoned me or stopped coming to my home during my mother’s illness and death. It never bothered her that I was a bit of a misfit in school. She was always close by to give me a hug or make me smile.

Janet was the one friend who stood by me through the Safe Haven ordeal and my accompanying mental collapse. On this Wednesday night before my move to North Carolina, Janet and I sat on the floor of her living room until the wee hours of the morning and rejoiced at my new beginning. I felt as if the story of my life was starting all over with a crisp new page.

I woke up three minutes before the alarm was set to go off. Janet had given me an old pair of her pajamas to sleep in so that I could pack up everything except for the clothes I would wear on the drive. The excitement had turned to panic. It came to me that I was leaving behind the remaining love and familiarity I still possessed. Completely aware of just how great those comforts were, I was determined not to show my anxiety to Janet.

She was waiting in the kitchen when I came downstairs with my makeup bag in hand. I know you want to get on the road, but you have time for a cup of coffee and a bagel.

Reluctantly, I sat down at the white kitchen table and watched my sweet friend spread butter on a warm bagel and place it before me as if she were an adoring mother preparing her small child for the first day of school. Eat up.

I put the coffee cup to my lips and sipped it as my eyes took in the room. I was afraid. This home of my best friend felt safe. She was the only person in my life who could remember me as a child. I felt a sensation in the bridge of my nose that told me tears were forming in my eyes. I blinked rapidly and tried to focus in on the coffee.

Janet placed a hand on my forearm and lightly squeezed. It’s all right to be a little afraid, you know.

Quickly I put the cup down and covered my face with my hands. I felt my face pinch as the tears came. To my horror, I was gasping with sobs. Janet stood and came to my side where she reached her arms around me and hugged my heaving body until I calmed down enough to speak. I’m sorry. I feel foolish.

You are not foolish. Honey, you have been through more than anyone I’ve ever known. I remember that first day we met. You sat on that school bus hugging your books and looking so alone as you stared out the window. I can’t imagine being so young and having to deal with a new home, a new school, and all the while knowing my mama was dying. But there you sat, all alone, looking out the window.

She sat back down at the table. Rhian, you made it through all of that, and you were just nine. Your life has never been easy. There was Aunt Beth and, well, Aunt Beth.... Here she paused and smiled. Maybe this is where all of that changes.

Do you think so?

Yeah. I really do.

I love you, Janet. What will I do without you?

Where the hell are you going? They don’t have a telephone in that house? She winked. You can’t move far enough away to take me out of your life. We stared at each other for a brief time, then Janet pushed the bagel a little closer to me. Now, eat your breakfast. You’re going to have to take an extra minute to repair your makeup. Can’t have you showing up looking like a raccoon your first day on the job! We laughed and I ate.

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Chapter Three

The five-hour drive went well. In fact, I was ahead of schedule up until I turned off onto the Charlotte Street exit. Slowing down to read the small street signs clearly irritated impatient drivers, and one honked his horn as he maneuvered around me. Twice I made wrong turns on the mountain roads and had difficulty finding my way back to a point of reference.

True to the directions given to me by Meredith Chastain, the distances between the large homes with nice landscaping and steep driveways began to increase. Fortunately I had left the busy traffic behind on Charlotte Street; climbing the mountain while trying to follow my written directions required that I drive very slowly. Sure that I had missed the estate’s entrance, I began to tell myself that I needed to find a place to turn around. As I rounded a sharp curve, suddenly the large wrought iron gates became visible. A bronze plaque was affixed to the right gate and read Flint House. A much newer sign on the left gate announced, Private Drive. No Trespassing. I pulled my Geo Metro up to the gate and got out to find the call box mounted on the stone gatepost, just as the directions instructed. The box looked so old I was concerned that maybe it might not work. But immediately after I pushed the call button, a man’s voice asked for my name.

Rhian Montrose to see Mrs. Chastain. Without any other instruction, the gates slowly began to open inward. Quickly I got in the car and pulled forward. Through the rearview mirror I could see the gates slowly close as I drove past. A dull throb I perceived as a tension headache pushed at my temples.

