Thurston House Read online

  Thurston House stood in silence, buried in its park, as Sabrina stood staring at it for a long moment, and then, as though taking her courage in her hands, she began climbing the gate, in a spot where her efforts were somewhat hidden by a large tree, and as she rose, she prayed that no passerby or neighbor would report her to a policeman. But she was still adept at climbing gates and trees, and a moment later she was sliding down the other side, feeling her heart pound even faster than it had before. She let herself drop the last few feet to the ground, and then she just stood there for a moment, enjoying the fact that she had made it. She was inside the hallowed grounds of Thurston House, and she quickly moved deeper into the gardens so she wouldn’t be seen from the street. The bushes and trees were so overgrown that it was like moving into a jungle and she was quickly hidden from the street as she followed the driveway toward the house, feeling as though she were being pulled by a magnet.

  And it was impossible not to think of her mother as she did so. How much he must have loved her to build this house, and how happy she must have been there. Sabrina couldn’t help wondering what her mother had thought the first time she saw it, she knew that her father had built it as a surprise and she couldn’t imagine anything more lovely. It made her sad now to see the huge knockers tarnished almost beyond recognition, the windows boarded up, the weeds pushed between the front steps until they had grown waist high on Sabrina. The house had been empty for twelve years and it looked mournful as Sabrina stood there. She would have liked to press her nose to a window, to look inside, to see the rooms they had moved in and danced in and lived in together. It was almost like coming to see her mother to be here, as though in being here she could absorb some greater sense of what the woman had been like. Her father said so little about her, and Hannah was even more taciturn on the subject, and suddenly Sabrina was desperately hungry for any crumb, any morsel of knowledge of what Camille Beauchamp Thurston had been like.

  Slowly, without thinking of why she did so, Sabrina circled the house, glancing at the shutters, climbing over the weeds. She could see where the flower beds had been, and there was a pretty Italian statue of a woman with a babe in her arms in a garden behind the house. There was a marble bench too, and Sabrina sat down there, wondering if her parents had sat there, holding hands, or if her mother had sat here with her baby in her arms on sunny days. She had so much more of a sense of her mother here than she did in Napa, for some reason. That house seemed so much a part of her father somehow, and she knew that he had lived in it long before he married her mother. But here, everything was different. It was a love palace built for her mother, she giggled to herself at the thought as she continued her meanderings. She felt faintly disappointed as she did so. Somehow she had expected to see more once she was here, and although it was exciting just being within the main gate, it was disappointing not even to be able to peek in through a window. And then suddenly, just as she was about to turn back toward the statue of the woman and child, she saw that one of the shutters was broken. It had a large crack in it, and one of the boards was sagging into the bushes. It was the perfect opportunity she had longed for, and she pressed through the bushes until she could press her face against the window. But the window led only into a dark hallway and she could see nothing. She wrestled with the board then and tore it loose. She didn’t even know why she did it, but she found that she could open both shutters once she did so, and then instinctively she pulled against the window, and much to her amazement, it gave beneath her weight, and the window swung toward her with a sharp jerk. She stood holding it open, looking stunned. But only for a moment. Without hesitating further, she climbed the windowsill and hopped in, pulling the window shut behind her. The hallway looked no more revealing than it had when she pressed her nose to the window, but she stood in the darkened hall in absolute awe now. She was inside the house she had dreamt of and wondered about for her whole life. Thurston House. She was here.

  She wasn’t sure whether to go right or left, and she realized in a moment that she was in some kind of service pantry. Everything was neat and tidy, but very dark with all of the windows shuttered. And she knew that no one had been in the house in twelve years, but the house was so well sealed that there was surprisingly little dust around her. For an instant, she had feared that it would look like a haunted house, but instead it only looked empty and deserted. But there was no turning back now. She had waited too long for this moment.

  So she walked stealthily to the end of the hall, and turned the knob, opened a door, and she gasped as she did so. What she saw above her looked like the gate to heaven. She had walked into the main hallway and above her was the spectacular stained-glass dome Jeremiah had designed for Camille. Its rainbow colors and intricate design shot a myriad of brilliantly colored lights at her feet as she looked up in awe and delight, and from there she wandered up the main staircase and into the bedrooms. She found what had been her nursery, but there was nothing there now. Everything had been removed to Napa. But in the master bedroom she sat down on a chair and looked around, and here, it was as though she could feel her father’s sorrow of twelve years before overwhelm her. The room was so totally like her mother must have been, so feminine and lovely. The pink silks had faded with the years, but the room was still like an endless bed of flowers on a spring day, and a perfume hung on the silks, mixed with a musty smell now, but it was still there, and it almost overwhelmed her as Sabrina walked into her mother’s dressing room and began opening closets. He had thrown nothing away before abandoning the house. She had left tiny, delicate kid shoes, and red satin evening pumps she had worn to the opera with Jeremiah, an old fur cape, and row after row of dresses. Sabrina took them out, feeling the expensive fabrics, and sniffing the perfume she recognized now. They brought tears to her eyes, it was like visiting the mother she had never known and finding that she was gone forever. But she knew as she stood in the pretty pink silk room that this was why she had come here, to find the woman who had been her mother, some piece of the puzzle, some fragment of what she had been. As she grew up and became a woman herself, she had longed for some piece of her mother to cling to. And now she felt overwhelmed as she roamed free in the house they had lived in, the house she had come to when she was four months old and left again, never to return, when she was a year old, after her mother’s death, or so she thought.

