Chapter 9
Jennie
Newton Creek, Wisconsin
Present Day
She didn’t want to be bound to Traeger Hall, but even without the various elements complicating matters, the place pulled at her soul with a voracity that both frightened and irritated her.
It would be so simple to just walk away.
To leave everything as it had been for over a century.
To ignore Percy Wellington’s announcement about her father’s codicil, to allow the deceased woman she’d discovered in the creek bed to rest in peace, and to put a cap on her life as it had been up until Mom’s death.
She could go back to Paris as she had planned.
Or she could travel to New York. There were a thousand ways she could lose herself in the many museums, the paintings and artistry that resonated with her soul.
Traeger Hall didn’t have to be master over her life.
She could do that, couldn’t she? Brick up her past the same way Traeger Hall had been bricked up?
All the memories, the secrets, the stories would be trapped inside, and she could move forward.
Start a new life. Take with her only the good pieces she wanted to hold on to.
The good memories of her mother’s adoration and loyalty.
She could leave behind her father’s abuse.
His gaslighting, narcissistic way of promoting himself.
His vile, secret addictions that had left her scarred.
Abuse from a father came in multiple forms. Hers were emotional, psychological, and the physical kind no daughter should ever have to speak of, let alone remember.
She would have chosen broken bones over the wounds she’d suffered, although Jennie knew there was no way to weigh one abuse as worse than another.
Her therapist for the last several years had been helping Jennie traverse the maze back to healing.
Faith had become a part of her life. God had been wrestled with.
She was still wrestling with Him and the problem of evil.
How could a good God allow such things? The typical answer of “we live in a broken world” just didn’t cut it for her on a bad day.
On a good day? It didn’t really help then either.
A young man in one of her classes at college had mentioned that Vincent van Gogh was a complicated painter, that Starry Night might be beautiful but Wheatfield with Crows was messy.
Jennie had glared at him, his lack of insight bothering her to her core.
Her life wasn’t unlike a Van Gogh, and that was why art spoke to a person.
What was messy to one person could be beautiful to another.
Each brushstroke was purposeful and meaningful and made sense to the painter.
That was where Jennie had settled with her faith.
God was still painting her life’s portrait.
She just prayed that when He was finished, it would make sense to her too.
And now she was here. Standing at the bottom of the stone steps of Traeger Hall, one foot perched on the first step.
She could turn and walk away, or she could march up the steps and run her hand along the brick, investigate the windows sealed shut by more brick, and question who had kept the roof from rotting and collapsing these past hundred years or so.
“It makes a person wonder, doesn’t it?”
Jennie spun at the sound of a man’s voice. Her hand clutched the front of her shirt as though doing so would somehow save her from whatever threat he posed. “Oh! You scared me!”
It was Zane Harris. The one person she wasn’t ready to meet because she really didn’t know what to say to him.
His eyes were so green, they reminded her of Green Wheat Field with Cypress by Van Gogh. The meadow and the trees, the varying hues with yellow highlights almost dancing, the shadows deeper than a Christmas tree.
“Sorry to scare you!” His voice was a bit gravelly. “We met two days ago.”
Jennie nodded. “Yes, it was . . . nice meeting you.” She grasped for the right words. What was she supposed to say to him?
Sorry I found your dead girlfriend.
Sorry your son discovered his mom’s skeleton.
“I wanted to say thanks.” Zane crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his attention on something over her shoulder. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and it was apparent he was fighting emotion.
Jennie waited, more than a little awkward herself.
“For protecting Milo and sending him away from . . . from the mill.” Zane’s eyes met hers.
She recalled Milo’s large brown eyes, his silent gestures to get her to follow him. “Is he okay?” Jennie had been wondering. Milo had to be reeling from what he’d seen—if they explained it to him.
Zane’s chest lifted in a heavy sigh. “Yeah, Milo’s good.
” He released his cross-armed grip on himself and rubbed the back of his neck.
It was obvious he was upset but trying to maintain his composure.