The house wasn’t immediately visible as I traveled up the narrow drive. First I saw the roof with its spires and chimneys. As I drew closer, I saw that carved gargoyle-type figures jutted out at various corners. Then the drive opened into a circular drive. Now the house was in full view. It was much larger than I had imagined. The facade was made of grey sandstone. I had never been inside a private house this large, and now I was about to make it my home. Was I crazy to uproot my life and move hundreds of miles to care for a strange young woman I had never met? At that moment, facing this massive building, I felt homeless and insecure. It had been over two months since I’d been confined to a psychiatric hospital, lost my apartment lease for non-payment of rent, and had to ask Janet to sell many of my furnishings and other valuables to settle mounting debts. My life was in shambles, and though this new position promised hope and a new beginning, I wondered if I was strong enough to face the challenges ahead of me. The thought occurred to me that I could complete the circle of the drive and head back down the long entry road, through the wrought iron gates, get on the highway heading south to Florida, and disappear in some small Panhandle town. Maybe I could get a job as a waitress and live a simple, anonymous life.

My panic eased when the great front door of the house opened and Meredith Chastain stepped from within. An older man walked out beside her. She spoke to him as she gestured to my car. My eyes began to take in all that lay before me. Through the windows of my car I looked around to see an almost majestic front lawn with a huge fountain centered before a grand entrance to the house. How did I drive past all of this and not notice? My fear began to take a back seat to disbelief and guarded excitement. Was this really to become my job and my home?

I opened the car door and stepped out to greet Mrs. Chastain. Miss Montrose. How good to see you. And right on time. This is Gregory. If it is all right with you, he will move your car to the garage and take your things to your room. Will you be receiving a truck later today?

I was puzzled. A truck?

Yes, with the rest of your possessions? We have plenty of storage available for the things you won’t be needing right away.

Oh. No. This is it. Just my clothing and computer.

To Gregory, Move her things into the master suite. She can unpack her cases later. I'll have a computer desk delivered sometime tomorrow. Back to me, If you will give Gregory your keys, he will take care of everything.

Gregory smiled politely as he took the keys I offered.

In the future, you may want to use the service entrance. It’s a little further up the main road. You will be given a pass card to access the gate there. How was your trip?

No problems at all. Thank you. I had no idea the house was so large.

Yes. It is a large home. But I am sure you will find it quite comfortable once you have settled in. Why don’t we start with a quick tour of the house. You can familiarize yourself with anything we miss and cover the grounds later at your leisure. That way we can complete our business. I assumed you didn’t take the time on your trip for decent food, so I’ve instructed Maggie to prepare a lunch so that we can address any questions you might have, then I will get out of your hair. If you have eaten, then you can humor me by calling it an early dinner. Anthony Bradford, the accountant, will be dropping by at five to go over your employment package. I am sure you would like a little time to relax somewhere in there. She turned towards the house and I followed her through the doors.

The entry hall was quite grand. In the center of the room was a huge round table that held an elaborate floral arrangement of freshly cut flowers. To the right of the room was a curved marble staircase and past that a wide hallway. To the left was an archway that led to another large room with a bay across the room directly in front of the archway.

As I looked beyond the table in the center of the entry hall and straight across from the front door I could see the main archway opening into an atrium. I tried not to appear too impressed, but in reality I was in complete awe. There were various seating arrangements throughout the large room. Persian carpets covered the marble floor and the furnishings were a mixture of heavy wood and rich fabric. Tables held fresh flowers, small statues, decorative boxes, and different treasures. Oversized paintings and portraits occupied precise niches on the walls. The rooms themselves were a mixture of stone, plaster, and rich wood panels. There was a fireplace across the room large enough for a fully grown person to stand in. Two arched entries to another room framed either side of the fireplace and I could see through into the far room where oversized windows began about three feet from the floor and reached nearly to the twelve-foot ceiling.

Plants of many varieties were placed throughout the house wherever sunlight might penetrate. But the largest and grandest plants were found in the atrium. Here the octagonal walls rose upward the entire height of the house to a beautifully domed, glass ceiling. Light refracted through the beveled glass, sending sparkling shards of white and rainbowed lights dancing through the entire room.