  She went into her father’s study too. She sat at his desk, spun round in his chair, and wondered why he missed none of the things he had left there. There were handsome prints on the wall, some interesting ornaments on the desk, there was row after row of beautiful crystal downstairs, china, silver. He had left it all, simply closed the house and gone to Napa, never to return here again. He had often said that it would be hers one day, but she had imagined it as a house with some old furniture under dust covers, she had never imagined it like this, a home that looked as though the people had left in a hurry and then died before returning to sort out their things. There were even some books on her mother’s night table, and a stack of lace handkerchiefs in her drawers. He had thrown nothing away before he left, and Sabrina saw it all now. And what she wanted most of all was to throw back the shutters and let the sunlight into the rooms, but she didn’t dare. She felt in some ways as though she had intruded into a private world, someone else’s private pain, and she could see now why he didn’t want to come back here. It was like visiting his wife’s tomb, and he had let it all lie for too long to be able to come back now. Here, he would have to see her clothes, feel her presence, smell her perfume, he would remember the agonies and the joys and the pain he must have felt at her death, Sabrina felt sure, and she cried for her father as she stood in his rooms for a last moment, and then walked solemnly down the stairs in a dignified way. The house filled her with even greater tenderness for him than she had had before, and a renewed sense of the delicacy and beauty of her mother. As in Napa, there were no portraits of her mother here, but there was something far greater than that, a sense of w
here the woman had been, how she had lived. As Sabrina stood beneath the stained-glass dome in the front hall again, she knew that once, years before, her mother had stood in the same spot, and perhaps looked up at it in the same way. She had touched the same door handles, looked out the same windows. It was an awesome thought, like a journey back in time, one felt the hands of those who had come before touching one’s own. They were benevolent ghosts, but they were nonetheless a powerful presence, and Sabrina was almost relieved as she pushed open the window in the back hallway again, and pushed the broken shutter back in place after she closed it. She had come to a place where she didn’t belong, and yet she was glad that she had come here.

  She walked pensively back out through the overgrown gardens, walking slowly this time, absorbing what she had seen. And she turned back once or twice to look at the house again. It was a magnificent home, and she would have loved to have seen it before, with the gardens handsomely trimmed, and her mother’s carriage wheeling swiftly in. And it was exciting to think that she had been there too, a part of their life and the beauty of that house. It would be hers one day, but it would never be quite the same as it had been … and the beautiful girl from Atlanta would be long gone, and the man who had loved her more than anything. It would never be the same again. The thought saddened her as she climbed back over the gate and landed on her feet. She realized that she looked a fright as she glanced around. She had torn her skirt, and her middy was filthy, her hair was disheveled, her hands were dirty and there was a long bloody scratch on her arm, from either climbing the fence or wrestling with the broken shutter. But she regretted none of it as she walked hastily back toward the Palace Hotel. It was not a very long walk, and she needed the air after her long day in the musty house. She almost felt as though she had seen too much, and yet she was glad she had seen it, and she slipped quietly into the hotel and went upstairs to take a bath before her father came home from his meetings.

  She was ravenous at dinner that night, she had had no lunch that day, and he took her to Delmonico’s where they both ordered steak, but in spite of the hearty appetite he noticed, she seemed strangely quiet.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.” She smiled, but she seemed vague. But if she had looked him in the eye, she would have begun to cry. She was haunted by the sadness of the empty house, and all of her mother’s things he had so carefully left in place when he left. How much he must have loved her. She had a vision of a broken man, fleeing to Napa with his infant child, barely able to cope with the loss of his young wife, dead at such an early age, and after she had been so greatly loved.

  “What’s bothering you, Sabrina?” He knew her too well, but she only shook her head and forced a smile, pushing the melancholy thoughts from her head, but she wasn’t herself all evening, and at last before she went to bed, she knocked softly on his door and came in when he bid her to do so. “Good night, little love.” He kissed her on the cheek, but he quickly saw the troubled eyes. They had worried him all night. He invited her to sit down and she did so gladly. She had come to make a confession. She never lied to him, and she didn’t like doing so now. She had decided to make a clean breast of it. “What’s wrong, Sabrina?”

  “I have something to tell you, Papa.” She looked all of five years old as she sat down in her nightgown and her wrapper, her pink feet peeking from beneath the lace hem. “I did something today, Papa.” She didn’t say something “bad,” because she didn’t think it really was, but she knew that it would upset him. Yet she also knew that she had to tell him. He would probably never find out, but they had trusted each other for too long to begin lying now. In that way, she was very unlike her mother.

