Page 125 of In the Pursuit of Haven
Like the fisherman he was, my man had found the best lure to bring in our catch—himself. And he was out to play best friends with the girl who’dneverwanted to be “just friends.”
My poor oblivious husband. I’d be playing “get your hands off my man” all night.
We both prepped ourselves for our run-in with Ruth.
We pushed through the massive wooden doors that led into the kitchen area like gunslingers barging into a saloon. Once again, Jessie had to duck to get past the low ceiling. Across from us, a scorched brick fireplace with a rear oven covered the far wall, along with massive antique firearms hanging over the mantle next to iron cooking supplies.
This is how it would’ve looked during Turner’s time.
Entering the iconic building was like a marriage of fiction and history, since the Seven Gables had been remodeled to match Nathaniel Hawthorne’s gothic storytelling, as well as his cousin, Susannah Ingersoll’s memories of what used to be. One section of the house was rife with serviceable colonial designs from 1668, while other parts were papered in jaunty wallcoverings reflecting how every room would have looked in Georgian times, as described in excruciating detail in Nathaniel’s book.
I could only give it a cursory glance, though to the side was “Hepzibah’s cent shop” which had only come alive through the power of his pen.
What kind of magic was that anyway?
Pretty ribbons, spools of thread, barrels of flour and sugar, jars of gingerbread made into elephant shapes had all been brought to life through his imagination.
So far, there was no sign of Ruth, and for now, that suited me just fine as we made our way into the dining room. This was also part of the original 1668 building the captain had built, though it had been updated for Susannah Ingersoll centuries later with vibrant green and delicate yellow-flowered wallpaper. A quaint dining room table rested over a plush rug where the older woman used to have her cousin, Nathaniel, over for dinner parties.
Susannah’s portrait hung over the dresser. She was a cute little thing. It made me sad that she’d once told her cousin that she’d considered this pretty place her prison.
I sighed. “I have no idea what we’re looking for, but I guess we can keep our eyes open for anything!”
“I’ve got a better idea,” he muttered. Swinging on his heel, he scrambled back before he could finish that sentence. His voice took on that bright tone he used when he was trying to get out of something. “Ruth! Will you be our tour guide today?”
Ruth’s immediate smile at seeing him tensed when I turned to her. She’d worn her pink hair straight and to her shoulders. Her badge showed she was our tour guide for today. Her long elegant fingers twisted around the other, and her pink lips twisted into a sour pucker. “Jessie… Roxy, such a pleasure to have you.” Her words might’ve included me in that statement, but her menacing eyes sure didn’t.
She wore a flirtatious black dress and, unhappily for me, she was far more presentable than I was in my saggy waterlogged jeans, and though the sweater I wore happened to be Jessie’s favorite, it was filthy with sand—not that he minded, of course, butIsure did, especially when I was comparing myself to the woman who’d always had one of thoseFatal Attractioncrushes on him.
“We were hoping that you could give us thespecialtour,” Jessie said. “You know, the one where you tell us the deepest, darkest secrets of the place.”
I watched Ruth closely, but she didn’t give away that the request was especially painful to her. As a Shepherd, she might be hyperaware of anyone trying to get their dirty hands on the Relics, and even more so if that came from someone with the last name Crabb, but for Jessie? She was all smiles.
“Oh, that’s rich,” she fawned. “You mean, like you want to know about the ghosts in this place? Or find secret journal entries?”
Was she serious? I tried not to give away my appreciation or she’d smash it flat.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Jessie said
“Well, then I guess we need to start with the secret tunnel.” Ruth motioned my husband to follow her. I tagged along by default as we headed to the door near the fireplace. It looked to have been a wood storage closet at one time. When she tugged on the handle, the door opened up to a very narrow and steep staircase.
“I’m sure you’ve heard tale of the secret staircase,” she said.
Many tales actually—from the romantic to the unromantic: it had been built to hide Turner’s sisters from the Salem witch trials; it had been used to smuggle the captain’s more expensive finds from the Orient; it had once been part of the underground railroad; or was it simply a restoration made by the more modern owners to play with our heads?
In our case, it could’ve been built to hide a Relic.
Jessie ran his fingers over the brick. “Have you heard gossip of anyone finding anything odd in here?”
Maybe not the least inconspicuous way to ask a Shepherd where the Relics were hidden, but Ruth didn’t seem to mind since the question came from Jessie. “You’re not the first one to ask me that. Your sister was here yesterday actually…”
And if Abby could be believed, she’d been treated colder than how I was presently.
“What did you tell her?” Jessie asked.
“I told her, here’s your receipt, have fun on the tour.”
Jessie met Ruth’s eyes meaningfully. “And what can you tell one of yourbest childhood friends?” he asked.