This is the garden room. Mrs. Chastain paused at the door and waved her hand as if to introduce the room. I heard the gentle sound of water splashing. To the left of the main entrance, against the wall, was a shallow pool of water about twelve feet long and six feet wide. Small sculptured ducks stood at the edges of the pool with water projecting from their mouths and into the pool. Mrs. Chastain caught me staring at the pool and offered, My sister put that in shortly after she married Charles. Eugenia had three cocker spaniels who had free roam of the place. This was their water bowl. She smiled as she looked at the pool. I thought it to be silly at the time. Now I find it an endearing memory. She would sit on the edge there and love those puppies up. You know how spaniel dogs have those long hairy ears. They would drag them in the water when they drank and then shake their little heads, spreading water all over Eugenia and the floor. Then they would wallow on the furniture. But that never bothered her. She would say the house was their home, and if they felt like wallowing, well, then they should. As she spoke it seemed as if she was peering back in time and watching her sister and the three cocker spaniels. Now she stood looking about the room with an expression of sadness.

Did she have dogs the entire time she lived here?

Well, Eugenia and I grew up in this house for a good part of each year. We usually had some sort of pet when we were children. Eugenia moved back here straight from college graduation. She lived with our mother after our father died. About the time Eugenia and Charles became engaged, Mama moved to the summer home in Charleston and gave this house over to Eugenia. I was already married and living in Charleston at the time.

So you didn’t grow up in Charleston?

She began to walk across the living room and through an archway to the right that led to a wide hallway. We spent much of our winters in Charleston when we were children, but Mama didn’t like being away from this house for long. Daddy’s business afforded us the luxury of being able to exchange homes during the year. Mama rarely left this house. Daddy, my sister, and I spent much of the winters in Charleston and summered in Asheville. Our tutors traveled back and forth with us, so we didn’t get those long breaks between seasons like children do now. We even had classes when we traveled abroad. One can’t help but wonder if that was Daddy’s way of keeping us out of his hair so as not to have us bother him. Then she turned to me and smiled, That’s probably unfair. He was very attentive to my sister and me. I had a feeling that this strong woman had accidentally shared more with me than she intended.

We entered a large dining room from the hallway. Here’s the dining room. This big old table is a bit garish, don’t you think? Then, without waiting for an answer, Come and I’ll show you the family dining room.

The family dining room was smaller, but still quite large with a beautiful round table and ten chairs. It is much more to my liking. We always referred to it as the eating hall, because it was the dining area used by the family for most meals.

And, of course, the kitchen is back here where it can serve either of the dining rooms. We walked across the room and through a door at the far right where we entered a butler’s pantry, then straight through to a large kitchen that was quite modern in design.

Gloria’s nurses will prepare her meals in here. Otherwise, the place is yours. There is plenty of pantry space back over there. I imagine it is pretty well stocked, but you may want to do a little shopping down on Merrimon to find things you want in particular. There is a small kitchen upstairs. You may find that more convenient if you tend to spend a lot of time up there working on your book. It is completely up to you.

We retraced our steps back through the family dining room and back out into the hallway. She stepped backwards into an area that opened into yet another hallway where I could see a stairwell at the far corner. She pointed to a small room to our left. There’s a little restroom if you should need one. Being an older house, there are only three on this floor. I’m sure you will find them as you get used to the place. Then gesturing to the stairs, We’ll come back and go upstairs in just a minute. First we’ll finish up down here.

Once more she walked through the larger hallway and continued going through elaborately decorated rooms. One had large windows framed by deep purple drapes that fell in rich puddles of velvet fabric on the floor. Some rooms were more formal than others. There were long sofas with tall backs. Photographs in nice frames sat randomly on tables.

In the downstairs living room, my guide walked over to the large windows and said, Isn’t the view lovely from here? I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the mountains as a child, but now I believe this to be one of the most picturesque places in the world.

