3. Hawthorne Hall
Five grueling months of waiting for what should have only taken three left Avi staggered by the vigor of her new-found impatience. With Corey at the helm, the purchase of the estate was completed with surprising speed. However, Corey was a little out of her league when applying for international visas. The application and approval process proved challenging, but the extra time was admittedly needed to make all the necessary preparations and purchases for the opening day of “Hawthorne Hall.” Avi adored alliteration, and while Greenford Park was the property’s historical name, Avi felt a little newness couldn’t…well…shouldn’t hurt.
Despite the difficulties of waiting for her adventure to begin, she’d have waited another five months if walking to England were an option. Avi hated flying. Sure, she was more likely to die in a car crash, but she was more likely to survive the average car crash than the average nose-diving plane. That isn’t to say she had a particular fondness for flightless vehicles. Any metal container, whether flying down the road or through the jet stream carried the potential to stir up traumatizing memories of her parents’ fatal car wreck.
While waiting to board, Avi nearly called out for alcohol and its mind-numbing effects, but she endured. She’d never partaken. Doing so, she felt, would have been an insult to their memory due to its role in their deaths.
So, for her first time in first class, Avi flew across the pond on a seven-hour and fifty-minute red-eye flight and did so with her loved ones and her fiercest of foes: scathing sobriety. It was terrifying. Landing was worse. But after making it through a brief interrogation from the UK”s Border Force, Avi was inching ever nearer to the home stretch of her travels in a four-wheeled metal container.
Josh led the way in a rental truck. He could have fit in the van with the rest of them, but with only five days before the guests arrived, and with very few pieces of furniture “Regency” enough for Corey to barter onto the Non-Realty Items Addendum list, Avi felt a rental capable of buying and moving furniture might come in handy. As they followed Josh, they lost themselves. May and Gracie lost themselves in conversation, baby Bree in sleep, Kai in Mom’s iPad, Devin in Mom’s phone, and Avi -to her surprise - somehow lost herself in her tranquil thoughts.
Upon leaving Heathrow Airport and heading southwest on the M25, Avi felt disappointed by how flat and modern London’s outskirts looked. Still, the foggy sunrise was romantic, and the further they drove, the older things felt, and the trees became taller and greener as they went. Eventually, the fog was replaced by a mist and then a drizzle. After they’d been driving on the M3 for forty or so minutes, they followed Josh off the freeway onto a small cozy road.
There, they began to pass the buildings and features Avi had hoped for. She was grateful Gracie drove, so she could take it all in: the vast panels of tall trees encumbered with vines, the old stone pony walls running along the slender streets, the bridges that stretched across the many English spring streams, and the one-of-a-kind buildings older than any standing in the states. Without even seeing the house, Avi knew she was home.
Before long, the dark gray truck slowed and turned onto the beginning of a side road that ran into an ornate, black metal gate. Two stone pillars connecting the brick and rock walls flanked the dark strands of iron. To its left and built into the wall was an arched wooden door and a small silver keypad. Josh pulled off to the shoulder, exited the idling vehicle, and entered the seven-digit code that opened the gate. With a smile, he turned and waved the van on through.
The road was surrounded by the densest of woods. As it winded and turned, the women in the front seats extended their necks and leaned in every direction to peer beyond the brush, trying to catch their first glimpse of Hawthorne Hall. Avi was encumbered by the temptation to lean and peer as her sisters had but now was not the time. As the trees thinned and the rain fell unabated by the shielding leaves, the van began to climb over a short grassy hill. Upon reaching its pinnacle, Avi briefly saw the roofline with its ten brick chimneys, before forcing herself to look away.
“Oh my goodness…” Gracie said.
“Avi, it’s incredible!” added May.
Avi casually grinned and looked down at the game Kai was playing on his mom’s tablet. May turned around in her chair.
“Avi, look.” May practically pleaded.
Avi peacefully replied, without looking up, “I will.”
She didn’t want her first glimpse to be tainted by window tint or reflections in the glass. The only thing she wanted between her eyes and her home was fresh English air.
As the van inched closer to the building’s forecourt, Gracie said, “Looks like we have a visitor.”
