Blackthorn Winter Read Free Page A

ways for you to connect...' And look—here you are! Wait till you see your new home. Let's not just stand around—let's pop the boot and bring in your luggage."
    The Goops sniggered. "I'll pop your boot," Edmund threatened under his breath.
    At last.
I opened the trunk of the rental car and started pulling out our suitcases. Edmund hurried to help. Ivy grabbed Polar, the dingy white stuffed polar bear who always traveled with her.
    "And didn't I tell you I'd help find you a place to live?" continued Liza excitedly, leading us inside that red door. "Didn't I tell you that I'm special chums with Quentin Carrington, the famous sculptor, and that he has a huge place with a cottage out back? Oh, my ducks, you're going to enjoy living in such a place. It's fabulous!"
    "And where is Mr. Carrington?" asked Mom. "I had only one e-mail from him, saying he would rent us the cottage, but he didn't return my phone call or write again."
    "He's a busy man, is our Quent," laughed Liza. "Anyway, he's had to go out this afternoon—something about another sale. He's doing so well these days with his pieces based on his trip to Iceland. He's setting up an important London show now. Sculpture with sort of a Viking look, and very good if you like that sort of thing. Seems tons of people do! Anyway, he rang me to ask if I could be here when you arrived, and give you your key, and show you around. He'll be back later tonight, him and the boy."
    "Yessss!" Edmund punched his arm up in the air for victory. "There's another boy around here?"
    Liza eyed him doubtfully. "Don't get your hopes up,
ducky. He's a much bigger boy than you—a really great strapping sort of lad. Looks to be about as old as your big sister here."
    Edmund slanted a look over at me. "Sooo, maybe a boyfriend for you, Jule."
    "You shut up," I mouthed. But it wasn't as if anything had worked out at home with Tim, so of course I'd be interested. Never mind a boyfriend—any old friend would do. Someone my own age living nearby could be a good thing.
    My head was buzzing with tiredness as I followed Liza and my mom through the red door in the wall into a large garden. A graveled path led straight ahead to a huge, imposing house of (what else?) gray stone. Another path led around the left side of the massive building, and it was along this path that Liza took us. I looked up at the windows of the big house as we passed. In one I could see a gaily painted carousel horse, complete with gilded pole.
    "Quent will give you a full house tour, I'm sure," Liza said, leading us around the back of the Old Mill House. The gray wall enclosed a vast garden with several smaller buildings shaded by black-branched, leafless trees. "Look, over there are the ruins of the old grist mill," Liza said, pointing. "The old millstone is still there, but it doesn't work anymore, of course." She wheeled around and pointed to the right. "And there you go. The gardener's cottage."
    We approached the small stone house covered in vines. The windows were arched. No thatched roof, but this was getting closer to what I'd been imagining. My big suitcase bumped against my legs with every step. The place looked ancient, and intriguing. The Goops were making soft, ghostly
whoooos
behind my back, giggling.
    Liza handed Mom a large, ornate key. "Quent gave me the key ages ago, so I could get the cottage all ready for you. But it's yours now. Here you go, Hedda—and welcome! I think you'll find it's a lot cozier than the place we all shared back in those London days."
    Mom turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. "Come on, kids," she said. "Home sweet home!"
    This could never be home without Dad, but I was interested in seeing it, just the same. I brushed past Liza into the little stone house—and stopped. I smelled it again: that smell of salt wind and fog—and something more, something that made me back up a few steps, my heart starting to pound hard.
    Wake up, please wake up—oh