She may very well have been correct. I would spend many mornings sipping coffee at one of the small tables in front of those windows. The lush greens of spring and summer, the rich colors of fall, and the pure whiteness of winter snows painting a backdrop for the barren branches and evergreens in the winter. Every season presents a glorious portrait of Western North Carolina through those large windows. As Mrs. Chastain stepped closer, I could see that the two windows we stood in front of were actually massive doors that opened out onto a large balcony. You should ask Maggie to open these for you this afternoon. The night air is wondrous.

Is there a trick to opening them?

Her head turned to me and her eyes moved up and down briefly as if I were being insolent. Of course not. But you don’t have a key yet. Anthony will give you all you need to go inside and outside of this house as if it were your very own. But you may want Maggie to walk you through a few things before you do them on your own. I would think it might be easier for you to tell her your day-to-day preferences and she will make sure things are to your liking. Her facial expression relaxed. Rhian, we want you to feel comfortable here. That’s the best way for you to provide a comfortable environment for my niece. You should feel that you belong in this place.

I felt heat in my face. It didn’t make sense to be embarrassed, but somehow I felt she had perceived me as being ungrateful. Thank you. Please understand that I am not used to living in a house like this. It might take me a little while to feel comfortable with the sheer size of the house and, of course, the idea that I don’t have to do everything myself.

She stepped slightly beside me and placed her hands on my shoulders and gently guided me forward. Well, of course. In no time you will realize there is too much to do here beside mundane housekeeping. Now, let’s finish up with the first-floor tour so I can show you your own room and introduce you to my niece.

Walking through another arched doorway, we continued with her pointing out the music room, another bath, and finally a large informal den with overstuffed sofas, chairs, and even a large television. The windows in this room bayed out the same as the windows in the living room, but beneath each were built-in seats with burgundy padded cushions on top.

Isn’t this a cozy room?

In fact, it was much too large to be considered cozy, but it did feel comfortable. Yes. I agree. It is quite inviting, isn’t it? She smiled in response.

And through those doors, she pointed to the doors flanked by windows opposite from where we had entered, you can get to the front porch. We quickly walked through the room and out of an archway to the left that led back into the entry hall. She pointed down the hall past where we had turned to enter the garden room. Down there is a doorway that goes to the atrium. There is more down here. The library comes off of the garden room, but you’ll have plenty of time to explore later. I think we had better get upstairs.

Together we progressed through the entry hall to a small elevator located behind the stairs. Oh yes. That second door there is the third bathroom I told you about. We got into the elevator and she pulled the door closed behind us. There was a quick jolt and then the sound of a humming motor. I’ve reached a time in my life where I tend to choose easier paths. This elevator is one of the first ever installed, but it is serviced every year. The humming stopped with another slight jolt and she opened the door.

There are ten bedrooms up here if you include the old servants’ rooms, so if you don’t like the one you are in you can move into another. As she stepped out of the elevator, she gestured to a room directly across from the elevator. My father used the smaller library up here as his private study. It is pretty much the same today as it was then. I think you'll find it is much more comfortable than the library downstairs. In fact, you may want to do your writing in this room. If you do, then have Gregory put the computer table in there when it comes. You look around and decide what you want to do. In fact, let me give a quick look. The large wooden door opened with ease. She stood in the doorway and motioned for me to step inside.

Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. There was a small curved staircase with a wrought iron railing that led to a narrow walkway passing in front of a second level of the shelves. Your family must be quite well read. There are as many books here as in a city library!

She smiled and gave a little chuckle. "A small city library maybe. There are many more in the library downstairs. I’ll tell you a little secret. Most of these books haven’t left their positions on the shelves in over a hundred years except for a little shuffling to allow for periodic cleaning. While some have been read and reread, most are mere decorations handed down through generations."

Now, this is my father’s old desk. Isn’t it lovely? I have fond memories of my sister and I playing on the floor there while he worked at that desk. He had a wonderful way of drowning out the noise we made. Truth is, we would have to go up and tug on his clothing to get his attention! Yes, I believe you might enjoy working in here. The light comes through those windows that overlook the garden room, but it is quite pleasant in here. It was an impressive room. The desk was large. The arms of padded chairs and tables about the room were made of the same dark wood. The windows she spoke of were opposite the door. They were tall and draped with a garnet and gold brocade. At the far end of the room was a rose marble fireplace with a lovely ornamental mantel.