Without looking at her house, Avi cautiously searched for the guest her sister had alluded to. As she did, she noticed a dark navy sports car idling and waiting. Gracie pulled up to its bumper, and just before she opened the driver’s side door, a well-dressed gentleman emerged from the sports car and motioned for her to stay in the vehicle. As he jogged towards them, the soft patter of the rain on the roof seemed synced to his steps. Gracie rolled down the window as much as possible while still protecting the interior of the rental.
“Ladies, good morning. Shane Alcott.” He said as he extended his hand through the window. “I’m the estate agent for Greenford Park.”
Gracie took his hand and with a hint of rose glazing her cheeks replied, “I’m Gracie Hawthorne. This is May Hawthorne, and that back there is…”
“Aviva Hawthorne,” He said while looking over Gracie’s shoulder. “It’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you.”
In her characteristic simplicity, Avi smiled and nodded her head.
“So, is there anything you need from us?” Gracie asked. “Any…signatures or anything?”
“Actually, almost everything is in order.” He said. “Miss Hawthorne has already digitally signed all the required documents, and her sister emailed copies of her identification. The last thing I need…” he said as he handed Gracie the keys, “...is for you ladies to enjoy your purchase.
Avi rolled her eyes over the agent’s attempt at debonaire salesmanship. In her mind, such flirtations were overkill given the adequacy of his gorgeousness. However, Gracie didn’t seem to mind. Mr. Alcott waved and walked away quickly to escape the rain as Gracie rolled up the window.
“I really like England,” Gracie said as Mr. Alcott climbed into his small, overpriced sports car and drove back up the winding road.
After he’d disappeared over the hill behind them, Gracie reached over the seat, handed Avi the keys, and said, “We’ll be out here waiting.”
Avi kept her eyes closed as she opened the sliding side door and stepped out into the mizzle. She felt a few loose strands of her uptied hair begin to fall to her cheek from the weight of the rain as she inhaled slowly and exhaled completely into the crisp spring air.
May must have mistook her sister-in-law’s dripping sightlessness for displeasure.
“Avi, I’m so sorry your first time here had to be in the rain like this.”
“No,” was Avi’s immediate reply, “this is perfect.”
She slowly opened her eyes and surveyed the scene.
It was everything. It was her, it was Grandma, it was Mom and Dad…it was the stuff of yesterday alive today, and it was hers.
The ancient edifice exceeded her expectations and created new ones.
There was so much detail standing in front of her that she had failed to notice from the pictures: the lavender cascade of hanging flowers dancing with the droplets of rain along the eastern wall, two arched windows showcasing and defining the second story, and the outdoor stone corridor leading to the northern yard.
It all beckoned to her, but her legs refused to move. No doubt the fear of trading the ideal moment for something less caused her hesitancy, but the keys in her hand strengthened her resolve.
Once inside, she turned around and pushed against the front door with both hands until it closed. She left them pressed against the colossal slab while she removed her shoes. However, when they were off, she remained facing the door, scrolling through the images in her mind of the photos she’d spent the past five months obsessing over. Even with all that time to study them, the moment caught her off guard, and she couldn’t quite recall what awaited her one-eighty. But as she turned, it all flowed back.
She found two extravagant rooms divided by a claret-carpeted staircase. The walls were solid wood; light grayish brown with matching wainscoting. No doubt a contemporary addition, but regal nonetheless. Each room was connected to two other rooms which were connected to more in what culminated in a labyrinth of luxury she couldn”t wait to explore. But for the time being, only one room mattered. She didn’t know where it was…yet she knew.
At the top of the stairs, Avi chose right, passing bedroom after bedroom; only catching brief glimpses of their various styles and wallpapers in her periphery. With every step she took, a whispering creak echoed throughout the vast corridor. Suddenly, the house fell silent.
Standing in its doorless entryway, Avi surveyed the spanning, bookless shelves of her very own library.