  “What was it, little one?” His voice was gentle as he watched her. Whatever it was, he knew that it had upset her greatly, and he was anxious to know what it was. He felt a flutter of concern as he waited.

  “I went …” She gulped, almost sorry that she had come to tell him, but she had to go on. “I went … to Thurston House.” It was a barely audible whisper, and he imagined her standing outside, looking up at the sturdy gates.

  He smiled gently at the confession and came to touch the silky hair, neatly arranged in braids. “That’s no sin, little one. It was a beautiful house once.” He sat down beside her, thinking of the mansion he had built so long ago. “It was a beautiful place.”

  “It still is.”

  He smiled sadly. “Sadly neglected, I’m afraid. But one day, before I give it to you and your groom, I’ll have it all put to rights again.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it now.” She sounded strangely certain and he looked at her.

  “Everything’s probably faded and dreary in there by now, little lamb. It’s been twelve years since anyone set foot in the place. There must be ten inches of dust everywhere.” She shook her head, her eyes on his face, and he looked puzzled. “Did you look inside?” And then, in confusion, “Were the gates open?” He’d have to see to it if they were, he didn’t want the curious wandering onto the grounds, or worse yet, someone breaking into the house. He still had a great many valuable things there. He had a patrol go by there every once in a while, and miraculously there had never been any trouble.

  Sabrina took a deep breath. “I climbed over the gate, Papa.” So this was what she had looked so woebegone about, thank God the little minx had a conscience and had told him.

  He looked serious as he addressed her. “That’s hardly a ladylike thing to do, Sabrina.”

  “I know, Papa.” And then she went on to tell him the rest. “And there was a broken shutter.…” Her face went pale, and she spoke to him in a frightened whisper, “And I pushed my way inside … I looked all around.…” Her eyes filled with tears and overflowed. “Oh … and Papa … it’s such a beautiful house and you must have loved her so much.…” She began to sob and she hid her face in her hands as he put an arm around her. He was stunned that she had gone there.

  “But why? Why did you go there, Sabrina?” His voice was troubled and gentle. What had drawn her to that place? He couldn’t really understand it. She couldn’t remember living there herself, so it hadn’t been a return to anything familiar, and it had to have been more than just mischief. He wanted her to explain it to him. “Tell me … don’t be afraid, Sabrina. You were brave to tell me that you’d been there, and I’m glad you did that.” He kissed her cheek and took her hand. He was surprised himself that he wasn’t angry at her, but he was troubled.

  “I don’t know, Papa. I’ve always wanted to see it … to see where you lived … what she was like … I thought there might have been a picture of …” She stopped, afraid to hurt him, but he understood and finished the sentence for her.

  “Of your mother.” He was saddened that Sabrina cared so much. Camille hadn’t been worth it. But there was no way he could ever tell Sabrina. “My poor baby …” He took her in his arms and held her as she cried. “You shouldn’t have gone in there.”

  “Oh, but Papa … it’s so beautiful … that dome …” She looked up at him in awe, and he smiled. He hadn’t thought of that dome in a long, long time, and she was right. It was extraordinary, in some ways he was glad that she had seen it.

  “It was a beautiful house in its day, Sabrina.”

  She said something that startled him then. “I wish we still lived there.”

  “Don’t you like St. Helena, little one?” He looked down at her, wondering if, like her mother, she would come to dislike Napa, but it had always been her home.

  “Of course I do … but Thurston House is … it’s so very beautiful. It must be very elegant living there.” The way she said the words made him laugh, and she smiled through her tears.

  “When you’re older, you can live there. I’ve told you that before.” But now it was different, she knew what the house looked like. And she was aggrieved by his words.

  “You know I don’t want to get married, Papa.”

  He had a thought as they were speaking. “Then maybe we
’ll have to take you there for some other reason.”

  “You mean it, Papa? When?” Her eyes were enormous in the firelight.

  “We could give a ball there when you turn eighteen. I’ve kept you out in the country all your life, and it’ll do for a few more years. It might even help to keep you out of mischief, young lady,” he waggled a finger at her, “but when you’re eighteen, you should meet the right people in San Francisco.”

  “Why?” She looked surprised.

  “Because one day you might decide to broaden your horizons a little.” He didn’t mention marriage to her again, she was too young for them to worry about it anyway, but in a few years, a ball in San Francisco would be just the thing. He had never thought of it before, but he liked the idea now. It struck him that she would be the same age then that Camille had been when they’d met, and he would be the proud father now. “You know”—he forced his mind back to his daughter—“that might be a nice idea. We could come to San Francisco then, and open Thurston House just for you. What do you think of that?” She looked stunned. A ball just for her? Open the house she had seen … “We could have the party right in our own ballroom.” She had seen the ballroom that morning, and squinted, trying to imagine her parents dancing there, her father, fourteen years younger, with the delicate Southern beauty in his arms.

  “What was she like, Papa?” She had already forgotten the ball and was thinking of her mother again. He looked down at Sabrina with a sigh. In many ways, he wished that she hadn’t gone to the house that day. He wondered what she had found, and how intensively she had searched for some clue of their past and her own.