I’m sure I will love working in here.

Good. It will be nice to know that the room is being used again. Now, come on and I’ll show you to your room. She closed the door behind us and we strolled down the large hallway. As we approached the end of a long stretch before the corridor turned to the right, she opened a door directly in front of us. Here we go, she said, while stepping inside.

Mrs. Chastain motioned me in. I saw my suitcases placed side by side on the floor. The three boxes containing my computer were stacked neatly up against a wall of bay windows. This will be your room if it is to your liking. There’s a bath and dressing room through that door, she motioned to the wall at the far right. If you need any help getting unpacked, Maggie will assist you.

No. I don’t really have that much. I’m sure I can take care of it. It was a beautiful room. The four-poster bed was covered with a deep lavender comforter that looked to be silk. The drapes were woven of a darker shade of lavender with gold piping and tassels. Pillows of various shapes and sizes were piled in an opulent array at the head of the bed. Two wingback chairs were positioned across from each other at either side of a round table with a delicately inlaid wood design and a carved pedestal. There was a beautiful writing table with an elegant high-backed chair. Directly in front of the fireplace on the left wall was a settee covered in the same fabric of gold and lavenders, just like the other chairs. Above the fireplace hung a large mirror, framed in gold leaf, but bearing the same carved, white marble design of the mantel. There was a mahogany chest and a matching dresser. Candlesticks and cut flowers in crystal vases were set all about the room. The walls were painted a burnt yellow color while the wood trim of the windows and moldings were white. The bed sat atop a white braided rug covering the central area but revealing the exotic wood inlays that bordered the room.

Do you think you will be comfortable here? she asked with a sweet smile on her face—a smile that understood and appreciated my awe.

Mrs. Chastain, this is simply the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. I’m sure I will be quite happy in here.

She gently placed her hand on my back. Very well. Then after everything settles down this evening, you should come up here, unpack your things, and make yourself at home. You will have all day tomorrow to deal with the rest of the house. Now come. I want to take you to my niece.

It was odd, but with so much attention being placed on the house I had almost forgotten about Gloria Claiborne. We exited the room that was to be mine and walked back down the hallway where we had stepped out of the elevator. The hallway follows around pretty much like it does downstairs. The house as a whole winds around in a big square with the garden room being the center. You’ll get used to it in no time. There is a lot more up here, including an upstairs living room. You’ll see it all in your own time. There is a third floor, but I haven’t been up there since I was a small child. There are two rooms up there that my family never used, but most of it is an attic with all sorts of junk in storage. Perhaps a few treasures, too, I suppose. As a child, we were a bit afraid to go up there. Just as well. It only aggravated my sister’s asthma. Dusty, you know.

We stopped before an open door that was down the hall but opposite the door to my room. As we approached, I saw a short, stocky woman crossing the floor inside the room. She looked up at us and smiled. Mrs. Jackson, this is Miss Montrose.

The woman, dressed in tan slacks and a blue shirt covered with a colorful lab jacket, briskly walked over to us and extended her hand to me. Mrs. Chastain told me that you would be coming. I will be with Ms. Claiborne until ten tonight. With that she smiled and continued with what she had been doing. Mrs. Chastain crossed the room and I followed her. In front of us was a tall-backed chair with large spoke wheels at the base. Walking around to the front of the chair, I could see the woman who sat there. She seemed very small and frail. Her golden blonde hair fell loosely about the shoulders of her blue dressing gown. Bright blue eyes stared straight forward from her pale, expressionless face. This is Gloria.

The sight of this woman overshadowed all I had seen since entering the gates to this house. She looked like a china doll sitting there. Yellow eyelashes, nearly colorless lips. Her hands were folded on her lap over the soft fabric of the dressing gown, which flowed down to her tiny feet covered with soft blue slipper socks. I knelt down at her knees. Hello, Gloria. My name is Rhian. I’ll be staying with you here in your home. I stayed there briefly and saw that her expression did not show any change.