“Milo has autism. He’s high functioning, but he doesn’t talk much, and emotional situations don’t affect him like they might other kids. ”
Jennie nodded. She hadn’t much experience with kids like Milo, but she knew emotions could sometimes be either extremely volatile or almost nonexistent.
Zane gave a small laugh. “I guess that’s a blessing, considering . . .”
Jennie knew the sentence left hanging was a reference to the fact Milo had been the one to discover his mother’s remains.
Zane turned his attention to the Hall, bending his head back to peer up its height.
“This place holds nothing but curses.” His condemnation was matter-of-fact.
“It should be demolished.” There was an edge to his voice, and Jennie remembered Percy Wellington’s advice that she’d do well to have Zane Harris and his family support whatever she decided to do with Traeger Hall, whether she opened the mansion or kept it sealed shut.
“I hope I’m not intruding.” Jennie felt like she should apologize.
He gave her a shrug. “It’s your property.”
“I know, but me being here, the flooding . . . it’s all such a—”
“Mess,” he finished for her.
“Yes, a huge mess.”
Nervous laughter passed between them. Zane Harris had a nice smile, Jennie noted.
He had a long dimple in his right cheek.
She couldn’t imagine him being nefarious and playing a part in Allison’s disappearance and death, but then no one ever thought her father capable of the abuses he inflicted on her and Mom.
There was much more to a person than a pretty face.
“Our family has been caring for this place since I can remember.”
She recalled Percy Wellington mentioning that in their meeting yesterday.
Zane craned his neck to look up at the Hall.
He motioned toward the tower, the bell inside weather-beaten.
“That’s the only glimpse we have of what’s inside Traeger Hall.
A few people tried to scale the tower, but the belfry windows are partially bricked up too.
There’s not enough space between the bell, the openings, and the wall for a person to squeeze through.
“You’ve never been inside?” It was a stupid question, and Jennie recognized that the moment it escaped her lips.
Zane’s eyes narrowed as if he were stuffing back not-so-good memories. “No.”
A moment of silence stretched between them.
The autumn breeze was tipped in the last remnants of summer’s warmth. A few leaves that had fallen from the surrounding maple and oak trees blew across the lawn. An acorn fell from one of the top branches of an oak, landing on the grass a few feet away from where they stood.
“Like I said, I think the place should just be destroyed along with whatever’s in it.” Zane’s words sliced the air between them.
“That seems rather extreme, don’t you think?” Jennie retorted before she could measure her words.
“Is it?” Zane shot back. “It’s just an old building with bad memories that breeds more bad memories.
And now?” He glanced in the direction of the ruined creek bed, the tilting mill wheel, and the muddy earth his fiancée from years prior had just been removed from.
“Right after Milo was born, I told Allison to leave it alone. Traeger Hall doesn’t have a kind history, and for all the lure of a treasure inside, well .
. .” He laughed, but it was humorless. “Watch any movie that includes a treasure hunt, and we all know how the story ends.”
“How does it end?” Jennie couldn’t help but ask. The movies she’d seen ended with the treasure revealed, the guy getting the girl, and typically a favorable ending.
Zane seemed to read her thoughts. “Forget the Hollywood happily ever after. It’s the stuff leading up to an unrealistic end. There’s always a curse, or a villain, or a war over the treasure. There’s danger and imminent death.” His sentence had a hard stop after the last word.
“So you think there’s some truth to the claim that there’s treasure inside Traeger Hall? Valuable paintings?” Maybe her mom’s research of the place before she’d died hadn’t been misguided after all. Maybe Leopold Traeger had been involved in much more than just logging and milling.
Zane’s stare was a brilliant emerald that speared her.
“That’s not the point, is it?” he challenged.
“What really matters is what a person does if they believe in the treasure.” Zane pointed toward the creek.
“And what happens to them when they try to find it.” His conclusion wasn’t one of threat or warning so much as it was of resignation, resentment.
“Treasure is an elusive fairy tale that ruins what’s beautiful.
It’s greed plain and simple. It’s . . . messy. ”
Messy.
His statement jolted Jennie back to her thoughts before Zane had surprised her with his company. Messy. Like the guy in class had said of Van Gogh. Like she often said of God.