Eye of the Storm (Hudson 3)

"Maybe I should just do what they want, take their compromise money and go. I could return to England and never come back here, just like my real father. None of them would miss me and to tell you the truth. I don't believe I'd miss any of them.

"Somehow. I don't think that's what you would like, but what am I to accomplish here. Grandma? What can I do that you haven't already done?"

I knelt and put my hands on the earth that covered her coffin and then I closed my eyes and pictured her standing there in that doorway the day I had left for England. She didn't want to go to the airport with me. She said she hated good-byes, but she allowed me to hug her. I could see the hope in her eyes. I had come to be with her to take back my name, a name denied me as soon as I was born.

"Don't let them take it away again. Rain," I could hear her whisper in the wind.

"No matter what they do or say, don't let them take your name."

Maybe that was the answer, the only answer. Maybe that was the reason to stay.

I

Jake's Secret

.

Very often during the first few days I was alone

in Grandmother Hudson's grand house. I would stop at one of the many antique mirrors and ask my image just who I was at the moment. The expression I caught on my face was so strange and new to me. I hardly recognized myself. It was almost as if some spirit in the house had possessed me for a while or as if the ghosts moved in and out of me at will, each changing my moods, my look, even the sound of my voice.

Back in Endfield Place in London, my Greatuncle Richard and great-aunt Leonora's home, a ghost was supposedly trapped the ghost of the original owner's mistress, poisoned by his wife. I didn't really believe in ghosts, but Grandmother Hudson used to tell me that a house such as this one, a house that had been home for so long to a family, was far more than just wood, stone, glass and metal thrown together to form a structure. It took on the character of the people who resided within it.

Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years of reverberating with their voices, their laughter and their sobs filled it with memories.

"Think of it as if it were a gigantic sponge around us, absorbing our thoughts and actions, filling itself with our very natures until it became a part of us and we became forever a part of it. A new family can come in here and have the walls repainted, the floors covered with new carpet, different curtains and shutters hung on the windows, new furniture brought into every room, but we will linger in the heart of the house,

"The new owner might awaken one night and hear strange voices as the house replays some moment from our past like a sponge that has been squeezed and drips its contents, revealing what's really deep inside.-

She smiled at my look of skepticism. Long ago I had stopped believing in tooth fairies and magic. Harsh reality was in my face too much.

"What I really mean. Rain, is when you look at something, whether it be a home or a tree or even the lake and see only what anyone else can set, you are partially blind. Take your time. Let things settle around you, in you. That takes some trust. I know, but after a while, it will become easier and easier and you will grow stronger and fuller because of it. You will become a part of all you see and all you touch," she told me.

These were rare moments, moments when she permitted herself to let down her own fortress walls and give me the opportunity to look in on whom she really was, a great and powerful lady on the outside, but no more than a little girl on the inside longing for love, for softness, for smiles and laughter and rainbow promises. Even at her age, she could blow out birthday candles and wish. too.

Much of her, of that, remained in the house. Her body rested in the graveyard a few miles away from it, but her spirit joined the spirits of the others who passed from room to room in a chain of memories lighter than smoke, looking for a way to resurrect some of the glory.

They were testing me, visiting me, challenging me by tinkering with my thoughts and feelings. They filled the shadows in the corners and whispered on the stairs. but I wasn't afraid even though I quickly began to have strange dreams, strange because they were about people I had never seen or met. Yet, despite that, there was something familiar about them, some laugh or wisp of a smile that filled me with even greater curiosity. I saw a little girl sitting all crunched up on a sofa, her eyes wide with surprise. I heard sobs through the walls. My eyes traveled down until they found two teenage girls listening, their mouths open with astonishment. Well-dressed people paraded through the hallways to rooms filled with displays of food and wine. There was the sound of violins and then a beautiful voice could be heard singing the famous aria from Madame Butterfly.

I could make little sense out of any of it, but I kept trying, searching for some clues, some answers. Even though I had lived in the house for a while before going to London, there was still much for me to look at and explore. I spent hours in the library perusing the books and then sifting through the old papers and some of the correspondence still kept in file cabinets and drawers. Most of it was about the various projects for development Grandfather Hudson had started. However, there were some personal letters, letters from old friends, people who had relocated to different states or even different countries, some of them old college friends.

I discovered that Grandmother Hudson had had a close girlfriend in finishing school who had married and moved to Savannah. Her name was Ariana Keely and her husband was an attorney. She had three children, two boys and a girl. The letters were filled with details about her children, but very little about herself and her husband. Occasionally, she would drift into something revealing and I would be able to read between the lines and understand that apparently neither she nor Grandmother Hudson believed they had found the happiness and the perfection both somehow had thought was inevitable for people who had been given all the advantages.

" As you say, Frances,we're privileged people," Ariana wrote in one letter. "but all that seems to guarantee is a more comfortable -world of

disappointment full of more distractions, more ways to ignore really."

It all made me wonder that if someone wealthy, born with status and advantages couldn't be happy, what should I really expect?

I was thinking about all this as Jake drove me home from the cemetery. Neither of us had spoken for quite a while. I sat gazing out of the window, but really not looking at anything. The sky continued to darken.

"You all right. Princess?" Jake asked finally. "What? Oh. yes. Jake. I'm fine. Looks like it is going to pour."

"Yes," he said. "I was going to go into Richmond tonight, but I think I'll wait until morning, let up early and make the airport pickup,"

I sat back. The dreary sky and my rush of sad memories filled me with a cold loneliness. You're too young to have to do battle with a great family. I told myself, I didn't ask for any of this. Thoughts about my mother, her husband and Aunt Victoria ganging up on me again tomorrow consumed me with dread.

"Maybe you oughta go to a movie or something. Princess," Jake said. "I can come by and take you, if you'd like."