I’m not sure if she hears you, but I like the way you approach her. I stood to see Mrs. Chastain was looking at me with surprise. I didn’t know how to respond to her comment, so I simply smiled back at her. I wasn’t sure what she had expected me to do, but it was clear that she was not used to approaching her niece directly.

Now, let’s go downstairs. Maggie should be serving our lunch right now. As I followed her from the room, I noticed the simple but elegant furnishings and decor. It was a bright and cheerful room with colors of blue, yellow, and pink. The curtains and bedspread matched the upholstery of the chairs and sofa. There were tables and bureaus similar to the ones in my room with candles and fresh flowers. Portraits and paintings adorned the walls and framed photographs sat about freely on tables and the mantel.

As we left the room, Mrs. Chastain spoke. Forgive me if I seem cold to my niece. I can barely remember the time when she used to speak and move about. It has been fifteen years since she stopped communicating with us. It was hard on my sister and her husband to see their only child fade away like that. Since their deaths, I haven’t quite known how to deal with her condition. I was hoping you’d be more at ease around her than me. From what I’ve just seen, I am thinking that you are.

We reentered the elevator and she closed the door. Do the nurses talk with her?

Yes, I’ve heard them talk with her. Mostly telling her what they are about to do next. She is easy to deal with, you know. If you stand her up, she helps to lift herself and she will stand there until you move her about in some other way. She doesn’t walk, though. You have to use the wheelchair. My sister would fuss about her, and so would my brother-in-law to some extent. But there has always been someone there to help with her during the day while she was in the home.

In the home? I asked.

Oh yes. We moved her to a private institution after her parents died. But the doctors felt it best that she be returned here. So we moved her back this past June and began looking for someone to manage the house and her care. Up until then, Maggie and Gregory kept the house going. We stepped out of the elevator and walked to the family dining room. It was easy to find a nursing service that sends people to care for her, but I think it’s best to have someone on site to be in charge. The house is too much for Maggie and Gregory to handle on their own. Neither of them can be called young, and they don’t always get on with one another. Besides, there are other matters to do with the estate that require more of a deft touch. We’ll talk while we dine.

A tall, plump woman was busying herself setting things on the table when we entered. Rhian, this is Maggie. I extended my hand, but the older woman smiled and politely nodded her head.

Hello, Maggie. This looks very good.

I hope it is to your liking, Ma’am. Mrs. Chastain told me you don’t eat meat, so I made up potato soup and sandwiches with grilled cheese and tomato.

I hope it wasn’t a lot of trouble.

No trouble at all. I will be right back with some tea and then I will leave the two of you to yourselves, unless you need me for anything else.

That will be just fine, Maggie. Mrs. Chastain sat down and motioned for me to sit at the place prepared beside her.

There will be a night nurse with Gloria tonight, just to put your mind at ease before you have her on your own. You’ll see that there is nothing to do for her, just look in on her before you turn in. She paused long enough to taste her soup. What do you think so far?

I am up to the challenge. Hopefully I am not being too naive as to think it all seems rather simple.

I don’t believe you are. It is fairly simple, yet time-consuming, tending to all the little details of an estate such as Flint House. Nevertheless, I feel you are going to do just fine.

Talk turned more personal as we ate. Tell me dear. Did you ever marry?

No. I came close twice, but it didn’t work out. After a brief pause and a sip of soup, I asked, Do you have children of your own?

Her candor surprised me. We had a child. A boy. He died when he was only five years old. She continued, My husband and I wanted children very badly. Thomas, our son, was born quite some time into our marriage. We continued to try after his death, and I became pregnant a year later. She stared vacantly at the glass of tea she held in her hand. However, I lost the child, another boy, right here in this house in the seventh month. She tilted her head to one side and smiled at me. Mr. Chastain and I have enjoyed a full life together nonetheless.

