Page 29 of The Women of Wild Hill
Ivy and Rose’s favorite spot in the cottage was the library, and there were trinkets and talismans hidden behind all the books they loved most. Those numbered in the hundreds, and they were rarely without one. Back in those days, no one cared if girls went to school, so Ivy and Rose were free to learn what they thought was necessary. If Ivy discovered the diary of a medieval botanist—or a dustygrimoire with ancient symbols scribbled in the margins—she could go an entire week without speaking. No one in her family minded at all. Rose, whose taste in books leaned toward romance and poetry, was happy to speak for the both of them.
Rose taught herself to tap-dance when she was barely six years old. While Ivy wore her dirty blond hair in a single plait, Rose’s many ringlets seemed dipped in gold. Ivy’s pale skin was often smudged with dirt or coal, while Rose’s complexion was always clear and bright. She dressed every day as if on her way to a party. Rose not only danced, she sang, acted, and played the harpsichord. Whenever her sweetness began to get a bit cloying, she’d do something horribly clever and naughty. She was, everyone agreed, the most charming girl they’d ever met.
Ivy couldn’t agree because neither she nor her sister had ever met another child, nor had they any desire to do so. The children in books seemed like extraterrestrials from a planet where girls always wore dresses and nothing fun ever happened. When Ivy and Rose were together, no one else was necessary. They fought like demons, loved each other to distraction, invented a language only the two of them understood, and created a world all of their own.
IN THOSE DAYS, THERE WASa constant stream of people through the Wild Hill gates. Ivy and Rose ignored them all. The first to arrive every morning were the cooks and cleaners—all women—who were paid top dollar to humor their employer’s many eccentricities. Tradespeople who delivered the groceries, made repairs, or sewed Sadie’s magnificent gowns soon followed. In the afternoon, the sightseers would arrive. These were the ladies summering at nearby mansions who just had to see what the fuss was about. As the sun slid into the west, those ladies’ sons and brothers (and occasionally husbands) would take their place. Sadie, redheaded and in the full flush of youth, was not only stunning but sinfully rich. Herhand was the most coveted prize on the Island. Sadie was more than happy to entertain gentlemen callers—often well into the following morning—but she had absolutely no need for a husband.
Nor had she any use for a gardener. The day Angus Campbell was smote was the last time the lawn was mown or the hedges trimmed. When spring came to the Island, Sadie would sit on the hill overlooking the ocean and watch the wildflowers grow. Having spent her youth on the opposite side of the ocean where different flowers reigned, every North American bloom was a delightful surprise. The vegetable garden, set in a sunny patch near the cottage, brought forth miracles as well. The tomatoes ballooned into golden orbs, and the squash grew so large it barely fit in a wheelbarrow. But it wasn’t until Ivy took over that the garden reached its full potential.
It had been clear from the beginning that both of Ivy’s thumbs and all eight of her fingers were green. Plants thrived in her presence. When she and Rose were infants, Sadie planted the window boxes outside their nursery with star jasmine. Within months, the plants had taken over that side of the building and infused the estate with their magical scent. When the girls were old enough to be set free outdoors, Rose headed straight for the wildflower meadow, where she crafted daisy crowns and gathered garnishes for Sadie’s cocktails. Ivy made a beeline for the garden. For the rest of her youth—and long afterward—that was where she spent her days. She knew exactly what plants enjoyed each other’s company. And she could easily resolve any conflicts that arose between them. By the time she was ten, no one else dared go near Ivy’s garden. Even the deer and rabbits that wandered freely across the estate knew better. Not everything Ivy grew was meant to be eaten.
THE AFTERNOON CHARLES CAMPBELL ARRIVEDuninvited, Ivy was in the garden, performing a tune on the cello while the plants danced. She kept playing—Dvorák’s Cello Concerto in B minor—while theModel T rolled up in front of the entrance and her father’s brother leaped out of the driver’s seat and walked round to help his wife, who seemed perfectly capable of exiting the vehicle on her own. Some may have seen chivalry. Fifteen-year-old Ivy spotted a warning. Adding to her unease was the sight of a girl not much older than Ivy and her sister who had been abandoned in the back seat. The girl stared straight ahead with such a forlorn air that Ivy, who had learned everything she knew about ordinary humans from the novels Rose read aloud to her and from illustrated medical texts, knew for certain that some horrible fate had befallen the young woman. Ivy had never met Charles and didn’t give a damn who he was. But the girl in the back seat was intriguing enough to make her put down the cello.
