Seventy One
Ash
Ayden was quiet on the way out to our father’s house. The drive was quite scenic and I imagined he was enjoying the view. Mountains rose up and whizzed past us as we made our way up north.
“You’ve been quiet,” I commented as we turned down the road to my father’s house.
He shrugged. “Do you think she’s really our sister?”
“I don’t know.” I sighed.
“You knew her I didn’t.”
As we approached the gate, I punched the code in. “That was a long time ago. I can hardly remember her.”
Ayden sucked in his breath sharply. I glanced over at him to see his eyes widen as he glimpsed our father’s house for the first time. I had to admit it was an impressive sight.
The house was a sprawling mansion built by my great-grandfather, Aubrey back around the turn of the century. It was modeled after the exquisite homes he’d seen in the Garden District of New Orleans when he first came to America from Germany. It sat nestled beside a beautiful lake with mountains surrounding it. The lawn was still kept manicured as I insisted. Since our father’s passing, no one had lived here and I hadn’t the heart to sell it yet.
“You grew up here?” Ayden whispered.
I nodded smiling to see the old swing hanging from a huge tree in the back. Amelia had pushed me on that swing when she’d lived her with her mother, Rita. “Yes, I did. Did you see the stables when we drove in? They were off to the right.”
“No, I didn’t. So has anyone lived here since our father died?”
I shook my head parking the car in the circular driveway. “No, I can’t bring myself to sell it.”
Ayden looked horrified. “You can’t sell it. It’s our ancestral home.”
I burst out laughing. “Listen to you! Our ‘ancestral’ home. You really think you’re something, don’t you?”
He shrugged opening the car door. “I’m Ashton Blackthorne’s brother, why not?” He grinned.
We walked up the steps to the immense door. I unlocked it and threw it open.
Stepping inside, Ayden whistled loudly. “Oh my God, look at this.” He murmured taking it all in. As he walked into the foyer, he looked above his head in awe of the grand chandelier above us containing so many bulbs, it was as bright as the sun when it was turned on. The floors of the grand foyer were marble covered with genuine Persian rugs. Ahead of us was a long, winding staircase that extended in two different directions one towards the west wing and the other to the east wing of the house. Against the walls were ornamental stone benches above them were painted portraits of my great grandparents and grandparents.
“These are our grandparents?” Ayden asked tracing his fingers lightly over the portraits.
I nodded. “Yes, this one is Aubrey and Lula Blackthorne, our great-grandparents. This one is our grandparents, Arnold and Vivian Blackthorne. The last one is our parents.”
Ayden stood in silence looking at the portraits. “I can’t…” He began.
I understood. The first glance at the immense house would likely be overwhelming to someone for the first time. I was still sometimes in awe of it and I’d grown up here. “Let’s go up to the attic.”
Ayden followed me up the staircase looking at all the furniture draped in white coverings. “How is it not dusty? Do you come here often?”
I shook my head. “No, I just have someone keep an eye on the place. Then I have a cleaning crew come in a few times a month.”
“Why not move here?”
“It’s several hours from the city.”
We walked until we came to the tiny stairway leading to the attic.
“My God, I’ve never seen such a place.”
“Go ahead, look around. It will take me a minute to find what I’m looking for.”
As Ayden began shifting through boxes, I looked through a few myself. Finally, I came to the box I was looking for. Dumping the contents out, I looked through the pictures.
“What did you find?”
Clutching a handful of photos, I held one up. “This is Amelia and Rita.”
Ayden took the pictures from my hand. There was a beautiful little girl about eleven years old in the picture. Her hair was long and black. Her smile was faint almost enigmatic. Her mother, Rita stood beaming at whoever was taking her picture. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue.
“What a beautiful girl. Those eyes…wow.”
“I know. I remember admiring her when I was little. I thought she was some kind of princess.” I laughed.
Collecting the photos, we left the expanse of the attic. Ayden walked around the house some more as I called Andrews, a former FBI agent friend of mine.
“Good news, Ayden. He thinks that based on these photos he can pinpoint some places to start.”
“Like where?”
“Children’s homes.”
Jumping back into the car, Ayden turned to look at the house as we drove away. “That house is beautiful. It’s a shame no one uses it,” he remarked in an ominous tone as we drove away.