I was at a loss for words. You know, Rhian, Asheville has a lot to offer. There is no reason for you to feel tied to the house twenty-four hours a day. You just need to know things are properly covered when you are away. Maggie will stay in the house during the evenings whenever you like so you can get away. I’ve instructed her to plan on spending two nights a week in the room beside Gloria’s to give you a chance to get out and about. Young people need to spend time with each other.

That’s very nice. However, I don’t know anyone here.

Then you should invite a friend or two for a visit. In no time at all, I am sure you will meet new friends.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I made a sudden change in the conversation. Was this house built by your family?

No. It was built, or completed, in 1784 for a Dr. Ephram Flint from New Orleans. The story is that Dr. Flint came here not only to care for the people who settled in the newly formed town of Asheville, but he was also an investor. Like many people of that time, he used his land as a small farm. The estate was, of course, much larger then and included several hundred acres. After Dr. Flint’s passing, the house was purchased by one of my ancestors and has been handed down, oddly enough, through the women in our family ever since.

Why the women?

Well, as far back as anyone can remember, there haven’t been that many surviving men in our direct line. Apparently, we produce mostly females.

"That’s interesting. Do you know much about your ancestors?

"Lord, yes. My grandmother loved doing that. She used to bore the daylights out of Eugenia and me wanting to talk about all of the people in our line, as she would call them. I can barely keep up with the living, although that task has now fallen upon me. They’re pretty scattered these days and only on my father’s side of the family. My parents weren’t much for keeping in touch with extended family. My mother was an only child and my father was the only one in his family to have children. I do have second cousins on my father’s side, but we aren’t all that close. My husband and I are at that age where we keep our friends close to us, but we don’t enjoy traveling as we did when we were younger. Other than occasional travel, we are perfectly happy at home."

The conversation continued until we finished our lunch. At that point, Mrs. Chastain folded her napkin, placed it beside her plate, and stood up. I’ll be at the Grove Park Inn if you need me. Maggie has the number to reach me. My plans are to leave for Charleston tomorrow afternoon. I’ll give you a quick call before I go. Agreed?

That sounds good. Thank you for everything. I am already beginning to feel like I belong here. I told her with a bit of exaggeration.

Good. She looked at her watch. My goodness. Look at the time. Mr. Bradford should be arriving shortly. He’s usually quite punctual. Would you like me to stay until he gets here?

Oh no. That’s quite all right. I am sure you are anxious to get back to the hotel. We will make our own introductions.

Very well. I am feeling a little worn out. The thin air in these mountains just takes it out of me. Then, toward the butler’s pantry, Maggie.

The plump woman entered the room as if she had been standing behind the door waiting for the call. Yes, Mrs. Chastain.

Maggie, would you please have Gregory pull my car around to the front.

Yes ma’am. She disappeared back through the door.

Mrs. Chastain and I cut through the garden room and back to the entry hall. Maggie was already standing in the hallway, outside a small closet beside the elevator. Thank you, dear, Mrs. Chastain told her as she took the handbag and umbrella Maggie was holding out for her. I know you will help Miss Montrose with any questions or concerns she might have.

Well, of course I will, Maggie smiled sweetly at Mrs. Chastain, then at me.

##

Chapter Four

Once Meredith Chastain was outside the house and Gregory was helping her into her car, Maggie turned to me. Can I get you anything else right now? Would you care for anything else to eat?

No. I am fine. Lunch was wonderful.

Very well. Then I’ll..., she was interrupted by the sound of a chime. Excuse me while I get that, she said as she stepped back to the door. Once opened, she said, Hello, Mr. Bradford. Please come in. I guess you are here to see Miss Montrose.

Yes, I am. I think she is expecting me. He was an extremely handsome man. Very tall with dark skin and black hair cut short and fashionable.

Hi. I am Rhian Montrose. Mrs. Chastain told me you would be coming by. He took my extended hand and shook it firmly.

Would you like me to take your suit coat, Mr. Bradford? Maggie asked.

You are a dear, Maggie. It is so hot out today. I would appreciate your hanging it up for me. And do you think you could round me up a Coke? He