All three walls had a rolling ladder; one for Devin, one for Kai, and one for her. At the center of the room was an intricately hand-carved oval table with a corbelled base surrounded by two couches and four chairs from the same Georgian period. Before her arrival, she thought the contents of the corner bookstore would more than fill the library. However, she wouldn’t know for certain until Tuesday when the books were set to arrive via international freight. As her eyes slowly scanned the room from left to right, she realized she may need to buy more.
“A very fortunate plight indeed!”
Her thought was abruptly interrupted when she observed something peculiar on one of the not-as-empty-as-she-thought shelves.
“What have we here?” She whispered to herself.
On the wall opposite the entryway and a few feet to the right of the fireplace mantle, Avi approached what she’d overlooked during her initial survey of the room. It was a worn gray book, standing pressed against the corner of the shelf’s side panel. When she stood only a few feet away, she was able to make out the faded words on the book’s binding: Irene Iddesleigh. Avi had never read it, but she knew about it. Denounced by critics as one of the worst novels ever written, Irene Iddesleigh was once passed around at parties with the challenge to read aloud as many pages as possible without bursting into laughter. As she reached to pull the book down, she noticed a small red envelope leaning up against its cover. Inside was the following note:
Dear Ms. Hawthorne,
Our agent has informed us that you, dear girl, are an avid reader. As such, we’re sure you’ve at least heard of this book including maybe even some of its most ruthless critiques. However, we’re not leaving it behind because we forgot it or because we wanted to be rid of it. We left it because, despite what others may say, this book has the capacity to transport you to unexpected places. So, even if you’ve read it before, we encourage you to give it one more go. Please enjoy the estate as much if not more than we have over the past 35 years.
Yours sincerely,
Albert and Lucinda Quimby
She lowered the note to her side and with an inquisitive expression, reached for the lonely gray binding. As she pulled, it slid forward only an inch or so before coming to a sudden halt, refusing to move any further. The tension had caused some unseen mechanism to click as the entire column of bookshelves adjacent to Irene Iddesleigh’s unlatched from the wall, revealing Hawthorne Hall’s first great secret: a hidden room in the library.
With a wall, made almost entirely of two floor-to-ceiling windows, the hidden room’s brightness was only outshined by that of Avi’s gaping grin. Other than the magnificent view, the dark brown room was rather plain. It contained little more than a desk and chair and must have been used as nothing more than a simple reading nook by its previous owners. Still, it was made for her. The only thing better than a regency period library that would soon be filled with wall-to-wall books was a quiet place to read them where no one could find her.
She sat down in the chair and released a carefree sigh before noticing another red envelope on the desk in front of her. Its contents read, “Enjoy the view.” And so she did.
As the rains and clouds moved eastward with the western winds, the spring sun made its first appearance on the grounds. Its beams shined unimpeded on a building she hadn’t fully seen in the estate’s online photos. The photographer had focused her attention on the main house’s interior. In the seldom exterior photos, the only visible portions of the detached buildings in the back and side yards were the tops of their roofs, peeking up and over the mansion’s tiles and chimneys.
From her chair in the hidden room, Avi could see that the building just outside her window was a chapel. Unlike the other buildings on the property that had been updated multiple times with major renovations over the previous three centuries, the old stacked stone church appeared untouched in its original condition; pleasantly persecuted and half consumed by the overgrowth’s vast mouth of greenery.
Outside, Avi tried to make her way to the chapel she’d seen from the window, but the back garden proved to be as much a maze as the interior of the house. She was half worried it would get swallowed up by the woods or collapse from decay before she found it, but by fixing her eyes on the building’s roofline, she eventually found herself pushing open the chapel’s archaic and splintering wooden door.
Inside was a chamber of subjectivity. To some, its consecrated walls stood as strangling reminders of theocracy, fairy tales, superstition, and lies; everything that was wrong with the world. To others, the sanctuary symbolized the only thing that could save it.
Avi tended to fall into the latter camp. It wasn’t even a choice. Her faith was purely instinctual. Some see tragedy as evidence that an all-loving and powerful God couldn’t exist, others get angry and blame him for not intervening, and those like Avi run to him for an otherworldly sort of supernatural hope. While questions persisted, and doubts were a rare but real part of her faith, the only thing that made sense to her head and heart was that neither atheism nor anger came with death-defying promises.