Unfortunately, the guests ambushed Ivy on her way to investigate.
“Look, darling!” cried the woman, grabbing Ivy and locking her fingers around the girl’s wrists. Until then, she’d been watching her husband pound on the cottage door to no avail. “Thereissomeone here!”
There were plenty of people on the estate at that moment. Whether any of them wanted to deal with the man and his wife was another issue altogether.
“That must be Rose!” The man bounded back down the porch stairs with a hand outstretched. “It’s good to meet you at last. I’m your uncle Charles and this is your dear aunt, Renata.”
Ivy only knew her father from a single photo, but she instantly saw the resemblance—a shiftiness in the eyes and weakness of chin.
“I’m Ivy,” she told him. “Not Rose.” She didn’t have visions like her sister, but her powers of observation were beyond compare, and she could see that this man—uncle or not—was a scoundrel. Never once in her fifteen years had he ever bothered to pay her family a socialcall. Now he was fawning all over a girl whose name he didn’t know while another young woman sat trapped like a prisoner in the back seat of his car.
“I’m Rose.” Her sister had come from across the meadow, likely drawn by the same thing that had lured Ivy. While they were surrounded by people all day every day, few of those people were ever girls their own age.
“Why, look at you!” Aunt Renata had clearly chosen her favorite. “What a beauty you are! You look nothing like your sister. And yet you’re both the same. How is that possible?”
“We’re twins.” Rose, who was always so charming, lost interest in her aunt, whom she’d immediately and correctly pegged as an idiot.
“Where’s your mother, girls?” Charles inquired.
The front door of the cottage opened and a gust of wind swept Charles’s hat off his head and blew Renata halfway across the lawn.
“Here I am,” Sadie announced. She’d arrived in New York Harbor as a pretty nineteen-year-old lass who enjoyed wearing men’s clothing. Now she was thirty-five and utterly magnificent. Five foot ten, she had her clothes tailored to make her appear even taller and used a dye that turned her naturally red hair a deep rosewood. “Hello, Charles, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?” she asked, making it perfectly clear that she was neither honored nor pleased to see her husband’s brother standing in the drive.
Charles appeared to have been struck dumb, like a mortal finding himself face-to-face with a goddess. If he’d doubted his sister-in-law could be responsible for his brother’s death, he must have reconsidered in that moment. It was his wife who first found the courage to speak.
“Dear Sadie,” she said, rushing forward to plant a kiss on her host’s cheek. “I am your sister, Renata. I must say—the rumors do not do you justice. You’re even lovelier than they claim.”
“Are those the same rumors that have me murdering my husband?”Sadie asked. “I believe my mother-in-law may have had something to do with those.”
“Mother went a bit mad when Angus died.” Charles had finally found his tongue. “She’s been gone for five years now, and Renata and I have come to mend fences.”
“Is that right?” Sadie sounded amused, even if she didn’t look it. She let the words linger in the air before she continued. “Well then, do come inside, and let’s have some tea while we catch up.”
The twins caught the girl sneaking a quick peek at Sadie, who was ushering the in-laws into the cottage, and saw their opening. When the adults were gone, they hurried over to the horseless carriage.
“Hello,” Rose greeted the girl. “I’m Rose, and this is my sister, Ivy. I can tell you’re nice. You have a lovely pink aura. What’s your name?”
Silence followed and the girl continued to stare straight ahead. She was pale and seemed a bit sickly.
“She must not have a name,” Ivy teased. “How sad. Shall we give her one? I’ve always been fond of the name Eustace.”
“Eustace!” Rose exclaimed. “How lovely!”
“I was told not to speak,” the girl managed to whisper while barely moving her lips.