Avi sat in the middle left row of pews and imagined the egg tempera and gold-leafed images that would soon adorn the walls. The peace she felt must have been distracting because she didn’t even notice the balding, mustachioed stranger who had just wandered into the back of the chapel.
“It had to be an American,” said the mysterious voice.
Avi spun around in an anxious flurry and shot to her feet.
“Sir..?”
She exited the row of seats and began backing away from the potentially dangerous stranger.
“Sir, eh? Well, at least the American has manners,” he said with a stuffy smirk and a gut full of pomp. “There’s no need to be frightened, young lady. I just so happened to be driving by as your brother was opening the front gate. He let me in. Figured I’d get to know the American who bought away one of England’s remaining historical gems. My name is Vernon Stanswick; Deputy Constable of the Hampshire Police Force”
His title did little to ease her anxiety. Even though she was a good, upstanding citizen, whenever she saw a police officer, she felt like there must be one or two lesser-known laws she was unknowingly breaking. Now that she was in another country with its own foreign set of lesser-known laws, her unwarranted arrest felt imminent. She only hoped he didn’t mistake the beads of sweat forming on her forehead as evidence of guilt. But he did.
“Ma’am, are you alright? I said you have nothing to fear…unless of course, I interrupted some criminal act…your morning spliff perhaps?”
“Spliff, sir?” she asked with a nervous gulp.
“Oh, you don’t know, do you?” he asked with an offensive tone of sarcasm. “Snoop Doggy Dogg…some of that real sticky icky icky?”
She was more confused than before.
“Marijuana!” he blasted with impatience.
Her eyes grew with realization as she shook her head with guilty vigor. He surveyed her eyes to see if her naivety was sincere. Though surprised he found, it was.
“Well, you may be the most un-American American I’ve ever heard of…quiet, meek, etiquettical, sober…but you’re still an American, and you still purchased the crowning estate in my jurisdiction. Tell me, Ms…”
“Umm…Hawthorne.”
“Tell me, Ms. Hawthorne, how would you feel if I, a Brit, bought…I don’t know…the Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame or your favorite American football team? Hmm?”
She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, so she answered in the tone of a question with the first thing that popped into her head, “Happy, sir?”
He let out an unexpected burst of laughter that caught both of them off guard. He was left stupefied by her genuine sincerity. She was left with a rush of comfortable confidence.
“You’re an authentically good person, aren’t you?” he asked.
She didn’t know how to respond, but she couldn’t help but crack a grateful grin.
“Well, I don’t care how likable you are…if you give me any reason…any reason whatsoever to have your visa revoked…I. Will. Not. Hesitate.”
The comfortable confidence was short-lived. With meekness, she responded, “Yes, sir,” and hoped to no avail that that would conclude their conversation.
“My personal residence is less than one kilometer away, and I know everything that happens in my station…everything, Ms. Hawthorne. So rest assured, if I get a call about you loitering…if someone files a noise complaint against you…. if even a single gum wrapper falls out of your pocket while jogging and someone reports it, I will be the responding officer.”
But before he could go, Avi thought of something witty to say. It drained her of all available boldness, but she was able to eke out the words, “I’ll make sure to break the law more often, then.”
When she said it in her head, it sounded less like a pick-up line and more like light, amicable banter. She felt the warm flush of embarrassment spread across her face, but to her relief, he appeared to interpret her words as she intended.
“Charm…so un-American,” he said as he left, closing the old door behind him.
Over the next ninety-six hours, the Hawthorne family went to work. The horses were stabled, the artwork was hung, the furniture was set, the library was filled, and all fifteen members of the staff were trained and prepared for the nine-days-on, five-days-off job of taking Hawthorne Hall’s guests back to the nineteenth century.
With everything ready and the adventure she had promised Grandma Jean about to begin, Avi sat alone at the large table in the downstairs drawing room, enjoyed the ever-fading glow of the embers and crackling of the fireplace’s dying blaze, and began working on the borders of an eighteen-thousand-piece puzzle.